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slaughter-houses made me feel nauseous as I remembered the corpse I had just viewed.
    I entered Farringdon Ward, crossing the great stinking cattle-market of Smithfield and into the cool darkness of the tavern, the one Howstead had directed me to, ‘The Sun in Splendour’. The landlord came bustling up, one calloused hand combing back his dank, rat-tailed hair. I looked at his watery eyes and yellow buckteeth and wished to God the business was over and I was gone. I ordered a pot of ale and asked to see his daughter. The man grinned and was about to nudge me as if I was some fellow-conspirator but I glared at him and moved away to sit in a corner. His daughter, Isabella, was a pleasing contrast, tidily dressed, her dark hair pinned up under her veil. She was sweet-faced, eager to please until I mentioned Slaughter’s name. She was about to move away but I ordered her to sit down.
    ‘I mean you no harm, mistress,’ I said. ‘But you were sweet on Master Slaughter, or Black Will as he was known?’ The girl nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
    ‘Why do you say “was”, Sir?’ she asked. ‘Has anything happened to him?’
    ‘No. No,’ I lied. ‘You were the only person he talked to?’ She nodded. ‘Did he ever tell you about his tasks?’ She shook her head. ‘When did you see him last?’ I asked gently. The girl looked down at her hands.
    ‘Ten, twelve days ago,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I remember, the 1st of August. It was the beginning of the month. In the evening. He came here, furtive and restless. He left and I have not seen him since.’ I looked into her childlike grey eyes and believed that of all the people I had questioned in London, she was telling the truth. I dug into my purse and, taking out a gold coin, pressed it into the palm of her hand. She thanked me with her eyes.
    ‘Sir,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know where Slaughter is? Will he return?’
    ‘No,’ I lied, not bothering to turn. ‘No, I do not know where he is, but I do not think he will ever return.’
    I returned to Crosby Hall convinced that Slaughter’s death had something to do with the Princes’ disappearance. I also felt my work in London was finished. Any further stay would only endanger myself and raise more questions. Norfolk left London on the 11th, Belknap had already gone, so I ordered my retainers to pack and on the 14th left London, riding hard and fast along the old Roman road, on to the country lanes past Banbury to Minster Lovell. I was pleased to be free of the city. The summer had been long and golden, the corn was ready for harvest and the birdsong on the clear air warmed my heart. After two days of travel I entered the green lush fields of my manor. I glimpsed the red-tiled roof and yellow bricked walls of the Minster and heard the sweet gurgling sound of the Windrush as it flowed between green banks down to turn the wheel of an old cornmill.
    Anne was waiting for me as I had sent a retainer ahead. She came running into the yard, her long hair streaming in the soft breeze, throwing her arms round my neck before I had scarcely dismounted. Poor Anne! Sweet Anne! If we had only known the terrors which lay ahead of us. The church is right to condemn and castigate those who attempt to divine the future.
    I am sure that if we knew we would lose the will to live. Nonetheless, these days of dalliance at Minster Lovell were some of the sweetest in my life. Anne had used my new-found wealth to decorate and beautify the hall: new beeswax candles in the candlebeams, diamond-shaped glass in the windows of our chamber, a huge new bed standing on a dais with four gilt posts and draped by a cloth of velvet and gold, embroidered with the silver dogs of my escutcheon. We used the bed soon enough, laughing and teasing one another. Anne pointed out the new drapes she had bought, the cloth of red-gold arras depicting the scene from the Bible, ‘Susannah and the Judges’, as well as the new chairscovered with red leather