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steel-grey hair swept into the room. Behind her followed another woman, rather similar in appearance but more subdued. Both women wore heavy cloaks with the hoods pushed back. The innkeeper followed, waving his hands in agitation.
    ‘You shouldn’t! You shouldn’t really!’ he spluttered. ‘Shut up!’ Cranston roared. ‘Who are you?’
    The first and taller of the two women drew her shoulders back and looked squarely at Sir John.
    ‘My name is Emma Roffel, wife to the late Captain Roffel. I came here to see Sir Henry Ospring.’
    Cranston bowed. ‘Madam, my condolences on your husband’s death. Was he a sickly man?’
    ‘No,’ she replied tartly. ‘As robust as a pig.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I know you. You’re Cranston , Sir John Cranston, coroner of the city. What has happened here? This fellow’ — she indicated the innkeeper — ‘says Sir Henry has been murdered!’
    ‘Yes,’ Athelstan tactfully intervened, seeing the look on Cranston ’s face. ‘Sir Henry has been murdered and we have the culprit.’
    Emma Roffel’s face relaxed. Athelstan studied her curiously. She was rather pretty, he thought, in a tired-looking way. He was always fascinated by women’s faces and Emma’s struck him as a strong one, with its high-beaked nosed and square chin. Its pallor emphasised lustrous dark eyes, though these were now red-rimmed and tinged with shadows. She let her cloak fall open and he glimpsed her black widow’s weeds. She smiled at Athelstan.
    ‘I apologise for my entrance but I couldn’t believe the news.’ She pointed to the other woman, quiet and mousey, standing behind her. “This is Tabitha Velour, my maid and companion.’
    Aveline still sat on the stool, her face white with shock. Emma Roffel went over and touched the girl gently on the shoulder.
    ‘I am sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Truly sorry.’ She glanced up at Cranston . ‘How did this happen?’
    ‘Stabbed by his squire,’ Cranston said. ‘Nicholas Ashby.’
    Emma Roffel pulled her face in surprise.
    ‘You find that difficult to believe, madam?’ Athelstan asked.
    The woman pursed her lips and stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘Yes, I do. Ashby was quiet, more of a scholar than a soldier.’
    ‘But he sailed with your husband?’
    Emma Roffel smiled cynically. ‘God forgive me and God rest him but Sir Henry was a suspicious man. Yes, squire Ashby was often sent by his master to make sure his investment gained a just return.’
    ‘And you came here to inform Sir Henry of your husband’s death?’
    Yes, yes, I did. But there’s little point,’ she said with a half-smile, ‘for I suppose they can talk to each other now.’
    ‘Madam,’ Cranston barked, ‘I need to talk to you about your husband’s death!’
    ‘Sir, you can. I live in Old Fish Street off Trinity on the comer of Wheelspoke Alley. But now I must go. My husband lies coffined before the altar of St Mary Magdalene. Sir John, Father.’ And Emma Roffel spun on her heel, leaving the chamber as dramatically as she had arrived.
    ‘What will happen now?’ Marston grated.
    Sir John walked slowly over to him. ‘Ashby can have sanctuary for forty days. After that he has two choices — he either surrenders himself to the king s justice or he walks to the nearest port and takes ship abroad. If any attempt—’ Cranston glared at Marston. ‘If any attempt is made to take him by force from St Erconwald’s, I’ll see the perpetrators dangle on the end of a noose at Smithfield ! Now, I suggest you look to your master’s corpse and secure his belongings. I want the dagger removed and sent to my office at the Guildhall.’ Cranston turned to where Aveline sat. ‘Madam, please accept my condolences. However, I must insist that you stay here until my investigation is finished.’ Then, gesturing to Athelstan, Cranston left.
    ‘What’s this business about the ship God’s Bright Light ?' Athelstan asked once they had left the Abbot of Hyde’s