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As it is here. I have been thinking. Have you ever considered buying Edward’s half-share of the house from him and selling your own residence? Then you could live in your mother’s house and leave the wall painting intact, where it is.’
    She gave a braying little laugh. ‘Mother’s house is far too big for me. I am a childless widow. I know she lived there alone but for her servants, but she was foolish; it is far too large for a woman by herself. Those great big rooms. No, I will have the painting down and in my hands. Removed by the best craftsmen in London. Whatever it costs. I shall make Edward pay in the end.’
    I looked at her. I had had difficult, unreasonable clients in my time but Isabel Slanning’s obstinacy and loathing of her brother were extraordinary. Yet she was an intelligent woman, no fool except to herself.
    I had done my best. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I think the next thing is to go over your most recent deposition. There are some things you say which I think would be better amended. We must show ourselves reasonable to the court. Calling your brother a pestilent knave will not help.’
    ‘The court should know what he is like.’
    ‘It will not help you.’
    She shrugged, then nodded, adjusting her hood on her grey head. As I took out the deposition, Nicholas leaned forward and said, ‘With your leave, sir, may I ask the good lady a question?’
    I hesitated, but it was my duty to train him up. ‘If you wish.’
    He looked at Isabel. ‘You said, madam, that your house is much smaller than your mother’s.’
    She nodded. ‘It is. But it suffices for my needs.’
    ‘With smaller rooms?’
    ‘Yes, young man,’ she answered tetchily. ‘Smaller houses have smaller rooms. That is generally known.’
    ‘But I understand the wall painting is in the largest room of your mother’s house. So if you were able to remove the painting, where would you put it?’
    Isabel’s face reddened and she bridled. ‘That is my business, boy,’ she snapped. ‘Yours is to take notes for your master.’
    Nicholas blushed in turn and bent his head to his papers. But it had been a very good question.

     
    W E SPENT AN HOUR going over the documents, and I managed to persuade Isabel to take various abusive comments about her brother out of her deposition. By the time it was over, my head was swimming with tiredness. Nicholas gathered up his notes and left the room, bowing to Isabel. She rose, quite energetic still, but frowning; she had looked angry ever since Nicholas’s question. I got up to escort her outside, where a serving-man waited to take her home. She stood facing me – she was a tall woman and those determined, staring eyes looked straight into mine. ‘I confess, Master Shardlake, sometimes I wonder if your heart is in this case as it should be. And that insolent boy . . .’ She shook her head angrily.
    ‘Madam,’ I replied. ‘You can rest assured I will argue your case with all the vigour I can muster. But it is my duty to explore alternatives with you, and warn you of the expense. Of course, if you are dissatisfied with me, and wish to transfer the case to another barrister—’
    She shook her head grimly. ‘No, sir, I shall stay with you, fear not.’
    I had made the suggestion to her more than once before; but it was an odd fact that the most difficult and hostile clients were often the most reluctant to leave, as though they wanted to stay and plague you out of spite.
    ‘Though . . .’ She hesitated.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I think you do not truly understand my brother.’ An expression I had not seen before crossed her face. Fear – there was no doubt about it, fear that twisted her face into new, different lines. For a second, Isabel was a frightened old woman.
    ‘If you knew, sir,’ she continued quietly. ‘If you knew the terrible things my brother has done.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Done to you?’
    ‘And others.’ A vicious hiss; the anger had returned.
    ‘What