She stopped before mentioning Adam. She wanted to keep his name untainted. “Yes, she recently came home.” “Home, bah. Her home is hell.” He was groping with one hand under the bed. He dragged out a metal box the size of a large book and, with a grunt of effort to lift it, landed it beside him on the mattress. He lay back, exhausted from the exertion. “Open it.” Eager to conclude this bizarre interview, Frances raised the box lid. Mottled papers lay inside. “Take them.” When she hesitated, he commanded “Take them!” in a voice so urgent and so full of authority, she obeyed. She lifted out a sheaf of dog-eared papers. “She is a devil,” Bastwick said. “I knew her first as Honor Larke, and she did me a wrong once, long ago. But that is nothing compared to the foul deeds she committed while serving Her Majesty Queen Catherine. The Thornleigh woman is a viper in the breast of Christendom.” He held up a bony finger and shook it, pointing at the papers. “It’s all there.
