I did not know you had it in you, Tom.’ He spoke as if he was already half-convinced we had plotted my entry into Queen Street together. Perhaps that would be how he described it to Turville. I pulled away from him angrily, in a state of utter confusion. I had come to this place to be open and honest, rid myself of the plot that was destroying our lives at Half Moon Court, free myself to marry Anne, only to become mired deeper. Eaton seemed to enjoy the look of hatred I gave him, treating it as a bond between us. ‘That’s the spirit, Tom! Turville don’t trust me and I don’t trust him. That’s the way we get on.’ In high good humour he bullied the servants, ordered his horse and ‘vittles for Mr Tom’ before leaving. The two servants who had picked me up like a course at dinner looked now about to serve me it. They guided me deferentially down an oak-panelled corridor, approaching a large dining hall which contained a gleaming mahogany dining table as long as a ship. Lord Stonehouse was sitting alone at one end of it.
