Tiffany and Michaels followed the two lords and the rest of the servants down to the dining room. Although they did not seem to be making any aggressive move toward the assemblage, Tiffany noticed that a Watch, not in the colors normally seen in their neighborhood, adroitly guided everyone past the various doors that could have allowed them to escape.
She was even more astonished when she entered the dining hall to discover there were several people already present. She immediately recognized Mrs. Bentley, even though the older woman was wearing a more becoming gown, but she did not know the identity of the elderly man sitting near her. Old Elizabet sat on Mrs. Bentley’s other side, and Davy stood behind their chairs. There were several additional, unknown persons seated at the table, as well as all her friends.
McClellan was sitting in a large wingback chair that was turned so that he had a good view of the proceedings. Although he sat stiffly in the chair, and his coat was missing, he wore a freshly laundered white shirt. Grace sat beside the elderly butler, periodically offering a cup of something.
Dr. Hardwick hovered near the butler, keeping an eye on his general condition, while surveying the rest of the room. He seemed to be paying close attention to Mrs. Bentley and strode down the room to bend over her, seeming to inquire after her health.
Michaels and Tiffany were ushered in by two fresh-faced young members of the unfamiliar Watch, and shown to seats toward the bottom of the long dining table. Nonetheless, they could hear the conversation from the head of the table quite clearly.
“I hope you understand,” Lord Ronald said to Lord Nevard, “That I only wish the best for my nephew.”
“Of course,” boomed Lord Nevard in his magnificent baritone, “Who could possibly believe otherwise? However, I believe that perhaps some misapprehension has occurred. It would be dreadful if ignorance caused a miscarriage of justice. I am sure that as a member of the peerage, you would in all things, wish to uphold not only the letter but the spirit of the law.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Lord Ronald replied. “But surely you understand my position.”
“That remains to be seen,” Lord Nevard pontificated. “For in as much as understanding is desirable . . .”
Tiffany listened with absolute fascination as Lord Nevard seemed to agree with everything that Lord Ronald had said, yet did not, in fact, corroborate any of his statements. So that was what Lord Northbury had been trying to explain when he said that the ancient Romans were masters at elocution and speaking.
Lord Nevard extolled the virtues of family, of kinship, and of caring for “our fellow man” in crisp consonants and rolling vowels that filled the hall and left every person present with the feeling that they had been privy to exceptionally wonderful secrets of state.
“What a load of hogwash,” Michaels whispered to Tiffany. “But I have to hand it to him, he has Lord Ronald’s attention and has not let him speak at all.”
“Why is he doing that?” Tiffany whispered back.
“He’s stalling, I think,” Michaels replied. “But the question is, why? Better yet, why has Constable Brooks herded us all in here? He’s even got Old Elizabet here, along with all your street friends and a few others besides.”
“I noticed that,” Tiffany said. “I know a lot of the people, but who is that man sitting with Mrs. Bentley? I don’t recognize him at all. Yet the two of them seem to be quite amiable. Moreover, he looks a lot like our poultryman.”
“I don’t know him, either,” Michaels responded. “But you are right. They certainly seem to be acquainted. Or else they are getting acquainted. I really do wish I knew what it is that Constable Brooks has planned.”
“So do I,” Tiffany looked around the room, to see if she could develop any sort of idea about the purpose of the meeting from the kinds of people gathered there. But there seemed to be no connection at all between the members of the crowd. More and more people were pouring in, filling chairs that three or four young footmen were bringing in from other parts of the house. The throng grew to such an extent that they resorted to seating the people toward the front of the room on low stools.
It quickly became clear that other people were also speculating on why they had been invited. They spoke in murmurs to one another, but the general volume of conversation began to rise to such a point that Tiffany could no longer hear what was being said at the main table.
Chapter 56
It took the combined efforts of Smithers, Quentin, and Kenault to ease Percival out of his dressing gown and into a pair of loose trousers, a crisp white shirt and neckcloth, and one of his less closely tailored coats. The shirt and coat were the worst of it. Percival felt as if his shoulder and back would fall off by the time they had him fully dressed.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “Give me a moment to catch my breath before we head down the stairs.”
“Is there anything we can get for you?” Quentin asked.
“Something safe to drink,” Percival said wryly. “After seeing the two of you passed out, with your heads upon the table, I fear to eat or drink anything. But my throat is dry with talking, and my head has begun to ache.”
“Shall we serve as your tasters?” Kenault teased.
“That is too near truth to be funny,” Percival said soberly.
“I have the answer, My Lord,” Smithers said, taking a flask from inside his waistcoat pocket.
“What is it?” Percival eyed the bottle with some suspicion.
“Not what you might think, My Lord. I have found that in a gentleman’s service there are times when it is not possible to retire for refreshment. This flask holds a quantity of tea that I brewed myself this very morning.”
“What do you think, my friends?” Percival asked.
Quentin shrugged. Kenault remarked, “One must trust sometimes, Percy. Has not Smithers been in your service for some time?”
