Sir Grenville sucked on a bone, then tossed it into the fire. “Barnegat was right,” he chuckled. Barnegat was Sir Grenville’s astrologer and he had forecast good news at Christmas. Sir Grenville ladled more gravy on to his plate. “You were right about that priest. I’m glad we helped him. What’s he like?”

Ebenezer had finished his meal. He leaned back, his dark eyes giving no hint of his thoughts. “Ambitious. He feels cheated.”

Sir Grenville grunted. “You’re describing half of Parliament. Can he be trusted?”

“Yes.”

There had been a strange pair of visitors to Sir Grenville’s house that Christmas morning. The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey and Goodwife Baggerlie had stood, cold and tired, in the alley porchway. Sir Grenville had been at Westminster, but Ebenezer had received them, listened to their tale, and then sent them to lodgings in St. Giles. Ebenezer had then greeted Sir Grenville with the glad tidings of great joy.

Sir Grenville had savored the news all afternoon. It had wiped out his pain, it had given him comfort. He still savored it. “Why did the woman come?”

Ebenezer shrugged, sipped his wine. “She hates Dorcas. Hervey wanted her to show him where you lived.”

“Does she want twenty pounds as well?”

“No.” Ebenezer put his wine glass carefully on the table. He was precise in all his movements. “I suspect Goodwife knows there’s small future with Samuel Scammell.”

Sir Grenville laughed. “Sensible Goodwife. Mind you, she’d have saved us all a deal of trouble if she’d been able to tell us who that bastard was who took the girl. Still, it’s no matter now.” He smiled.

Sir Grenville knew he had been fortunate. Just four months before, he had known real fear. Lopez was in Amsterdam, the girl vanished, but his fears had been groundless. The Jew, it seemed, was in Amsterdam merely to be closer to the war in England. Doubtless, Sir Grenville reflected, Mordecai Lopez had money with both sides, though Sir Grenville had only heard of money lent to the King. Lopez had done nothing that suggested he knew of Matthew Slythe’s death, and the girl, evidently, had not attempted to reach Lopez. Sir Grenville would call his watchdogs back from Holland the next day.

He pushed his plate away, belched quietly and smiled at Ebenezer. “Shall we move to the window?”

They sat staring at the Thames. It was almost dark. A single boat, a lantern at its prow, was rowed upstream. It was hard work for the oarsman because the current was compressed by the ice on both banks. Soon, Cony knew, there would be no boats on the river till the ice loosened its grip. He would have to put more guards into the garden, for the frozen Thames would give easy access to his property.

There were grapes on the low table between them and almonds from Jordan wrapped in sweet French marzipan. Sir Grenville’s office had been transformed into a room fit for this feast, and the day’s news had made the feast perfect. Sir Grenville bit an almond in half and smiled. “We have been lucky, Ebenezer, we have indeed been lucky.”