Lady Margaret sniffed. The Earl of Fleet nodded. “Indeed, sir.”

Sir Grenville laughed. He strutted into the room, looking at the decorations. “God is indeed blessing our cause, my Lord. Blessing it richly!” He stopped in front of the fireplace, turning to face the room. “I was delayed in my arrival. I thought it expedient to visit Essex. He misses you, my Lord.”

The Earl of Fleet had been forced to turn round as Cony passed him. “I will return to my duties soon, Sir Grenville.”

“I never doubted it, my Lord, I never doubted it. May I ask what happy accident finds you in my house?”

The Earl of Fleet frowned. He hardly knew Sir Grenville Cony, though the name was familiar to him. He knew Sir Grenville was now on the Committee of Both Kingdoms, the committee of English and Scots that effectively ruled wherever the King did not. The Earl was in some awe of this small, gross man. Sir Grenville represented power, and a power that was conquering the land. “I came, sir, for my mother-in-law.”

“You came for her? Why is she still here?” Lady Margaret had her back to Cony. She did not turn round.

The Earl frowned again. “Her son is ill, Sir Grenville.”

“Ill?”

“Wounded.”

“Ah! You mean the whelp was fighting against us, my Lord!” Sir Grenville shook his head. “He is a prisoner, I suppose?”

Colonel Fuller spoke from the door. “He’s too ill, sir, to be a prisoner.”

Sir Grenville Cony smiled. He had looked forward to this moment. He had delayed it some days, going first to see the Earl of Essex who led an army that was trying to clear the west of Royalist troops. Now, that chore done, Sir Grenville was prepared to enjoy himself. A week at Lazen was a pleasant prospect, time to raise the rents and tally up the wealth of this new property. His frog-like eyes were wide on the Earl of Fleet. “Is this a hospice, my Lord? Am I to tender charity to my enemies?”

The Earl looked astonished. “This was his house, Sir Grenville. He cannot be moved.”

“Cannot? Cannot? There were those who said the King’s tyranny could not be moved, but they were wrong.” He waved a careless hand. “Move him! This afternoon. Now! I want the whole family out, you understand? Out!”

Lady Margaret, at last, moved. She put her sewing down, stood, and walked calmly toward Sir Grenville. She stopped opposite him, forcing him to look up at her. “My son, Sir Grenville, will die if he is moved. That is the physician’s opinion.”

He smiled. “I have never found physicians reliable in these matters.”

“My son will die.”

“That will teach him not to fight Parliament.” He smiled again. “He was wanted, I believe, for treachery in London. His death, Lady Margaret, will only save the hangman effort.”

“You cannot force us to leave. My son will die.”

“I cannot! I cannot!” Sir Grenville laughed. “Lady Margaret, this is my house now, not yours. You may stay as a scullery maid or as a seamstress, but your son will go. He will go now.”