“You’d better tell me, then.”

The Earl began at the beginning, as Sir George feared he would, and he pedantically described Toby’s activities. It was all, Sir George knew, correct. Toby had become embroiled in a Royalist conspiracy, a conspiracy that Sir George knew was doomed to failure. There were rich merchants in London who were not supporters of Parliament, but whose businesses prevented them from leaving the city. Some had sent word to the King in Oxford that, if he were to ask it, men might flock to his standard raised in the center of London. They planned a rebellion against the rebels, an uprising in the heart of London, and Sir George knew that Toby had been charged with discovering their exact strength and ascertaining how many men would follow the Royalist merchants.

Sir George knew because Toby had told him. There was a great deal of respect and love between father and son, and though Sir George did not wholeheartedly approve of Toby’s clandestine activity, he could not find it within his uncertain loyalties to forbid it.

The Earl of Fleet turned his round, serious face to Sir George. “One of the men Toby spoke to has a secretary, a man strong in the Lord, and the secretary reported it to the minister of his congregation. The minister, knowing of my relationship with you, laid the matter before me. And now I have come to you.”

“And I thank you for that.” Sir George was sincere. “It’s put you in an awkward position, John.”

The boat was turning south round the great bend. To their left was the empty untidiness of Lambeth Marsh, to their right the rich houses of the Strand. The Earl lowered his voice. “I must act soon, Sir George, I must.”

“Of course you must.” Sir George knew that his son-in-law, an honest man, would be forced to go to the proper authorities within a few days. “How long, John?”

The Earl did not reply at once. The boat had gone to the Surrey bank where the current was weaker, but now the watermen were beginning the wide turn that would bring them smoothly downstream to the Privy Stairs at Whitehall. The Earl frowned at his damp coat. “I must report this by next Lord’s Day.”

Six days till Sunday. “Thank you, John.” Six days to remove Toby from London, to send him to safety at Lazen Castle. The thought made Sir George smile. His wife, the formidable Lady Margaret Lazender, would welcome her husband’s change of allegiance. She would doubtless wholeheartedly approve of her son’s secret actions for the King.

Sir George paid the stroke oar, then climbed on to the stairs. He walked beside his taller son-in-law along the right of way that led through the royal Palace, under the archway, and into King Street. “I’m for home, John.”

“And I for Westminster.”

“You’ll come and dine before you leave London?”

“Of course.”

“Good, good.” Sir George looked at the blue sky above the new Banqueting Hall. “I hope the weather lasts.”