Julian was out of the carriage with his saddlebag over his shoulder and his sword’s scabbard in its rightful place. He handed six shillings up to Matthew and Matthew passed them to the driver, who tipped his hat and said, “Thankee sir, and good luck with all yer intrigues.”

Matthew climbed down and watched as Julian stood to one side observing the removal of the many pieces of luggage belonging to the two men they’d followed. As the canvas was unlaced, revealed beneath were a pair of large trunks, four smaller cases and four hatboxes. The attendants struggled to carry one of the trunks between them into the building. As noble Hermes pulled the trusty carriage away into the flurries, Julian said, “I think we should give them some help. Here.” He tossed one of the smaller cases to Matthew and picked up another one.

“Hey! Hey!” called the hack’s driver, who was on the ground feeding his horse pieces of a dried apple. “What’re you doin’ there?”

“We’re part of the delegation,” Julian answered with an upthrust of his chin. “And the last servant who spoke so rudely to me got a skewer in his kidneys.” He put a hand on his sword.

The driver pulled his hat down lower over his eyes, so as not to see anything more. He shrugged and muttered, “I ain’t speakin’.”

“Come along, Manfred,” Julian directed.

They went up the red-carpeted steps through the double oak doors into the Mayfair Arms. Matthew was struck with a myriad of impressions: first of all, blessed warmth and crackling logs in a huge fireplace with gold-hued marble tiles forming the mantle, colored lanterns and boughs of holly hanging from oak beams in a high-ceilinged lobby, a trio of musicians playing with dignified tones two violins and a flute, a number of seating areas containing overstuffed leather chairs and sofas here and there on the smooth and polished dark brown timbers of the floor, and above it all a massive chandelier that must contain at least sixty lighted candles. A distance away stood Sir Polar Bear and Clown Face at a desk where a slight young man in a dark blue suit and a restrained white wig was signing them in on a ledger book. A few other guests were seated near the musicians for the late-night musicale, a grandfather clock ticked quietly in a corner, and all seemed right in this world of the wealthy.

The footman was coming toward Matthew and Julian on his way out again, with the two attendants at his heels. Over by a wide red-carpeted staircase with man-sized wooden statues of angels standing on either side of the bannisters the first trunk had been set down, the other baggage to follow in preparation of hauling all of it up to the new arrivals’ chamber.