This man was no more new to London than Jack was in line for the throne. The cut of his coat alone testified to Bond Street tailoring, and his gloves hadn’t been stitched by any provincial seamstress.

“Dorset and Becker is a venerable institution, sir, though their clerks prefer the Handy Harper, two streets to the east. The fellows enjoying a pint here are mostly employed by Wentworth and Penrose, while I am not at present affiliated with any specific bank.”

The tavern maid came over with two pints and a plate heaped with toasted sandwiches. Jack’s mouth watered at the scent of the hot ham and cheese, though he focused on draining the last of his lady’s pint before accepting the larger drink.

“This is too much for one person,” Edwards said. “You must help me with it, lest I commit the cardinal transgression of wasting good food.”

The charm fell flat, but Jack wasn’t in a position to quibble. “Generous of you, Mr. Edwards. Where do you hail from?”

“Lately, I’ve been sojourning in the north. Peebleshire was my most recent billet before traveling south.”

He wasn’t from Peebleshire, unless Peebles had started producing English toffs with Eton diction and Oxford vocabularies.

“Pretty up that way, I hear.” Jack waited until Edwards had chosen a sandwich, then selected the smallest of the lot. “Cold though, I imagine.”

Now came the interesting part of the discussion, when somebody made an offer, and somebody else considered that offer. Jack could casually comment that it was a hard time of year to be out of work, or he might intimate that it was too bad the banks weren’t hiring—for they apparently weren’t. Instead, he focused on appreciating some of the best food to be had anywhere in the realm, good old English pub fare.

“Cold doesn’t begin to describe the Borders this time of year,” Edwards said, tearing off a corner of his sandwich and popping it into his mouth. “As one familiar with the local financial community, Mr. Tolliver, where would you put your trust, if you had to choose a bank? I’m looking for an institution of spotless character, one that puts reputation before any other consideration.”

So great was Jack’s pleasure at good, hot food and a fresh pint that he answered with only half a thought.

“Dorset and Becker goes back for centuries and caters to the nobs. Schilling’s is Quaker-owned, and they tend to be cautious with their coin. Wentworth and Penrose isn’t so high in the instep, but some say that makes them ferociously careful with their customers’ money.”

Ellie, at least, was unfailingly cautious when it came to Wentworth and Penrose accounts, and that doubtless kept the whole place on the proper side of prudent.