Patrick shoved unkempt dark hair from his eyes. “I dint mean to fall asleep.”

Delancey unwound a green and white plaid scarf from about his neck. “Do as the earl says, lad. As cold as it is, you might have awakened without the use of a few fingers and toes, if you awoke at all.” He wrapped the scarf around the boy’s ears. “Away with you. My sister knits me a different scarf every week. You’d do me a kindness if you kept that one. The colors do not suit me.”

“Smells good,” Patrick said, taking an audible sniff. “Like the bakery on biscuit day. I can keep it?”

“Please do.”

The boy trotted off before Tremont could toss him a coin. “If you’re crossing the river, Delancey, you have a long walk ahead of you. You’re welcome to spend the night with me and take my coach to Southwark in the morning.”

“No, thank you. The walk will do me good. About Mrs. Merridew. She’s quit her post?”

“She’s quitting England. Ready for a fresh start.”

Delancey muttered something that sounded like, Aren’t we all? “Dorcas left me with the impression that you and Mrs. Merridew might suit.”

What was this interrogation in aid of? “The lady decided otherwise, for reasons I cannot question. What’s it like, working for the archbishop?”

Tremont turned down his street, and Delancey accompanied him. “I do not work for the archbishop. I work for the Almighty, or so I’m to believe. Who would have thought that the Creator had need of so many glorified clerks?”

“Perhaps you should take ship for Philadelphia.”

Delancey shook his head. “I’m needed here.” An automatic and somewhat bleak reply.

“As am I. Sure you won’t join me for a nightcap? Allow me to loan you a scarf? Mine are all in the best of subdued good taste.”

“I will decline your kind offers and bid you good night.” He bowed at the foot of Tremont’s front steps. “You’ll keep an eye on Patrick? He’s set himself up for lung fever, at best.”

“I will keep a roof over his head if he’ll allow it. One must deal gently with puerile pride.”

Delancey smiled. “And its adult equivalent. You are welcome to spend the night roaming the metropolis with me, my lord. I promise not to pry, and I won’t lead you into any gaming hells or dens of vice.”

How would a bishop-in-training know to find his way to such entertainments? “Most kind of you. I’ll page through a few scenes from one of the Bard’s plays, and I should be ready for slumber. Wander carefully, Delancey. The MacKays would take it amiss if you should run into foul luck.”