‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Skillen,’ he said.

‘Affairs of state have to be dealt with, my lord.’

‘My brother and I seem to work all the hours that God sends us, yet we still make little impact on the problems that loom up before us on all sides. Political life is simply a well-dressed version of slavery. However,’ he went on, indicating a chair, ‘you didn’t come here to listen to my woes. I suspect that you have some of your own you wish to ventilate.’

‘I do, indeed, my lord.’

Sidmouth was a tall, square, rather bony individual of sixty with wispy grey hair. Not having seen him for some time, Peter was surprised at how much he’d aged. The lines on his face had increased in number and depth and his shoulders had become more rounded. What was unchanged was the air of decency and affability that Peter had always encountered in the past. Looking at him now, he couldn’t believe him guilty of the charges Seth Hooper had hurled at him.

‘Well,’ said Sidmouth, ‘what’s brought you here?’

‘I’ve taken an interest in the murder of Sir Roger Mellanby.’

‘He was a fine politician. I disagreed with most of what he had to say but I admired him for his commitment and fighting spirit. He came from Nottingham, I believe. They breed strong men in that part of the country.’

‘I know, my lord. I’ve just come from there.’

Sidmouth’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Really?’

‘I was acting on behalf of a friend of his,’ said Peter. ‘The two of them had come to London to speak at the Hampden Club. Unfortunately, Sir Roger was killed on the eve of the meeting.’

‘He’ll be a great loss to his family and friends.’

‘And to the cause that he championed, my lord. Nottingham worshipped him. The whole city is now in mourning.’ There was a long pause. Peter took a deep breath before continuing. ‘At a meeting of the local Hampden Club, your name came in for some … unkind treatment.’

‘What a pleasing euphemism that is,’ said Sidmouth with a laugh. ‘It’s not one that Sir Roger would have chosen. Whenever we talked in private, he used much more colourful language.’

‘I felt obliged to defend you.’

‘There was no need. Insults run off my back like so much rain.’

‘They were more serious than mere insults, my lord,’ said Peter. ‘Accusations were made against you. I objected strongly to them.’

‘Then I’m very grateful to you for doing that.’ Sidmouth leant forward across his desk. ‘What exactly were these accusations?’

‘It was said that you gave direct orders for the proposed march of the Blanketeers to be stopped in its tracks by dragoons. People were badly wounded in the process, my lord. They blame their injuries on you.’

‘That’s both untrue and unfair.’

‘I used those very words in your defence, my lord.’