“Poor Thomas. All this time you thought you were special. At the centre of events: your Smoke the key to all the secrets in the world.” The words are mocking. But her voice carries sympathy. “Here is the coach. You have a decision to make. Are you coming or not?”

Thomas and Livia look at one another. There is no need to discuss it. They can stay and remain ignorant. Or they can go along and get answers. One after the other they squeeze into the little fly that has pulled up in front of them, an unknown coachman on the box. If they had wanted to leave, they would have done so already.

The next moment they race off, down the quayside and through the metal gate, still unmanned. A quarter mile on, they slow to a less conspicuous speed. The clip-clop of hooves half drowns their conversation.

ф

“Talk! Explain yourself. Who are you? Who is the child?”

The stranger is unfazed by Thomas’s anger. He is sitting across from him, holding the child in his lap, his umbrella hooked into his elbow and tangling up their feet.

“Patience. Call me Sebastian. Here is my hand. How do you do? Mr. Argyle. Miss Naylor. You take after your mother, my dear, if you don’t mind my saying. Exquisite bones. Lady Naylor has told me all about you two, and about Mr. Cooper, too, of course. Now first things first, if you don’t mind. We have to make an adjustment to our plans.” He turns to Lady Naylor, his voice precise, even, confident. “Where are we going, Katie?”

Lady Naylor hesitates over the answer. “Are your lodgings being watched, too?”

“No, they don’t know about me yet. But it will be noticed if I bring guests. And there is no easy way of smuggling in the child. You do not have another apartment in town?”

“I have two more. But Trout will be onto them already.”

“Very well, we have no choice then. All the inns in the city will be searched, and we need shelter fast. We must leave the city and go to my country cottage. We shall leave via Moorgate.” He pauses long enough to close his eyes then open them again: a gesture more deliberate than a blink. “What about these two?”

The man’s voice and eyes remain soft. And yet there is a threat to the statement.

We know too much. Witnesses, that’s all we are to him. Peripheral. Disposable. The thought startles Thomas, recalls his earlier humiliation. All this time you thought that you were special. At the centre of events.