‘Well, see, most of it is debt, since ’e ’as borrowed a pony off me and not paid the interest all this last quarter.’

‘Leyburn, how long have you been here?’ Lord Henfield turned back to the young man.

‘A fortnight. If Crimble will not let me out of the house, how can I pay him?’

‘You ain’t got the readies anyway, boy,’ sneered Mr Crimble.

‘So, you have lent money at an extortionate rate to a youth under age, which cannot legally be reclaimed, and you have kept him here against his will, which is kidnapping,’ remarked Lord Henfield almost conversationally. ‘I feel your claim for a hundred pounds looks … ambitious.’

‘Think what you like, guv’nor, but possession is nine tenths of the law, so they says, and I ’ave possession of ’is lordship ’ere, and you.’

‘Ah, but that, Crimble, is purely temporary. I will grant that the chamber is tidy, and he does not look starved. I will give you the sum of ten pounds, to cover the bed, board and “other services”, and we will leave.’

‘Oh ho, you will?’

‘Yes. Leyburn, if you still possess a coat, please put it on. We, all of us, are leaving.’ Lord Henfield reached within his coat and extracted a note with his left hand, and placed it upon the bed. His other hand slid into a pocket upon the other side and emerged with a small but very serviceable pistol.

‘No violence, my lord,’ pleaded the clergyman.

‘No violence indeed, Mr Preston. All Crimble here has to do is take his money and walk just ahead of me all the way back to Christ Church, where he will shake me by the hand and wish us a safe journey back to London.’

‘Will I …’ the man began to expostulate.

‘Ladies present, Crimble. Look at it as a form of education, for which Oxford is rightly proud. The lesson you have learned is that even foolish greenhorns have relations, relations who are not fools, and even if those relations are female, there are likely to be gentlemen connected to the family who are not easily blackmailed, or in any other way threatened.’

‘You can’t do this.’

‘I am doing it. Mr Preston, if you will be so good as to escort the ladies, with Leyburn in front of you.’ Lord Henfield kept his eyes firmly on Crimble. Crimble was used to violence, at least dishing it out, and saw before him a man who was calm, and perfectly certain of his actions. Crimble evaluated the risks, unfolded his arms and shrugged.

‘You can’t trust Quality,’ he bemoaned, as he walked down the stairs, and shook his head as he passed the doorman.

They made their way back towards what Miss Yate could only term ‘civilisation’. When they emerged once more onto Fish Street, Lord Henfield extended his hand to Crimble.