“The moment I file this petition, Lord Nathaniel will scrap those plans, and his bride will have nothing to say to it.”

“Let him, for that will only put Rothhaven under the thumb of the same sibling who all but imprisoned him at the Hall in the first place. Our case becomes that much stronger.” Phoebe had made that point too. “Lord Nathaniel stands to benefit the most by exacerbating Rothhaven’s malady. Epileptic fits can be fatal, you know.”

“Now you’re a physician, Philpot?”

The waiter came with a pitcher and refilled both tankards.

“You can leave that pitcher here, boy,” Neville said, “and a plate of buttered crab legs wouldn’t go amiss.”

The waiter tossed them a bow and moved away. Neville detested the untidiness of buttered crab legs, but Phoebe claimed Weatherby was partial to them.

“I am not a physician,” Neville said. “Dr. Warner is prepared to serve in his usual role.” Warner looked like a physician—dark-haired, tall, lean, handsome, and articulate, with a canny balance of a younger man’s charm and a mature fellow’s professional confidence. The judges liked him, as did the aging females he tended to collect as patients.

“And how many cases of epilepsy has Warner treated?”

“That hardly matters. The course of the disease is notorious enough.”

Weatherby let out a slow, rumbling belch. “You don’t anticipate any trouble from Cranmouth? He’s at least the fourth generation in his family to serve the Rothmere interests. Even to Ebenezer, that ought to mean something. He must put on a case for the defense, and a case that holds up to scrutiny. Declaring a duke mentally incompetent ain’t for the faint of heart.”

Phoebe always said one mustn’t be too patient or too understanding with the lower orders lest they take advantage of their betters.

“Scruples at this late date do not become you, Weatherby.”

Weatherby smiled. “I bend rules, Philpot, as we all do. The solicitor who breaks rules can soon find himself without a practice. The prior cases you’ve brought to me were all heading for a guardianship eventually. My petitions might have been a few years premature, but I’ve also kept an eye on your management of the clients and their wealth. You bend rules too, but you’ve yet to actually break them—as far as the available evidence suggests.”

A threat for a threat, because evidence could be manufactured, taken out of context, and twisted to assure a particular judicial outcome.

Neville fortified himself with another long drink from his tankard. Damned fine stuff, if he did say so himself.

“If you win this case,” he said, “I will never ask you to bring another petition before a board of competency examiners. Cranmouth won’t be a problem. I established that much before I even thought of approaching you. Cranmouth said he’d be joining us today, in fact.”