“Then he’s a fool. I can be seen having a meal with you—we occasionally share a table in the ordinary course—but I do not regularly break bread with Ebenezer Cranmouth. His clientele is too exalted for him to sit at the same table with a lowly squire’s son from west of town. If the three of us are seen together, it will be remarked.”

“When the dining room is this crowded, nobody will remark anything save whether their steak was properly cooked.”

The crab legs arrived, adding their characteristic fishy odor to the scent of cooked beef and baked potatoes.

“These fellows ain’t stupid,” Weatherby said, glancing around the room. “The usual run of solicitor has worked hard, studied hard, and means to do good while doing well. You and Cranmouth have airs above your station. That catches up with a man.”

Neville pushed the plate of crab toward Weatherby. “Is Ebenezer Cranmouth begrudging his daughters their every hair ribbon? Does he have to borrow the funds to keep his wine cellar stocked? Is his coach nearly as old as his firstborn?”

Weatherby seized the largest of the crab legs. “No need to be petty, Philpot. It’s the damned marriage settlements that keep me up at night. My girls are lovely young women, but they haven’t a serious thought between them and their mama’s no better. I cannot expect a nabob to come along and fall in love with a chit who’s neither bright nor wealthy nor beautiful.”

“At least you’ve only the two,” Neville said. “They are quite lovely.”

Weatherby sent him a look that said he knew placatory platitudes when they were served up with the crab.

“Cranmouth’s ears must have been itching,” Weatherby said, gesturing with a crab leg. “Yonder he comes, and with a bee in his bonnet, if I’m not mistaken.”

Cranmouth danced between tables and dodged waiters as if they bore contamination rather than good food.

“Philpot,” Cranmouth said, nodding and leaning his walking stick against the table. “Weatherby. Might I join you?”

“Please,” Neville said, pushing out an empty chair with his foot. “I’ve acquainted Weatherby with my concern for our mutual neighbor.”

Cranmouth sat and hunched forward. “The poor fellow is barmy, all right, or the next thing to it. Your mutual neighbor, that is. A few years ago, he bought a certain property out on the Dales. He recently sold that same property to somebody looking to set up a home for navy pensioners. Do you know what price he commanded for a large home with outbuildings, home farm, stables, and twelve acres of park?”

Neville let Cranmouth draw out the pause.