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letters home to me. That did not prevent you from harassing my husband under Dr Trevelyan’s roof ten days ago.’

    ‘Madam, I did not harass him! The information is so crucial that if there were any chance—’ Palmer stopped himself. ‘I did receive two weeks ago a name from a connection I trust in Paris. That name was Fitzraven. I wondered if it might be familiar to your husband. It did not seem to be. I could discover no more.’ He drew breath, but could not resist adding in a rush, ‘I would have explained as much to you at the Admiralty last week, if you had given me a chance to speak in my defence.’ He thought he saw the corner of Mr Crowther’s mouth twitch at that, and Mrs Westerman scowled briefly.

    Palmer continued more calmly. ‘The role of this Fitzraven, his status, his importance in the schemes that move against us – nothing of that could be discovered. Only the name, and with that I was unfamiliar. However, I have made it my business to keep a close watch for him.’

    Mrs Westerman had come to a stop and they were both observing him now, with something like curiosity. The thin November light caught the red lights in her hair.

    ‘There are some individuals in the city I employ to listen for items of interest,’ Palmer went on. ‘Any whisper of that name, anywhere in the city, was to come to me – and this morning I hear that a body was pulled from the Thames at first light, and the body was named by a member of the crowd that watched him dragged up the Black Lyon Stairs as Fitzraven.’

    He looked up at Mrs Westerman. Her expression was neutral; Mr Crowther was sitting with his fingers tented and very still. ‘I have arranged for one of the Westminster Magistrates, a Mr Pither, to request your assistance,’ Palmer ploughed on. ‘It is not unnatural that he would thinke to so, given your investigation of events in Sussex last year. He would like to add a little lustre to his name by a connection with yourselves.’ At this, Mrs Westerman’s lip curled. Drawing himself straight in his chair, Mr Palmer made his final appeal with a certain solemnity. ‘I have come to you to urge you to supply that assistance and find out what you can of the circumstances of Fitzraven’s death. He then added with a half-smile as the thought occurred to him, ‘Perhaps a little show of resistance to doing so might be of use. If Pither can tell the story of how he persuaded you, it will cloud the matter in a way advantageous to our greater cause.’

    ‘You seem to have a great ability to find things out yourself, Mr Palmer,’ Crowther said with a faint drawl, ‘and arrange all manner of complicated affairs in a short space of time.’ He drew a neat enamelled pocket-watch from his waistcoat and examined it. Then met Palmer’s eye. Mr Palmer noticed that though Mr Gabriel Crowther might be a gentleman the wrong side of fifty, his blue eyes seemed icy and exceptionally clear. ‘Why do you not look into the matter yourself? Or use one of these gentlemen you trust. Why such unconnected amateurs as ourselves? Why trust a recluse and a known harridan with the secrets of your King?’

    Palmer looked up swiftly at Mrs Westerman to see how she took this description of herself. She did not flinch but continued to examine the wall to his right. He took a moment to select his words.

    ‘Three reasons, sir. The first you should be able to supply, if modesty did not forbid. I have not your expertise in seeing the stories a dead body can tell of itself. Very few men do. For the second let me speak to the matter of trust. I know something of you, Mr Crowther, and all that I have heard suggests to me a man who is unlikely to go gossiping in society of such matters.’ Crowther gave a wintry little smile. ‘Mrs Westerman has served on her husband’s commands. I believe in her loyalty and her principles. Your temper I have felt the heat of, madam, but I see no sign of foolishness in you.’ Mrs Westerman still did not