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straightened himself and wiped his hands upon a piece of rag. His brown eyes were wary. A muscle twitched in his brown face.
    ‘I am come to London upon business, Mr Longe,’ said William, dignified and calm as befitted a good liar. ‘So I thought to see Charlotte and make your acquaintance. I must be back in Millbridge by the end of the week.’
    Toby Longe had reached a rapid conclusion. He held out his hand, smiling.
    ‘Welcome, William. Don’t sirrah me, Will, for we are brothers. My name is Toby. Come, Charlotte should be awake by now and will be glad to see you. She is near her time, and lies abed in the morning. She is well, but not over-cheerful. You shall fetch the smile back to her face!’ Then he shouted into the dark recesses of the shop, ‘Davy, take over for me, will you? I shall be upstairs for a while.’ And putting his arm about William’s shoulders in the most natural manner, he rattled out a volley of questions as they mounted the wooden stairs. ‘Have you breakfasted, Will? When did you arrive? Have you tried the new mail-coach? Now there is progress for you. I am solidly behind Tasker in this project, but mind you those damned rogues in Parliament will try to squash it! Watch your step. I meant to move those books an age ago, but there is no more room. We live pretty comfortably here, Will, like two mice in a great cheese … ’
    All the while, though charmed by the ease of Toby’s manner, and amazed to find him very likeable, William could not help noticing the squalor. No. 3, Lock-yard, was a tall, thin, dilapidated house: three storeys, attic and basement. Since it looked upon a courtyard and was bounded by a street at the back, it was dark and damp and smelled of mushrooms. The lower staircase served double duty as a library and a storeroom. Piled against the stained walls were parcels of old tomes tied with string, packets of paper, battered manuscripts, bundles of quills, bottles of ink. On the second floor — whose rooms were used as the Longes’ sitting and dining quarters — the stair contents changed to lop-sided stacks of unmatched china, bundles of bent cutlery and baskets of table linen. Up again they went, and on the third landing William was not surprised to see the night’s chamber-pot, a heap of unwashed clothes, and several pairs of slippers and shoes.
    Toby knocked upon the door and called softly, ‘Are you awake, love?’
    A muffled voice answered that it thought so.
    ‘There is a gentleman come to see you, Lottie!’
    The voice said wearily that it would be down very soon, and sighed.
    ‘Very soon?’ cried Toby joyously. ‘Is that the welcome you give to your brother William, who has come all the way from Lancashire in the Royal Mail?’
    The voice gave first a shriek, and then a sob. Bare feet pattered across bare boards. The door swung open, and Charlotte — great and clumsy with child — was crying and laughing in William’s arms, while Toby stood triumphantly to one side as though he had organised the entire reunion.
    ‘Come now, Lottie,’ said William, patting her thin shoulders, ‘stop all this weeping and wrap up warm. You must take care, so near your time.’
    ‘Aye, so she should,’ said Toby heartily. ‘You will breakfast with her, Will? Then I shall leave you both to wag your tongues in peace. I have an appointment at the coffee-house. You are staying with us, Will?’
    ‘Nay,’ William replied uncertainly, torn between his fear of unknown lodgings and the obvious drawbacks of Lock-yard. ‘Nay, I have an address given me by a barber in Covent Garden. I would not trouble you.’
    ‘Oh, fiddle!’ cried Toby impatiently. ‘You can sleep on the parlour sofa and we shall all be merry. Wine for supper, Lottie, and a feast from the bakehouse to celebrate our meeting!’
    Then Charlotte added her entreaties, and looked so pitiful with her swollen belly and childlike face that William agreed and thanked them; while Toby clapped him on the back, and