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showed towards me. It was my fault, of course, being a sad disciplinarian and leaving correction and punishment to Adela. It was inevitable, I suppose, as half the time I wasn’t at home, sometimes for months at a time. The only advantage was that when, on occasions, I did lose my temper, I frightened them all to death.
    â€˜Where is Master Plummer?’ I asked grimly, and was informed in chorus that he was at Small Street, lounging at ease in our parlour. ‘I’ll soon put a stop to that,’ I announced through gritted teeth.
    We proceeded in procession to the house left to me five years previously by Cicely Ford, and the cause of a great deal of resentment and envy on the part of some of my former friends who considered me undeserving of such good fortune. The disapproval of the neighbours was of a different sort as they found it demeaning to have a common pedlar and his family living amongst them. We didn’t let it worry us, although at times it could prove uncomfortable.
    Adela was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, making dumplings to add to the pot of sweet-smelling rabbit stew that was bubbling away over the fire. Without looking up, she began, ‘He’s—’
    â€˜In the parlour,’ I finished for her. ‘Yes, I know. The children told me.’
    She did glance up then, recognizing my tone of voice, and gave a rueful smile. ‘You can protest all you like, but he isn’t going to take “no” for an answer, Roger,’ she warned me. ‘I’ve already pleaded your cause and told him you’ve promised to stay at home for a while.’
    â€˜And what did he say?’
    She began transferring the dumplings to the stewpot. ‘Nothing. He didn’t bother arguing. He just produced a warrant signed by the lord Protector and waved it under my nose.’
    â€˜Signed by who?’ I was so angry, my wits had gone wool-gathering.
    â€˜The Protector.’ Then, as I still gaped at her, she added impatiently, ‘My lord of Gloucester.’
    I dumped my nearly empty pack on the kitchen floor and up-ended the plentiful contents of my purse on to the table. ‘I’ll go and have a word with Timothy,’ I said darkly.
    â€˜It won’t do any good.’ My wife came across and gave me a floury kiss on one cheek. Her tone was resigned. ‘I know the signs only too well. You won’t prevail. Besides,’ she added with a laugh, ‘half of you doesn’t want to.’
    â€˜Nonsense!’ I declared stoutly.
    She laughed again, but said nothing more.
    The children, who had crowded after me into the kitchen, now preceded me into the parlour and faced Timothy Plummer before I had time to prevent them.
    â€˜He’s not coming with you!’ Elizabeth exclaimed shrilly.
    â€˜No, he’s not,’ Nicholas corroborated.
    â€˜So go away!’ roared Adam. Even as a baby he had possessed a fearsome pair of lungs, and although he had grown quieter with age, he still liked to exercise them on occasions.
    The Spymaster General looked dazed, which was unsurprising. In the world which he inhabited, children were respectful and deferential to their elders, answering only when spoken to. He was unprepared for this unprovoked, verbal assault.
    I shooed the three of them out of the parlour and closed the door firmly in their wake. A voice from the other side shouted, ‘You promised!’
    I drew up a stool and sat down opposite Timothy, noting resentfully that he had appropriated my own chair, the one with the carved, acanthus-leaf arms. I held up a hand.
    â€˜Before you utter a word, my friend, I want to impress upon you that the children were speaking the truth. I am not returning to London with you, so there is nothing more to be said.’
    The spymaster cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid there is, Roger. It’s not as simple as that.’
    I leant forward, stabbing the air with a finger in order to emphasize