“Who is he?”

“He is the receiver-general of the Duke of Bedford. A powerful man, as he has direction of one of the greatest fortunes in the land.”

“I hope he is honest, then.”

“He is. And loyal to a fault. And able as well. Which is why he is paid near a hundred pounds a year in hand, with all his costs and living on top of that.”

I was impressed. My father had always done his own administration, and in any case could not have afforded to pay anything like that to a single servant.

“For all that, there are many people who would willingly pay him double, for he has made the duke even richer than he once was. It is said that His Grace will scarcely buy a new pair of hose without asking Mr. Collop’s opinion first.”

“What is his connection with Sir Samuel Morland?”

“Fens,” she said. “He is in charge of the duke’s involvement in draining the fenland. He knows more about it than anyone, and so knows a great deal about Sir Samuel.”

“I see. What else have you discovered for me?”

“Not so very much. This Morland has acquired some pensions and sinecures since His Majesty returned, but boasted of many more which were not given him. It seems he considered that he did such a service that no reward would be great enough. However, my lord does not think much of this assessment.”

“You must be clearer with me, Kitty,” I said. “This is, or may be, a legal matter. I cannot leave anything bound up in the obscurity of dark words.”

“I had this from my lord this afternoon,” she said. “You know, I am sure, that he was one of the king’s most loyal followers, and endured years in penury and exile for his sake. He does not look favorably on those who switched their allegiance at the last moment. He says that he knows for sure that Morland encountered Lord Mordaunt when both were in Savoy. He was involved in the arrest of Mordaunt and other conspirators and took part in the trial at which Mordaunt was acquitted. My lord also mentioned to me that of Morland’s rewards and pensions, nearly all have been won at the specific request of Lord Mordaunt. A strange courtesy to extend to a man who supposedly tried to hang you. More, indeed, something you would do for a man to whom you were connected by long friendship. So my lord said.”

I looked at her long and hard as she said this, and she nodded seriously at me. “You must draw your own conclusions,” she said. “I questioned my lord, but he would give no direct answer, saying merely that what is obvious is usually also true.”

“What did he mean?”

“He said he could not help more plainly, for it would be seen as an attack on Clarendon if he leveled accusations against Mordaunt—the two are so closely attached criticism on one is an assault on the other. But he wishes you well, and begs you take his advice. If you look hard enough, you will find proof of what he says. Jack, whatever is the matter?”

The relief I felt at those words was so great that I had to lean forward in my chair and hug myself, so near did I feel to exploding from sheerest joy. At last, I had someone who would credit what I always knew to be the truth, and at last I had the pointer I needed. Odd it was indeed to have it from such a source; that the solution, or the near solution, to my troubles should fall from the mouth of a harlot. But thus it transpired, for the angels of the Lord can take as many strange forms as the servants of the devil.

I now knew who had trumped up accusations against my father; I knew who the traitor really was, and now I needed to discover why my father was chosen out of all the possible candidates for such treatment. I was close to the point of being able to confront Thurloe with his own turpitude, and justify his death. I fell to my knee and kissed her hand, again and again and again, until she burst out laughing and pulled it away.

“Come now,” she said merrily, “what have I said that produces such adulation?”

“You have ended years of anguish, and restored the name of my family. With luck you will also have restored my fortune and prospects as well,” I said. “If anything deserves adulation, it is surely that.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said. “Although I cannot consider I have done anything of such merit. All I have done is repeat my lord’s words to you.”

“In which case I thank him through you. He must be the kindest and best master a man—or woman—could have. It may be impertinent on my part, but if the opportunity arises when it can be done without embarrassment, please convey my gratitude, and make sure he is aware that, should he require a service, I will perform it willingly.”

“I will be sure to do so. Are you staying in London long?”

“I must leave tomorrow.”

“A pity. I would like to present you to him. Next time, write to me in advance, and I will make certain you are publicly acknowledged by him as a friend.”

“A friend is too much, I think,” I said. “But I would be grateful to be seen as in his interest.”

“It shall be done. And here,” she said as she heard a heavy clumping of boots up the stairs, “is undoubtedly Mr. George Collop.”

He was a man of low extraction; that was clear from the moment he walked through the door and bowed deeply to what he thought was the lady who greeted him. His movements were awkward, his speech coarse and with a heavy Dorset accent. It seemed he was the son of a tenant farmer, and had forced his way into His Grace’s attention by his skill. All well and good, but the price was heavy, for having to listen to that rolling burr must have been tiresome indeed. It said much for his qualities as a comptroller of finance, for he had none other to recommend him.

Many years in the intimate presence of gentility had done little to soften his manners or refine his talk; he was one of the low who glory in their roughness. It is one thing to despise the effeminacy of city and court; quite another to set your face against the basic qualities of breeding. In the way he collapsed in a chair with enough force to make the legs bend, then pulled out a cloth to wipe his face from the walk up the stairs—for he was a heavy, thickset man with a red face and mottled nose—Collop made it clear he cared naught for politeness.

“This gentleman, Mr, ah, Grove,” Kitty began, with a smile toward me, “is fascinated by the fen project,” she said. “And so I asked you to meet him, as there is no one who knows more of it than you, as you oversee His Grace’s works there.”

“That’s right,” he said, and said no more, thinking it sufficient contribution.

“His father has a very boggy piece of land, and was considering whether the engines of Sir Samuel Morland would be of use. He has heard much of them but cannot tell bombast from true report.”

“Well,” he said, then stopped again, lost in consideration of such a weighty matter.

“My father,” I put in, anxious to relieve Kitty of some of the onerous conversational duty, “is concerned that the machines will involve great expense and might prove to be money put out to waste. He is extremely keen to discover the truth of the matter, but finds Sir Samuel himself less straightforward.”

Collop heaved with a brief, private amusement for a moment. “That he is,” he said eventually. “And I cannot help you, as we do not use his machines.”

“I rather gained the impression he was crucial to the project.”

“He is the sort of man to give himself airs of importance he does not deserve. In fact, he is an investor only. Sir Samuel has some three hundred acres at Harland Wyte, which will be worth ten times its purchase when the land is drained. Of course, it is insignificant compared to His Grace’s interest, which is ninety thousand acres.”

I gasped in astonishment, which Collop observed with satisfaction.

“Yes, it is a mighty undertaking. Some three hundred and sixty thousand acres in all. Barren land, which by the ingenuity of man and the grace of God will yield plenty. Already doing so, in fact.”