Will Hasling was waiting for Edward in the library of White’s, the gentleman’s private club in Whitehall where he and his father were members. Arguably the most famous club in London, many believed it was the first to open its doors, that it had begun as a chocolate house in 1693, and that Pope and Swift were among its regulars. Certainly it was a male bastion where members could go to eat, drink, smoke, gamble, play billiards and read. Women were barred. None of them really wanted to go anyway, preferring the men in their lives to have places where they could be left to their own devices.

      Whilst waiting for his friend, Will had been perusing The Times, but he had now read enough, and took it back to the table where the newspapers were always placed after use.

      As he swung around to return to his chair Edward came rushing into the room, but slowed his steps when he noticed a couple of older members present. Usually the club was deserted on weekends with everyone in the country.

      ‘So sorry I’m late,’ Edward said, clasping Will’s arm.

      ‘No problem, but shall we go in for lunch? I’m positively ravenous.’

      ‘Let’s do that.’

      The two young men left the library, crossed the grand entrance foyer with its marble floor and dark mahogany furniture and went into the dining room.

      After they were seated and had each ordered a glass of champagne, Will looked at Edward, said, ‘This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today, especially since we’re invited to have lunch with Neville and Nan tomorrow.’

      ‘I know, but apart from us and Johnny, there’ll be Nan and their girls, my mother and my siblings. It’s going to be a family Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, and frankly I don’t think we’ll have a chance to speak privately.’

      ‘So what’s on your mind, Ned? Is something troubling you?’

      ‘I wouldn’t say troubling, more like tantalizing.’

      ‘I’m not sure what you mean by that?’

      ‘Did your mother have foxgloves growing in her garden when you were a child?’

      ‘Yes she did, and there are still foxgloves growing at Compton Hall.’ Will appeared puzzled when he asked, ‘But what are you getting at?’

      ‘She was growing Digitalis, and it is still growing in the flower gardens.’

      Totally nonplussed, Will shook his head. ‘Come on, Ned, you’re not talking sense.’

      Swiftly, with precision, Ned told him all about the book from Ravenscar, and what he had discovered that morning about the common foxglove.

      ‘Foxglove leaves and seeds are very poisonous indeed, and I think that somehow they got into Aubrey Masters’ food. Because nobody really believes he has a heart condition, now do they?’

      ‘No, they don’t,’ Will answered and paused as the waiter arrived with their flutes of champagne. Once alone, touching his glass to Edward’s, Will murmured, ‘Cheers.’

      Edward went on quickly, ‘I telephoned Neville this morning to discuss the matter with him but he had gone to the country for the day with Nan. So I’ll mention it tomorrow before lunch, if that’s at all possible.’

      There was a moment of silence, and the two men exchanged looks.

      At last Will asked, ‘Do you think that perhaps our side has something to do with that digitalis in Masters’ food? If indeed there was some there?’

      ‘I don’t know. Anyway, how could they have?’

      ‘God knows,’ Will muttered, shaking his head.

      Late that afternoon when he arrived home at the Charles Street house, Edward went in search of his mother. He found her in his father’s den, working at the desk, and she glanced up as he opened the door and went inside.

      ‘Oh hello, darling,’ she said, smiling at her eldest son. ‘Nice lunch with Will?’

      ‘Yes, very pleasant, thanks. Is this an inconvenient time to drop in on you, Mother, or do you have a few minutes to spare? You do seem to be rather busy with your accounts.’

      ‘No, they can wait, and I was hoping to have a chat with you anyway, Ned.’

      ‘About something special?’ he asked as he walked over and sat down in a chair near the desk.

      ‘No, just things in general, nothing specific. And what about you?’

      For a moment his eyes rested on the pile of bills on the desk. After a moment, he said, ‘Why did Father never have any money? After all, he was in a good position at Deravenels—assistant managing director. He must have had a decent salary.’

      ‘Not really. Naturally he had a salary, Ned, but it was not very much, of that I can assure you.’

      ‘And what about his father and grandfather? Didn’t they leave him any money?’

      ‘They, too, were on low salaries, and the Grants cheated them of their bonuses most of the time, just as they cheated your father later on. There was a small annuity from his father, and now that comes to me. Somehow your father always managed to pay for the upkeep and repairs at Ravenscar, but not the staff, I’m afraid.’

      ‘You pay their wages, I know that, Mother, and you maintain this house. I understand all that.’ Edward shook his head. ‘So unfair, isn’t it? The Grants have stolen from us for donkey’s years. Stolen our money, but fortunately not our spirit and our pride.’

      ‘True. And it’s over sixty years now, to be precise,’ she replied in a pithy tone.

      ‘I aim to rectify that,’ he exclaimed. ‘I vow to you.’

      ‘I hope you will, not out of any avarice on my part, but because Deravenels does belong to the Yorkshire branch of the family, and it always has. I think it’s about time there was a little justice and fair play.’

      ‘Neville and I will bring it about, Mother, never fear.’

      Cecily leaned back in the large desk chair and looked at her son speculatively for a moment, and then she said, ‘I’ve been thinking about money myself. I want to buy a house for you in London, in Mayfair, close to here, and I was wondering how to do it. Actually, I was going to discuss it with Neville.’

      ‘But Mother—’

      ‘No buts, Edward. You’re a grown man, you have your own private life now, and I think it’s about time you had your own household, your own establishment. Don’t you agree?’

      ‘Well, yes, I do in a way. Will has mentioned it several times, and today at lunch he told me that a “set” has come up at the Albany. He wondered if I would be interested.’

      Cecily shook her head. ‘Those sets of rooms at the Albany wouldn’t be correct for you, not big enough, really. No, I think a house in Mayfair is much more appropriate under the circumstances.’

      ‘But that would be costly, I wouldn’t want you to dip into your inheritance—’

      ‘Sssh!’ She held up her hand. ‘I had an idea about how to finance the house the other day.’ Rising, she walked around the desk and continued, ‘Come with me, Ned. I want to show you something.’

      It was gloomy in the cellar, especially when his mother hurried to the far end near the wine

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