He sighed as a footman set down the platter of roast mutton in rosemary sauce and offered Gabriel a silver carving knife.
It was going to be a very long evening.
Fitz did his best to carry the conversation, though it was an uphill battle with Uncle Roman brooding at one end of the table, and Gabriel glaring at him from the other.An hour went by while they ate mutton and Fitz nattered on about their travels and the strange customs of birds.
The footmen did another remove, then brought out the rest of the savories: dish after dish of pickled beets and spears of pickled carrot, calf’s foot jelly in the shape of a rose, buttered peas flecked with mint, turnips glazed in honey and sherry, and a variety of cheeses.
Through it all, Sir Colin kept an attentive silence.He ate placidly, his unremarkable face showing nothing more than a polite interest in the food and the other guests.
But as the night drew on, the tension coiling round Gabriel’s ribs squeezed tighter and tighter.Sir Colin seemed to be waiting for something.
Or perhaps it was Gabriel who was waiting, unable to do more than push his food around his plate.His every sense was trained on the dining room door.When would it happen?
Dessert came.More cheeses, and sweet jellies flavored with wine and red currants alongside a towering plum cake decorated with marzipan rosettes.There were wedges of sliced citrus sparkling with sugar, plucked from Thornecliff’s orangery.
The footmen poured a sweet wine to accompany it, and still, no news came.Lucy and Caroline hadn’t come back downstairs either, and Gabriel wished he could go upstairs to check on her, but he felt rooted to his seat with suspense.
By the time the footmen offered port and cigars, Gabriel was ready to gnaw his own arm off if it would enable him to escape this damned evening.
Sir Colin declined the cigar but took the port, though he didn’t drink it.He merely tilted the cut crystal from side to side, making the port spark ruby fire in the candlelight.He met Gabriel’s eyes over the glass and smiled faintly for the first time.
“What an interesting evening you have provided,” he said softly.His eyes were bright and impenetrable.“I have rarely seen such a fine performance.”
Gabriel’s spine wanted to pull rigidly straight, all the tension in him jerking him upright, but he forced himself to give a languid smile.“Always happy to entertain a civil servant.I haven’t seen His Majesty in an age.Perhaps we should invite him to Thornecliff next.What is it you do for the king, again?”
He’d have liked to make Sir Colin squirm at the reminder that Gabriel was on familiar terms with the king, but Sir Colin merely tilted his port glass the other way.“It is my job to administer the king’s justice,” he replied.“No matter who that justice happens to fall upon.”
A chill ran under Gabriel’s skin, but he didn’t let it show.“Sounds like a dangerous job.What if you get it wrong?Accuse the wrong person?”
Sir Colin tilted the glass the other direction.Gabriel came within a hairsbreadth of striking it from his hand.He imagined the sound of the crystal shattering against the wall with vivid precision.
“I am never wrong,” Sir Colin said, utterly without pride.“Do you know why, Your Grace?”
When Gabriel swallowed, it felt as though the shards of cut crystal from his imagination lined his throat.“Why?”
“Because I am patient.”Sir Colin’s head turned toward the door a fraction of a second before the butler appeared.“Ah.Here we are.”
So he had been waiting for something, Gabriel thought with a rising sense of foreboding.A quick glance down the table showed a similar unease pressing Uncle Roman’s brows into a stern line.
“A message for Sir Colin,” intoned the butler, looking a trifle beleaguered.“This…person insisted upon delivering the message himself, Your Grace.I do apologize for the interruption.”
“Not at all,” Gabriel said automatically.“Let him come forward.”
A squalid little man stepped out from behind Mr.Spofford, looking as though he’d quite like to spit at the butler’s feet in thanks for having been kept waiting.He was solidly built through the torso, with the somewhat spindly legs of a man who did most of his talking with his fists, and he wore a frankly offensive checked hat.
“Mr.Obadiah Bridges, Yer Graces.Here on important business, I am,” he boasted, though when he caught sight of Sir Colin’s expressionless face, he became meek.
“What is it, Mr.Bridges?”Sir Colin asked calmly.“You may speak plainly.I think we will all be interested to hear your news.”
Puffing his chest out importantly, Mr.Bridges said, “Well, as to that, there’s been another robbery, ’asn’t there?Mere moments ago, ‘long the Baff Road, just t’other side of Lambourn.A heavy purse and a silver and opal ring snaffled off a Mr.Graves, traveling with his daughter.”
“Good Lord,” said Uncle Roman, playing his part.“Who is the thief?”
“That famous highwayman, The Gentle Rogue,” said Mr.Bridges with obvious relish.
“Was he captured?”Gabriel cut in, unable to bear the tension.
Mr.Bridgers paused, seemed to enjoy the taut silence of his rapt audience.“Nah.Got clean away, he did.”
