“A moment of your time,” he requested, walking into Skelton’s little office. “I must express my regrets for my intemperate words on that occasion last month.”
“Most understandable, sir.” Skelton glanced up from his papers, just enough for courtesy.
“No, not at all. It was extremely rude of me. I may claim preoccupation, of course, but I know you were doing your duty, and had I considered mine I should have supported you, especially in front of the men. It was deplorable, and I can only plead your forgiveness.”
It rang true. It was true. Dominic would have had no time for any other man who had concentrated on whoring at the expense of work, and the wild need to protect Silas and himself had long since been written over in his memory by the shame of dereliction.
Skelton looked up, expression a little less frosty. “Well, sir, if you will have it, it wasn’t quite as I expected of you.”
“I should hope not. It was not what I expect of myself.”
“Ah, well, sir,” Skelton said with a roguish look. “When a man’s interrupted at his business, he can be forgiven for ill temper, and you were at mighty business there, if I may say so.” Dominic attempted a man-to-man smile, which worked too well, because Skelton went on, “A fine wench, that, if you like them meaty.”
“Very fine,” Dominic agreed, keeping the smile in place.
“If I may ask, Mr. Frey, do you frequent Millay’s often?”
“Reasonably often.” Dominic affected a careless shrug.
Skelton frowned. “Only, I had heard it was suspected of being, if you will forgive me, a mollying ground. You cannot have seen any such thing?”
“Mollying? Good heavens, no. Really? Where is that suspicion laid?”
“I’ve heard it suggested at Bow Street.”
“Well, I can’t swear to every man who uses the place,” Dominic said, “and I do believe there are men who attire themselves as a mockery of nature, but on the whole, Mr. Skelton, if Mistress Zoë was one, I think we’d have both noticed.”
Skelton gave a crack of laughter. “Ha! Very good, sir, very good. No indeed.”
“In all seriousness, I have seen no such thing, but if the place has that reputation, or if one might meet such men there…” He made a face of distaste, pushing his feelings back behind the mask, where they belonged. “Thank you for that warning.”
“Glad to be of service, sir.”
Dominic propped himself on the desk. “You were hoping to find the bookseller Mason there, yes?”
“Indeed, sir.” Skelton looked wary again.
“I honestly think you’re barking up the wrong tree with Harry Vane and that story of the fire. Mason, well, you know better than I, but I know young Vane socially, and he has neither the brains nor the courage for any such plot. An empty-headed young fribble, frittering away his inheritance on cards and cravats.” Skelton was giving him a sardonic look. Dominic opened his palms. “I am well acquainted with the Vane family, as you know. Believe me, if I thought for a moment they nurtured a serpent in their bosom, I should not rest until I, or you, had rooted it out. I don’t think they do, and I should not wish to see you come a cropper over this when goodness knows we have enough radicals to be getting on with.”
“That’s handsomely said, Mr. Frey,” Skelton said, relaxing a little. “And don’t we just.”
They exchanged a little news, since Dominic was no longer dealing with London radicals. “It seems to me,” Dominic observed, “that the North is set aflame by talk of London uprising and London is on fire with expectation of northern uprising, but neither happens.”
“There’s plotting in London,” Skelton said. “No question. Murderous intent to overthrow the Government and seize control of the city.”
“Are you serious?” Dominic asked. The man had spoken with startling certainty. “Are you speaking of an actual, credible plot of revolution?”
“Undeniably.” Skelton gave a tight little smile that jerked the tips of his drooping mustache. “Of course they’re dreamers and fanatics. But fanatics can do great harm.”
“Which group is this?”
“There’s more than one. I’m looking at a set of madmen, Spenceans, who gather at the White Hart in Brook’s Market. Led by one Thistlewood, who was charged with high treason over the Spa Fields Riots.”
Dominic winced. The Spa Fields Riots had been a huge expression of popular discontent and a warning to the government that mass meetings were a danger and had to be stopped. The ringleaders had been duly prosecuted for high treason. Unfortunately, the first trial had collapsed when it became clear that the chief witness for the prosecution was a governmental agent provocateur who had instigated the greater part of the trouble himself. All the charges had been dropped.