Thornbury closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked at Edmund again, longer this time.
"You're Garrow's son."
"Yes, my lord."
"And this is against your father."
"Yes, my lord."
The Earl was silent. Then he stepped aside on the stair.
"I'll wait in the courtyard," he said to his sister. "When it's over, you'll come home, and we'll talk about it. I haven't agreed to anything."
"I know," said Sophia, and touched his arm as she passed him.
XI
The Board room of the Victualling Commissioners was long and high and full of light, with tall windows over the river and a painted ceiling of Britannia receiving the fruits of the sea from a number of muscular tritons. Down the middle ran a table covered in green baize. Seven commissioners sat on its far side in black coats. In the centre sat Sir Ralph Tennant, the Chairman, a lean, elderly, precise man with a white queue, who had been a purser in the American war and was rumoured never to have forgotten the price of a pound of cheese. In front of him, on a sheet of blotting paper, lay the contract: six skins of parchment engrossed in a copperplate hand and tied with green silk. A stick of red wax and the Board's brass seal lay beside it. A clerk stood ready with a taper.
Sir Josiah Garrow sat at the near end of the table, in the chair reserved for the contractor. Pruett stood behind him with the satchel. Sir Josiah did not turn his head when the door opened. Edmund saw that his hands were flat on the green baize, perfectly still, and that the knuckles were white.
The clock over the fireplace said nineteen minutes to twelve.