Mary doused the candles on the dressing table and touched a spill to the fire so that she could light the lamp that was kept burning all night. Then she crossed her hands neatly in front of her stomach, and gave Robyn a sunny smile. Nowadays, Mary smiled quite often. “There you be, my lady. I can’t hardly imagine as how tomorrow we shall both be sleeping over to Bristol way. Gives me a queer turn just thinking how far we shall be traveling.”
“Sixty miles,” Robyn said. “That’s a hard day’s travel.”
“Not so hard since the rain and snow do look likely to hold off. Traveling in mud is what I cannot abide. Well, if your ladyship won’t be needing anything else tonight, I’ll away to mend the rent in your traveling cloak.”
“First I need you to come into my sitting room, please.” Robyn couldn’t look at her maid as she issued the order. She was sure her guilt would show in her face.
Mary might smile more these days, but she didn’t even consider requesting an explanation for Robyn’s peremptory command. She followed her mistress into the sitting room and waited meekly to receive her orders. The maid’s passive obedience increased Robyn’s guilt a hundredfold, which might have been why she felt a sudden, irrational premonition of disaster. Logically speaking, what could go wrong? How could Mary come to harm, tucked away with warm blankets and plenty of food in the Dalrymples’ attic? But logic didn’t prove comforting, and Robyn felt oppressed by the fear that she would never see Mary again. As they walked into the sitting room, she took hold of the maid’s hand and squeezed it tightly, longing to apologize for what was about to happen, and knowing that she couldn’t say anything, unless she wanted to put all their lives at risk—including Mary’s.
Mary patted her hand. “My lady, be you feeling quite well?” she asked, her voice genuinely solicitous.
“Yes... yes, I’m fine.” Robyn saw William come into the room, moving silent and unobserved toward the maid’s back, a tightly woven black linen cloth stretched between his hands.
Robyn swallowed convulsively, then forced a smile. “I’m feeling very well, thanks to you, Mary. These past few weeks you have worked so hard to make me comfortable and I’m truly grateful.”
“‘Twere naught but my job, my lady.” Mary shuffled her feet, embarrassed but pleased, and at that moment, William stepped up behind her. He threw the linen cloth over her head with his right hand, and simultaneously clapped his left hand over her mouth to muffle her screaming.
The poor woman was momentarily paralyzed with fear, then she started to claw at William’s hands, struggling to free herself from the all-enveloping blindfold, moaning behind the gag of his hand. Robyn looked pleadingly at William, begging for permission to explain to Mary what was happening, but he shook his head in a fierce negative. They had already agreed that Mary would be set free the instant they returned from Bristol, by which time Zachary would be safely in France and Robyn could make as many apologies and explanations as she wished. Until Zachary was out of the house, however, it was imperative that Mary should know nothing of their plans.
“Walk!” he said to the maid, disguising his voice into a hoarse whisper. “Nobody will hurt you. Do you understand what I am saying? You are not going to be harmed in any way.”
Not surprisingly, Mary’s only answer was a groan of fright. William, less sentimental and a great deal more efficient than Robyn, ignored the groan. He nodded curtly to Robyn, and with great reluctance, she took the strips of linen she had prepared in readiness and used them to tie the blindfold over Mary’s head, anchoring the cloth just above the maid’s elbows and blinding her wrists into a loose handcuff behind her back. As soon as she tied the final knot, William propelled Mary into his bedroom, toward the priest’s hole, which he had left open in readiness.
The scratching at his bedroom door shocked both Robyn and William into a split second of total stillness. “My lord, ‘tis Jackson, come with the brandy you asked for.”
Robyn flashed a silent, inquiring glance at William. Surely he hadn’t encouraged disaster by requesting brandy at this crucial point in their plans? He gave a quick shake of the head, which she took to mean that he had made no such order. Mary was squirming and kicking out with her feet, making a real effort to escape now that she had heard Jackson’s voice. Her struggles sounded appallingly loud to Robyn, and when the maid pressed back with her buttocks, she banged the bullet wound in William’s thigh. His face turned sheet-white and he groaned in pain before he clamped his mouth shut, biting off the sound.
“My lord?” The door handle rattled. “My lord, what is happening? Why is your door locked? Be you well, my lord?”
At the renewed press of questions from his valet, William gave up on any attempt to secure Mary’s cooperation. Minimizing the noise of her scuffling as best he could, he dragged her to the priest’s hole and shoved her inside. Unfortunately, at Robyn’s insistence, they had elected not to gag her, so he was forced to accompany the maid into the hole in order to keep her silent. A loud scream from her would betray not only her plight, but the existence of the priest’s hole. With a final swift glance in Robyn’s direction, William pulled the lever and the entrance to the priest’s hole whirred shut. Alone in the bedroom, Robyn realized that deflecting Jackson’s justifiable suspicions was now entirely up to her.
With feverish speed, she closed the curtains around William’s bed, marched to the bedroom door, and flung it open. “What do you want?” she demanded, reflecting ruefully that her role as the imperious Lady Arabella was being used far too often in recent days.
The valet bowed, tray balanced on one hand. “I understood his lordship required brandy, my lady.”
“We ordered no brandy,” she said, scowling at him. “Get out! His lordship is sleeping. Do not disturb us again tonight.” She banged the door shut, but not before she had seen the avid curiosity with which Jackson’s gaze flew around the bedroom. The man would cause trouble if he could, Robyn was quite certain. But with nothing to report to his paymaster but vague suspicions, how much damage could he do between now and dawn tomorrow morning?
More than enough, she thought grimly, pacing the bedroom. Undoubtedly Jackson guessed that Zachary was hidden in the priest’s hole, and that he had evaded Captain Bretton’s pursuit by ducking into the hidden entrance of an ancient tunnel. Would the valet be smart enough to make a connection between Zachary’s need to escape from the priest’s hole and their sudden plans for a trip to Bristol?
Two hours went by before William rejoined her in the bedroom, and she was still pacing. “Jackson,” he said at once. “Did you manage to get rid of him without arousing his suspicions?”
“I hope so, William, but I’m worried. Why did he choose tonight of all nights to come up to your bedroom on such an obviously trumped-up excuse?”
William pushed the hair off his forehead impatiently. “He came because he suspects that Zachary is about to make another dash for freedom. Fortunately for us, he has no way to convert those suspicions into certainties.”
“What if he tells Captain Bretton that another escape attempt is being planned? Won’t the captain increase his surveillance of Starke?”
“Yes, he would, but I have kept Jackson under close watch these past few days. He has spoken with none of his messengers, and he himself has not left Starke.”
“How can we be sure? What about at night, when we’re all asleep? Jackson could easily slip out of the house.”
“You know that the doors are locked and barred, and the windows, too. Moreover, he would need to evade the other servants, some of whom are late to bed and others early to rise.”
She shook her head. “William, in a house this size, there will always be one window that nobody has remembered to shutter. Have you forgotten that I myself found an open window the night I ran away? If I managed to find a way out of the house, you can be sure that Jackson could do so with even less difficulty.”
William frowned, considering the point, then shrugged. “My dear, you are very right to remind me that we mustn’t be overconfident. But even if Jackson has managed to slip out of the house, what can he have said to Captain Bretton? Only that we are going to Bristol in order to buy wall hangings. Captain Bretton is unlikely to authorize the search of our carriages on such a flimsy pretext. After the setbacks he has experienced recently, the captain is wary. He knows my uncle has the ear of King George, and he must fear that I will make a formal protest to His Majesty. A peer of the realm cannot be harassed with impunity, even by the Duke of Cumberland’s most favored minion.”
She ought to have felt reassured, but the worry still nagged at her. “What about Mary?” she asked, trying to pin down the root cause of her anxiety. “Did everything go as planned?”
“Precisely as planned,” he said. “The Dalrymples were waiting for us as agreed. Mary has been given milk laced with laudanum and she is sleeping peacefully. Tomorrow, when she wakes, she will be given food, and the supplies to make herself a new dress. Other than the fact that she is locked in, I’m sure she will find her situation quite comfortable. The Dalrymples are good, kind people, and since they are now too poor to keep more than two servants, both of whom would die before they betrayed the family’s secrets, Mary will be safely out of harms’ way. You need not worry that your maid will receive harsh treatment at the hands of our neighbors, far from it.”
Perhaps it was Zachary’s reluctance to dress up as a woman that was bothering her. “What about your brother?” she asked. “Has he shaved really closely? Does he know how to use the face powder I gave him? And will he be ready to leave before daybreak tomorrow?”
William chuckled. “Ready? My dear, he is in a fair way to grinding a hole in the floor with his pacing, so eager is he to be gone. But enough. We have discussed all this many times before.” He drew her close, linking his arms lightly around her waist. “You are seeing problems where none exist, my love, and that is most unlike you. Are you tired?”
“A little, I suppose.”
“Then you should rest. The journey tomorrow will be exhausting in and of itself, quite apart from the nervous tension we will inevitably feel. Come to bed, my love, and I will try to make you forget this sudden attack of nerves.”
She went with him willingly, eager to lose her growing sense of dread in the sweetness of his lovemaking. He gathered her into his arms, and his passion seemed more eloquent, his tenderness more profound than ever before. When she reached her peak, she felt a moment of pure joy, followed by a sense of loss so sharp that her throat ached with tears.
For once William didn’t sense her volatile mood. Exhausted by three long nights of secret consultation with Zachary and the Dalrymples, William soon fell asleep. His hair tumbled across the pillow, a blond, thick frame for the strongly etched masculinity of his features. Too strung out to sleep, Robyn ran her hands lightly over his face, needing the physical contact. He smiled at her touch, but continued sleeping. Beneath her fingertips, the contours of his face felt hauntingly familiar, the cheekbones clearly defined, the chin square, the nose straight and narrow-bridged. Seven generations into the future, Zach still carried the unmistakable imprint of his ancestor’s genes.
It was unbearably painful to think of Zach, separated from her by two hundred fifty years of future history, so instead she thought of her son, the child she had given birth to, but never conceived. And as had happened to her more often of late, she found herself remembering what she had been told about Lady Arabella during her brief conversation with Zach. According to the family records in Zach’s possession, his ancestor the Honorable Zachary Bowleigh grew up an orphan, because his mother died when he was still a baby.
There was no point in dwelling on the possibility that her own death was imminent, but her need to see her baby was suddenly so acute that her stomach cramped in pain. She eased herself quietly out of the bed, burrowing deep into her thickest dressing robe in an effort to shut out the bitter chill of Starke’s unheated corridors. She climbed the steep stairs to the third floor of the Manor, unable to shake her sense of urgency. But once upstairs, all seemed peaceful, and she opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping children.
As soon as she entered the nursery she could hear Zach whimpering, although Annie was rocking him and crooning a lullaby. “My lady, I’m right pleased that you’re here,” the nurse said. “The baby just can’t seem to settle tonight.”
“Perhaps he’s hungry.”
Annie shook her head. “No, my lady, I fed him an hour ago, just like I always do at night. ‘Tis almost as if he do know that you be going away tomorrow.”
“But only for a week,” Robyn said, as much to reassure herself as to remind the nurse. She bent down and scooped the baby into her arms. His crying stopped as if by magic, and he turned toward her, snuffling and patting the air with his tiny fists. She held her cheek against his fragile baby skin, and his hands reached for her hair, tugging gleefully. When she gave a little yelp, he seemed to look straight at her and smile.
“You’re supposed to be learning to sleep through the night,” she said with mock severity. “Not learning how to rip out your mother’s hair.”
Zach gurgled.
“Yes, well, I can see that you find the concept of an uninterrupted night’s sleep highly amusing. But these midnight snacks can’t continue forever, you know.” She sat down and rocked him gently. His thumb found his mouth. He sucked sleepily, already drowsy from the rocking. His wriggles slowed; his eyelids drooped and in five minutes he was asleep.
“You have the touch with him, my lady, and no mistake,” Annie said. A couple of weeks earlier, she had decided to stop arguing with her mistress over the baby’s care, and instead take credit for the chubby, lively robustness of the new baby. So complete was her conversion that she could often be heard haranguing the under-nursemaid to unwrap Master Zachary’s shawls and leave his legs free to kick. And having seen how remarkably free of rashes Zach’s bottom remained, she had even become a convert to the idea of regularly changing his diapers.
Unwilling to put the baby down, Robyn cradled him in the crook of her arm, and walked over to Clementine’s bed. Staring down at the sleeping child, she wished with all her might that she had never told William that Clemmie was not his child, even though she was sure she had spoken the truth. Thank God she had never mentioned her belief that Captain Bretton was the girl’s father. Clemmie would grow up never having to bear the burden of that particular piece of information.
Of all the many reasons she admired William, Robyn thought that his unfailing kindness to Clementine was one of the most compelling. Few men in any time period would have been capable of showing such easy, loving affection to a child who was the product of their wife’s adultery.
Compelled by an urge to see all the children who had become so dear to her, she went into the twins’ bedroom, bending down to give them both hugs and kisses that they would have resisted fiercely if they had been awake. She ruffled their blond hair, and finally felt the sleepiness that had eluded her for most of the night catch up with her. Yawning, she returned to the nursery and put Zach gently in his cradle. Annie was already half asleep in her seat by the fire, feet tucked up onto a little stool, lap covered by a thick shawl.
“Don’t get up,” Robyn said, putting her hand on the nurse’s shoulder. “Good night, Annie.”
“Good night, my lady.” Despite Robyn’s request, Annie got up and bobbed a curtsy. “Don’t you worry none about the children,” she said. “I will take good care of them whilst you are gone, and Master Zachary will be fatter than ever by the time you get back.”
“Thank you, Annie. I know they’re in good hands with you.” Robyn left the nursery, wondering if she would still be able to nurse the baby when she returned from Bristol. After a week away, it might take a while to reestablish her milk supply. Still, getting Zachary to safety in France was more important than anything else, because until he was out of the country, the lives of everyone at Starke were at risk.
The hallway on the third floor was particularly damp and drafty. She shivered, crossing her arms and tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robe in an effort to keep them warm. She hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her, and she moved cautiously, keeping close to the wall. When she saw a shadow, darker than the surrounding gloom, creep up the stairs, she was momentarily paralyzed with fright.
The shadow took on gray physical form and she realized it was Jackson, fully dressed, and wearing a heavy cloak. The valet seemed to become aware of her presence almost at the same moment that she recognized him.
He gave a start. “My lady!”
She looked at him, ice-cold with certainty of his treachery. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Why were you out of the house at this hour of the night?”
“It lacks but two hours until dawn, my lady.”
“That is no explanation.”
He bowed. “Beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon, I took his lordship’s boxes downstairs to the courtyard so that they can be loaded into the baggage cart. I understood from his lordship that you wished everything to be ready so that you could set off for Bristol at the first crack of light.”
Such a reasonable explanation, and so easy to check that it was probably true. Still, Robyn couldn’t shake the conviction that the valet had been doing more than packing bandboxes and leather portmanteaus while he was out of the house. But to accuse him of running to Captain Bretton would warn him that his role as a spy had been uncovered, so she simply nodded.
“I hope all goes well with the preparations for our departure,” she said.
Jackson smiled. “Never fear, my lady. My preparations go very well.”
He gave another unctuous bow but she didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—because her teeth were chattering and she would not let him see her fright. She brushed past him and walked on without once looking back.
* * *
She dozed fitfully for an hour until William came into her room to wake her. Since none of the servants could be told that Mary wasn’t available, Robyn had to dress herself in the circle of warmth cast by the fast-fading fire. The task wasn’t easy and she was still struggling with the lacing on her bodice when William returned to her bedroom half an hour later, now fully dressed.
“Are you ready?” he asked quietly. “If we can get downstairs before dawn breaks, Zachary’s disguise will be less easy to penetrate.”
“I’m ready,” she said, tying the final knot on her bodice and throwing a heavy, beaver-lined cloak over her shoulders. Her jitters of the previous night had vanished, and she felt calm and purposeful. “Have you managed to get rid of Jackson?”
“I have sent him on an errand to the kitchens,” William said. “Shall I tell Zachary that we are ready for him to come out and join us?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, we’re ready.”
William was gone less than a minute. He was actually smiling as he entered her bedroom, followed by a caped and hooded figure. “Mary wishes to know how she can serve you, my dear.” He stood aside with a flourish, and she had her first clear view of Zachary in his disguise.
The caped figure curtsied, face modestly hidden beneath the frill of its voluminous hood. “My lady,” it lisped in a high-pitched, feminine murmur. “What is your command?”
“No command, just congratulations,” Robyn said slowly. “You have worked a near-miraculous transformation. If I did not know that Mary was locked up in the Dalrymples’ attic, you might even manage to deceive me for a few minutes.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Zachary dipped into another curtsy, but forgot to hold out his skirts as he straightened. His heel caught in the hem of his cape and he would have fallen over if William hadn’t caught him.
Zachary disentangled his shoe. “Deuce take it,” he said in his normal voice. “I’ve been practicing all night, but these cursed skirts will drive me to Bedlam before the morning is out.”
“Speak in such terms and in such a voice once we leave this room, and you will find yourself not in Bedlam but in Captain Bretton’s custody,” William pointed out acerbically.
“Yes, Yes, your lordship,” Zachary squeaked, mincing across the room. “I am sorry, your lordship.”
“The sun is beginning to break through the clouds,” Robyn said. “Let’s give ourselves every possible advantage and get into the carriage while daylight is still in short supply.” She drew on her own hood and tied the ribbons under her chin, so that she looked as bundled up as “Mary.” Fortunately for their plans, the morning air was nipped with hard frost and nobody would question why maid and mistress chose to huddle beneath multiple layers of clothing and concealing bonnets.
When the three of them arrived downstairs, dawn was still no more than a hint of sun-warmed silver far to the east, but all was in readiness for the departure of the baron and his lady. Grooms and stable lads milled around the courtyard, their breath misting in the predawn air. Of the indoor servants, only Hackett and a half-dozen lackeys waited in the doorway to bid their master and mistress an official farewell. Robyn looked around anxiously in search of Jackson, but he was nowhere in sight. She hoped that his absence was a good omen.
Hackett bowed very low as she and William stepped out into the courtyard but “Mary” didn’t merit so much as a glance. At a nod from Hackett, two of the footmen fell into formation on either side of the baron and baroness, for no discernible reason other than to provide a suitably impressive escort. The little party arrived at the carriage. A groom swept open the carriage door, kept closed until now to preserve the heat of hot bricks, wrapped in lamb’s wool and strewn across the floor. Another groom steadied the portable steps. A footman extended his gloved hands to assist Robyn as she climbed in; another footman awaited his chance to offer the same service to William. Once settled inside the carriage, Robyn exercised extreme willpower and refrained from looking back to reassure herself that “Mary” was still with them. Spreading her skirts, she leaned against the down pillows that had been tucked across the seats to provide her with greater comfort.
This was the way to travel, she decided. No more crowded flights on cramped planes, but instead, a pampered departure, followed by a dignified canter through attractive countryside, cocooned in soft, warm luxury.
“Mary” climbed into the coach and trod on Robyn’s foot. “You are very clumsy this morning,” Robyn said languidly, all too aware of the listening servants. “Take care that you do not disturb me again, Mary.”
With a silent bob of her head, “Mary” scuttled to her assigned seat, the inferior position with her back to the horses. The footman took up the steps and Robyn exchanged a swift, triumphant glance with William, before looking away, afraid of revealing too much. William released the window strap and let down the glass, leaning out to toss halfpennies to each of the stable lads.
“Stand clear of the horses,” he said. He waited for the servants to obey, then pulled the leather communications strap to let Aaron know they were ready to leave. Amid applause and a chorus of good wishes, the carriage lumbered forward, iron wheels rattling noisily on the cobblestones.
The sun poked through a distant cloud just as the carriage rolled through the gates of Starke, bathing the scarlet interior in clear morning light. Robyn realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out on a rush of excited laughter.
“We did it!” she exclaimed. “We’re away from the house and safely on our way!”
William took her hand and kissed it in silent tribute. “Mary” watched them, grinning merrily.
“I propose a toast,” he said, raising his hand in a mock salute. “Here’s to the glorious city of Bristol. Bristol—and freedom.”
* * *
Shirley, Zach’s assistant, buzzed the intercom. “Inspector Harris is on the line for you. He says it’s urgent.”
“Put him through.” Zach pushed the sheets of monthly sales figures aside and picked up the phone. “Inspector, this is Zach Bowleigh. Do you have news for me about Gerry or Gloria?”
“I do, indeed, Mr. Bowleigh. Startling news, in fact. It turns out that Gloria and Gerry’s mother was a woman called Violet Taunton, and Violet worked as a nanny for the Baron of Starke’s children during the Second World War.”
So Gerry’s mother had worked for the English branch of the Bowleigh family. The circle of coincidence was growing tighter and tighter. “Go on,” Zach said.
“My next piece of news may come as a shock to you, Mr. Bowleigh. When I found out that Violet Taunton had worked at Starke, I arranged an interview with the current Lord Bowleigh—he was one of the children Violet looked after, so he’s almost eighty now —and he told me a surprising story. Gerald was born in 1945, and his father was an American soldier. It seems there were several hundred American soldiers based in Dorset, waiting to be shipped out to the front lines in France and Germany. This soldier had an affair with Violet, got her pregnant, and then wouldn’t marry her.”
“That’s a sad story, Inspector, but unfortunately I don’t see why you find it so surprising. There must have been thousands of women in Europe who could tell a similar tale.”
“I wasn’t shocked by the fact that Violet Taunton found herself pregnant, Mr. Bowleigh. What shocked me was the name of Gerald Taunton’s father.”
Zach found that he was sweating. “Who is... was... Gerry’s father?” he asked.
“A fine young American officer by the name of William Bowleigh.”
“William Bowleigh? You mean the baron? But he wasn’t an American soldier, he was as English as they come.”
“No, sir, I don’t mean the Baron. The father of Gerry Taunton was William Bowleigh the Fourth, of New York City.” The inspector cleared his throat. “I believe that would be your grandfather, known as Bill Bowleigh.”
“My grandfather!” Zach’s sweat froze into an icy chill. “My God, how can that be? He was the most uptight, honorable man I’ve ever met.”
“You have to put yourself back to that time and place,” Inspector Harris said. “Your grandpa was due to ship out to a major battlefront. Each morning when he woke up, he knew it might be the last day he’d be alive. People do funny things in wartime. Things they would never do in normal circumstances.”
“But why didn’t my grandfather marry Violet—” Zach broke off. “Oh, of course. He was already married to my grandmother, and they had two young children.”
“And that, according to Lord Bowleigh, is why Gerry Taunton’s birth was kept such a deep secret. Your grandmother, apparently, wasn’t the sort of woman to forgive and forget.”
“She certainly wasn’t, but why didn’t my grandfather admit the truth when my grandmother died!” Zach exclaimed. “He surely owed Gerry some sort of an acknowledgment after all those years.”
“Obviously Gerry felt that way, too,” the detective said dryly.
“How does Gloria fit into this picture?” Zach asked.
“Violet Taunton married a carpenter called Hasskins when Gerry was still a toddler. Gloria is their child.”
“Gerry’s half sister,” Zach murmured.
“That’s right. It seems your grandfather did the best he could for Violet and Gerry. According to the baron, he set Violet up in a little flat in Poole and sent them money regularly. Gerry Taunton went to good schools, and when he graduated from university, it seems like your grandpa sponsored his immigration to the States and gave him a job.”
“But he never acknowledged that Gerry was his son,” Zach said. “Not even in his will. There were no special bequests to Gerry, no deathbed acknowledgment of what he’d done.”
The detective grunted. “It sounds like your grandfather never came to terms with what he’d done, doesn’t it?”
“And Gerry suffered for my grandfather’s moral cowardice.”
“You could say that. But at least we have a darn good motive for the scam being worked at your Gallery, don’t we? From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if Gerry Taunton must have commissioned that first fake not too long after your grandfather died. Got pissed off at being ignored and decided to get back at you, the legitimate son and heir.”
“I’m having trouble absorbing all the implications of this,” Zach said. “Where do we go from here?”
“You don’t go anywhere,” the detective said. “And you don’t do anything that might make Gerry Taunton suspicious. I need to coordinate my investigation with the New York City police and I can tell you the paperwork is already proving a nightmare. Don’t do anything that would trigger Gerry’s suspicions until I can get an extradition warrant prepared for Gloria Hasskins.”
“Are you telling me I just have to sit here and do nothing? Even though Gerry Taunton probably spent two years doing his best to destroy my Gallery, and his sister practiced her sharpshooting on the woman I was hoping to marry?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Mr. Bowleigh. And you’d better listen to me if you want any arrests to be made in this case. Sit still, keep your head down, and make damn sure Gerry Taunton never has any reason to doubt your friendship.”