and no doubt Radcliffs and Radcliffes and other kinsfolk with different surnames were busy helping to turn what had been French Atlantis upside down and inside out. Erasmus, these days, headed the trading firm William Radcliff had brought to prominence a hundred years before.

He looked like a prosperous merchant: he wore a powdered wig, a velvet jacket the color of claret, and satin breeches. He had manicured hands, an exquisitely shaved face, and a gentleman's paunch. His eyes were a color somewhere between blue, gray, and green, and as warm as the Atlantic off the northern reaches of Iceland.

"Yes, it's very bad," he said as a servant with the map of Ireland on his face brought in ale and smoked pork for him and Victor- Blaise was taking his refreshments with the house staff. 'T always think it can get no worse, and I always find myself mistaken."

"Hanover has not the feel of a garrisoned city, as it did when I was here year before last. It has the feel of an occupied city." Victor raised his mug. "Your health, coz."

"And yours." Erasmus Radcliff returned the compliment. They both drank. Victor praised the ale, which deserved it. Erasmus waved the praise aside. "You would know what occupation feels like, wouldn't you, from your campaigns in the south? Well, by God, here we find ourselves on the wrong end of it. How dare the Crown treat us like so many Frenchmen?" His voice was soft and mild, which only made the indignation crackling in it more alarming.

"We cost England money," Victor answered. "In their way, King George's ministers are merchants, too. They want to see a return on their investment."

"If they so badly want money of us, let them ask our parliaments for it," his cousin said. "London has no more right to wring taxes from Hanover than Hanover has of taxing London: the difference being that we presume not, whereas London does."