To which sentiment, all eight men present voiced an earnest "Ever and amen" with a hearty, rumbling cheer, though his father peered over at him with a chary, cutty-eyed look of pending disapproval. Sir Hugo had warned him that, should he turn maudlin and weepy, he'd deny knowing him, and leave him to stew in his own misery!

"Quite intriguin', Captain Browne," Sir Hugo mused, louder than necessary, perhaps to draw attention from his son to himself, after a stern, silent warning, which came off, as most of Sir Hugo's facial expressions, as a nettled falcon's leer, before prosing on.

"The best part of a coffee-house in the mornings, with rafts of daily papers. Good conversation, good wine cellar… with decent sets of rooms to let for members-only when down from the country, Members of Parliament, for serving officers, as you suggest, Captain Browne… an establishment that offers only the freshest victuals, so that no one dies for tryin' the fare at a two-penny ordinary, haw!"

"Exactly, General Willoughby," another of their fellow diners opined in a plumby voice, "with annual dues and daily charges just high enough to dissuade the lower orders, but within the reach of purses of most gentlemen. With requirements, mark you, sirs, for good character and decorous gentlemanly behaviour."

The very idea of a reference from one's vicar as part of one's bona fides set them back in a stunned silence for a moment. The fellow was sober-dressed, spare and gaunt-lookin'; was he a Dissenter, one of those Kill-Joys?

Well, that'd let me out, and Father, too, Lewrie told himself.

"Within the club, of course, sirs," the fellow amended quickly, seeing the response he'd drawn. "Mean t'say, run riot on your own… but damme if I'll tolerate hoo-rawin' drunks who drop their shoes and giggle, past my bedtime. Schoolboy antics, sons down from university with all their silly carryings-on!"