True, a few years ago, a spate of bad weather had meant a dearth of crops, which had resulted in a sharp rise in the price of grain and of bread. People had starved, both here and in the cities, which had led to violence and riots.

Godwin, who spent his nights at White's and the gaming hells and his days asleep, likely knew little about farms and their yields.

"I have not been to Norfolk in two decades," I said. "I have no idea what my fields yield."

"Oh, dear," Rafe said, as though this were the most amusing thing he'd heard in a twelvemonth.

A thirtyish gentleman I did not know narrowed his eyes at me. "Lacey? Not related to Roderick Lacey, are you?"

"He was my father," I said.

The gentleman studied me for a time then seemed to remember to be polite and held out a hand. "Reaves. Preston Reaves. I have the living at Parson's Point."

Mr. Reaves, with his fine suit and manicured hands, looked nothing like a vicar. I assumed he was one of those clerics who'd gone into the church not for the calling, but because there was nothing else he could do. Younger sons who had no hope of inheritance took clerical orders or joined the army, and Reaves looked a bit soft for army life.

In the church, an ambitious man could progress until he was made a bishop, perhaps with a seat in the House of Lords. Money could be had in the higher positions, although a vicar could have a good living if the local lords and gentry were generous enough.

My father had held the living for Parson's Point, which meant that I now did. However, because my family had grown notoriously poor, Lord Southwick had begun paying the vicar's living many years ago, as well as the living for the vicar of his own parish. It was one of those things everyone knew and no one mentioned.

"In my youth, the vicar here was one Dr. Quinn," I said.

"He passed on about seven years ago," Reaves said. "They had a curate for a short while, then Lord Southwick proposed me for the living."