Bates bowed, not without a tinge of mockery. “I am glad to merit your grace’s approval,” said he dryly. There was a strain of humorous insolence in the fellow, of which the Duke was disposed to be tolerant; perhaps because nothing else was possible with one so intimately acquainted with his conscience.
“Aye. Ye’re a trustworthy rogue. The house will do admirably, though I should have preferred a less populous district.”
“If things continue as at present, your grace should have no cause for complaint on that score. Soon the City will be the most depopulated spot in England. Already more than half the houses in Knight Ryder Street are empty. I trust your grace is not thinking of residing there.”
“Not ... not exactly.” His grace was frowning, thoughtfully. “There’s no infection in the street, I hope?”
“Not yet. But there’s an abundant fear of it, as everywhere else in the City. This merchant in Fenchurch Street didn’t trouble to conceal the opinion that I was crazy to be seeking a house in London at such a time.”
“Pooh, pooh!” His grace dismissed the matter of fear contemptuously. “These cits frighten themselves into the plague. It’s opportune enough. It will serve to keep men’s minds off the concerns of their neighbours. I want no spying on me in Knight Ryder Street. To-morrow, Bates, you’ll seek this merchant and engage the house—and ye’re to acquire the tenancy of it in your own name. Ye understand? My name is not to be mentioned. To avoid questions you’ll pay him six months’ rent at once.”
Bates bowed. “Perfectly, your grace.”
His grace leaned back in his great chair, and considered his servant through half-closed, slyly smiling eyes.
“You’ll have guessed, of course, the purpose for which I am acquiring this house.”
“I should never presume to guess any purpose of your grace’s.”