A rising wind spattered rain against the panes and rattled the frame of the tiny window with its view of Whitehall. Watters slammed a hand on the pile of papers on his desk as the draught threatened to skiff them onto the floor.
"Blasted wind!" Running his gaze over the desk, he lifted a bottle of ink and placed it on the papers. "We"ll have to get a better office." Lifting a candle, he applied the flame to the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe, puffing until it glowed red. "When the world is glum," he said, "the only consolation is a good smoke." He looked up, "you remember that William when that woman of yours starts giving you trouble."
"Angela will never give me trouble," Silver said. "She"s a trump."
"Wait until you"re married to her." Watters shielded the guttering candle from the d
