The Silent Boy by Andrew Taylor

household at Charnwood and what they are doing.’
    Soon afterwards, they went into dinner. Savill had not accepted Rampton’s proposition, but the very fact of his being here was significant, and they both knew it. Rampton had the sense not to press home his advantage. Instead he talked with an appearance of frankness about the situation in France and the Government’s policy towards it.
    It was almost enjoyable, Savill found, to talk with Rampton on a footing that, if not precisely equal, was at least one of independence. Once upon a time, Rampton had been his unwilling patron because Savill had married his niece. He, Savill, had served as one of his clerks in the American Department during the late war, though he had never been in such high favour as the elegant Mr Malbourne.
    Despite himself, he was impressed by his host. Rampton’s career had collapsed near the end of the war, when the King had dismissed the American secretary and closed down the entire department. Yet, somehow, he had clawed his way back.
    But to what, exactly? When Savill had tried to probe further, all he could discover was that Rampton now worked in some capacity for the Post Office, and also advised the Secretary of State for the Home Department on regulations for the government of Ireland. He let slip that he held a sinecure, too, Clerk of the Peace and Chief Clerk of the Supreme Court in Jamaica, which must provide him with a substantial income. All this suggested that the Government now held him in considerable esteem.
    After dinner, Rampton showed Savill his new library, where they inspected the fireplace he had imported from Italy. They took a light supper in the salon next door at about eleven o’clock. They drank each other’s health in an atmosphere that might almost have been described as cordial.
    Rampton sat back in his chair. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Have we an agreement? In principle, if not in detail.’
    ‘Are we not ahead of ourselves, sir? The boy’s still in Somersetshire, still in the care of his friends.’
    ‘You have the power to change that, sir.’ Rampton took up an apple and began to peel it with a silver knife. ‘It’s in the best interests of everyone concerned.’
    ‘We don’t know what the boy would wish.’
    Rampton waved the knife. ‘That’s neither here nor there. He is only a boy, after all. He is not legally of an age where he may control his own destiny. We may safely leave his opinions out of it.’
    Savill said nothing.
    ‘Well?’ Rampton said, setting down his glass more forcibly than was necessary.
    ‘I reserve the right to defer my final decision until I have met the boy.’
    There was silence, which grew uncomfortable.
    ‘You have changed, haven’t you, Mr Savill?’ Rampton said.
    ‘Time does alter a man, sir.’
    ‘True – and that scar, too. And, if I were to hazard a guess, I should say that you are not as comfortably situated as perhaps you might have wished to be at this time of life.’
    ‘You suggest I am a poor man.’ Savill’s tooth began to throb.
    ‘Not at all, sir. I merely meant to imply that perhaps, like most of us, you would prefer to be a little more comfortable than you are.’
    Savill bowed.
    ‘I’m told that you act as the English agent of several Americans who have property in this country and you undertake a variety of commissions for them. And sometimes also for gentlemen of the law.’
    Rampton paused. He sat back in his chair and smiled at Savill, who said nothing.
    ‘That’s all very well, I’m sure,’ Rampton went on, ‘But in this unsettled world of ours, there is much to be said for the tranquillity of mind that a fixed salary brings, is there not?’ Frowning, he massaged his fingers. ‘I might possibly be able to put you in the way of a position, which would provide a modest competence paid quarterly. A clerkship in the Colonies, perhaps, you know the sort of thing. You would be able to appoint a deputy to do the work so you would not find it