“Quite frankly, James, your father and I did not expect St John to bring as his guest a man.”
That gave me a moment’s pause. “I see.”
“I hoped you would, for I’ve never found you lacking in wits.”
“What is it you expect of me? To vet St John’s friends?”
“Don’t be flippant. I should think that as the boy’s uncle—and his godfather—you, also, would be concerned about the company he keeps.”
“I fail to see why I should. He’s not my son, and he would hardly look favourably upon either of us becoming involved.”
“He is still your blood.”
“An indisputable fact. Very well, but you have as yet to inform me as to whom this man might be.”
“Andrew Dorincourt.”
The name meant nothing to me. “What exactly is it you fear? That he will lead St John astray?”