Chapter Eighteen
Lord Ramsey was a man who lived with one foot squarely planted in another century. As Duncan was escorted, his hands tightly shackled, into the first-floor chambers of the Gemeinhaus now relinquished to Ramsey, he recalled his first visit to the patron’s mansion in New York. The dominant portrait had been one of old King James. Here he saw that Ramsey had not just borrowed the room from the Germans, he had transformed it into a peculiarly English shrine. Two small oil paintings in gilt frames leaned against the wall on a sideboard, one of a castle, no doubt an ancestral seat, the other a likeness of William and Mary. On the sideboard stood ornate glass wine goblets and a pair of intricately brocaded gloves that once might have been worn by the dandy Inigo Jones in the cou
