"Yes, that does seem to be the case." George agreed gently, touching the young man on the shoulder in reassurance. He knew what it was like to be sure of things that could not possibly be true, or real, like his father's unending commentary. "But I would not worry. You should head home, to bed, and rest. You shall feel much better for it. I am afraid that we were all a little shaken by the news." He told him, reassuring as they walked down the plush corridors. He did not know if the boy was as mad as he, or if in fact the boy was less so, but he felt strangely sorry for the young man. "I shall call a cab for you, as I said."
He was not, however, likely to take a cab. His usual place to dine was only in Whitehall, hardly a stones thrown, and it would be wasteful to take a cab such a distance. From there it was not far from the Council's chambers, but he would not take a cab there, preferring to keep the location secret. "I am only walking to the bottom of Horse Guard's Avenue. I assure you nothing ill will befall me on such a short journey."