That makes him pause, mouth going funny around the cigarette. His gaze drifts along the walls of the room, the paintings and the vases and the furnishings all something beyond him. His little flat in London is nothing like this, cluttered with books and postcards and records and whatever trinket Raven has picked up down the flea market. It's homely and warm and kind.

He pours another drink before responding, the chill of the mansion settling in his bones..

"This is the place I grew up in, yes. But I'm merely visiting. I have a flat in London to lay my hat, so to speak."