A Matter of Loyalty

by Anselm Audley

She grinned. ‘Instinct.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I had come to a decision, but it was all down to you. I thought you’d be happier here. If you’d changed your mind about Selchester, though, I should have taken the job.’

  ‘Valerie won’t like it one bit.’

  ‘I think the time has come for the two of us to go our separate ways,’ said Hugo. ‘She may well come to the same conclusion herself, when I tell her what I’m doing. She’ll say I’m throwing away a golden opportunity.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But if I am, it’s for the right reasons. Mr Pearson did something this afternoon, something he knew would result in him going to prison, but he did it anyway, because it was the right thing.’

  ‘If it was the right thing, why will he go to prison?’

  ‘Because it’s brought all the other things he did to light.’

  Her hand strayed to his. ‘Is Mrs Pearson really dead? I thought I saw . . .’

  They’d done their level best to hide Miranda’s body from Georgia and Polly, but the first priority had been to get the girls out of harm’s way. Perhaps they hadn’t done enough.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Hugo. ‘She was the one who kidnapped you.’

  ‘MacLeod told me. He said she was a spy.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘We have rather a lot of spies here, don’t we? I’m glad you’re here to keep an eye on them all. Even if I do have to pretend my brother spends his days poring over a lot of dull Government statistics.’ She paused. ‘Is Leo cross I didn’t save those old books, by the way? They must have belonged to that Jesuit who hid up there.’

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ said Hugo. How like Georgia to worry about something so inconsequential. ‘None of us would exchange them for a single singed hair on your head.’

  She considered that for a moment. ‘Maybe a few singed hairs would be good when I go back to school. I could get special consideration from the teachers. Pulled from the flames and all that.’

  ‘I can see your teachers are in for a very long term,’ Hugo said.

  Georgia grinned. ‘There was something odd there, under the other books. I meant to bring it with me, but then there was all that smoke, and I forgot. It was in code, I think.’

  Hugo was intrigued. ‘An Elizabethan code?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t old. Just a black notebook with lots of strange writing in it. I’d have used it for gliders instead of those old books, but there was nowhere to write a message, I was worried people wouldn’t see.’

  ‘Perhaps someone hid it there as a game,’ said Hugo.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Georgia with a sidelong glance. ‘This is a statistician thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘In a way,’ said Hugo. ‘If it’s what I think it is, believe me, it’s much better burned.’

  Scene 17

  Hugo came out into the corridor to find Leo lurking.

  ‘I thought I’d have a word, but I didn’t like to interrupt,’ he said.

  ‘I told Georgia I wasn’t taking the job,’ said Hugo.

  ‘What made up your mind, if I may ask?’

  ‘Her well-being, for the most part. Everyone’s been telling me how much stability means to her, and I’m afraid I’ve been rather deaf to it of late.’

  ‘We all have moments of wilful deafness.’

  ‘Even you?’

  ‘Even me. Miranda’s real identity was staring me in the face once Plinth recognised her, and I was still dwelling on Jenkins. You said Georgia was the most part. What was the rest?’

  ‘If you’re going to offer a man a bribe,’ said Hugo, ‘don’t do it at a christening.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Leo. ‘I see. Your father would be proud of you.’

  Scene 18

  Árpád had been in Freya’s tower.

  He had come bounding up the stairs to tell her Saul and Emerson had arrived. She hadn’t been quite in time to rearrange her desk.

  ‘No, no, you should not hide this,’ he said. ‘I know that you are not writing a long dull history of the family.’

  ‘Who told you?’ she demanded, quite shocked to hear him say it so openly.

  ‘No one tells me, I keep my eyes open. You know I have met Isaac Asimov?’

  ‘Georgia told me so.’

  ‘I have met him more than once. We have friends in common, I went to dinner with him several times. We get on very well. I even sleep on his couch one night, just before I go back to Hungary. I see a writer at work, a writer of fiction. I see his frustrations, his evasions, his procrastinations. I see the ideas slowly forming in his head. Now I have met people who labour long and hard over monographs. They are worthy enough, but they do not behave like you. No, you are someone who writes plenty, and well, but you have been stuck.’

  Freya regarded him coolly, rather taken aback by all of this.

  ‘No, do not look at me thus. I am not the only one. I do not think anyone here in the Castle believes you, except perhaps Gus, who is a straightforward person. It is one thing to hide what you do from the world, this is reasonable. In my country, now, it would be the only way you could survive, to live in a lie. But you are not in my country, and you should not hide from those who are close to you. You should tell them, this is who I am, and what I do. It is not a dishonourable thing.’

  Freya said, ‘It’s not something I choose to make much of.’

  ‘And you would not be. But to live with people and to keep such a thing from them, it is not right. I think also you know this, but you have a habit not to tell. It is very English. You say to yourself, Oh, it would be awkward, what would they think of me? I tell you, they are good people, they would be glad for you. They would keep your secret, even Mrs Partridge, because they are fond of you.’

  Árpád’s eyes twinkled. ‘I have said too much, it is my way. I forget, you English, you like to come at things slowly, little by little, to leave much unsaid. I shall go now, you have had enough for one day. I was sent to tell you, we are gathering for drinks in the library. Gus would like to celebrate Georgia’s rescue, and perhaps also that his ancestral home has not burned to the ground.’

  He turned to go back down the stairs. Freya stared at her desk, at the same piles of books she’d been staring at for year after year, threads for the endless Penelopean tapestry of a book she wasn’t writing and had no intention of writing. Although it might, for all that, be interesting, when there were priest holes in the attic.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to her desk. ‘I’ll be down in a little while.’

  She listened to him go, then picked up a pile of wordy eighteenth-century tomes and carried them over to her bookshelf.

  Scene 19

  Making slow time with his stick, Hugo met Árpád on the landing in Grace Hall. ‘Have you seen Freya?’ he asked.

  ‘I have just come from her, in her tower. She has something she wishes to tell you. Also, we are beginning our celebration of Georgia’s rescue. There are several people with Gus in the library, also some excellent whisky. There is Lady Priscilla and her husband, Mr Dillon and his daughter, also Emerson and this Saul, who I think would like to thank you.’

  Hugo digested this for a moment. ‘I shall be down shortly.’

  ‘I do not think Leo knows this yet. Where will I find him?’

  ‘He’s upstairs with Georgia.’

  ‘I was on my way to see her. She must come also. I shall deliver my message, and talk to her later. Have you decided what you are doing?’

  Hugo told him.

  ‘This is very good,’ said Árpád. ‘I did not like to say, this Valerie, she is not right for you. When Georgia was in trouble, she took herself back to London.’

  ‘She didn’t want to be in the way,’ said Hugo, a touch defensively.

  ‘There is no “in the way” at such a time. There is present, or there is absent. Freya was present. Lady Priscilla, she was present, and her husband who is so busy and important. This Hampton-Bishop, who you hardly know, he is present. Half
of Selchester, they are also present. Valerie was absent. Do you see?’

  ‘I do,’ said Hugo.

  ‘I think perhaps I shall not be here as long as I thought, now you have found your traitor. Sir Bernard, he tells me the Americans have agreed to give me this green card of theirs, and my friend Leo Szilard thinks he has found me a job.’

  ‘We shall be sad to see you go. When are you off?’

  Árpád waved the question away. ‘Maybe in three or four days. The important thing is, you and I must talk about music before I go. You can make beautiful music. I heard it last night, but I am told you never play. You must change this.’

  ‘I’m no professional.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not. I am only an amateur, a lover of music, and I know that there is music in your soul, which you do not let out. There is in the world now a great deal of ugliness, of desecration. This is what the Soviets have brought, and the Nazis before them. Sometimes to stand against this takes courage, like Mr Pearson. But from day to day, it is important that we do not hide the beauty we have, that we commemorate those who made it, and share it with others. Some things must be kept secret, but not music.’

  He jabbed Hugo in the chest, a friendly jab.

  ‘I have said my piece. But we shall talk, you and I. You shall not slip out of it like a wily Odysseus.’

  Scene 20

  Freya heard Hugo’s knock at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Come up,’ she said.

  It was a slow and painful progress. No wonder, given everything he’d put his leg through recently.

  ‘There seem to be twice as many stairs in the Castle today,’ he said, sinking gratefully on to her sofa. She saw him eyeing her desk, rather changed from the last time he’d visited. It was full of notes and manuscript, the books she used to keep up the pretence of research cleared away to a shelf of their own. ‘I hear you’ve had a visit from Árpád.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He had Words with me. I was distinctly disconcerted, but I think he’s right.’

  ‘Was this about your book?’ Hugo asked. ‘Or books, I should say.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘As much as any self-respecting spy ought, were he going out of his way not to trespass upon your secret. I imagine I could have found out exactly what it is you write, but I felt it more courteous not to enquire. Georgia has no such scruples, of course. She’s speculated more than once, and not only to me.’

  ‘It’s too bad of her.’

  ‘She finds it exciting. She’d be thrilled to know the truth.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I should simply be honoured,’ said Hugo, ‘were you to confide in me.’

  She was still a touch put out by Árpád’s bluntness. ‘I haven’t been left much choice.’

  ‘You could keep on exactly as you were. He won’t breathe a word to anyone else. If it’s any comfort, he had Words for me on the subject of the harpsichord.’

  ‘Quite right, too. You play beautifully.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk, under a pile of books, and pulled out a Rosina Wyndham to show him. He gave a pleased smile.

  ‘Oh, now this is first-class.’

  ‘They’re bodice-rippers,’ she said, not entirely sure he wasn’t making fun of her.

  ‘I meant it. They’re well written, full of mischief and fun. Like Dumas. Leo enjoys them immensely. I should be pleased to have written them myself, had I the slightest inclination in that direction. You should be proud of this.’

  She plopped herself down in the ancient Queen Anne chair she kept for reading in, suddenly self-conscious and eager to change the subject. ‘How’s Georgia?’

  ‘Full of apple crumble.’

  ‘Mrs Partridge will be pleased.’

  ‘I asked her whether she wanted to leave, after what’s happened. She said no, of course not. She’s touched that everyone turned out to look for her, says she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.’

  ‘So you won’t be taking a job in London.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘For Georgia’s sake, too. It’s a kind thing to do.’

  ‘She needs a home,’ said Hugo. ‘It wouldn’t be right to drag her back to London.’

  ‘Are you pleased?’ she asked. ‘To be staying at the Hall.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I don’t know what that job in London really entailed, but I don’t think they needed me. Someone wanted me out of the way, to stop me asking awkward questions. Which is exactly why I was sent here.’

  ‘Saul has every reason to be glad of your awkward questions.’

  ‘I hope he’ll stay,’ said Hugo. ‘He’s had a bad time of it these last few weeks, but I think he’ll fit right in. On which note, shall we take ourselves to the library? They’ll be waiting for us.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Freya.

  They walked companionably down the stairs and along the corridor. On the landing in Grace Hall, they met Leo with Georgia, who was wrapped up in an enormous burgundy dressing gown in archaic velvet.

  ‘Goodness, where did you find that?’ Freya asked.

  ‘Polly found it in a closet in Lady Matilda’s wing. She said it belonged to Lady Matilda herself.’

  ‘It’s rather too big,’ said Hugo, a touch doubtfully.

  ‘I shall grow into it,’ said Georgia, quite unrepentant, though the effect was rather spoiled by another sneeze.

  ‘I think you shall,’ said Freya. Lady Matilda had been a woman of some character, by all accounts. As Georgia would doubtless become, although not perhaps if she had to reach for a handkerchief every two minutes.

  Leo said, ‘Georgia was telling me about the notebook. She has a very good idea of what might have been in it.’

  ‘Which notebook?’ Freya asked.

  ‘Lord Selchester’s black book,’ said Hugo. ‘The one he kept all his secrets in. It was hidden in the priest hole.’

  Like Thurloe’s little black book. ‘Gone?’ she asked.

  ‘Burned to cinders. I shall go up in the morning to make quite sure. With luck, there’ll be a few fragments to show Superintendent MacLeod. Best to get the word out that it’s been destroyed, and there’s nothing left to hunt for.’

  ‘It must have been full of terrifically important things,’ said Georgia. ‘Everyone wanted it.’

  ‘Indeed. I think you’ll find a great many of the odd things which have happened here in Selchester had their roots in that little book.’

  ‘As if he were still alive,’ Freya said, with a shudder. She didn’t like to think of her uncle wandering the Castle’s halls still, full of secrets. Watching, observing, twisting everyone out of shape for his own ends.

  ‘He was a man who allowed his worst instincts gain the upper hand,’ said Leo.

  ‘Like the way he threw over Gus’s mother,’ Freya said. ‘Cut her off without a word, kept their marriage secret, sent her back to France believing she’d committed mortal sin, all so as to protect his inheritance.’

  ‘Indeed. Such a man taints the lives he touches. By writing everything down, he handed that taint on. He made it possible for others to gain that same power, to destroy lives and reputations. Had it been found by Lady Sonia, it might in time have transformed her into an image of the father she hates so much.’

  ‘Worse still,’ said Hugo, ‘it might have been found by Miranda, and through her fallen into the hands of the Soviets.’

  ‘She must have been within a few inches of it,’ said Georgia. ‘Only she never knew it was there.’

  ‘For which we can all be thankful. As to its contents, we shall never know, and I think that’s the best end it could have come to. For Lady Sonia’s sake, if nothing else.’

  ‘She wanted it, too,’ said Georgia. ‘Won’t she be cross.’

  ‘I can live with that,’ said Freya.

  ‘So will she,’ said Leo. ‘But enough of this dwelling on secrets – we’ve all had more than is
good for anyone. They’ll be wondering where we are.’

  ‘You can conduct me down the stairs,’ said Georgia, hastily muffling a sneeze. ‘Red and black go well together.’

  ‘Very well,’ Hugo said. ‘But you’re to be back in bed in half an hour. You’re only allowed out because it wouldn’t be fair to celebrate your rescue without you.’

  She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Can I have some wine?’

  ‘You’re far too young for wine,’ Hugo said.

  ‘If I were a Papist, I’d have wine at Communion.’

  ‘If you were a Papist, you’d have to agree with Polly,’ said Hugo. ‘But the two of you may have a libation, as it’s a very special occasion.’

  Leo gave Georgia his arm, and they set off down the stairs, Georgia as regal as any queen. Hugo and Freya fell into step behind them, as side by side they made their way down through Grace Hall to the waiting company.

  Afterword

  It goes without saying that I never wanted to write this book.

  I was to be its editor, as I had been for its two predecessors. As I had been, often in a more informal capacity, with almost everything my mother ever wrote. I learned my trade both as writer and as editor from watching her at work, from seeing first-hand how a gleam in the eye became a novel. I grew up inside storytelling, and for that I shall always count myself blessed.

  My mother’s death, like much of her life, took us all by surprise. Until two weeks before the end, we had no inkling that anything was seriously wrong. Until six days before the end, we had no idea it was beyond curing. On the last afternoon of her life, I left the hospital with the injunction to track down certain of her notes, so that in the morning I could help her nail down the last few chapters of this book. She had been given perhaps four or five weeks to live, and had every intention of finishing a first draft in that time. Her editor at Thomas & Mercer, Emilie Marneur, had with incredible kindness arranged an amanuensis to take dictation for her once she was moved to the hospice.

  Half an hour later, the duty nurse rang me and told me to come back; she had fallen into a sleep from which she wouldn’t wake. I was able to gather a priest to give her the Last Rites, and to summon my sister and two old friends to the hospital in time to say goodbye. My mother was never one to linger, and her desire to rejoin my father proved stronger than her desire to finish the book.