The Honours

by Tim Clare

  ‘I don’t like speaking,’ said the woman. ‘Mr Cox helps me. He, uh . . . ’ She screwed her eyes shut. ‘Interprets.’ Mr Cox bowed modestly. ‘But he adds things. I want to speak to you. Just me. My name is Anwen.’ She raised her cup.

  ‘Where’s Sir Peter?’ Delphine said.

  ‘Dead.’

  Delphine stared down into her drink.

  ‘Why did you pretend to be Lord Alderberen’s father?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘But you said he was your son.’

  ‘He is.’

  Delphine frowned. ‘Then . . . you’re Peter Stokeham’s wife?’

  ‘Widow.’

  ‘You died in a fire. He went mad with grief.’

  The corner’s of Anwen’s mouth creased. ‘Not quite.’

  Delphine could not tell if she was smiling.

  Mr Cox stepped forward. Anwen held up a hand. ‘No, thank you.’ She waved him away. ‘I would like to explain myself.’

  Cox nodded, a taut smile on his face as he stepped back. Delphine heard the hiss of air leaving his nostrils. From his pocket he took a clay pipe and tobacco pouch.

  ‘When I married Peter,’ said Anwen, ‘I didn’t know about the family secret.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. Between each sentence, she took a sharp breath. ‘He told me on our wedding night. The Stokehams had found a way to live for ever.

  ‘For generations, when people in his family got old, they did not die. Instead they travelled to the new world, where they could live, with their servants, and their servants’ families, for all time.

  ‘I thought he was mocking me. Then I thought he was mad. I asked for proof. So he brought me here.’

  She lifted her arms and gestured at the chamber. ‘He showed me the threshold. We couldn’t use it ourselves, of course, but when the first visitor emerged I knew he had been telling me the truth.’

  ‘What about the fire?’ said Delphine.

  ‘I was very young. I didn’t realise at first that my husband was . . . misguided.’

  ‘He was weak and naïve,’ said Mr Cox.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Cox,’ said Anwen, sharply.

  ‘Apologies, Endlessness.’ He returned to filling his pipe.

  ‘He . . . ’ Anwen sighed. She rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. ‘He wanted to break the covenant. He wanted to open up our paradise to everybody. He hadn’t thought of how he would protect Avalonia from people who might destroy it. He was ready to expose the new world to all the villains and thieves who spoilt the old one. I thought he was wrong. But I was young and with child, and I said nothing.

  ‘Conscience is not so easily denied. I was troubled. This did not go unnoticed.’ With a slight inclination of her head, she indicated Mr Cox. ‘I confided in him. He shared my concerns.’

  ‘We were of a mind, Endlessness.’

  Anwen rolled her eyes. ‘He was only the first footman, but I was alone in the Hall. For the first time, I felt I had met someone who understands. Together, we came up with a plan to save the new world.’

  Cox straightened up, wearing a broad smile. He produced a matchbook, lit his pipe, and performed a few leisurely puffs until the shag took. He slipped the matchbook back into the fob pocket of his waistcoat.

  ‘One night,’ Anwen said, ‘the under-butler was off-duty, so Mr Cox took supper to his master. After this meal, my husband fell ill and died. He often stayed in his chambers for days. The servants knew never to disturb him. To hide his death for a short time was not so very hard. Two days later, an ambassador arrived from across the channel. I explained what I had done, and why. I explained my husband’s plans to break the centuries-old covenant and reveal Avalonia’s existence to the rest of the world.’

  ‘But you killed him,’ said Delphine. ‘They ought to have hanged you.’

  ‘The covenant was Avalonia’s most sacred law,’ said Cox. ‘It kept the new world safe from plunderers. He would have blackened the Stokeham name. His ancestors would have been excommunicated. We spared him that.’

  ‘The ambassador was impressed. I received the honours in my husband’s place.’

  ‘Her Ladyship and I,’ said Mr Cox, almost sighing the honorific, ‘embarked on a little folie à deux, as I believe they call it these days.’

  ‘I’m sure you can guess the rest,’ said Anwen. ‘We started a fire, then pretended I had died and grief had turned my husband into a recluse. I had builders construct tunnels and secret passages so I could come and go as I pleased. Whenever I left the house, my face was covered. Servants knew better than to speak to me. We let senior staff go, of course – hired people who had not known the Earl before his, ah . . . hibernation. On the rare occasion someone absolutely had to talk to “Sir Peter”, Mr Cox accepted the role with aplomb.’ Cox acknowledged this with a nod. ‘We would insist they spoke to him through a door, or, in the final years, over the telephone.’

  ‘You’re idiots,’ said Delphine. ‘You should have just said your husband died in the fire. Then you could have been yourself.’

  ‘That would have been easier, certainly, but there were a number of political and legal obstacles that only the 3rd Earl of Alderberen could surmount. My husband’s failure to enter the perpetuum would have caused . . . unrest. The ambassador proposed that, in the interests of stability, we delay news of Peter Stokeham’s passing until we had cemented some alliances.

  ‘I still remember the moment I announced the truth. Bechstein looked like he’d swallowed a cricket ball. But he couldn’t stop me. None of them could. It was too late.’ She let out a laugh that was more like a sneeze. ‘Some of them still can’t accept it. But that’s the thing about, uh . . . ’ She snapped her fingers.

  ‘Vacillating, hidebound cowards, Endlessness?’

  ‘Mmm. They’ll do anything to avoid admitting that the worlds are changing. We can use that. To this day, some of them refuse to believe I’m not Peter. They think all this,’ she indicated her face and torso, ‘is just a product of my arising.’

  ‘The honours manifest in different ways,’ said Cox.

  ‘What about your son?’ said Delphine.

  Anwen’s smile withered. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Didn’t he notice you weren’t his father?’

  ‘He was six weeks old. He didn’t notice anything. I sent him off to India, out of the way. Later, after we had decided it was time for the Silent Earl to, ah . . . ’

  ‘To pass beyond the veil,’ said Cox, with a sweep of his palm.

  ‘To die,’ said Anwen, ‘and Lazarus inherited the Hall, we made contact, and revealed to him the truth.’

  ‘The revelation is a test in itself,’ said Cox. ‘He did not pass.’

  Delphine transferred the cup to her left hand. She looked up, squinting into the shadows behind the two human statues at the back of the chamber.

  ‘Did you have these made?’ she said, pointing.

  Anwen and Cox turned to look.

  ‘No,’ said Anwen. ‘Before my time.’ She turned back to Delphine. ‘Why are you interested in statues all of a sudden?’

  Delphine shrugged.

  ‘Well, then.’ Anwen lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Let us drink.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Delphine. ‘How do I know it isn’t poisoned?’

  ‘Why use poison when I could have you bludgeoned to death?’

  ‘Aesthetics?’ said Cox.

  ‘Enough,’ said Anwen. She glanced at Delphine, who made a show of peering into her drink doubtfully. ‘Oh, very well. Mr Cox, swap cups with her.’

  ‘As you wish. In the interests of diplomacy.’ He held his cup out for Delphine to take. Trying to hide her shaking hand, Delphine accepted it and gave him hers.

  ‘Now,’ said Anwen, ‘this is nectar. Our national drink.’ She raised her cup. ‘To new alliances.’

  ‘And the death of old ones,’ said Cox.

  Delphine drank. Nectar coated her tongue. She felt it filling the gaps between her teeth and cheeks, thick and cool and intense
ly bitter. It tasted like engine oil. Her jaw clenched. She swallowed.

  When she opened her eyes, Anwen was wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve. Mr Cox dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a fresh handkerchief.

  ‘I know you must think badly of me,’ said Anwen. ‘I did not want this violence. Ivan Propp kidnapped my daughter. She’s just a baby. So you see, I had to act.’

  ‘Why does everyone keep calling her that? Baby. Girl. “The child.” She’s an old lady.’

  Anwen laughed and touched two fingers to her mouth. Her smile melted into a look of astonishment.

  ‘You really don’t know, do you? All this time and no one explained to you how it works.’

  Delphine smeared a palm across her cheeks. The nectar had left a slimy film that she could not wipe away.

  ‘Delphine, I want you to join me.’

  Delphine’s hand halted in its passage across her mouth.

  ‘It’s not without precedent. When I first met Mr Loosley he tried to rob me,’ said Anwen, setting her cup down on the edge of the pool. ‘He had a, uh . . . ’

  ‘A certain contempt for death,’ said Cox.

  ‘Exactly. He was brave. I could’ve had him tortured and executed. Instead, I recruited him.’ She smiled at Delphine – a hard smile, full of threat. ‘I’m not intimidated by strength. If we punish rebellion and kill our most powerful, what are we left with?’

  ‘An island of sheep,’ said Cox.

  ‘I no longer feel the weight of Mr Loosley. He may be unconscious, he may be dead. Either way, he has failed me.’ Anwen stood. ‘Of course, you are far too young to cross the channel as a human. I shall have to anoint you here.’

  She reached up and peeled back her stiff high collar, exposing a fist-sized tumour.

  ‘This is another reason why living unmasked after the fire would have been . . . problematic.’ The tumour flexed as she spoke. ‘You will live eternally. You will hear my thoughts. You will feel my pain as if it were your own.’

  ‘Together,’ said Mr Cox, ‘we will unite continents: Mr Cox as the Tongue of God, you as Her Fist.’ He spread his arms. ‘This – announces her Ladyship stirringly – is your final test. Will you serve House Dellapeste, and bring civilisation to the worlds?’

  Delphine took a step back. ‘What if I say no?’

  ‘Then you may go,’ said Anwen. ‘I make you the same offer I made Loosley. If you join me out of fear, your choice means nothing. Walk out, if that is your will.’ She swung a palm towards the stairs. ‘But know this. I will not fail in my quest to rescue this once great nation from the hands of scoundrels.’

  ‘Great Britain?’ said Mr Cox. ‘Not any more – her Ladyship exclaims ruefully – my agents have brought me the papers. Soldiers begging on the streets. Spies in every hamlet.’ His voice grew full and lusty. ‘Honest farmers robbed by bailiffs. Knighthoods sold to the highest bidder. Politicians frittering away the Empire. Landless financiers fomenting war to line their pockets. Bolsheviks,’ he spat the word, ‘plotting high treason.’

  ‘In Avalonia we have something better,’ said Anwen.

  ‘Something pure,’ said Cox.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said Delphine.

  ‘What else? I will set Britain free.’

  ‘But you said Avalonia had to be kept secret! You said it’s your most sacred law.’

  ‘Was our most sacred law,’ said Anwen. ‘And its purpose is to protect us. It is no longer sufficient. War is coming. We must move first.’

  Delphine straightened her chin, hoping to disguise the tremble in her jaw. ‘The army will stop you. We have the greatest army in the world.’

  Anwen and Cox shared a special, confidential look.

  ‘Many – such as yourself – will see the wisdom in following me,’ said Anwen. ‘For those that remain . . . I have a weapon that will prove their equal.’

  ‘Avalonia is one of many countries beyond the threshold. It is a land of great opportunity, but also great danger,’ said Cox. ‘If Britain does not make itself strong, there are . . . factions far less interested in justice than us.’

  ‘A good heart is useless without power,’ said Anwen. ‘If you cannot protect those who deserve your protection, your love is no better to them than callous disregard.’

  Delphine nodded slowly. Her mouth was dry. The nectar had left a metallic aftertaste.

  ‘May I have a moment to think?’ she said.

  ‘Please.’ Anwen popped her collar back up over the growth on her neck. ‘You may consider my offer for as long as you wish.’

  ‘Ah.’ Cox held up an index finger. Delphine watched as he walked across the chamber, kneeling at the corpse of the harka to retrieve the sawn-off shotgun. He walked back to the pool and tossed the gun into the churning depths. ‘Just in case you haven’t learned your lesson. Not that I fear pain, you understand . . . but I should like to return to Avalonia with at least some of my garments intact.’ He flicked at the hole in his waistcoat, smiling sardonically.

  ‘You forgot one,’ said Anwen.

  Cox picked up the Mauser from the foot of the statue.

  ‘Quite so.’ He pulled back the bolt and checked the magazine. By Delphine’s reckoning there was one round left. ‘Hmm. I consider this rather handsome. I may, ah . . . retain it while the young lady remains in our custody.’

  Delphine began pacing the room, her hands clasped behind her back. She scanned the floor for anything useful, preferably a box of matches. She had left her only box in the slip pocket of her bandolier. She noted the length of safety fuse running away from the charges. It coiled across the stone floor. How many seconds per foot had Mr Garforth said it burned at – twenty? He wouldn’t have left himself less than three minutes’ grace – enough time for an old man to hobble back up the steps and clear of the blast.

  Was it possible Cox and Anwen hadn’t noticed the charges? Or did they not realise what they were?

  Delphine paced. She could walk away. Anwen had said she could just walk away. Perhaps they were lying, perhaps they would shoot her in the back, but then, they had honoured their agreement with Miss DeGroot, hadn’t they?

  What about their plans to conquer Britain? A whole army waiting on the other side of the channel, and some terrible weapon. If she walked away now, if she didn’t try to stop them, how many people would die?

  Delphine twisted the hem of her cardigan round her fingers and tried to keep her expression neutral. She could leave and never look back and she and Mother and Daddy could escape to America. Perhaps Anwen was bluffing, anyway. Perhaps she didn’t really have the troops to mount an invasion. What could she possibly have that would stand a chance against machine guns and tanks and planes and hundreds of thousands of British soldiers?

  Of course, there was another option.

  What if Delphine joined her? Immortality. A journey to another world. Delphine felt a sick pain in her belly. She didn’t want to leave England. She didn’t want to leave her parents.

  Maybe, if she cooperated, she could convince them to call off their attack. Maybe she could make them choose peace.

  Except it was too late for that. She was already committed.

  ‘Stop that.’

  Delphine froze.

  ‘Endlessness?’ said Cox.

  ‘Stop tapping your foot.’

  Cox glanced down at his boot. ‘I beg your pardon. I was not aware I – ’

  ‘Yes, yes. Shh. Let the girl think.’ She flashed a faint smile at Delphine.

  Delphine glanced at Cox. He had two fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt and was grinding his teeth. Sweat painted his neck.

  She had to make a decision. She had to come up with a plan. In a couple of minutes, it would be too late.

  But she was sick of having to decide things. She was sick of the responsibility. She shouldn’t have to be strong. She ought to have people looking after her.

  A noise from the passageway.

  ‘Who goes there?’ Cox squawked the challenge.
‘Show yourself! Damn you, I’ll, uh, uh . . . ’ He wagged the pistol towards the noise.

  ‘Mr Cox, control yourself!’ Anwen rose and stomped the rock. ‘You’re skittish as a maiden aunt. What on earth’s got into you?’

  Out of the gloom of the tunnel trudged four vesperi. One was supporting its comrade, whose snapped wing dragged along the ground. The creature’s arm was crudely splinted with a branch and strips of cloth. Its nose-leaf was clogged with clotted blood. The front two vesperi glanced from Delphine, to Cox, to Anwen. On seeing their leader, unmasked, they dropped to their knees, shielding their eyes.

  ‘How dare you enter unannounced?’ Cox’s rage snapped off the walls of the cavern. ‘How dare you lay your worthless eyes on – ’

  ‘Rutherford!’ Anwen dealt him a backhanded slap across the face. Cox reeled, blinked, looked at her. ‘I will not tell you a third time.’

  Mr Cox was shivering, chewing at the air. He closed his eyes, nodded.

  ‘Y-yes, Endlessness.’

  Anwen turned to the vesperi. ‘Please, girls.’ She swept a hand towards the pool. ‘Go. Be comforted. And thank you for your service.’

  Their brown eyes fixed on the floor, the four creatures filed up to the edge of the channel. Delphine watched as they lowered their injured comrade into the liquid. The beast laid its head back, sinking with a dry rasp. The other three climbed in one at a time, closing their eyes as the thick black water oozed into the hollows of their ears, closed over the thistledown that covered their scalps.

  Anwen shook her head. ‘They have lost greatly today. See how they adore me, Delphine. I am the only family these poor children have ever known.’

  ‘They’re not children.’

  ‘Oh?’ Anwen looked at Delphine pityingly. ‘A vesperi can’t fly after her fourteenth year. She grows too big. You saw Mr Loosley.’

  ‘But . . . but . . . ’

  ‘Oh, so now you feel regret? Did you think just because they looked different to you, they were monsters?’

  ‘No, I . . . ’

  ‘So you see it’s all very well to call me a beast, Delphine. I only wanted my daughter back. You and your associates have killed dozens of children.’