At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  – Just idle curiosity. I, for my part, cannot believe there is any such thing.

  – You have read Mr Jones’s instructions?

  – Yes. There is an allegation that you have breached the seventh commandment. That you’ve breached, I suppose, the tenth, by coveting your neighbour’s wife. If you can call a man like Pemberton your neighbour.

  – Well, I don’t believe in God if you must know. I’m more concerned about allegations that I have breached our temporal laws.

  Adam was confused. He remembered how he had attempted, successfully, to unsettle Bateman by reference to the physical definition of intercourse and wondered if this was what Blytheway was up to.

  – But, you see. That is my point. As I understand the overall effect of the speeches in Bowman v Secular Society, almost twenty-five years ago, we are no longer part of an Old Testament Christian society.

  – What’s this got to with my predicament?

  – I suppose it means that you are unlikely to be stoned for your crime if proven.

  – I don’t believe you are taking this seriously.

  – Oh, but I am. You see, I believe that the whole process in which you are embroiled is a farce. An expensive one of course. Whether or not you have committed adultery should be a matter of considerable indifference to our courts. Twenty or thirty years from now I am sure it will be. Too late for us, particularly for you. So, I suppose we must make hay whilst we can.

  – This is all very interesting but, as you say, my difficulties are temporal not spiritual.

  – Forgive me, Adam. But you are an intelligent man and I get so few opportunities to have such discussions. My views – as is so much of my life – are in a minority. It is good to have a chance to speak with someone who may be able to engage in the issues. Particularly as it would be in your interest to be able to agree with me. More tea?

  Blytheway reached over and poured out another cup. Jones sat quietly next to him, his pen poised over a still empty notebook.

  – What exactly are you saying?

  – Simply that, in my view, the law has no significant place in areas of private morality. For my own reasons it is something that I have been forced to grapple with.

  – So you would get rid of divorce, of marriage, altogether?

  – Oh, not at all. It is just that I believe that the law should do the bare minimum to regulate our conduct. We must have our lives and our property protected, of course. But women … men for that matter … are not property. I believe that a person should keep his word and be bound by his contracts.

  Adam was becoming angry. He had not intended to pay this man good money for a philosophical debate.

  – This is more about trying to justify your own way of life than anything more honourable. I’ve heard all the stories …

  – But of course you have. You would have to be deaf not to have. But I don’t believe I have breached, in my own life, any code of private morality. As you will be equally aware, I am unmarried and have no intention to be so. But I would not dream of stopping others from doing so. It is just that so many people become blinded by what they think of as love and make unfulfillable promises. I don’t believe they should be shackled to such promises. Love is like water or dust. It flows and blows away.

  Jones intervened.

  – I’m sorry to interrupt. But we’ve been here for half an hour now and I haven’t written down a word. I didn’t get in till very late last night. I want to be on my way home before the sirens sound.

  Blytheway sighed.

  – Very well, Mr Jones. I will move on to more pertinent matters. Tell me, Adam, I understand that you holidayed in Marrakesh a few years ago?

  It did not seem as though anything that either Adam or Jones could say would make Blytheway get to the point.

  – How did you know that?

  – I have two eyes and two ears and a very good memory. I think we all have. It’s just that most people don’t use them properly. Did you enjoy Marrakesh?

  – Well, yes. The weather was temperate. It did my chest good.

  – Ah, yes. Your chest. You have been suffering poor health. I love Marrakesh. This beastly war makes it so difficult to travel. The Bahia Palace … Djamaa el Fna … the snake-charmers and story-tellers. And the Medina of course.

  – Tell me what you think of my case?

  It seemed as though, at last, Blytheway was going to cooperate.

  – Yes. Very well. We must rely upon the petition. That suggests you have been in the habit of committing adultery with Mrs Pemberton at the Stafford Hotel on a given number of dates between the summer of last year and September. Your defence is that you were at the hotel but you were with a prostitute called Betty, who bears a passing resemblance to Mrs Pemberton. As yet (looking at Jones) no one has obtained a statement from this woman. I don’t know, of course, what evidence Pemberton is going to rely upon. We will only find that out at trial.

  – You know about the writing paper in my ashtray with his private watermark on it.

  – And your explanation for it. What else is there?

  – I’ve been followed by Jackson, Pemberton’s snoop.

  – And has he got anything on you?

  – Apart from the fact that I went to the Stafford, no.

  – Is that really all there is to it?

  Blytheway looked deep into Adam’s eyes and he could not but be aware, for the first time, that a ferocious intellect was trained upon him.

  – Yes.

  Blytheway said nothing and continued to look at him, as though he could divine his deepest thoughts. The silence lasted over a minute. Jones, who had been writing furiously for the first time in the conference, found himself caught up in the tension, his pen raised.

  – Is that really all there is to it?

  There was another long pause. A short distance away sirens began to sound.

  – Yes.

  Let me put this another way. I have, of course, your instructions that there is nothing in these allegations. But if you, as an intelligent and educated man, had to make a guess at what other evidence there might be, what would you pluck out of the air?

  Adam hesitated.

  – Well …

  – Yes?

  – As an educated guess, you understand?

  – Of course.

  – I think there may be an unusual coincidence that Pemberton intends to rely upon.

  Blytheway leaned forward.

  – Go on.

  – Well, a couple of weeks ago – the day Pemberton found the writing paper in my ashtray – he was taking an inordinate interest in the collection of paperbacks in my room.

  – And …

  – Well … I think … and I’m only guessing of course …

  – Of course …

  – That Mrs Pemberton has a very similar collection of books to the ones that I have.

  – Is that all?

  – My tastes are rather esoteric.

  – I see.

  – It’s just a guess of course.

  – Of course. I will be able to check its accuracy, discreetly of course, with Mrs Pemberton’s counsel.

  Blytheway ran his finger around the rim of his teacup.

  – What do you think of my case?

  – Well, there is precious little evidence against you. But …

  – But what?

  – If I were the judge I would find the explanation for Mrs Pemberton’s letter to you less than convincing. It is – subject to learning more about your books – the big hole in your case.

  – I’ve told you the truth.

  – A little piece of evidence can make a big hole. I fear that this one lies below the water line. It could sink you. Forgive me for asking, but how much money have you got?

  Adam was shocked. If there was one thing barristers never spoke about, certainly to their faces, it was the wealth of their clients. Although customs would change over the decades they certainly did not discuss, face to face, the wealth of anot
her member of the profession.

  – I have enough to pay your fees, if that is what you’re worried about.

  – My dear Adam! I’m shocked! The very thought! I know I am thought of by my peers as unconventional but there is one convention I do adhere to. I would never expect to be paid for acting for another member of the profession.

  Tears pricked the back of Adam’s eyes.

  – That is too kind.

  – There are so few beautiful things to buy these days.

  – Why do you want to know?

  – I really think you ought to invest in a new suit. It hasn’t escaped my attention that you have been getting scruffier and scruffier lately.

  – A new suit is the last thing I can afford.

  – One needs style as much as substance, Adam. One without the other is quite useless. I know that I have both. You need style.

  The sirens were getting louder, and somewhere, not far away, the sound of a bomb exploding rumbled towards them. The previous night’s bombardment had caused serious damage to Middle Temple with direct hits on New Court, Essex Court and Pump Court.

  Jones was becoming agitated.

  – I don’t know about you two but I want to get down to a shelter.

  – Adam doesn’t like the shelters, do you, Adam?

  – How do you know that?

  – Be a sweetheart and come to the shelter with us – for Mr Jones’s sake – there’s one under the church that I’ve used in the past. I had to break into a run once. I think we had better adjourn this conference until sometime tomorrow.

  They all rose and Blytheway extinguished all but one of the Tiffany lamps and put out the fire. Outside his room all was in darkness and they were forced to feel their way. Blytheway waited until Jones was out of earshot.

  – Are you sure you don’t believe in God, Adam?

  – Can’t we just go down to the shelter and wait until tomorrow to discuss theology?

  – I just find it so hard to believe that you don’t believe in the Almighty.

  – What on earth are you talking about?

  – You see, I’ve occupied the same room in Chambers now for over fifteen years and over the past four or so I couldn’t help but notice that you would go into the Temple Church every working day. But not during communion. In fact, usually just after everyone had left.

  – What?

  – But then again, maybe you’re not a Christian after all. I mean, you would hardly stay inside long enough for a Hail Mary.

  – You’ve been spying on me! How dare you!

  – Not at all. Mere idle curiosity. As I said, I have two eyes, two ears and a very good memory. As for spying, I couldn’t help but notice that, if anything, you have been spying on me since New Year … hanging around Fountain Court … it’s quite all right of course. In your position I might be tempted to do the same. Then again, why you should also be following a woman, who looked to me as though she might be Mrs Pemberton, as far as the church before veering off up towards Fleet Street, I find more difficult to fathom.

  By now they were heading down the stairs into the crypt. Blytheway’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  – I must say it was quite amusing watching that oaf Jackson trail you up Inner Temple Lane. I found it hard to believe you were unaware of him. Hey ho.

  It was pitch black in the shelter and Adam was vaguely aware of other people huddled down there. He lowered his voice.

  – I’d like to tell you a little more about that.

  – No, Adam. It is always wise, at the dark hour, to keep one’s own counsel.

  – Please?

  – Absolutely not. This is not the place.

  Before Adam could reply another voice spoke.

  – For once the old dandy is absolutely right you know, Adam.

  Across the crypt there was the scrape of a match against a box. In the flickering light Adam made out the grim face of Jeremy Pemberton, wreathed in shadows.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  (Thursday 16th January 1941)

  The match went out and all was darkness again. A bomb landed a little distance away shaking the floor of the crypt. Small bits of stone were dislodged from the ceiling and went down Adam’s neck. He felt a surge of panic and tried to turn and run back up the steps. Blytheway caught him as he turned, and, with surprising strength, turned him back to face into the blackness. Then, with almost womanly tenderness, he put his hand on his shoulder and eased him forward.

  – Oh. It’s only you, Jeremy. I’m quite happy to carry on my conversation with Adam in your presence. You may even be able to help. Just give me a second.

  There was the scratch and flare of another match and Adam half turned to see Blytheway, his face flickering in the light, pulling a large candle from his trouser pocket and lighting it. A warmer glow lit the low-roofed room as the flame took. Adam saw that there were seven or eight people already in the crypt.

  – Beeswax, you know,

  said Blytheway.

  – I keep a little supply just inside my room for these eventualities. I never come down here without one. Slipped it into my pocket as I was leaving.

  He placed the candle in the middle of the room so that its light was shared, then looked around for somewhere to sit, beckoning Jones and Adam to follow suit. He found a place opposite Pemberton and wiped the seat with his finger. Outside, the sound of sirens and explosions was intensifying.

  – I do wish they would give this place a proper cleaning. I abhor dust.

  And he carefully spread the tails of his frock coat before sitting down, and brushed his hand down his lapels.

  – Now. Where was I? Ah yes. I was going to talk to Adam about his tailor. I was telling him that he really ought to smarten himself up. Wouldn’t you agree, Jeremy?

  – You’re as frivolous now as you were thirty years ago, Blytheway. I’m not surprised that you never took silk.

  – Oh do call me Roly. All my friends do. Thirty years! Is it as long as that? And still calling me Blytheway. I thought you might be able to give us some hot tips on haute couture.

  – I have no interest in Falling’s clothing. Is he getting ready to have his picture in the papers?

  – Oh, not at all. Adam is a man of substance. All he needs is a touch of style.

  He turned to Adam.

  – Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll give you the name of my man in Jermyn Street. He regards me as one of his more valued patrons, even in these dark days. If you mention my name he’ll give you a ten per cent discount.

  Adam saw Pemberton’s features darken and his mouth turn down. His spectacle frames gleamed gold in the candle light against the silver of his hair. No one else had spoken. The heavy drone of planes overhead, the scream and whine of falling bombs and the staccato ack-ack was intensifying. Adam recognised some familiar faces from Chambers around the Temple. There could be no doubt but that they were aware of the drama that was unfolding before them.

  – Did you have a good Christmas, Adam?

  The menace in his voice was unmistakeable.

  – Not really, I’m afraid. I was rather ill.

  – Ah. That must have been why you came back from Suffolk early. I can’t imagine any other reason. I must say that move was rather unexpected.

  – I’m sorry that I didn’t let you know of my change of plans, Jeremy. It must have been an inconvenience to you.

  – Oh, not at all. A wasted journey for Jackson. No more than that. Our Christmas was mixed. Julia spent far too much money on commissioning a dolls’ house for Agnes, and they spent most of their time up to New Year’s Eve playing with it. I think Julia was getting more pleasure out of it than her daughter was … She should have made better use of her allowance.

  At the mention of her name, Adam was engulfed by an uncontrollable flood of memories. Her bubble of blonde hair and her laughter in Hamleys as she held that dolls’ house aloft …

  – I always wanted one. I hinted and hinted but Daddy said they were silly … there
were all sorts of other things going on with Mummy and Daddy. It wasn’t the money. I think they sometimes forgot I was there …

  – Are you going to get it?

  – Not this year. Agnes is too young yet. But she’s going to have a dolls’ house and we’ll be able to play with it together.

  Adam felt his eyes stinging and held back his tears.

  – How is Julia?

  – Oh. She’s seen better days. She took the children back to the Cotswolds yesterday and will be gone for a few days.

  – What you have done is very cruel.

  – Oh. She’s pretty thick-skinned under her foundation cream. And Adam, I don’t think that you are well placed to speak of cruelty. How are Catherine and your daughter faring?

  All the shame and remorse that had gripped him on Lowestoft station flooded through him again. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything Blytheway took over.

  – I do think that was a rather bitchy remark, Jeremy.

  – What are you talking about, Blytheway?

  – I mean, speaking openly about your wife’s foundation cream.

  – Oh, for God’s sake!

  – I think we all need a bit of help as we get older. I confess that I use it from time to time …

  – You are insufferable!

  – You see. You are comparing the present with the past and that is never sensible.

  – What are you talking about!?

  – I’m old enough to remember your lost years. Those nights when you were in your cups and lamenting the loss of her alabaster skin …

  – How dare you bring Joan into this!

  – The past is never as perfect as we remember it, Jeremy. And the present is better than it seems. You don’t bring back the past by getting rid of the present.