The Honours Read online

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘I think insanity’s a very relative concept these days, don’t you?’

  ‘But he’ll never consent. And what if they don’t accept our apology? What if handing her over isn’t enough? Surely we should just keep mum.’

  ‘Neither of those things need concern us unduly.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  Lansley drew a long breath. ‘We’ll give them Propp too.’

  This time the silence held for what seemed like minutes. She listened to the sound of her own breaths, felt them hot and damp against her fingers.

  When Lord Alderberen spoke, it was in a whisper.

  ‘You forget your place.’

  She heard the catch in Lansley’s throat as he inhaled.

  ‘No, my Lord. You forget yours.’ He stood. As he continued, his voice rose. ‘Quite amazing, the things a man will tell his physician when he believes himself to be on the verge of death. The unburdening of the soul.’ He began to walk around the room. ‘Like draining a boil.’

  ‘If you’re threatening me . . . ’

  ‘I am reminding you. Did Arthur sacrifice himself for this, this . . . picayune stalemate?’ The toes of Lansley’s calf-leather shoes spun to face his master. ‘You are the last of the Stokeham line in England. You have a responsibility to assume control of this house and not let some dusky, jumped-up goat farmer come wandering off the steppe and use you as a foothold in his desperate scramble for significance. We were supposed to be gathering an elect for the new world. Now it’s all star jumps and watering your many-petaled iris.’

  ‘It’s a lotus, Lansley.’

  ‘I don’t care what bloody flower it is! That’s precisely my bloody point! Once, we dreamed we could be nation-makers. Propp’s turned us into bloody botanists.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘So instead of kowtowing to Propp, I should kowtow to you?’

  ‘Lazarus. You know I have only your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Spoken like a true Machiavellian.’

  ‘Do you want to die?’ Lansley was shouting now. ‘Because you know that’s going to happen, don’t you? This isn’t about negotiating any more. Propp is prepared to sacrifice all our lives out of pig-headed sentimentality.’

  ‘No! Right from the beginning, the whole purpose of the Society was to –’

  Lansley brought a foot smartly down. ‘He doesn’t care. He’s turned. And we’ve just sent him to speak on our behalf. I mean, do you know what he’s going to say? I don’t.’

  Lord Alderberen was silent for a time.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. We must . . . make plans.’

  ‘The time for plans is long gone. We must stop him.’

  Alderberen’s chair moaned as he let out a sigh. Very quietly, he said: ‘Agreed.’

  Delphine rolled away from the hole. Putting a palm on the dusty floor, she stood. Blood rushed to her head; the ringing in her ears swallowed all other sound. For a moment, she thought she would pass out. She slapped a palm against the wall with a dull bang. She thought she heard a voice react, the upward inflection of a question, but she did not care.

  She would gather up her evidence and go straight to the police. She would have Scotland Yard breaking down the door. Mother and Daddy had been bewitched. Why else would Mother have done that thing, touching Dr Lansley? Propp couldn’t charm the whole of England. The authorities would see him with eyes unclouded by his exotic glamour. He and Alderberen and Lansley would hang for treason.

  She negotiated the darkness with the grace of practice, stopping at last at the door. She pressed her ear to the crack in the door frame and listened.

  Silence. She turned the club-shaped key in the lock and stepped out, into the smoking room.

  A hand gripped her shoulder.

  ‘And that,’ said Dr Lansley, ‘is quite enough of that.’

  *‘A torrent of Barbarians may pass over the earth, but an extensive empire must be supported by a refined system of policy and oppression; in the centre, an absolute power, prompt in action and rich in resources; a swift and easy communication with the extreme parts; fortifications to check the first effort of rebellion; a regular administration to protect and punish; and a well-disciplined army to inspire fear, without provoking discontent and despair.’

  †Miss DeGroot had been trialling this new pet name for over a week (apparently a reference to Florence Nightingale), eliciting steadily more vehement reactions from Lansley. That, in this instance, he did not even seem to notice, can be read as a direct index of his distress.

  CHAPTER 18

  TRIAL OF THE PROFLIGATE

  It was not like in The Champion. She tried to pull free and he grabbed her by the scruff of her cardigan.

  ‘If you misbehave, I shall hurt you.’

  He marched her to the bell button, rang for Alice.

  It was nothing like The Champion. She did not flatten her captor with a hook to the jaw. She waited, meekly. She thought private, angry thoughts but did not act on them.

  Alice arrived. She gave Delphine a curious glance.

  ‘Yes, Doctor?’

  ‘Fetch Lord Alderberen. Mr Propp too, if you can find him. Tell them to meet me in the study. Tell them . . . ’ He wet his lips. She felt his fingers relax slightly. ‘Say I’ve solved the rat problem.’

  She twisted free of his grip and ran.

  ‘Hey!’

  She kicked aside the heavy double doors and ran south, down the west gallery. Several windows were open and a cold breeze swept about her throat. Afternoon sun fell across the hallway in hot golden slabs. She ran past white busts with blind stares, footsteps resounding.

  She glanced back as she opened the door to the music room. Lansley was marching, not running.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he shouted.

  She ran through the music room, past the black harpsichord and the grand windows. She ran into the hallway heading east. She pumped her arms, accelerating down an empty corridor. She ran onto the chequerboard floor of the Great Hall. At the foot of the stairs was Daddy. He was caught in a sunbeam, half golden, half dark.

  He turned, smiled.

  ‘Delphy!’ His face fell. ‘Whatever’s the – ’

  She barrelled into him. He caught her.

  ‘Oh daddy they’re after me I heard them talking they’re going to ah ah to take me away to give me to the to the ah across the channel oh daddy don’t let them take me don’t let them t – ’

  ‘Shh shh shh.’ He rocked her side to side. ‘There, there. It’s all right. You’re safe. It’s all right.’ She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the swaying. She heard the door open. Footsteps.

  Daddy’s chin lifted from her crown.

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  She breathed in. She breathed out. She pushed gently away from Daddy’s chest and turned to face her pursuer.

  Lansley had broken a sweat. A slash of dark hair hung over his brow; his fingers rose and flicked it back into place. His hearing-aid cable was a sinuous black tendril trailing from his ear to the battery on his hip. He tugged his lapels and glared at Delphine.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  She clutched Daddy’s arm. ‘No.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Daddy.

  ‘I am not going to ask you again,’ said Lansley.

  Delphine looked up at her father. ‘He hit me.’

  Daddy looked from Lansley, to Delphine, then back to Lansley. ‘What do you want with her?’

  Lansley let out a little furious gasp.

  ‘Your daughter, sir, has been breaking into rooms – ’

  ‘I never!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Lansley screamed the words, rocking forwards onto his toes, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘Your daughter has stolen keys, spied upon guests in their private quarters – ’

  ‘He’s a Bolshevik! I heard them plotting to bring down the British Crown and – ’

  ‘Delphy.’ Daddy stopped her with a stern
forefinger. He turned to Lansley. ‘Now, Mr Lansley – ’ Delphine noted with pleasure how Lansley flinched at the title Mr ‘ – would you care to explain what is going on? What is Delphine talking about?’

  ‘How dare you – ’

  ‘Perhaps I.’ A voice rang from the top of the stairs. They all turned to look. Propp was descending with that mild, waddling gait, hands behind his back, a slight smile beneath his white moustache. His brass buttons glistened in the sunlight, black patent-leather shoes silent against the soft red carpet. Down he came.

  ‘And how are you today, my dear companion?’ he asked Daddy.

  Daddy’s eye pinched. He nodded.

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Propp’s tone was warm, deep, lulling. He stopped two steps from the bottom, slightly above Daddy’s eye level. ‘I wish to speak to your daughter for short time.’

  Delphine felt a palm at the base of her spine.

  ‘Of course,’ said Daddy. He gave her the faintest of shoves.

  She wobbled, shot him a look.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You and I can talk later.’

  ‘Daddy?’

  He pushed her again, more forcefully. ‘Don’t be rude, darling. Mr Propp would like to speak with you.’

  Propp smiled and bowed. He beckoned Lansley with a tilt of his bald head.

  She backed away from Lansley. ‘Daddy, don’t let them take me.’

  ‘Delphine, what on earth is the matter with you today? Mr Propp is asking for five minutes of your time and you’re pitching a tantrum.’

  A strong hand gripped her wrist and twisted it behind her back. Another dug into her armpit. Lansley leant in to her ear.

  ‘Come along, young lady,’ he sang quietly. She could smell the juniper tang of his hair tonic.

  ‘Daddy! Help me!’

  Lansley began pushing her towards the stairs.

  Daddy frowned. ‘Look here, don’t yank her about like that – ’

  Mr Propp approached Daddy and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘My brother, be at peace. Youth is full of fire. I will find what distresses her so. She will settle.’

  ‘Daddy!’ Her legs folded beneath her. Lansley grunted, hoisted her upright, dragged her up the steps. ‘Daddy!’ She was screaming. ‘He’s hurting me! Daddy, he’s hurting – ’ Lansley wrenched her wrist round on itself; she howled.

  Daddy was talking: ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s got into her.’

  ‘Brother, I understand.’

  Her sandals slipped on plush carpet. She called and called, even as she realised it was hopeless.

  ‘Thank you,’ she heard Daddy say. When she looked back, he was walking away.

  It was not like The Champion at all.

  They did not tie her to the chair. They did not produce gleaming instruments of torture, one by one, from Lansley’s medical bag.

  Alice brought coffee and a dish of ginger snaps.

  They were in Lord Alderberen’s study, the room on the other side of the peep hole. There were two doors, one leading to his bedchamber, the other to the hall. The hall door had a letterbox. These were the rooms in which the Silent Earl had spent his final years – stewing, losing his mind. Delphine sat in the sagging leather club chair. On the wall was a painting of a matador – a very bad painting, the bullfighter clutching some sort of dishcloth, the crowd pink smudges.

  Delphine inhaled, felt the shiver in her breath.

  Propp leaned back in his chair. Alderberen sat to his right, a loose-woven shawl across his shoulders. Propp dipped his ginger snap into his coffee and sucked it. Brown droplets collected at the tips of his white moustache.

  ‘Well?’ Lansley was standing in a corner.

  Propp placed the half-eaten biscuit on the lip of his saucer. He turned to Delphine.

  ‘Now, my dear child.’ His face softened into a smile. ‘What were you doing in the wall?’

  Lansley clutched his brow. ‘What do you think she was doing? She’s a spy, she’s a bloody spy.’

  Alderberen squinted over his little gold-rimmed pince-nez. ‘Doesn’t look much like a spy.’

  ‘They generally don’t. That’s generally the whole bloody point.’

  ‘She’s a child, Lansley.’

  ‘Children can be spies.’ He rounded on Delphine. ‘Now, the game’s up, you little devil. Do you understand? It’s over. Who put you up to this?’

  Delphine forced herself to meet his gaze. He was shuddering with rage. She could trace the dark lines of sleep deprivation around his eyes, see the ridge of his yellowed teeth beneath the dry lips that Mother had kissed, chewed upon, pushed herself into.

  ‘I’m going to ask you one last time,’ said Lansley. ‘Who put you up to this?’

  She looked him dead in the pupils.

  ‘The League of Ovaltineys.’

  He hit her. Something hard clipped her eye. Her head bounced off the back of the chair.

  ‘Who was it?’

  Delphine clutched her watering eye. Propp and Lord Alderberen looked on gravely.

  ‘No one,’ she said. ‘I was just playing, I – no!’ Lansley raised his hand and she cried out, hated herself for crying out.

  ‘Please,’ said Mr Propp.

  She bit her lip, swallowed back a stammer. ‘Ah-ah-all right. Just make him stop.’

  Propp gestured for Lansley to sit down. Dr Lansley adjusted his cuffs, glaring at Delphine. He stepped back.

  ‘Now.’ Propp opened his palms towards her. ‘In your own words, please.’

  Delphine looked from Propp, to Lansley, to Alderberen. She breathed out.

  ‘I was playing in the passageway. I hardly heard anything.’

  ‘I see. You do this many times?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘This was the first time.’

  ‘Oh.’ Propp put down his cup and saucer. ‘First time just today, yes?’

  ‘Umm hmm.’

  ‘Mmm. So today for first time you find door, you find key to door, you explore, yes?’

  ‘It was open.’

  ‘Hmm?’ He cupped a palm to his ear. ‘Again?’

  ‘It was open.’ The club-headed key, threaded on a string, lay cold and spiky down the back of her knickers, poking her in the bottom.

  ‘Open. Ah. And what did you hear?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I wasn’t really listening.’

  ‘Do not test me, girl,’ said Lansley.

  ‘“Nothing, really”,’ said Propp. ‘Are you sure?’

  Delphine lifted her head to look him in the eyes, but he was gazing into his coffee.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why, then,’ said Lansley, ‘did I find her wailing to her father that we were all of us guilty of treason, that we were a pack of Guy Fawkeses plotting to bring down the country?’

  Mr Propp chuckled gently, the skin around his big eyes creasing. He looked at Delphine.

  ‘Is this true?’

  ‘I was joking. It was just a game.’

  His smile vanished. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doctor.’

  Propp looked away. Lansley stepped forward and cuffed her across the temple. He stepped back.

  ‘Now,’ said Propp. ‘Think again.’

  Her hands were shaking. She focused on the pain. Her thoughts sharpened.

  ‘Fine. Here’s what I heard.’ She was staring past him, staring at the armchair’s worn headrest with its crosshatching threads. ‘After you left the room, Dr Lansley and Lord Alderberen said you’re out of control. They said they’re going to stop you. They said – ’

  Lansley hit her again. The glow of the backhand lingered hot against her temple. He stood over her panting.

  ‘Stupid little girl!’

  He was blocking out the light. She sat scrunched on one side of the armchair, shielding her head. She lowered her arms in an attempt at defiance. Lord Alderberen squeezed Propp’s bicep.

  ‘Pure
fantasy, of course, Ivan.’

  Lansley turned to face them. ‘We’ll have to get rid of her.’

  Delphine tried to appear dazed. She slid a hand towards her sock.

  ‘What do you propose?’ said Lord Alderberen.

  ‘I have an old friend, the headmistress of a school, just outside Carlisle. It is a fine, hard place. I’ll tell Mrs Hagstrom to place a call. The term has barely started. I’m sure they will take her.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Propp. He shook his head at Delphine. ‘You must forgive us. We should never have let child live alone in house. This must be very lonely.’

  He smiled under sad eyes. She felt sick. He was trying to charm her.

  ‘So you leave,’ he went on. ‘You make friends. You study. I,’ he placed a hand on his heart, ‘will take care of your mother and father. Your father is great man. His healing is almost done. By Christmas, you return home. This, I promise you.’

  It took all of Delphine’s self-control not to spit at him.

  ‘Well, that’s that, then.’ Lord Alderberen’s doughy blue face was utterly expressionless. Lansley was lying, and Alderberen knew it. They weren’t going to send her to a school. They were going to hand her over to their friends across the channel, along with Mr Propp, and by the time her parents realised it would be too late.

  Delphine pretended to scratch her ankle, drawing the pocket knife out of her sock. She sat back, knife snug in her palm.

  ‘I’ll explain to Anne,’ said Lansley. ‘I’m sure she’ll be relieved finally to be rid of one of her burdens.’

  Delphine met his gaze. She thumbed open the blade.

  ‘When my Daddy finds out what you’ve done, he’s going to kill you.’

  Lansley snorted. ‘Oh yes, all England cowers before the wrath of a frustrated painter. Pah! He’s no father. He knows what he’s done.’

  ‘Lansley.’ Lord Alderberen’s voice had a note of warning.

  ‘He knows what he is. I think you do, too. He has to live with that, and it’s burning his insides out. He should’ve drowned himself with Kung.’

  She jumped forward and swung the knife. Lansley jerked back. The blade swished across the front of his shirt, snagging something as it went. Lansley stared at her. She lunged with the backswing. He slammed his shoulder blades into the wall. She missed.