Barbara Cleverly - The Blood Royal

‘And the certainty of swift retribution. A good hanging is always appreciated by the British rabble, let’s not forget that.’

‘A double hanging being irresistible.’

They were doing a lot of agreeing, echoing each other’s thoughts. Joe paused. He knew he was about to shatter the appearance of concord.

‘But the second scenario I was putting before them — one English war hero gunning down another, Royal Air Force and Royal Navy at each other’s throat, the threat of famous names splashed across the front pages, a grieving widow to be paraded before the courts, two fine Navy sons and their careers dragged into the mire by the whole thing … Well, you can imagine how the blue pencil came out for that lot. And to top it all — we now discover that the royal family is about to attend the victim’s funeral … be photographed lavishing condolences on the man’s killers. It’s all too much for the public to be burdened with at this politically sensitive time. The National Character would be called into question, apparently. Englishness put in the pillory. Lloyd George himself has made his views clear.’

‘So a Welshman, in the interests of preserving the English reputation, is prepared to make a pair of Irish lads take the rap for the whole nasty business?’

He looked at her sharply, skewering her to her chair with a stare as focused as a thrown lance.

‘Sorry, sir. That must have sounded prissy.’

‘Prissy? I’d have said hectoring and indisciplined.’

Having delivered his shot, Joe lapsed into uneasy silence. He’d asked for this. Lily was doing no more than putting a sharp point on views he held himself. If he’d been sitting over there on the other side of the desk, he’d have been making much the same noises of protest. Throughout this business he’d encouraged her to speak her mind, invited her to share her thoughts with him as an equal. In his self-critical mood, Joe feared his motives were less honourable. He’d made use of the girl. He’d required her, in her bright independence of mind, to question, evaluate but ultimately endorse his actions. It was with a belated clarity that he saw again the relationship that had existed between himself and his mentor in India. Sir George, in his deviousness, his unshakeable belief in the rightness of the country he served, had been exasperating. His smoothly engineered solutions to moral problems had left Joe open mouthed and spluttering objections.

And yet, Joe remembered the verdict of an American girl he’d grown close to in a frontier fort: ‘Joe is more like Sir George than he would ever want to admit. Give him a few more years and you won’t be able to distinguish the one from the other …’ He’d snorted and denied it but, only months later, here he was, sitting on the powerful side of the desk, delivering a second-rate imitation of Sir George.

What the hell! At the most inconvenient of moments, the rebel in Joe rose up and yelled a challenge. The rebel was yelling now.

‘Get up, Wentworth!’ He dashed round the desk and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Sit there!’ He pushed her without ceremony into his own chair and went to perch himself in the seat she had occupied. ‘Now then, instead of bombarding me with bolshy disapproval, just try for a minute or two to pretend you’re representing the State and its interests. The people who employ you to preserve the peace and see justice done. The sword and the scales, Wentworth — they’re in your hands. What are you going to do for the best?’

White with alarm, she was, for once, speechless.

He began to regret his impulsiveness and looked for common ground. ‘From either side of this desk, I’m not at all averse to preserving England’s reputation, but like you I’m unhappy about the role of those Irish lads in all this. They pulled the triggers. They shot two men dead and wounded two more. They will die whatever you or I do or say. And they will have deserved it. But they were paid? incited? persuaded? to commit murder by a third party. A third party who traded on the men’s nationality to achieve a smokescreen of terrorist aggression to hide his own narrow, personal motivation. I will add the two deaths on the gallows to his tally. The Irishmen, the admiral, the beat bobby … Constable Swithins his name was. He leaves a widow and three children. Four men dead.’

‘I’m glad to hear you’ve been keeping count, sir. But this bill — nicely tallied though it is — will never be presented, will it? As you say — the State interest will never allow it.’

‘Presenting and payment — not the same thing, Wentworth, as any tradesman will tell you.’ He came to a decision. ‘It will never be paid for the reasons I’ve given. But I see no harm in confronting the man ultimately responsible. It sounds pretty feeble to your ears, perhaps, but it’s the best I can do. And no one else, believe me, Wentworth, is going to bother.

‘I’m invited to the funeral on Saturday. I shall make time and space for a heart-to-heart chat with the admiral’s killer. There’s an Indian poet I’ve got fond of — Rabindranath Tagore. He has something to say on the subject of punishment. “He only may chastise who loves.” Well, I can’t claim to love the bloke but I think he sensed he had my friendship and respect before all this. And at least, I don’t think he’ll fail to notice the warmth of my concern! I shall name his victims one by one — I may go so far as to write out their names and head it Butcher’s Bill . I’ll note that it is, for the moment, unpaid.’

‘And leave him wriggling in excruciating suspense?’

‘Something like that. I agree, it sounds a bit feeble. He may not care. May just take me for a pompous fool and laugh in my face.’

Lily considered for a moment. ‘Then he would be the fool, sir. But we know that he’s not a foolish man. He is, though, hardened. It would take more than a gentlemanly ticking off from you to penetrate his armour. You’ll have to pierce him in his soft part …’

‘I beg your pardon, Wentworth?’

‘One short sharp stab is all it will take.’

Joe swallowed. ‘What exactly are you proposing?’

‘I’d say the thing that mattered most to him in the world is the ready-made family he coveted, the respect and affection the boys have for him. I’m glad they’re able to give it and it pains me to say it but sitting over here makes it possible — he’s usurped the place of their father. Snatched it without a by-your-leave, killed four men and ruined many lives to achieve his end. If he puts a foot wrong from this moment, or fails in the domestic duties he’s taken upon himself, he should be quite certain that the boys will be given the true facts of their father’s death. They love him all right — they’d be in a position to chastise him. You might have had your hands tied but you can always do a little fancy footwork. Put the boot in, sir.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Not sure you’re tough enough. I could do it. I will if you like.’

‘Good Lord! What a scurrilous suggestion. A decision worthy of Sir George Jardine,’ Joe said faintly. ‘Come back over this side at once.’

‘I’m out of my depth, sir,’ she said, reclaiming her place with relief. ‘Does this sort of thing happen … Has this happened …?’

‘Oh, yes. The ship of State is a cumbersome but sometimes skittish vessel. It takes many skilled hands to keep her on course. And, in stormy weather, the crew have to work together and obey the single voice of the captain.’

He watched her roll her eyes at his histrionics and grin.

‘Something amusing you, Wentworth?’

‘I was just trying to decide where my position was on this ship of yours — rolling about in the bilges or getting sick in the crow’s nest.’