Реджинальд Хилл - Matlock's System

“Right. Question. What has happened to my friends?”

The Abbot shrugged eloquently.

“The first time we met, I gave you what I believe was true information about your friends. That is, that at least two of them, the woman Armstrong, and the man, Colquitt, were in Browning’s service. I fear that you disregarded this information and continued to take them into your full confidence. Ask yourself what seemed to be known by the authorities and what did not. And compare this with what you told your friends.”

“I have done so a hundred times, Abbot. Nothing conclusive appears. Are you suggesting that Browning’s latest moves are the result of this alleged betrayal?”

“Not directly. The timing, I think; yes, that might be. But this was carefully planned, not hastily put together overnight. In any case, he had information which was not yours to give. Names, places, times.”

“Just what has happened? I only know what the tele-news told me.”

The Abbot leaned against the old stone of the parapet and stared out down the valley through which the scarcely audible river ran.

“Our organization was not a tightly-bound thing, you understand, with levels of control and authority clearly marked. In no sense a pyramid. No, it was a loose union of diverse interests — and individuals linked together by a common aim. Revolution. The overthrow of Browning. The repeal of the Age Laws. Such diversity required a focal point. That’s where you came in, Matlock. The Apostate. The man who had the blinding vision which converted him and could convert the world.”

“Who was in this organization?”

“Oh, many thousands you would not know. Could not. But there were four or five main groups scattered over the North. The North West was controlled by an old friend of yours. The Chief Constable of Manchester. Don’t be surprised. He played his part well whenever he met you. He was a pillar of strength to us.”

“Was?”

“He was shot during last night’s purge. Resisting arrest they say. My informants tell me he was shot in bed before he opened his eyes.”

Matlock was silent, remembering the man. And his own puzzlement when he had appeared personally to escort them from the hall where Percy was killed. He really was protecting us, he thought bitterly. He really was.

The Abbot was speaking again.

“The other main rallying points for our cause were the Head of the North East Development Corporation, who has disappeared without trace, and the Doncaster Poetry Appreciation Society and the Women’s Guild of Nottingham, neither of whose ridiculous guises proved strong enough to fool Browning. The President of the Doncaster Society was hanged after a summary trial and his entire committee arrested; while the ladies of Nottingham have either gone to earth or been put to earth. Nothing has been heard of them since yesterday. There have been many arrests in the rank and file, but Browning’s too clever to overdo it. Prisoners are a nuisance, and become martyrs. Freedom with fear is much more useful. His men have let so many of ours know that they are known that even those still unsuspected go in fear of constant observation.”

Matlock shivered in a light breeze which momentarily touched the tower.

“Tell me,” he said, “why in all this activity have the Meek remained untouched?”

“You must ask Browning that,” laughed the Abbot. “It seems to me that here at Fountains we have one advantage not shared by our colleagues. We are a united group. All together. All in one place. To destroy us would need a major operation. As I’ve said, Browning doesn’t want this. He wants to cut the beast’s hamstrings, not butcher the body. He knows we are warned. He knows that alone we are impotent. And though our strength lies in our unity, so does our weakness. For we are easy to watch, both from inside and outside.”

“So,” said Matlock, clutching the parapet tightly, “it is over. You have shown me the Promised Land, then turned me back to the wilderness.”

“Why, the atmosphere of the place is affecting you after all, Mr. Matlock.”

“I want no jokes. What happens now?”

“Now? I think bed, Mr. Matlock. Bed I think.”

He moved back towards the trap, but Matlock stepped smartly in front of him and grasped his robe.

“What about the future, Abbot? Is there any hope?”

The Abbot disengaged himself gently.

“There is always hope, Mr. Matlock. We shall see. Let us wait in patience.”

“I can’t wait too long. I have a birthday. Remember?”

“Oh don’t let that concern you one little bit. We have our own adjusting machine. We’ll give you another fifty years in a jiffy.”

The rush of relief through his whole body made Matlock ashamed. He found himself talking to try to stem the selfish joy which the news had brought him.

“And Lizzie? Ernst and Colin? You’ll try to find out about them?”

“Of course I will. Though I suspect that the first two are either reaping the rewards of their success or paying the penalty of their failure. It just depends how Browning looks at it. But let’s go down now. It is rather chilly up here. I have duties to perform. Only my duties are important here. All else can wait till tomorrow.”

Four days later Matlock was still waiting for this tomorrow. He had woken up the following morning, breakfasted simply but well, and then he had set out across the grass towards the main buildings determined to get some outstanding matters settled. But as he approached the Abbey a smiling figure he recognized as Brother Phillip, the guardian of the porch, had come to meet him.

The Abbot, he explained, had a great deal of work, both administrative and pastoral, to catch up on just at the moment and he had asked if he, Brother Phillip, would look after Mr. Matlock’s needs until an interview could be arranged.

Brother Phillip smiled sympathetically as he said this and Matlock felt his anger evaporating under the charm of the man.

“I see why you were picked for the job.”

“I hope that’s a compliment, Mr. Matlock. Would you like to see round the Abbey?”

“Why not?”

So had begun a conducted tour of the buildings. Phillip had proved to be such a good guide — informative, intelligent, humorous — that Matlock had found himself enjoying the day despite his sense of time fleeing past; time important in any plan to overthrow Browning, and time even more important to himself.

His birthday was now less than a week away. But he had determined to make as good use of this waiting period as possible. The set-up at the Abbey was obviously a great deal more complex than the Abbot had implied and he felt pretty certain there must be other reasons for its immunity from Browning’s purge than those he had been offered. So he questioned Phillip closely about everything he saw, but had to admit that the monk seemed to answer freely with no attempt at concealment. Yet Matlock at the end of four days felt himself no nearer the solution of any of his problems.

The very beauty of the place only made him feel more cut off from reality. It was many years since he had felt himself so secluded from the great cities which now covered so much of the countryside. There was not a sign of their existence visible from most of the grounds which had been exquisitely laid out in the eighteenth century with a series of ornamental lakes, lily-ponds and classical statues. It was not until you reached their easternmost end where the Skell poured smoothly down a small but impressive drop that the distant edge of the multicity which comprised Ripon, Boroughbridge and Harrogate, could be seen.

There was a set of stepping stones or rather slabs over the river just above the fall, and a rather curious incident took place here on the fourth day.