Реджинальд Хилл - Matlock's System

Into the room stepped the Abbot.

Matlock glanced from him to the monitor.

“I thought his gestures were a little too flamboyant,” he said as coolly as possible.

“Sharp of you. Shall we sit down.”

He moved lightly across to the large old fashioned desk which stood in the comer diagonally opposite to the bureau. Behind him came Francis, his beard beginning to grow again. Through the door Matlock could see another two or three monks. Francis turned and said something to them. They nodded, he closed the door and stood with his back to it.

“Now,” said the Abbot. “Let us talk.”

You “see,” said the Abbot, “there is and always has been a basic contradiction in the make-up of our organization. This stems from a contradiction in your Age Laws, Mr. Matlock. When you first propounded the idea, an Expectation of Life of ninety years or thereabouts seemed not unreasonable. But two things have happened. Firstly because of gross mishandling of the nation’s economy after your departure, first by Brother Adeste here…”

The old man stirred in protest but Francis took a step forward and he relapsed into a vicious silence. The Abbot continued unperturbed. “… and then by his successor, Browning, the E.O.L. has dropped steadily year by year for many years until, as we all know, it has at last reached the Bible Barrier. At the same time medical science has not been standing still. There are drugs, techniques, which delay the ageing process considerably. But it seems rather pointless putting these at the disposal of those who are never going to be able to benefit from them.”

“To those that have shall be given. From those who have not…” Matlock trailed away dully.

“Well done, Mr. Matlock. I see the Abbey is having a positive effect on you after all. Turn that monitor down, will you, Francis? I must have a word with Brother Duplex about those arm movements. You’re right, Mr. Matlock. He’s developing a style of his own. Well, to continue. The contradiction present in our set-up has always been that the old guard was being preserved with the connivance of the new, who looked forward to similar preservation when their time came. And there has through history never been any love lost between the old guard and the new.

“But this state of things would have continued quite happily, were places such as this merely hermitages where the worthy old could live out their last few years in peace.”

“Places?” interjected Matlock. “Plural?”

“Oh yes. That’s one of the results of the contradiction you see. We had to expand. But more of that in a moment. No, the real trouble was that because the E.O.L. in law got less and less while the E.O.L. in medical terms got more and more, our customers started arriving here with upwards of quarter of a century of life still before them. Look at Brother Adeste here. He should by the estimates of twenty or thirty years ago be at best a bed-ridden dotard, more likely a worm-eaten corpse. But he’s still hale and hearty, apart from some interesting contusions round the throat. The outcome of these changes in circumstance was twofold. Firstly over-crowding. We started getting too many because the oldest weren’t dying. And our customers began to grow discontented. These are men not used to anonymity, to sitting back without influence while others wield the reins of government.”

He paused and pursed his lips as though in private amusement.

“And?” prompted Matlock, eager to hear the rest now. Whatever the future held, he had decided, he must play his part, big or small, in full possession of all the facts.

“We solved the first problem by developing other centres on similar though less magnificent lines. Lindisfarne on Holy Island, Lanercost in Cumberland. Our neighbour Bolton. Of course this made the problem of keeping the secret more acute. Not that we feared anything from the ultimate if anything got out, but local authorities and newspapers might have been able to do a great deal of damage before the muzzle was applied. As it is we have come under a certain amount of suspicion, but never any direct accusation. Or at least none that was published.

“So far so good. But I had noticed in my dealing with the Prime Minister in recent years a growing uneasiness with the situation. While the thought of another thirty years of life appealed greatly to him, the prospect of passing it certainly in obscurity, probably in constant danger of discovery, and most unbearable of all, in the company of men who had been his unrespected superiors for most of his working life, did not appeal at all.

“Meanwhile back at the Abbey Brother Adeste and others began to fret at the bit. They have attempted to assume some kind of vicarious power with me as their plenipotentiary to the P.M., but Browning was having none of that. So more positive methods were sought. Power is a drug of strange potency, Mr. Matlock, as I am sure, you know.”

“I have lost the taste for it Abbot,” said Matlock.

“Nonsense. You are drinking in every word I say in the hope that you might be able to use it against me. Or someone. And so you may.

“Well now, at this point in time some two and a half years ago, just when I was beginning to feel the horns of my own personal dilemma pricking very hard — I mean how best to preserve myself in the developing clash between the Hooded Brethren and Browning — a strange and fortuitous event occurred. I was approached, subtly and indirectly, by a member of the Anti-Age-Law movement, your group if you remember, Mr. Matlock. It was the President of the Doncaster Poetry Appreciation Society as a matter of fact, up here allegedly to have a word with Brother Michelangelo, one of our genuinely religious brethren with some claims to being a minor Minor Poet. This man paid a courtesy call on me. I soon realized he was looking for an opportunity to sound me out on certain topics. I encouraged him, gave the kind of answer I saw he wanted, and soon I was being invited to join your conspiracy. A very naive kind of man really. I cannot but feel he deserved his fate, whatever it was.

“At first I was merely amused by the irony of the situation. But soon I began to see in it a kind of insurance against any possible move Browning might make against us. I told Browning I had been approached, of course. He probably knew already. Indeed he might have arranged it. Anyway, he advised me, as I hoped, to join.”

Mixed with his revulsion, Matlock felt a strong sense of relief. This seemed to let Lizzie and Ernst off the hook.

“So it was you who betrayed us,” he half whispered.

“Oh no. Not always. I had to give him a lot of information, of course. But I was only one of a thousand sources. As far as you’re concerned, Mr. Matlock, I have been very tight-lipped. Any information about your activities came from other sources, probably those I have suggested to you already.

“No, I was very interested in making the Anti-A’s a going concern. I found a considerable amount of enthusiasm, often positively militant, among the Unhooded Brothers. People like Brother Phillip for instance. He’s a great fan of yours. Of course they don’t know about Brother Adeste, and the others; I don’t quite know how they’d take that. But they’re tremendously useful as guards and patrols. And of course I have my own picked band of Brothers led by Francis here whose loyalty is to me and me alone. Mercenaries you might call them. But not ungodly men for all that, eh Francis?”

Francis smiled, his eyes still fixed on Carswell who sat still, but taut as a spring, in the great armchair.

“The Hooded Chapter, of course, were kept abreast of events. At least, as much as I thought it good for them to know.”

Carswell moved then, squirming with hate.