Word of Honour (12 page)

'No,' George said. 'I had a good pork pie just yesterday,
though.'

'Hmph,' Jack said. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of
his waistcoat. 'Still, it's hardly an open institution. I don't
suppose you saw many miner's sons there. Or daughters,'
he hastened to add when he saw Caroline bridling.

'You know I agree with you, Jack,' Aubrey said.
'There's a long way for the country to go. We've made
some progress, but some things move slowly.'

George shrugged. 'Well, here's one farmer's son who's
managed to wind up at Greythorn.'

'Should be more of it, is all I'm saying,' Jack said.

'And I'm sure that's not why you've asked us here,'
Aubrey said. He gazed up at the neoclassical façade of
the building. The pediment was severe, looking down
on the portico like a judge on the accused. 'What have
you got set up in here? A soup kitchen? A workers'
reading room?'

'We've got a co-operative running inside, lacemaking.'

'Jack, I didn't think you were the textiles type.'

'We've had a number of families come down from
the north, turned out of their houses when the mills
expanded. The old women used to make lace by hand,
so I've set them up here, teaching others. Output is
increasing and we've got more orders than we can fill.'

'You never cease to amaze me, Jack,' Aubrey said. 'But
what's this got to do with me?'

'Nothing. The lacemakers use the auditorium, but
this place has a set of offices too. Someone has asked to
meet you.'

T
HE OFFICE HAD ONE SMALL WINDOW, AND THE GENERAL
gloom this created wasn't helped by the decor. The walls
were panelled with black wood, the desk and chairs were
heavy and equally dark. Two large filing cabinets – in
dark wood – stood like sentinels in one corner. In front
of the desk, a long table stretched toward the door.

Two men and a woman looked up when Aubrey, Jack,
Caroline and George entered. The men stood, tall and
straight. Aubrey knew military bearing when he saw it,
and suspected the origin of these strangers even before he
heard them speak.

Jack addressed himself to the older of the two men.
'Count Brandt, this is Aubrey Fitzwilliam, who you've
heard me talking about.'

'At last,' Count Brandt said, bowing slightly, and his
accent confirmed Aubrey's suspicions. 'I get to meet your
Prime Minister's son.'

Aubrey was accustomed to this sort of greeting. It
ranked him somewhere between the Prime Minister's
fourth assistant secretary and the Prime Minister's cufflinks.
'Count Brandt.'

While Jack introduced Caroline and George, Aubrey
studied the Holmland count.

He was in his fifties, Aubrey guessed, from the grey
that sprinkled his otherwise black hair and beard. Tall,
powerful, but definitely starting to lose the muscularity
he had once had. Too much good living? His hands were
blunt, well-manicured, but Aubrey could see several scars
that must have come from nasty wounds. A military
background, without question, from his posture. His suit
was expensive, from Maitland's, one of Old Street's finest
tailors, if Aubrey was any judge.

His Albionish was excellent – precise, fluent, with a
good grasp of idiom. Aubrey wondered how much time
he'd spent in the country.

Brandt waited until Jack had finished his introductions
and took his turn. 'These are my good friends, Mr Rudolf
Bloch and Miss Anna Albers.'

Aubrey glanced at George and received a merest hint
of a wink in return. 'So,' George said, 'lacemaking is
popular in Holmland?'

Brandt stared at George. Bloch and Albers looked at
each other, worried, and Aubrey was pleased to have
them on the back foot.

'Not lacemaking?' he said, sharing another ghost wink
with George. 'You must be philanthropists, then, making
a large donation. I always admire Jack's ability to conjure
up money.'

Jack started to talk, but Brandt held up a hand. 'No,
let me explain, Mr Figg. You've been good enough to
help we exiled Holmlanders settle into your country.
Now it is time for me to tell you all why I need to speak
to Mr Aubrey Fitzwilliam.'

More than a little intrigued, Aubrey took his place
at the table with the others. Bloch and Albers looked
nervous, Bloch rubbing his hands together constantly,
while Albers seemed to find it difficult to meet the gaze
of anyone else in the room.

'We know of you,' Brandt began, 'Mr Fitzwilliam.
Various of our members have noted your deeds, your part
in several recent events.'

'Members? Is this a club?'

Bloch's and Albers's agitation increased, and Bloch
mopped at his brow with a handkerchief. Brandt remained
calm. 'Not a club, no. A loose association, a group of
friends and like-minded Holmlanders who do not agree
with the way the country is being run.'

'Which country?' Caroline said. 'Albion or Holmland?'

'Holmland, Miss Hepworth.' Brandt glanced at his
colleagues. 'Please, you must understand, this is difficult.'
He placed both hands, palms down, on the table in front
of him. 'Some of us had to leave Holmland, unable to
endure the situation. Some are still there, in positions
of importance.'

'You want to overthrow the Elektor,' Aubrey said flatly.

Brandt shook his head. 'We want to restore Holmland,
not destroy it. The Elektor is badly advised, easily led.
We want to remove those who are steering our country
toward war.'

'The Chancellor and his government?' Aubrey said.

'Just so. Once the Elektor sees how reasonable our
position is, he will change his direction and all will
be well.'

Bloch cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was a
growl. 'If he doesn't, then –'

'Enough,' Brandt snapped. He shrugged at Aubrey.
'You must excuse us. The Chancellor's people have
treated us very badly.'

Aubrey frowned. 'I still don't see how I fit in.'

'They have much to do here, Aubrey,' Jack Figg said.
'There's a sizeable Holmland community in Trinovant
now. Displaced, dispossessed. Your family's work in setting
up the Broad Street Clinic made me think you
might be able to help.'

'Jobs,' Madam Albers said. 'Houses. Somewhere to live,
our people need.'

'Of course,' Brandt said. 'This would be helpful. Vital.
But it is with influence that I hope you can help most.'

This was something Aubrey was used to. 'I'm afraid
I can't do much there. Father is very concerned to keep
things on the up and up. No indulgences, no personal
favours.'

'We understand. But if you could advise us on the
proper channels, who to approach?'

'I think so. If it could help.'

'It would be greatly appreciated.'

An understanding having been reached, the conversation
took a turn to the mundane. After some chat about
the weather and Caroline's mother's looming exhibition,
both Bloch and Albers were growing noticeably anxious
and made efforts to bring the niceties to an end. Farewells
were made, but as the others filed out, Count
Brandt signed for Aubrey to stay. 'You have some magic,
I believe?' he said softly. Caroline looked back from the
corridor, frowning, but Aubrey gestured for her to go on.

'Why do you ask?'

'We have some members of our group who are well
qualified, magically, but they cannot obtain positions at
your universities.' He scowled. 'And your companies
sneer at our Holmland degrees.'

'It's unfortunate,' Aubrey said.

'I hoped you would understand. A waste of magical
talent is a sad thing. Is there any way you can help?'

Aubrey rubbed his chin. 'Let me see what I can do at
Greythorn. There must be someone up there who'd be
sympathetic.'

'It's important,' Brandt said. 'For our cause as well as for
them.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

Brandt smiled. Aubrey knew a politician's smile when
he saw one and Brandt's came straight out of the
textbook. 'Thank you, Mr Fitzwilliam. I hope we meet
again soon.'

A firm clasp of the hand and Brandt backed into the
office, closing a door that wasn't so thick that Aubrey
couldn't hear the voices immediately raised in disagreement
behind it.

L
ADY
R
OSE WAS WAITING FOR THEM AT
M
AIDSTONE
.

'Good,' she said as soon as they stepped through the
front door. 'I need to speak to Caroline.'

Aubrey stared. 'How did you know she'd be here?'

'She rang me, of course. Yesterday.'

Then they were off, into Lady Rose's drawing room.
The door shut firmly behind them.

'I wonder what that's about?' George asked.

'Probably about the specimens they brought back from
the Arctic,' Aubrey asked.
Or it's about me
, he thought and
he fervently hoped it was the former.

Aubrey and George went to the library, where
George was happy with a selection of newspapers.
Aubrey flitted from one book to another, never settling
on one for long, trying to distract the part of his mind
that was wondering about what was going on between
his mother and Caroline.

It was nearly an hour later – when the stack of
discarded books by Aubrey's armchair was threatening to
topple and do serious damage to a nearby potted palm –
that Caroline appeared.

Aubrey sprang to his feet. 'Are you all right?'

'All right? Why wouldn't I be?'

'Of course. Naturally.' Aubrey tried to think of a
tactful way of finding out what had gone on behind
closed doors.

George looked up from his newspaper. 'What were
you and Lady Rose talking about, Caroline? Anything
important?'

Sometimes, Aubrey realised, a direct approach was best.

'Not really, George,' she said. 'Just about the attempt on
Lady Rose's life while we were on our expedition.'

For an instant, Aubrey wondered if he'd swapped lives
with someone in a play. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Your mother. Lady Rose. Someone tried to shoot her.
That's why our expedition was cut short.'

Astonishment and incredulity combined to overwhelm
Aubrey with a totally new sensation: astondulity.
'Why didn't she tell me?'

'She didn't want to bother you, apparently.'

An instant later, Aubrey was through the doorway,
down the hall and knocking on the drawing room.
'Mother?'

The door opened. Lady Rose stood there, composed,
regal, sardonic. 'Aubrey. That took nearly ten seconds
longer than I expected. Are you getting slow in your
old age?'

'Mother.'Aubrey struggled for words. 'Are you all right?'

She stood back and ushered him into her domain, a
room that sported a riotous collection of her findings
over the years. 'Isn't it a bit late to be asking that? It
happened a month ago.'

'But you were shot at!'

'It's not the first time I've been shot at and probably
won't be the last. You can't go on expedition to some of
the places I've been without being shot at. In fact, it's a
sign of respect in many areas.'

Aubrey sat heavily on a sofa. A large, ceremonial mask
took up the space next to him. It looked as stunned as he
felt. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Your father and I thought it best not to worry you.
Not with your setting yourself up at St Alban's.'

Aubrey thought this over for a moment. 'So you
thought you knew best, where I'm concerned.'

'Now, Aubrey, I know where you're headed. Your
shameless manipulation of Caroline was an altogether
different matter.'

'How?'

'You're not her parent.'

'So it's all right to manoeuvre someone around, as long
as he or she is your offspring?'

'I wouldn't put it as bluntly as that.'

'I see. And my behaviour isn't simply because I come
from a long line of arch-manipulators?'

Lady Rose pursed her lips. 'You
are
your father's
son, aren't you? Look where we've got to from where
we started. When you stepped through the door, you
were concerned and sympathetic over my brush with
death, and now you're all nettled and feeling aggrieved.'