Angels in the Gloom (41 page)

“I’ll do the right thing,” he promised. He meant it intensely, for her sake as well as his own. “I’ll go to London tomorrow, and speak to the people who can deal with it, but not here, not Inspector Perth. I don’t have the kind of proof he would need. It’s just my word, at the moment.”

She reached across quickly and touched his hand, then gave a little smile, and nodded.

“Thank you for taking me,” he acknowledged her help, and got out of the car. He looked back at her for a moment and saw her smiling at him, the tears wet on her cheeks in the lamplight. He turned and went inside.

In the morning he took the bus to Cambridge, and then the train to London. He had told Hannah that it was business, but he had not told her the nature of it. She saw the darkness in his face and she did not ask.

He had no idea how long he would be gone, but he had a key to Matthew’s flat and if he had to stay in London, then he would do, as long as it was required until Admiral Hall of naval intelligence would see him. He would not trust Calder Shearing, because he knew that Matthew did not. This must go as high as he was able to reach. He still half hoped that there would be someone who could prove to him that he was wrong. He would look like a disloyal fool, but he could deal with his own weakness, blame himself and execute the appropriate penance. It would still be better than facing a truth as bitter as that which he knew his mind already accepted.

He went to naval intelligence. He knew where it was from his previous experience the year before, after the business at Gallipoli. Of course it was a different man who met him this time.

“Yes, sir?” the man asked blandly.

Joseph gave him his name, rank, and regiment, and said that Matthew was his brother. “I have information regarding the murder of Theo Blaine at the Scientific Establishment in Cambridgeshire,” he went on. “I can repeat it only to Admiral Hall.”

“I’m sorry, sir, that is not possible,” the man said immediately. “If you would like to write it down it will be submitted in due course.”

Joseph kept his temper only with the greatest difficulty. It was a kind of absurd nightmare that this dreadful task should be so difficult, as if fate were testing his resolve.

“The matter is in regard to immediate danger threatening a device currently being tested in sea trials on the HMS Cormorant,” he told the man.

That provided the result he wanted. Quarter of an hour later he was in the office of Admiral “Blinker” Hall, a short, robust man with a keen face and a shock of white hair. It was apparent within minutes how his nickname had been earned.

“Right, Captain Reavley, what is it?” Hall asked bluntly. “And don’t waste time explaining, I know perfectly well who you are. Well done on the Military Cross.”

“Thank you, sir. I know who killed Theo Blaine, and I fear that I know why. It appears to have nothing to do with the Germans.”

Hall frowned at him. “You had better sit down and tell me exactly what you mean.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want to know how I reached…”

“No. Just tell me who did what, and I shall ask you what I cannot deduce for myself.”

As briefly as he could, Joseph recounted what he believed to have happened. Hall stopped him every time he needed proof, or the process of his reasoning was unclear, but that did not happen often. The more Joseph laid out his knowledge the more hideously plain it became.

“And I believe you are testing the device now,” he finished. “When it works, and Corcoran does not need Ben Morven anymore, then I’m afraid he may either kill him, or else try to turn him in for the murder of Blaine,” he finished. His chest felt tight, as if he could not draw air into his lungs. Put as baldly as that it was logically inescapable, and yet emotionally he still felt as if he had betrayed the past and somehow broken a thing of infinite value that was not his alone, but belonged to his whole family. Most especially it belonged to Matthew, and he would not be forgiven for destroying it. He had created immeasurable pain, and he should have found some way to avoid it.

“That will not happen,” Hall said quietly.

“Yes, it will,” Joseph contradicted him. “As soon as the Cormorant returns and he knows it was successful.”

Hall looked at him steadily, his eyes bright and sad. “It will not be successful. Corcoran could not complete it. Mrs. Blaine is right, he has not the brilliance Blaine had. He thought he could do the last little bit himself, but he misjudged his ability. He killed Blaine too soon.”

Joseph was stunned. “You mean we… we’ve lost the invention?

“Yes.”

He refused to grasp it.

“But we’re testing it! On the Cormorant…”

“In the hope that the Germans will try to steal it.” A flash of bleak humor touched Hall’s face. “Then we might at least find the leak from the Establishment. But if it was Corcoran himself who killed Blaine, and I believe you, then there may not be one. It looks as if he also smashed the first prototype in order to hide the fact that he was unable to complete it. It bought him some time, and increased our belief that there was a German spy in St. Giles.”

“You’re not surprised?” Joseph said with profound misery, still fighting to find some shred of disbelief. It was futile, and in his heart he knew it, but he could not let go yet.

“Yes, I am surprised,” Hall admitted. “But your logic is perfect. More than anything else I am grieved. I know Corcoran, not well, but I know him. I saw he was ambitious and that he loved admiration, he fed on the love of his fellows, which he more than earned.” His clear blue eyes were sad, and perhaps guilty. “I did not recognize the hunger for glory that it seems finally destroyed everything else in him.” His voice dropped. “I’ve seen it before, in military men, and in politicians, where the original desire to win the battle is overtaken by the lust for fame and to be admired, and then finally to become immortal in memory, as if their existence were measured only by what others think of them. They become so addicted to fame their appetite is insatiable. I didn’t see it in Corcoran, but I should have.”

“I can’t prove it!” Joseph said with a kind of desperation. It was Shanley that Hall was speaking of as if he were a stranger, somebody one could diagnose with impartiality, not a friend, his godfather, and a part of his life woven inextricably with every memory he had.

“You won’t prove it with Archie’s evidence,” he went on aloud, insistent, as if it could still matter. “Not beyond reasonable doubt.”

Hall looked at him with pity. “I know. He will have to be arrested immediately and tried in secret. None of this can be known. It is murder and treason. The evidence will be given in camera because of the prototype, and because such a betrayal would cripple morale, and we might not survive that just now.”

“In secret?” Joseph was startled.

“Yes. We will call you when you are needed.”

“Me? But…”

“You must testify as to what Commander MacAllister told you, and Mrs. Blaine.”

“But it’s hearsay!” Joseph protested. “It’s not evidence!”

“Is it true?” Hall’s eyes opened very wide.

“Yes! But…”

“You will swear to it?”

Joseph hesitated, not because he had any doubt, but because it meant that he was casting the final pieces that would weigh damnation for Shanley Corcoran.

“Are you telling the truth, Captain Reavley?” Hall repeated.

“Yes…”

“Then you will swear it before the tribunal if you are called. Thank you for coming forward. I realize what it has cost you.”

Joseph rose to his feet slowly, straightening his leg and his back. “No, you don’t,” he said wearily. “You have no idea at all.” He turned and walked to the door slowly, as if each step were too long, and too slow. He heard Hall speaking behind him, but he did not listen. There was nothing he could say that would do any good.

Joseph returned to St. Giles the next day. He walked into the house in the early afternoon and he was barely in the hall when Hannah came out of the kitchen white-faced, her hair coming loose from its pins.

“Joseph, something terrible has happened,” she said immediately, without waiting for him to speak. “Orla Corcoran telephoned, but I couldn’t reach you at Matthew’s flat. You must have left already.” She stepped in front of him, so close he could smell the sweetness of the lavender soap on her skin. Her voice was trembling. “Joseph, someone came this morning to arrest Shanley and took him away. They didn’t say what for, and Orla is almost beside herself. She has no idea what it’s about and she doesn’t know what to do. They told her to say nothing, so she can’t even call a lawyer. How can we help? I told her you would know.”

“We can’t help,” he replied, seeing the grief and incomprehension in her face. He opened the sitting room door and pulled her in, closing it after her. He did not want Mrs. Appleton to hear. “It is to do with Blaine’s murder,” he explained. “And the project they have at the Establishment. It has to be secret.”

“They’ve found the spy.” She searched his face, her eyes serious, probing for honesty. “Was Shanley protecting him? Is that what’s wrong?”

“No, actually they haven’t. I’m not sure if there is one.”

“There has to be! He murdered Theo Blaine.” She stated it as fact.

Should he let it go? It would be easier. The temptation was so powerful it burned through his mind like a fire, hurting and destroying.

She saw something of the turmoil inside him and reached up her hand a little uncertainly to touch his cheek. “Joseph, please don’t shut me out. I’m not running away anymore. I am sure that whatever it is, it’s terrible. I haven’t seen such pain in your eyes since Eleanor died. What is it?”

He looked at her. She was so like their mother, and yet stronger. Her innocence was gone; not destroyed but transformed into something else, something prepared to love, whatever the cost. She needed him to trust her, and now overwhelmingly he needed her to share the burden with him. He had not intended to, but he told her.

“Shanley killed Blaine himself because Blaine was going to create something brilliant, and take the credit,” he said. “It was his, rightly.

Shanley killed him out of envy, thinking he could finish the work, but he was wrong. He wasn’t clever enough.“

He saw the incredulity in her face, then it turned to hurt, then finally grief. “Oh, Joseph, I’m so sorry!” She put her arms around him and held him as if he had been younger than she, the wounded one, the sleepless one whose nights were too long, too dark, and too cold to be endured alone.

He was glad of it. It was all he could do not to let the hot tears of disillusionment and betrayal burn his face.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was a long time before Joseph could compose himself sufficiently to telephone Orla Corcoran and say to her that for the moment there was nothing he could do to help, and in Shanley’s best interest she would be wisest to say as little as possible. If anyone should ask her, she should tell them he was not well and could not be reached.

She was unhappy with that advice, knowing that there was something desperately wrong, but he refused to tell her more. He left the study, where he had been with the door closed, to find Hannah in the hall saying that Hallam Kerr was here again, in a degree of anxiety because Mrs. Hopgood was expecting her son home from France, and he had lost both his legs. The boy was nineteen.

“Do you want me to tell him to go away?” she asked with a slightly twisted smile.

“Thank you, but I’ll tell him myself,” he replied, walking past her.

“Joseph…”

He stopped and half turned.

She gave him a tight smile, wry, soft-eyed. “Isn’t it also time that you told him you are going back to your regiment, and he’s going to have to deal with her on his own?” she asked.

How did she know? He had not even faced telling her yet, knowing how much she wanted him to stay.

She looked at his dismay. “I’m learning,” she said with a touch of self-mockery. She turned and went toward the kitchen, her head high, her back stiff, deliberately not glancing back at him. Their understanding was better than to need it.

Joseph went into the sitting room, where he found Kerr standing in front of the fireplace, although of course the fire was not lit, and the room was full of sunlight. He looked anxious and there was something close to panic in his eyes. He cleared his throat and his voice was husky.

“I came to tell you about Billy Hopgood,” he said a little awkwardly. “I thought you would like at least to know about it. He wasn’t in your regiment, but you probably know him.”

“Yes… slightly.”

Kerr hesitated, his eyes searching Joseph’s. “I’m… I’m going to see him,” he said. “I’ve no idea what I can say—God help me! But I swear I’ll stay as long as he wants me to. If…” He swallowed as though there was a lump in his throat. “If he tells me to get out, should I go?”

Joseph smiled in spite of himself. “I don’t know any better than you do. Maybe wait until he’s told you three times, that should mean he’s sincere.”

“I’ll be there all night, if that’s what he needs,” Kerr promised. “Two in the morning can be a terrible hour to spend alone. I… I know. I’ve done it. I still have my arms and legs, but I felt as if God had abandoned the world.” He gulped again. “He… he hasn’t, has he?” He looked at Joseph with pleading eyes.