At Some Disputed Barricade (25 page)

Joseph felt the cold hurt tighten in his stomach again. “I realize that, sir. I imagine it will be very difficult indeed to find out who they are. Practically impossible.”

“Still, we must oblige Lieutenant Colonel Faulkner. Attend to it, Reavley. Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.” Joseph went out, praying that the good luck he would have would be a complete and total failure to find any proof whatsoever.

It was difficult even to find a man he could decently ask about the escape. It was not merely that no one wished to help find the men themselves; they were even less eager to add to the general misery by exposing whoever had been clever enough, and above all brave enough, to free them. Everyone was overwhelmed by the continuing battle for Passchendaele. The losses mounted, not in twos or threes but in dozens, too often scores. Sometimes the rain eased, but it always came back again until the trenches were like canals; shell craters were deep enough to drown a man and often did; and running water gouged out channels down every incline so savage they would sweep a man off his feet.

Joseph carried stretchers, when there were any, men on his back when that was all there was. As always, he did what he could for the dying and the dead. There was little enough time to think of anything else.

Still, as discreetly as he could, he began to find out where different people had been on the night of the escape. He did not begin with Judith, aware that Faulkner might follow his steps. What he could learn, so could others.

He hoped he could find that she had been miles away, with a dozen witnesses—perhaps other officers new to the area and who had no personal stake in the escape. He sensed the anger as he asked, the suspicious looks, the reluctance to answer. Men stopped talking when he approached; shaggy-dog jokes died halfway through. They did not offer him the usual tea—or Woodbines, even though they knew he did not smoke.

Most men simply said they had no idea of Judith’s whereabouts. Others had observed her in at least half a dozen different places at the time of the escape, all miles from the farmhouse. She and Wil Sloan were the only ones about whom such a variety of lies were sworn to. All other V.A.D. staff were in one place only.

These men were not very sophisticated liars. If Joseph could follow that trail so easily, so could Faulkner, once he thought where to look. Then there was only one possible end: Wil and Judith would be arrested and charged. All the lies in the world would not help, because the truth was obvious. He had thought only a little while ago that it was someone extremely clever; now he thought perhaps only supremely brave, and trusting in the loyalty of the men. The guards might even have been party to it.

He walked in the late afternoon mist, his boots sodden and sloshing in the mud. He moved slowly because he had no wish to arrive. The gunfire sounded far away, over the rise and beyond the woods toward Passchendaele itself—or what was left of it. All along the Ypres Salient there were miles of mud and blasted tree stumps, craters with corpses floating in the stagnant water, some still wreathed in the heavy poison gas.

He could imagine the scene at night: Judith and Wil Sloan arriving in the ambulance, possibly even two ambulances. They would stop. One would get out, probably Judith, tired, tense, her face pale in the headlights, skirts heavy and dark with mud. She would have gone up to the guard and asked for something—perhaps fresh water or another blanket.

Wil might have waited until they were occupied helping her, and crept up. Or had they simply been honest and said what they wanted, and asked for help? Joseph might never know, and it did not matter. Without thinking about it at all, he knew if they were ever facing trial, they would say they had done it by violence and deceit. They would see that no one else was blamed.

Joseph reached Colonel Hook’s dugout. He pulled back the sacking and saw the light burning inside. He knocked on the lintel.

Hook looked up and waved Joseph in. Fear was in his eyes for an instant, then he mastered it. “Yes, Captain Reavley? Have you found out anything about the escape?”

“Nothing at all, sir,” Joseph said instantly. “It could have been anyone at all. The only answer is to see if we can find the escaped men. I am quite certain that only one of them is guilty of murder. The others did no more than…than behave insubordinately, provoked by extraordinary circumstances. Then we could have a court-martial that would be fair and reasonable…sir.”

“We have no chance of finding the men, Reavley. They could be anywhere. Unless—” Hook stopped. “Do you believe you can?” His face puckered, gaunt with weariness. He did not daresay it, but he was begging Joseph not to tell him what he did not want and could not afford to know.

“I believe so, sir.” Joseph stayed standing to attention. “If I have your permission, I would like to try. Immediately.”

“They have several days’ start on you,” Hook pointed out.

“I know. But I think the Royal Flying Corps might give me a little help if I explain. And if you give me orders…sir?”

“Try,” Hook said quietly. “And God help you!”

CHAPTER

NINE

T
he day after Wheatcroft’s death, Matthew received an urgent summons from Dermot Sandwell. He had asked for Sandwell’s help, but he had not expected to hear from him so soon. He went eagerly, even with a sharp flutter of excitement. He found his heart beating hard as he strode along the pavement, bumping into people unintentionally, having to apologize. He had spent three years seeking the identity of the Peacemaker, moving from one fear to another, hoping and yet also dreading the moment when he could no longer deny that it was someone he knew and liked. It had to be someone his father had once trusted, and that trust had cost his father his life.

It was a close, heavy day in late August. The air seemed to clog his throat. The sky was hazy and there were heavy clouds gathering to the west. There would be a thunderstorm by midafternoon. The armies along the Western Front would be drenched once again.

Matthew walked because it was ridiculous to try to find a taxi for the mile or so to Sandwell’s office. He kept to the main thoroughfares and moved briskly.

Everything was scarce at the moment: petrol as much as food and clothes. Naval losses had severely limited all imports; nevertheless in London, if you had money, you could get almost anything, while in some areas in the country there was actual starvation.

He reached Whitehall and went in, giving his name and telling the official on duty that Mr. Sandwell was expecting him.

He was received immediately. Sandwell stood up from behind his desk and came forward, extending his hand. He looked tired. The lines were etched more deeply in his face, both across his brow and around his mouth. His fair hair had paled to silver at the temples, but his eyes were as deeply blue as ever and the grip of his long, thin hand was firm.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Reavley.” He waved to a chair and peered at Matthew intently as they both sat down. “Miserable business about Wheatcroft’s suicide. Did you learn anything of value from him?”

“No, sir.” Instinctively Matthew guarded the threads of impression he had of someone else behind Wheatcroft’s accusation of Corracher. “I’m afraid not.” It sounded too bare. “He still protested his innocence, but felt no one would believe him.”

“The reason for his suicide, do you think?” Sandwell asked.

In that instant, Matthew knew what he
did
think. “Possibly. That’s certainly what his note implied.”

“Implied?” Sandwell picked up the word.

“Said,” Matthew corrected.

“And Corracher’s betrayal of him,” Sandwell added quietly. “Poor man.”

Matthew said nothing. It was Wheatcroft’s betrayal of Corracher that lodged in his mind, and something else that eluded him, a memory of something that did not fit where it should.

Sandwell leaned forward, his blue eyes studying Matthew’s face. “I’m afraid I have come to some deeply disturbing conclusions. I must swear you to secrecy before I share them with you. You will understand why as soon as I do.”

“Secret from whom, sir?” Matthew asked, puzzled by such a request—in fact it seemed to be a condition. He had imagined he was being told in order to refer them to Shearing.

“From everyone, at least for the time being,” Sandwell answered. “What I have discovered is more dangerous than I can begin to tell you, and I have no idea yet how far it extends. A word or a whisper in the wrong ear, and we could both be killed for it, if I am correct.” He leaned forward. “Do I have your attention now?”

Matthew stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

“I imagined I would.” Sandwell smiled openly. “Apart from your loyalty to your country, a man such as you could never resist the sheer curiosity of it. If you could have stood up and walked away from here without knowing, I should have recommended your removal from the Intelligence Service.”

“Why me?” Matthew asked. It was a bold question and to one of Sandwell’s seniority perhaps impertinent, but it was not irrelevant.

Sandwell’s eyes widened slightly, appreciating the perception. “You are ideally placed” was all he said. “I think you will understand when I have told you what I know and what I fear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sandwell touched his fingertips lightly together in a steeple and looked at Matthew.

“You said that in the beginning you believed Corracher was not guilty of attempting to blackmail Wheatcroft, although Wheatcroft might indeed have behaved indiscreetly. I considered the possibility that you were right. If that were so, then there is only one conclusion that makes sense, and that is that there is a conspiracy behind it, formed and carried out by someone else.”

He continued to regard Matthew steadily. “I weighed the likelihood of it being purely personal, driven either by ambition or revenge. I could find nothing to suggest it, and it seemed less likely than the desire to get rid of them both from their positions of political power. They are of similar beliefs in many issues, especially regarding the kind of peace we may make with Germany.”

The muscles of his face tightened as if for an instant the reality of the deaths and the rage of destruction overwhelmed his mind, and the quiet room overlooking Horse Guards Parade on a great August morning was only an island, a temporary haven in the midst of ruin.

Matthew waited.

Sandwell composed himself again, but he did not apologize for his emotion. “I have noticed that two other rising politicians of similar mind have also been lost to us recently. Do you begin to understand me, Reavley?”

Matthew drew a deep breath, as if standing on the edge of an abyss and having looked down.

“Yes, sir. Someone is…planning ahead, maneuvering so that when the time comes they will have control over whoever is in power to agree to the terms of peace.” At last he was not alone in his knowledge, but Sandwell had glimpsed only a fraction of the Peacemaker’s design, just this last few months’ work. Should Matthew say any more? Not yet. Be careful. Listen, only listen. And there was still the frayed end he could not place that lingered at the edge of his mind.

“Precisely,” Sandwell agreed. “And doing it with very great skill. Which leads me to wonder why he is doing this
now
.”

Matthew was about to point out the obvious, that now there was the greatest hope of the end to the war. But that was not true. They had hoped for it as early as the autumn of 1914. He bit back the words. Then with a catch of his breath, he realized what Sandwell really meant! If someone had these hopes and designs now, where had he been during the last three years?

Sandwell read him perfectly. “Exactly,” he said in little more than a whisper. “What else? What has there been all through the years since the beginning that we have not seen?”

Matthew’s mind raced. Had he found an ally at last? Then suddenly he heard his father’s voice in his mind again, that last day on the telephone, warning him that the conspiracy went as high as the Royal Family. He knew now that that had been a reference to the treaty that the Peacemaker had wanted the king to sign.

“Reavley?” Sandwell’s voice interrupted the sense of loss as sharp as the day of John Reavley’s death. It jerked Matthew back to the present. “Yes, sir. The thought is…overwhelming. It is possible this is his first act…but…”

“His?” Sandwell questioned him. “Whose? Do you think it is one man?”

Matthew spoke slowly. Without having reached a decision consciously, he could not bring himself to trust Sandwell. He must weigh every word. He was acutely aware of Sandwell’s extraordinary intelligence. “No, certainly not acting alone,” he answered. “But it might be one man leading and others following. It seems to have a coherence about it. Forgive me, sir, if I am a little slow. The thought is enormous, and incredibly ugly.”

“But not new to you,” Sandwell pointed out.

Should he admit it? He saw the knowledge reflected in Sandwell’s eyes. He knew at least something of Matthew’s earlier convictions of conspiracy, but how much and from whom? Shearing? Someone else in the Intelligence Service?

“We’re always looking for conspiracies,” he said aloud, trying to make his voice sound rueful. “It’s still a surprise when you find them. I did suspect that Corracher might be innocent, and if he was, then Wheatcroft is implicated, even if just another victim with less honor than Corracher, willing to ruin another man in order to escape himself. It is the other thought, of what else might have been done, or yet planned by the man behind this, that stuns me.”

“As well it might.” Sandwell leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on Matthew’s face. “And it is that which we must address, Reavley. Saving Tom Corracher is a relatively small matter. Finding this…this arch-traitor is the main thing. As long as he remains hidden, with the power he has—and we have no idea how much it is—then we are desperately, perhaps even fatally vulnerable.”

“And have always been,” Matthew added.

Sandwell let out his breath in a slow sigh. “Tell me, Reavley, you have been in intelligence since the beginning of the war. You must have as good an idea as anyone how our enemies work. Where are we most vulnerable? If you were this…this man, where would you have struck already? And where would you strike next?”

Matthew saw the depth of the question and the power. If he did not answer, he would betray the fact that he did not trust Sandwell. And if he did answer, he would show that he did trust him, completely, perhaps more than an intelligence officer should trust anyone at all, especially anyone outside the service, even if he were of cabinet rank in the government. It was a position of ironic delicacy. Did Sandwell know that? He dared not assume that he didn’t. He was forced to tell the truth, or something extremely close to it.

“In the past,” he began carefully, “I would have struck with propaganda aimed at morale, especially within the forces. I would have aimed it particularly at recruitment points. Next I would have struck against the navy. Without sea power we’ll lose in weeks. Being an island is both our strength and our weakness.”

Sandwell nodded.

“And now?” he said very softly, almost as if he feared being overheard, even though there was no one else in the room.

“I would try to neutralize the effectiveness of some of our ministers who have strong diplomatic contacts abroad, particularly in countries that might be persuaded to turn against Germany and its allies, such as Hungary. Or to hasten the withdrawal of Russia.”

“Yes.” Sandwell’s eyes were the clearest, most brilliant blue. “That would be the natural thing.”

“And of course if possible weaken the Western Front.” Matthew heard his own voice loud in the utter silence. “Passchendaele is proving the most terrible battle we have ever fought. At this rate there will be a quarter of a million more dead before it’s over.”

Sandwell’s face was white; the misery bit so deep it drove the blood from his veins. “I know…”

“Morale is almost at breaking point,” Matthew added. “One really disastrous injustice, even a fatal mistake, and the men might even mutiny. Then the line might not hold.” Instantly he wondered if he had gone too far. Sandwell looked as if he was in emotional pain so intense it had become physical. He was short of breath and his muscles were locked as if in a spasm. His face was ashen.

Matthew waited. He could hear the clock ticking on the mantel over the ornate fireplace and the first heavy spots of rain that fell against the window.

“I was right to trust you.” Sandwell let out his breath in a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. “You understand perfectly. There has been an incident. An incompetent officer was shot by his own men. They know who it was, and they are up for court-martial.” His voice was quite light. “Unfortunately two of these are officers; both have served the full duration of the war with distinction. In fact, one is up for the V.C. If he is found guilty and faces the firing squad for what was essentially saving his own men’s lives by getting rid of a disastrous officer, then there is your incident of injustice. It could even be seen as a betrayal, if you believe sending brave men into battle led by an idiot to be a betrayal of their trust. And God knows, they deserve better than that!”

Matthew stared at him. Was it possible that at last he really did have an ally? One with power! He remembered Cullingford with a grief so sharp it brought a wave of nausea. “Be careful!” he said with sudden urgency, unable to help himself from the warning.

“Oh, I am, Reavley. Believe me, since I have become aware of this possibility, even probability, I have been extremely careful.” He frowned. “But what makes you say that? Have you felt yourself in danger, personally, I mean?”

Matthew hesitated for a fraction of a moment. Again, he could not afford to be caught in a lie. But could Sandwell possibly know the truth? No, but that was not the point. Matthew had given the warning. He had to justify it.

“Yes, twice,” he answered. “Once might have been an accident; the second time it was definitely an attempt to kill me.”

Sandwell blinked. “You are certain? Or am I foolish to ask?”

Matthew gave a half smile. “If this man would betray his country and cause the deaths of thousands, tens of thousands, why on earth not a single one, if that one was a danger to him?”