The Honours (12 page)

He looked right at Delphine. She felt ice water spread through her gut. He was watching her,
searching
her. Did he know she had stolen his post? Was he deciding whether to kill her?

She broke eye contact. The room felt too hot. She could feel a thin apron of sweat glazing her hairline. When she glanced back up, he was still watching her.

The corner of his mouth curled upwards. He looked away.

‘When enough suffering, enough
heat
reaches brain, maybe, maybe you generate some energy, mist clears, and for one half of one half of one half of one second . . . you are
awake
.'

Several guests nodded. Miss DeGroot went ‘Mmm', as if smelling a pudding. She was having a mauve day, except for a daring tweed sash. Daddy watched with a sad, dogged intensity. His face was pouched and yellow.

‘And then . . . ' Propp's hands fell to his sides, making Delphine
flinch. ‘ . . . is gone. But you are no longer fooled. And so you set to work. And you work now with
intention
.

‘This is work you must undertake. You must fight every day, every hour, every second. Normal efforts will not do. You do not heat kettle by deciding: “Oh, I will heat for fifteen seconds today, ten seconds tomorrow, maybe another ten at weekend.” No. You place kettle in fire and hold there
until kettle boils
.'

Delphine fought the urge to leave there and then. He knew. He was toying with her.

Alice entered carrying a tray with a crystal decanter and a steaming cup of coffee. Miss DeGroot applauded softly at the synchronicity. Propp accepted the coffee then held it up while Alice added calvados. Eventually, Propp said: ‘Thank you.' Alice replaced the stopper and Propp stirred his coffee with a silver teaspoon.

‘We have new companion.' He placed the hot spoon on the coffee table; little bumps of condensation rose on the glass, forming the spoon's mirror-image. Delphine breathed in the bitter, earthy aroma. She couldn't keep her hands from shaking. ‘Please welcome Mr Kung.' He gestured towards the man sitting on a piano stool at the extreme right of the settee. The Society members clapped. Mr Kung acknowledged them with a momentary smile, hands bunched over the bowler hat in his lap. ‘Mr Kung comes to us from Inner Mongolia, so for today he is excused from activities. Tomorrow, real work begins, ha!' Propp lifted his coffee to his lips and slurped; a shudder passed through his round shoulders and bald head.

‘How exciting!' said Miss DeGroot. ‘Later I shall interrogate you mercilessly.'

Mr Kung gave her a bashful chuckle. Residents began to shuffle and grunt, retrieving cigarette cases from clasp handbags, patting pockets for matches.

‘I have a question.' The voice made Delphine jump. It was Daddy. He was usually so quiet as to be invisible; the other guests reacted as if a chest of drawers had come to life.

‘Please,' said Propp.

‘If suffering leads to freedom, should we then be cruel to our
fellow man, and thus emancipate him?' Daddy's expression was softly thoughtful – that of a perplexed schoolboy.

‘What a splendid idea,' said Dr Lansley, crossing his legs and taking a drag on his cigarette. He turned to the Professor. ‘I say, Algernon, you could read people one of your essays.'

‘Pipe down, Titus,' said Miss DeGroot. She shot a half-smile at Daddy. ‘Interesting question. What's the answer, Ivan?'

Propp rubbed an index finger across the bridge of his nose.

‘Misfortune alone does not create change within. Good fortune may distract you from need for change. But suffering alone – this is not sufficient. You must
choose
to suffer. And may I remind,' he lifted an index finger, cutting off Miss DeGroot whose glossed lips had parted, ‘when I say “suffering” I use word in very specific sense. I do not say “suffering” to mean “Oh, dear me, I have banged toe on table leg,” not this sort of discomfort. No. When I say suffering I mean
deliberate
applying of will, focused upon single activity. For example, dances.' He looked to Mother and Miss DeGroot. ‘I do not think dancing can be called “suffering” in normal sense.'

Miss DeGroot opened her mouth as if to comment then apparently thought better of it.

‘When person performs Hidden Steps,' Propp went on, ‘not repeating mechanically but
fully being within
each movement so no other action takes place except dance,
this
. . . this is true work, true effort, true suffering. This English word, to “suffer”, it means, I think, to carry, but also, to
allow
. You must
willingly
carry burden given to you.'

Delphine watched Daddy's face throughout the explanation. He looked like someone gazing into a treasure chest.

‘There's more, isn't there?' he said. ‘Things you're not telling us. Secrets.'

Propp sipped his coffee. ‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

He began loading his pipe. ‘Every great religion has outside teaching, and inside teaching. Mr Kung – this is true of East as well as West, no?'

Mr Kung seemed a little startled. He nodded quickly.

‘Yes, I think so, my friend.'

Propp grunted, satisfied. ‘So. This protects religion and protects followers. Wisdom half-understood may be deadlier than gun.' He peered down the pipe stem like rifle sights. ‘Wisdom is physical thing. Imagine canister of petrol. If we use for one car, we may travel many miles, see many things. If we divide between now fifty, now one hundred cars, all cars go nowhere. Petrol is wasted. So it is with wisdom.'

‘So what about us, Ivan?' said Miss DeGroot. ‘When are you going to fill us up with your spiritual gasoline?'

He shook his head. ‘You are not ready. You would not understand.' He reached for his matches. ‘Or worse: you would go mad.'

Miss DeGroot giggled. Propp did not smile.

He touched a flame to the bowl of his pipe and took several practised puffs. ‘Friends, thank you. You may now go. Please, remember as you perform afternoon activities: you must hold yourself in fire. Willing suffering makes freedom, and only way to suffer is to work.'

His audience shuffled and began to rise. Delphine hung back, watching Professor Carmichael approach Mr Kung. He slapped Mr Kung's shoulder with such force that the smaller man's eyeglasses slipped down his nose.

‘Good to have you here,' said the Professor. ‘Welcome to the Hall.'

‘Thank you,' said Mr Kung, listing slightly beneath the weight of the Professor's meaty palm.

‘You've picked a good day to arrive. Archery tomorrow.' Delphine saw the grey cotton of Mr Kung's suit bunching as the Professor gave his shoulder a fraternal squeeze. ‘You any good with the old bow and arrow?'

‘I, uh . . . ' Mr Kung gave a deferential laugh. ‘No, not really.'

‘Never had a go?'

‘No. I do not think I will be so good.'

‘Don't try it till you've nocked it.' The Professor waited for a reaction. ‘Eh? No? Ah well, you're tired.'

Delphine followed the guests filing out of the south exit. As she walked down the corridor, she heard Dr Lansley behind her,
muttering: ‘Work? He wouldn't know work if it leapt out from behind the rosebushes and paddled him on his vast, self-righteous backside.'

‘You shouldn't speak about our teacher like that.'

She turned to look. Dr Lansley had stopped. Daddy was blocking his path.

Delphine felt shiny and awake. It was finally happening. Daddy was going to pound the stuffing out of him.

Dr Lansley folded his arms. She had to sidestep to see him.

‘I'm sorry – what?'

‘I said you shouldn't speak about Mr Propp like that.'

Residents bunched in the corridor behind Lansley. He regarded Daddy, lips parted, wet teeth gleaming.

‘You're in my way.'

Even with his poor posture, Daddy stood a good two inches taller than Lansley. Beneath his shirt, tendons shivered tight as ballista ropes.

‘He's trying to help you,' said Daddy. ‘But he can't unless you let him into your heart.'

Lansley went to push past but Daddy sidestepped. Lansley backed away. The two men stood watching each other, breathing.

The corner of Lansley's mouth twitched, curling upwards into a familiar smirk.

‘And what's in
your
heart, sweet, tortured Gideon?'

Daddy's painting hand balled and flexed. Delphine waited for it to spring up and bury itself in Lansley's sunken jaw. Her own hand twitched above an imaginary holster. If only she had a gun, God how she would humble him.

As if hearing her thoughts, Lansley glanced at her. The smirk hardened into a grin. He looked Daddy up and down. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

‘Daddy.' He dropped the epithet like a gas grenade. ‘What
did
you do in the Great War?'

Daddy's fist swayed.

He stepped aside.

Dr Lansley drew himself up to his full height, adjusted his earpiece,
then strode smartly down the corridor, swishing past Delphine in a perfume of stale perspiration and hair tonic.

Why hadn't Daddy boxed his ears? Why wasn't he thundering after him, wrestling the Doctor to the floor, pounding his yellow teeth down his yowling throat?

She shot a glare back down the corridor, furious. Daddy was leaning against the wall, gazing down at his paint-spattered brogues.

‘Daddy?' Delphine took a step towards him.

Daddy looked up, startled. The rest of the guests were filing by.

‘Delphy, go away.'

‘But Daddy, I – '

‘
Go
.'

She dipped her head and ran. Her legs felt like they were full of custard. As she dashed past white classical statues, Daddy's expression burnt bright in her brain. His eyes had been pinpricks.

He had been terrified.

Back in her room, Delphine took out a fresh piece of writing-paper and wrote at the top:
SUSPECTS
.

Fighting to keep her hand steady, underneath she wrote:
Ivanovitch Propp, Lazarus Stokeham, 4th Earl of Alderberen, Dr Titus Lansley, Edmund Kung
. Professor Carmichael was certainly exonerated – a clear outsider. She hesitated, then added
Alice, maid
and a thick black question mark.

Next she wrote:
MOTIVES

To unseat His Majesty and usurp our elected government (in favour of
what
??? Bolsheviks? Anarchists?
Germans
??)
.

ORGANISATION

Propp is ringleader. Alderberen may be money man – phaps all are under P's thrall (hypnosis? Drugs?
Ask Prof. for books on mind control
). Lansley = henchman (supplying poisons to P?). Kung – role unknown (agent for Chinese Communists?
Chinese Boxer assassin
TOO OLD). Alice – involvement yet to be established (lackey? Unwitting dupe? Commence surveillance
immediately
)

EVIDENCE

Conversation between P and A overheard by DV

Suspicious pattern of movements by P

Contraband materials (comm. device?) in P's quarters

Letters to P (destroyed) – poss. codewords ‘rheumatic shoulder' & ‘nervous collapse'

Arrival of foreign elements at Hall

She tapped the tip of her pencil against the writing-paper. Written down like that, her proof seemed awfully thin. At least, the big swells at Scotland Yard would see it that way. Coming from a schoolgirl, it was liable to get scoffed at unless she built an impregnable case.

She folded the paper into eighths and slipped it inside her bedpost. She had seen the look in Propp's eyes. He was trying to intimidate her. That could mean only one thing.

She was getting close to the truth.

Delphine strolled behind the ha-ha,
^*
walking two of Mr Garforth's ferrets on lengths of string.

In her mind, she was patrolling a trench in the Somme at dawn. Out on the lawn, Professor Carmichael and Daddy were gormless tommies about to get perforated by Mauser fire.

The ferrets, Maxim and Lewis, dove and tussled on fresh-cut grass, tangling their strings, darting round and between her legs, using her ankles as maypoles, flapping their rubbery spines like landed salmon before springing off in pursuit of some new imagined ecstasy. Gusts combed the bright lawns. Alderberen Hall winked and glinted. The music room window was ajar, the glassy notes of one of Mr Propp's harpsichord compositions wafting out across the grounds. Grey, half-obscured figures moved in unison.

Daddy and the Professor were breaking rocks. Mr Propp assigned Spim members explicitly pointless tasks like digging and refilling holes, claiming such work frustrated the conscious mind and ultimately released a person from servitude.

The Professor brought down his sledgehammer on a rock the size of his skull. The rock coughed pale dust but remained otherwise
indifferent. More rocks lay in a wheelbarrow beside him. He rested the head of his hammer on the grass and leant on the shaft. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and sweat shone on his red cheeks.

‘Must be murder on the lawn,' he said.

Daddy swung his hammer; a clank echoed off the walls of the house. He lifted his head.

‘Sorry, did you say something?'

‘Must be murder,' said the Professor. ‘On the lawn.'

Daddy looked blank.

‘All this hammering.' The Professor gestured at the white dust and rubble around their feet.

‘Oh. Yes.'

Looking at Professor Carmichael for too long made Delphine feel piercingly sad. He was thick-shouldered but oddly cowed, as if walking on two legs was an unfamiliar act that had been beaten into him.

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a hip flask.

‘Nip?' he said, holding it out.

Daddy shook his head. He raised his hammer and swung again.

The Professor unscrewed the cap. His large hands made the action seem as intricate as removing a cog from a pocket watch. He took a slow swig, gazing round the grounds as he did so. Delphine ducked a little, on reflex. He refastened the cap and tucked the flask back into his pocket. He smacked his lips.