Not My Blood (11 page)

Joe nodded encouragement.

“And, if you look on the back, as I just did,” Marcus went on, gaining confidence, “you’ll see something remarkable, which is to say, nothing at all! The girls—and all the children I know—write the name of their classmates on the back. But as you see, nothing here to identify these fellows. I dare say this Rapson knew exactly who was in his collection but was too discreet to record it. You’ll just have to find other means of identifying them. If you think it will help. Mightn’t be easy. Some of these are much older than the others. The photos I mean. This one here’s in sepia.” He pointed to the one he’d moved to the end of his row. “Pre-war, would you say?”

Joe nodded again.

“I know you detectives look for links and, apart from the obvious ones like uniform, I’d say there’s just one.”

“Which is?”

“Age.”

“Age? They’re all prep-school boys.
Between the ages of seven and thirteen. Colonial and foreign pupils a speciality. All dietary requirements catered for.…
” Joe quoted from the brochure he’d been handed.

“I’d judge first year of prep school. Not much older. None post-pubertal. One of them, you see, is very young—he still has a gap where his second teeth should be. Late developer? Early entrant? And if you think about it, that would put Jack into a different space, wouldn’t it? Didn’t someone tell me he was a late arrival at St. Magnus?”

“Yes. That hadn’t occurred to me,” Joe said. “He was sent up a year or so after the normal entry. He tells me his mother hung
on to him as long as she could. It was his father who insisted on sending him to his own old prep school. They came over and stayed with him in the neighbourhood and visited the school before the start of the school year last summer. It would seem to have passed muster as the boy stayed and they went back to India.”

“But they would have had no way of knowing that this establishment is the subject of an enquiry at the highest and most secret level of government,” Lydia said. “Go on! Tell him about Truelove’s interest, Joe!”

“Truelove? James Truelove?”

“Ah, yes, I believe you know the man, Marcus.…”

“Shall we say he’s known in this house?” He exchanged looks with his wife.

Marcus was fascinated to hear of Joe’s encounter with the Secretary of State but confessed himself nonplussed. Finally he gave his verdict: “Politicians! They’re a mystery to us all! Never trust ’em! Though if you had to take one seriously, you could do worse than pick this one. At least he’s consistent. He’s clever … wonderful orator—go and hear him in the House one day, Joe. He’s got the most solid of backgrounds and he’s charming. He’ll need all of those assets if he’s going to win round the crusty old buffers in his party. He’s a Tory, of course, but … um … rather of the left wing, it’s whispered. The words ‘socialist leanings’ have been mentioned.”

“Perhaps the day will come when we no longer have to whisper them,” Lydia commented sweetly. “Whatever his politics, I’m glad to hear there’s a man of strength and principle in this ragbag of assorted egotists you men call a government.”

“Is that quite fair, my love?” Marcus protested mildly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Joe. “How else do you describe a Tory majority run by a Labour prime minister with the fickle support of the Liberals? A coalition? That is to imply some sort of working together, perhaps even with a plan in mind to advance the general
good. This mob is uncontrollable. Ever tried to herd mountain sheep without a good dog at your beck and call? You can’t. They scatter and run in all directions. Ramsay MacDonald will need to call on all his ancient farming skills if he’s to shepherd this bunch to a safe place. No—I prefer Lydia’s label.”

“They style themselves the ‘National Government,’ and who can argue with that? It will do for the moment. But there are those who’ve concluded that the head of our government is quite unqualified for the job: He’s self-educated, the illegitimate son of a Scottish farm-labourer and house-maid, he’s an advocate of Scottish home rule and seemingly over-indulgent towards our enemies, the Germans. That sort of thing doesn’t go down well in the Shires, you know.”

“It goes down well in the cities where he’s tackling unemployment, alleviating poverty and improving schooling,” Lydia said. “And besides, you’ve got to admire a man who dares to appoint a woman to a cabinet post.”

“A good move, Lydia, as all agree, but—he also appointed that scallywag young fascist Mosley to the Privy Seal’s office,” Marcus countered equably. “That alone makes the old man’s judgement questionable in my book. Tired? Ill? Too many lavish suppers chez Lady Londonderry? So—the jury’s out, I’d say, on his latest appointee—the holder of this new Office of State. Reform, eh? A broad canvas. I expect he’s treading on a lot of toes while he sets about marking out his territory.”

“And
I’m
thinking that perhaps the shepherd has found his dog,” Joe said. “In which case we should all be heaving a sigh of relief that it’s not Oswald Mosley he’s chosen to go haring about biting bums on his behalf! Do you think that could be so, Marcus? That what we’re looking at is no more than the tip of an iceberg? The visible bit of a political power struggle. How dull!”

“Dull for you and dull for me,” Marcus said thoughtfully. He began to rearrange the photographs to his further satisfaction.
“Perhaps not for these poor little tiddlers. How do they come to be caught in the net? I’m thinking you’ll be needing all your nifty footwork to sort this lot out, Joe!”

“No nifty footwork expected. I find myself once again the tiniest cog in the affairs of state. I’m just required to do my job without snarling up the works. Insignificant.”

“Below the horizon isn’t a bad place to lurk in dangerous times,” Marcus commented. “It worked for Lord Nelson. Be insignificant but—make sure your cannon are primed and ready to go. Now tell me why young Truelove’s poaching on police preserves.”

He grinned and added: “And how you’re planning to confound him!”

“W
ith low cunning and a crunching right fist!” Dorcas answered for him. “His usual technique.”

She had entered unnoticed. She put down a glass of whisky in front of Joe, murmuring: “Glenmorangie with a teaspoon of chilled water,” and squeezed herself in beside him, smelling deliciously of something he thought he recognised. Roses and sandalwood. He’d left a bottle of expensive scent under Lydia’s tree for her Christmas present.

“Lydia—before we get on to plotting the downfall of the government, may I just report a small domestic detail? I’ve exceeded orders upstairs. Everyone is happily bedded down, though not necessarily in their own bed or their own room. The girls are completely besotted by Jackie—insisted on taking him in with them for the night. He was playing up to this no end—told them he’d never spent a night in a room on his own until last night at Uncle Joe’s.”

“True enough,” Joe supported the boy’s assertion. “In India he would have been in the constant company of his Ayah. And then twenty-nine other boys in the dormitory at school.”

He hardly knew what he was saying. He was dealing with a blinding flash of memory that took him back through the years to a château crowded with children and showed him again the
skinny girl struggling to appear grown up, all eyes and elbows and determination. She’d always known what to say to children when he’d been left mumbling.

“And the girls took pity on him?” Lydia nodded.

“Who wouldn’t? With those innocent blue eyes and that golden hair, he’s a baby Apollo! And can he ever tell a story!”

“But where have they settled?”

“All three are in Vanessa’s room. There’s a good fire in there and a big bed which Juliet has agreed to share with her sister. We all dragged the guest bed in for Jackie and put it next to them. I left him telling them an Indian ghost story. He doesn’t seem at all sleepy. Now, I overheard that last bit. Why, Joe, would you be thinking of locking antlers with my hero? It
was
my Sir James you were talking about, wasn’t it?”

“Dorcas! You know him?”

“Of course. He’s a huge supporter of the sciences. He’s donated vast amounts to my own department at the university. He funded a project I was involved with myself last year and that’s how I met him. We’re all required to take a term out ‘in the field,’ doing research.”

“Into what?” Joe interrupted. “You must excuse my ignorance, Dorcas, but no one has thought fit to tell me exactly what you’ve been up to these past seven years.” A look from Lydia confirmed that his tone had been aggrieved, and he lapsed into an awkward silence.

Dorcas appeared not to notice his discomfort. “Research into genetics, Joe. Inheritance of physical and intellectual qualities. That’s my special interest. ‘Psychology’ is a bit of an umbrella subject and they’re still trying to define its borders. Sir James is keen on exploring and expanding them. We’re encouraged to study widely for our first degree and then, if there’s any prospect of continuing, specialise after that. That’s when the real work starts.”

“And where did you spend your term out?”

“Not far from here. In Sussex. I was based at St. Raphael’s Clinic in the North Downs. A lovely spot. A wonderful establishment. I was lucky to get the placement. I’m writing up my findings at the moment—getting together my thesis for finals. That’s why I’m down here at the moment—we’re all on home leave until Easter.”

Joe sipped his whisky with pleasure. She’d remembered the drop of iced water. Should he feel flattered? He was sure he was meant to, as he was meant to notice she was using the perfume he’d given her. He was uneasy that he still fell for it. He told himself that this was ever her way—she’d deliver a pat on the head which would be followed by a kick in the shins. He took a discreet look at the confident and beautiful young woman at his side. He noted the purity of the profile, the brilliance of the dark eyes, the slenderness of the neck with its simple decoration of a single strand of tiny pearls and swallowed uneasily. He told himself that the annoying child he’d known was probably still there under the silk dinner gown, waiting to make use of him.

“So, I won’t hear of any attempt to do him down. Sir James is very … caring … Joe. He came out several times to supervise the work I was doing at the hospital. He’s a busy man; he didn’t have to do that—he was just interested. And knowledgeable. He made some rather useful suggestions which put me right on track for a good result. Well he would know, wouldn’t he? His father did some splendid work with peas. You know—verifying and expanding on Mendel’s experiments. If I’m to declare an interest here I ought to add that.…” Dorcas’s firm tone faltered for a moment and, to cover her sudden loss of confidence, she took a defiant gulp of Joe’s whisky. “… to add that … he did hint … and at this stage of course it could never be more than a hint … that … I’m just the kind of researcher he would think of employing in the family concerns when I graduate.”

Marcus hurried to support her. “Well, there is life beyond the degree ceremony, you know, Joe. Doesn’t all end with a mortarboard and a scroll. What’s her father going to do about her once she’s graduated and at large again, eh? Orlando doesn’t have a clue! She’s not the marrying kind, she tells us. And I, for one, believe her,” he said thoughtfully. “No—the openings for a woman are not many and not good. With Truelove’s backing she could get somewhere.”

“So, on the whole, Joe, I’d be obliged if you could hold off confounding him.” Her smile was dazzling but was swiftly followed by a frown as she turned her attention to the table. “Now, who’ve we got here? Will someone tell me why the table’s spread with photographs of small boys?”

“Better tell her, Joe,” Lydia said.

“
I
’
M KEEPING AN
open mind.”

Joe remembered that these words always prefaced a decided personal opinion from Dorcas.

“But I think I can reassure you that if molestation of a sexual nature is clouding your minds, you can forget it. At least as far as Jackie’s concerned. For these others,” She gestured to the photographs, “who can say?”

“Dorcas, how would you know?”

“Come off it, Joe! Sexual exploitation is probably the first suspicion that came to mind. Everyone’s mind. But especially a policeman’s. After that ghastly business the Yard had to deal with a couple of years ago! And when a boy is so unhappy he runs away from school it’s something you have to consider. So I asked him.”

“Good Lord! How on earth did you find the words? Did he understand what you were getting at?” Joe wanted to know.

“I try not to be deliberately mystifying. I used words a nine-year-old uses. And they have a surprisingly wide vocabulary. Jackie’s no fool. And he’s honest. He gives you a straight answer.
If he doesn’t understand, he expects an explanation.” She smiled. “Come to think of it, he probably learned more from
me
than I did from him in our little chat.”

“Dorcas, have you been trained to.…”

A scathing look cut him off. “No. I’m not concerned with psychiatry. I’m not and never intend to be a meddler with people’s minds. I use my common sense to find out what they’re thinking. That’s all.”

“So you established that no master laid an evil hand on him?”

“Yes. Sexually speaking, no advances whatsoever. There’s the usual skirmishings between pupils in the dorm after lights out, but Jackie didn’t seem to be worried by this. He puts it down to the temperature.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been very cold. You must have noticed. Joe, their dormitory would have challenged Captain Scott of the Antarctic! The radiators go off in the afternoon and they have to sleep under quite inadequate bedding. Do you know what they’re reduced to? They pick up their bedside mats from the floor and put them on top of their coverlets to keep the cold out. Sometimes the littlest ones cry all night and can’t get to sleep for shivering. Often a boy will creep into his friend’s bed and snuggle up for warmth. Jackie hasn’t got a best friend. And he arrived late at the school, so he got the last vacant bed. You can guess where that is! Right at the end under the window. And Matron makes them keep the window open all day and all night.”