His host was charming, urging more hock with the fish course, and ordering an expensive bottle of Beaune with the veal. They chatted amiably enough over the first course with Johnny encouraging Henry Wood, Number Twelve, to tell him more about what went on in the hospital. Over the apple pie, seeing that the subject seemed unlikely to come up of its own accord, Johnny made his move.
‘What are you all going to do about the Silkworkers ballot and those plans to sell off the assets?’ he inquired.
‘How do you know about that?’ replied Number Twelve.
‘I’ve a cousin who belongs to the livery,’ Johnny lied cheerfully, ‘not that he’s ever been near a silkworm in his life. He said there was a lot of argument going on.’
‘Well, that’s certainly true with us.’ Number Twelve looked round him as if he thought he might be under surveillance of some kind. He took a large gulp of Beaune and Johnny knew he was hooked. ‘Fact is,’ Number Twelve went on, ‘we’ve all been sworn to secrecy. We’re not meant to breathe a word about it to anybody.’
In his long experience of human nature working with Powerscourt, Johnny knew that there is nothing some people sworn to secrecy like better than telling somebody else about it at the earliest possible opportunity.
‘Were you all united in your opinions then, up there at the hospital?’
Number Twelve laughed a sarcastic laugh. ‘We were not. Absolutely not. I’ve never known the men so divided as they were about this vote. People came to blows once or twice.’
‘Really?’ said Johnny.
‘It was that bad.’ Number Twelve, Henry Wood, finished his glass and looked expectantly at the Beaune. Johnny topped him up and ordered another bottle.
‘So where does opinion stand now?’
‘I’m not quite sure, actually. To begin with, nearly everybody seemed to be in favour of selling up. Warden Monk was particularly keen on the plan. I’ve often wondered,’ Number Twelve leant forward at this point and whispered, ‘if he wasn’t in the pay of that horrible man Sir Peregrine Fishborne!’
‘Seriously?’ said Johnny.
‘Very seriously. That man is capable of anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be the murderer.’
‘You said informed opinion was initially for selling up. Did some people change their minds?’
‘Well,’ said Number Twelve, admiring the colour of the wine in its splendid bottle, ‘the opposition were very clever. They said they could see all the attractions, money in our pockets from our share of the sale of the assets, that sort of thing. But, they said, there was no guarantee about what was going to happen to the Jesus Hospital later on. If the Silkworkers effectively ceased to exist, even though some people said it would come back again when the war was over, who was going to look after us in the meantime? Who was going to pay all the bills? They said, the opposition, that our situation would become untenable. The Prime Warden and his cronies could kick us out and sell the hospital off to the highest bidder and turn it into houses or flats. We would become notorious, they said, decrepit old men walking the streets of Marlow and Maidenhead with begging bowls in our hands and nowhere to rest our weary heads at night.’
‘That must have put the fear of God into some of the men,’ said Johnny. ‘But tell me, what of your own position? Which side were you on?’
Johnny thought he knew the answer to that. He did.
‘I was with the opposition, myself. Any change in the position of something as marginal as an almshouse must be risky. People probably wouldn’t pay for them to be built if they didn’t feel they had to. The founder, the original Gresham back in sixteen whatever it was, must have thought it would improve his chances of getting into heaven. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. I wouldn’t think Sir Peregrine and his friends think they might be going to hell. They wouldn’t behave like this if they did.’
‘And who was the leader of the opposition, as it were, the main voice against Sir Peregrine?’
‘Well, it was Number Twenty, actually. He was very persuasive when he was alive, Abel Meredith.’
And now he’s dead, Johnny said to himself. He opposed the changes and now he’s dead, just like that other one, up there in the Silkworkers Hall.
9
Powerscourt felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting for an unpleasant interview with the headmaster. He was indeed in the outer office of the headmaster of Allison’s School, but the naughty boys, three of them, he was told, were in the inner sanctum, facing the wrath of the authorities for drinking two bottles of prohibited wine behind the cricket pavilion. The headmaster, however, was affable as Powerscourt was ushered in and the miscreants sent back to their classrooms.
‘Lord Powerscourt, how good to see you. And Lady Powerscourt is at her station, I trust?’
The Powerscourts had arrived in Fakenham the evening before and were comfortably settled in the Crown Hotel a few minutes’ walk from the school.
‘I hope so,’ said Powerscourt. ‘She was certainly going in the right direction when I last saw her. Do you have any further news, Headmaster? Are the boys still refusing to talk?’
‘I’m afraid they are,’ replied the headmaster. ‘Let’s hope they change their minds soon.’
‘There is one development on which I’d like to hear your opinion,’ said Powerscourt. ‘It concerns the constitution, if that’s not too grand a word, of the Silkworkers Company. We did talk about it when I was here before, but without mentioning one key legal fact. As I understand it, Sir Peregrine Fishborne, in his role as Prime Warden of the Company, wants to sell off the assets and distribute the proceeds among the members, with a view to reacquiring the assets at a later, unspecified, stage. He claims, so I’m told, that the justification for this course of action is an ancient codicil, only recently discovered, which gives him the right to do this in times of great peril, like a possible war with Germany. That, I think, is the key legal fact we did not discuss at our earlier meeting, Headmaster. I wonder what you feel about this, as head of a school which has been in the care of the Silkworkers for centuries?’
‘I have to tell you, Lord Powerscourt, that we at Allison’s were divided about the plan. We still are. Some people thought it most unwise. According to the bursar, who was, if you like, the leader of the opposition, it could endanger the future of the school.’
‘So Roderick Gill was the leading man in the hostile party?’
‘He certainly was. He thought it most imprudent, an attempt by the authorities in the livery company to enrich themselves at the expense of future generations. Pure greed, he called it.’
‘I see,’ said Powerscourt. ‘Were there a lot of votes here in the school?’
‘Twelve. Myself and my deputy, the bursar and the other nine votes were spread out among the senior members of staff. Allison’s has always had a dozen votes, it goes back for years and years.’
‘Did they all oppose the plan?’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Powerscourt, I feel my obligations to the Silkworkers don’t allow me to answer that. I was in breach of covenant when we had our earlier discussion. I would prefer not to do that again.’
‘Do you know if Sir Peregrine and his friends were aware of some opposition here? Was there any attempt to change your minds?’
‘It’s curious you should ask that,’ said the headmaster, gathering his gown behind his back and strolling over to the window. ‘We were still waiting for Roderick’s final report on the affair. But I know he wrote to Sir Peregrine as a matter of politeness to let him know his views. The school, after all, is an important part of the role and responsibilities of the livery company. Gill told him, as I understand it, that he did not see how the Silkworkers’ duties to the school could be fulfilled if its assets were all sold off and distributed among the members. I think he actually asked if Sir Peregrine proposed to sell the school off as if it were a house on Lombard Street. But he was polite. He invited the Prime Warden to come and talk to us whenever he felt able to. He said it might help clear the air.’