Here Be Monsters

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Suddenly he looked older, and much more frail, so that for a moment she had scruples.

Then she remembered Major Turnbull's false teeth, and her heart hardened because of that.

'Now there's another man dead, Mr Willis. Someone I knew.' She didn't know Major Turnbull at all. But Major Turnbull was nonetheless someone she knew - ' Grime has nothing whatsoever to do with coal-mining, Miss Loftus' , he had said. So she knew him. 'Do you know what I am, Mr Willis?'

He stared at her, still struck dumb against his nature. And she knew in that instant that Audley wasn't coming - that he wasn't stupid, so he trusted her just enough to take his time.

'I'm David's letter, Mr Willis, is what I am.'

'His… letter?' That sparked him, out of his ancient memory of whatever Sir Frederick Clinton's letter-of-power had contained.

'In a way, yes.' She mustn't blow it now. 'I don't suppose you could tell me what Sir Frederick wrote, that made you change your mind all those years ago?'

He raised his eyebrows again. 'Good gracious, no!' He opened his mouth to continue, then closed it tightly on unsaid words.

'No, of course.' That must have been strong medicine of Sir Frederick's, she thought - to open his mouth, and then to close it like that. She smiled a hard little unsmiling smile at him deliberately. 'He must have had something pretty good on you, though.'

'My dear young lady - ' He weakened almost comically ' - we all have our little secrets, which we would fain remain secret. Mine is safe, I'm glad to say, since I alone guard it now.'

Elizabeth kept her nasty smile in place, and waited patiently.

He looked over his shoulder, shifting himself gingerly. But there was still no sign of Audley. 'You said… you are David's letter?' He was putting two and two together nicely.

'Then - I'm afraid it must be my old eyes, but I can't read what's written on you, my dear.'

'No?' When he called her 'Elizabeth' she would have won. 'You're quite wrong about David, you know, Mr Willis. You shouldn't be worried about what he may do to your good Dr Thomas - he still believes that he made no mistake there.' She nodded. 'You should be worried for David. Because he's a softie, like you.'

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'He is?' He still wasn't quite convinced. 'But you're not?'

Smile. 'Since you like stories, Mr Willis - do you remember the one about young Prince Edward at the Battle of Crecy?'

He goggled slightly. 'He was the one who became the bloodthirsty Black Prince, was he?'

He rubbed his chin with an audible rasp, reminding her unbearably of Father, who also hadn't shaved too closely in his old age. But then he pointed at her. ' Schoolmistress - the car's wrong, and the clothes are wrong - but that's what I would have said, before I knew you better.' Then he shook his head apologetically. 'I'm sorry - Prince Edward of Crecy, you were saying - ?'

Damn the man! 'I'm here to win my spurs, Mr Willis. And my designed job is to get both of them - Dr Thomas and David. Because someone thinks Dr Thomas may be a traitor. And David… because he may have made a mistake, but he won't admit it.' She would have liked to have spun it out, but there was a limit to the time Audley could give her. 'But I'll settle for Thomas if you give me the chance.'

He took only half-a-second to digest that. 'How will my giving you Haddock Thomas help David? Always supposing that I can?'

But she was ready for that. 'If he admits the possibility that he was wrong, then he's got a chance of turning the tables.'

'And supposing he wasn't wrong?' His expression depressed her. 'What then, Miss Loftus?'

'Then I shalln't win my spurs, shall I?' They were too far into truth for comfort now. Or was that the truth?

He seemed to sense her doubt. 'Or you could just be telling me another story?'

'I could.' There was no more time for finesse. 'But if I'm not, then your good Dr Thomas has all the time in the world, but your wicked David hasn't. And there are two dead men who have no time at all - and you can ask David about them.' She sat up in her deck-chair, feeling the canvas stretch dangerously under her. 'David! Where are those drinks you were supposed to be getting? We're dying of thirst out here!'

'Coming!' Audley's voice reached them faintly from inside the cottage.

She challenged the old man with a look. 'Well?'

'You're an evil young woman. And I have insufficient experience of evil women.' He sat dummy2

back. 'Evil boys - yes… Housemasters' wives - yes, to my cost… And their daughters, latterly.' He heaved a sigh. 'But then, I must suppose that you are your father's daughter -

if, as you say, he would have approved of what you are doing…'

There was no reply to that: what Father might have thought of this was far beyond her imagination.

Clink of glasses - David Audley as the drinks-waiter was equally unimaginable. 'Where have you been, David?'

He looked daggers at her, which she hoped were stage-weapons. 'I have been carrying your bag up to the spare bedroom, Elizabeth. And, since there is but one spare bedroom, I have been searching for the Willis camp-bed - a relic of forgotten military campaigns, upon which I hope to snatch a few hours' sleep before long.' He presented the tray to Mr Willis.

'Because we must be up-and-away before dawn, Willy. So I hope you have a reliable alarm-clock.'

'No problem, dear boy. Thank you. I shall ask the telephone to wake us all up.' The old man looked up at Audley over his glass. 'So you have not been altogether open and above-board with me, it would seem?'

'I haven't?' Audley lifted his tankard of beer off the tray, eyed the third deck-chair again, and then sank down on to the flagstones.

'Not that it surprises me.' The statement was delivered to Elizabeth. 'He was always a strange little boy, you know, Elizabeth. And an even stranger youth - gregarious enough on the surface, but solitary and secretive underneath. It was partly due to his upbringing, of course.' He returned his gaze to Audley. 'So, at all events, it is you who are in trouble, as much as - or perhaps rather than -Haddock Thomas?'

'Me?' Audley raised one shoulder. 'Could be. But I look after myself perfectly well. So don't worry about that, Willy.'

'Ah… now you must do better than that, if I am to help you. For Elizabeth here - she has been most persuasive. But not quite persuasive enough.'

'Indeed?' Audley's face was set obstinately.

'Be reasonable, dear boy. Why should one superannuated pedagogue wish to spill the beans about another? Such an action required the courtesy of an adequate explanation.

You believed Haddock to be loyal after vetting twice long ago - correct?'

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Audley didn't look at Elizabeth. 'Yes.'

'And you believe him to be loyal still?'

'Yes.'

'In spite of evidence to the contrary?'

'There is no evidence to the contrary.'

'But there have been… occurrences?'

Audley said nothing.

'What makes you so sure of Haddock?' The old man accepted his brief as devil's advocate.

Audley's lip twisted. 'What makes you so sure of him, Willy - that we have to go through this rigmarole?'

'Hmm…' The old man gave Audley a flash of loving approval, which he extinguished instantly when he remembered Elizabeth. 'So we both confide unshakably in our judgements - yours from long ago, mine of a somewhat newer vintage. So why should we fear? Magna est veritas et praevalebit, dear boy - and Truth shall bear away the victory?'