Aubrey blushed. ‘Ah, yes. I remember.’
‘And your toy soldiers had a somewhat similar problem with their toy commanders.’
‘I see. A long time ago, of course.’
‘Of course. And here you are again. Regular as clockwork: once a decade. I’m fairly rushed off my feet, advising you.’ She paused and gazed at him until he became uncomfortable. ‘I cannot counsel you in much, Aubrey.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He went to stand. ‘Perhaps I should go.’
‘Sit,’ she said and Aubrey’s knees gave way before he was able to give them a conscious command. ‘Let me tell you in what areas I may be of some help.’ She gathered herself. ‘As you know, I am the custodian of the Fitzwilliam family name and reputation, correct?’
‘That’s true.’ True, if an understatement. Lady Maria had devoted much of her time to establishing the Fitzwilliam heritage. She was currently overseeing four separate books on the family’s contribution to Albion history, one of them a biography of her husband – the third so far.
‘And in wartime, Fitzwilliams have distinguished themselves. When duty calls, Fitzwilliams are first in line, never shirking their duty.’
‘I suppose so.’ Aubrey’s grandfather wasn’t the only Fitzwilliam military hero Aubrey was conscious of. His father had been decorated many times for his bravery in combat and his inspirational leadership had won the day on more than one occasion.
‘And you’re wondering what you should do.’
‘I always wonder what I should do.’ He ran a finger up and down the arm of the chair, absorbed in the way the velvet nap moved. ‘I was hoping you might have some more information from Holmland.’
‘When undecided, seek more information. Your grandfather would approve. Seek more information then act decisively.’ She tilted her head at the letter in her hand. ‘I have had some news from Professor Delroy, but that is all that I have had from the Continent in the last week.’
‘I hope Holmland agents aren’t intercepting your letters,’ Aubrey said, mostly to cover his surprise. Lady Maria was in correspondence with the father of George’s special friend?
‘They always have in the past, but they haven’t been so clumsy as to cut off delivery.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Lady Maria was lobbing surprises at him like grenades.
‘Don’t look so shocked. Your intelligence people, the ones you’re thick as thieves with, they intercept my letters. Intercept, copy out, then send them on so I’m not aware of their interference. That’s what the Holmlanders have been doing for years, too, and a dozen other agencies as well.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘Aubrey, I gave up worrying years ago. A pointless expenditure of energy.’
‘But people are reading your letters!’
‘It won’t do them any good at all. Anything my friends tell me is couched in terms so allusive and roundabout that I’m the only one who can understand them.’
‘The security agencies are very clever.’
‘They may be clever, but they haven’t lived eighty-four years of my life. That’s what they’d need to unravel the hints and implications in my correspondence.’
‘I wasn’t aware that you knew Dr Delroy.’
‘For many years. A fine mind. The Gallian government would be lost if it weren’t for his economic guidance. Poor man.’
‘Oh?’
‘He is most unhappy, Aubrey. Family can do that, you know.’
Personal matters weren’t the sort of thing one should be curious about, Aubrey knew, but it was difficult to ignore such a tantalising hint. Besides, he might be able to help George if he knew...
Don’t, he warned himself. He could see a slippery slope just ahead. Ask about this matter, then he’d need to know a bit more and soon he’d be a prying, unhappy gossip, keen to know about the private lives of others, but never satisfied.
‘Thank you, Grandmother,’ he said with an effort. He stood. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Don’t you want my advice after all?’
‘Advice? Of course.’
‘Here.’ She gestured to him to bend over. When he did, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Do the right thing.’
He left his grandmother, feeling strangely pleased but still confused. Her final words were cryptic, but Aubrey was accustomed to such things. Cryptic comments, enigmatic observations and puzzling responses were commonplace in Maidstone.
She’d given him more food for thought, but he already had a surfeit of that and could feel mental indigestion coming on.
He wandered along the gallery, toward his room. His hands were thrust into his pockets and his brow was thoroughly wrinkled as he pondered his future.
Magical scholarship was mightily attractive. He loved the thrill of discovery and implementation in this field, using his innate talent and building on it through rigorous investigation. He could make a name for himself, and it would be special. No Fitzwilliam had ever shown much magical talent until he came along, so if he could succeed, it would be unique. He could see a life of magical theory, perhaps a chair at one of the universities, or even the position of Sorcerer Royal.
Magic would always be part of his life. He couldn’t deny it, but he understood now that the lure of something else was more insistent. Politics. He wanted to go into politics – but could he succeed in magic and politics? To make the matter knottier, he had the possibility of pursuing a magical career via Craddock’s people, the Magic Department of the Security Intelligence Directorate.
He stopped in front of a portrait of his grandfather. His grandfather, the soldier, in full uniform, the defender of his country.
It may not be a choice between two options. A third presented itself, bursting out of the pack and racing to the lead.
He turned on his heel to find George mounting the stairs, with the happy smile that came from having completed a sufficient meal. He looked up just as Aubrey seized his arm. ‘George! I know what one person can do!’
‘I’m glad. Can another one do it too?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s something that can make a difference, especially when lots of people do it at the same time.’
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense, old man. What is it?’
‘We can join up.’
Six
‘I know I’ve asked this question before, in other circumstances,’ George said as they jumped off the bus the following day, ‘but do you really think this is a good idea?’
They skirted a newsagent that was besieged by customers. Posters announcing the declaration of war were plastered all over the small wooden booth, and Aubrey had to struggle through to buy a paper. He read about his father’s speech in Parliament and the overwhelming support it received – one hundred million pounds was immediately voted toward the war effort. Huge crowds had gathered at the Palace in the early morning, cheering whenever the King and Prince Albert appeared at the balcony.
In all this optimism, Aubrey was relieved to see that Quentin Hollows, the British Ambassador in Fisherberg, had been handed his passport by the Holmland authorities and was safely on his way home. Aubrey had appreciated the support of Hollows when they were in Fisherberg and had been concerned at his situation in the Holmland capital once war was official.
He was also sobered to read that the Holmland invasion of the Low Countries had begun with a bombardment by airship. This was a modern war, in all its horribleness.
Aubrey pointed at the long line of men stretched along the pavement in busy High Street. Shopkeepers stood outside their establishments and cheered the young men who were coming from all directions, alone and in small groups arm in arm. Whistles and shouts came from the line, attracting attention, and every newcomer was greeted with a roar of acclamation. ‘All those chaps seem to think it’s a good idea, George.’