Word of Honour

And Jack would get dreadfully disappointed when flaws in his plan were pointed out to him, but it wouldn't stop him from organising, lecturing, arguing and simply badgering those around him into good works.

Jack Figg was one of the few truly humane human beings Aubrey had ever met. Aubrey did worry about him, living and working in some of the worst, most crime-ridden parts of the city, but Jack never faltered in his efforts to improve the lot of those around him.

Caroline still gazed dreamily through the window. George had unfolded one of his beloved newspapers and was immersed in the minutiae that so intrigued him. Aubrey was left alone with his thoughts.

Some time later, George nudged him. Aubrey started. 'What?'

'You were asleep.'

'No I wasn't.'

'No, of course not. You snore when you're awake, just to keep everyone on their toes.'

'And the closed eyes,' Caroline said. 'To keep out the sunlight?'

'I wasn't snoring, was I?'

'No,' Caroline said. 'Not really.'

George held the paper under Aubrey's nose. 'Like to go to a show while we're in town?'

'I don't think so. I've had enough of shows for a time.'

'Look again, old man.' George shook the newspaper significantly. 'Wouldn't you like to go to a show?'

Aubrey started to bat the newspaper aside, then his gaze landed on the advertisement in the middle of the page. 'Oh.'

'I thought so,' George said smugly.

'What on earth are you two going on about?' Caroline asked.

'Nothing,' Aubrey said.

'Nothing,' George said.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. 'Why do I suddenly feel as if I'm a headmaster? Come now, out with it.'

'Arturo Spinetti,' George said. 'Lovely tenor. Good reviews, too. "A fine repertoire, excellent control, first class presentation."'

'It doesn't sound like your sort of thing, Aubrey.'

'It's not, exactly.'

'Then what is it?'

Aubrey hesitated. Caroline's father had been killed by Dr Tremaine. Should he tell her of his suspicions? Would it be kinder to shield her until he knew more?

If she finds out later that I suspected and didn't tell her . . . 'You deserve to know.' He leaned forward and put his hands together. 'I think Dr Tremaine is back.'

All the blood ran from Caroline's face. Her eyes became diamond-hard points. 'Dr Tremaine,' she breathed in a voice that was full of such loathing, such fury that Aubrey almost felt sorry for the man.

He also thought it wise not to point out that it was Caroline who was now echoing. 'Yes. At least, I think so.' He glanced at George. 'George isn't sure.'

'Not sure?' she snapped. 'Either you saw him or you didn't.'

'I saw him. George didn't. Or George didn't think it was him.'

'Tell me everything.'

So Aubrey recounted the fiasco at the awards ceremony. When he paused, George filled in and Aubrey was grateful for his friend's impartiality. Listening to him, it didn't sound as if he were a complete raving fool.

Caroline sat silently, but Aubrey saw how the clenched hands in her lap went whiter and whiter as the story unfolded.

When Aubrey finished the account, she groped for words for a moment. 'And you weren't going to tell me this?'

He sighed. 'I considered it. But lessons learned and all that. This is the first chance I've had – we've had – to tell you.'

'I see.' She gazed out of the window again. 'This changes things. We must put it to rest once and for all. Is this Spinetti Dr Tremaine or not?'

'You really think he might be?' Aubrey asked.

'Magic, Aubrey,' she said. 'It's you who should know that just about anything can happen where magic is concerned. Some sort of disguising spell or other, I'd imagine.'

'One that I can see through but no-one else can?'

'I'll leave that for you to work out.'

Aubrey opened his mouth and then closed it again.

'Excellent.' Caroline regarded Aubrey with a steely ferocity. 'Is there anything else you're not telling me?'

JACK FIGG HAD ASKED TO MEET AT THE HALL IN LENNOX Street, the headquarters of the Society for the Preservation of Manners. The last two members of the fading society – a Miss Alwyn and her cousin Mr Renshaw – were on the Continent and had let Jack Figg have the use of the almost pristine building.

The hall was narrow, sandwiched between a barber and a boot repair shop. Jack Figg was standing on the stairs, leaning against one of the pair of fluted pillars, waiting for them in the morning sunshine.

He brightened when he saw them approach. 'Aubrey! Caroline! George! At last!'

Jack Figg was tall and thin. He stooped and his shoulders were rounded. He wore battered spectacles, a dark blue waistcoat, and a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked harassed, but Aubrey knew it was his customary expression. Like him, Jack had many things he wanted to do with life and felt that there simply weren't enough hours in a day.

'Sorry, Jack.' Aubrey shook his friend's hand. 'Things have been hectic.'

'Saving the country again, I suppose?'

'No, not for a while, I haven't. I'm at Greythorn now, you know. Busy.'

'Ah, and how is the featherbed of the elite? Full of lotus eaters whiling their lives away?'

'Not exactly. I haven't had a lotus all the time I've been there. Have you, George? Caroline?'

'No,' George said. 'I had a good pork pie just yesterday, though.'

'Hmph,' Jack said. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat. 'Still, it's hardly an open institution. I don't suppose you saw many miner's sons there. Or daughters,' he hastened to add when he saw Caroline bridling.

'You know I agree with you, Jack,' Aubrey said. 'There's a long way for the country to go. We've made some progress, but some things move slowly.'

George shrugged. 'Well, here's one farmer's son who's managed to wind up at Greythorn.'

'Should be more of it, is all I'm saying,' Jack said.

'And I'm sure that's not why you've asked us here,' Aubrey said. He gazed up at the neoclassical façade of the building. The pediment was severe, looking down on the portico like a judge on the accused. 'What have you got set up in here? A soup kitchen? A workers' reading room?'

'We've got a co-operative running inside, lacemaking.'

'Jack, I didn't think you were the textiles type.'

'We've had a number of families come down from the north, turned out of their houses when the mills expanded. The old women used to make lace by hand, so I've set them up here, teaching others. Output is increasing and we've got more orders than we can fill.'

'You never cease to amaze me, Jack,' Aubrey said. 'But what's this got to do with me?'