Word of Honour

CAROLINE SAT OPPOSITE HIM IN THE CAB. SHE WORE A jacket and skirt over a white linen blouse. Her hat was blue velvet, rather striking. Aubrey found it hard to keep his gaze from her, but he realised – from her startled expression – that the alternative of flicking his eyes around the interior of the cab and out of the windows, never settling for long – made him look quite demented, as well as feel dizzy.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

He gave up and looked at her. She had one small crease, a perfectly vertical one, exactly halfway between her eyebrows. He realised she was frowning.

'Yes. Ripping. Couldn't be better.'

She frowned harder. The crease deepened. Aubrey was lost in wonder.

'Do I have something on my face?' she asked.

'No, no, nothing. Sorry.'

She sighed. 'Aubrey, we can't do anything if you're going to be a goose like this all the time.'

'Quite right.'

'You'll have to learn to manage yourself. More decorum.'

'Of course.'

'I thought it the sort of thing you could do. Most men can't.'

'Ah. An appeal to vanity.' He grinned. 'I'll see what I can do.'

Aubrey sat back. He'd never really considered the issue, how tiresome it must be for Caroline to be stared at. Her occasional brusqueness was perfectly natural when looked at in that light.

'Here's something practical for you to think about,' she said, 'since a modicum of practicality may be useful.'

Aubrey sat straighter. He adjusted his tie. He clasped one knee, composed his face and nodded. 'How's this? Practical enough?'

She rolled her eyes. 'The Eastside Suffragists. I've mentioned them to you before. We're on a membership drive.'

'Excellent idea. Can't have too many suffragists.'

'Then you're happy to sign up. The fees are reasonable.'

'Me?' With a thought that was quicker than instantaneous, he managed to save himself from utter disaster by going on. 'Just me, I mean? I'm sure I can convince George to join, and what about Father? That would be a coup for your organisation.'

Caroline looked thoughtful. 'George is already a member, but your father . . .'

'I'm sure he'd do it.' George is already a member? I must ask him about that.

'Despite the party? The Opposition?'

'You know he believes in votes for women. It's just that things are slow to move in this area. This might be the sort of thing that could give matters a kick on.'

'It's an excellent idea,' Caroline murmured.

'And here's another. If we can get Father's agreement – and I'm sure we shall – we might be able to seed this in the press via George's work with Luna. If he could write an article about it, perhaps interview Father, it would be an achievement for him, and a way of bringing the matter to public attention.'

'Aubrey, your plans sometimes have a touch of genius about them.'

'Well, I try.'

AFTER CROSSING THE RIVER, THE CABBY CIRCLED AROUND a little before finding St Olaf 's. It was a squat, blockish church in the Crozier district, right on the edge of Little Pickling. The church was in need of repair, its gutters were sagging, and the belltower had a decided lean. The detached hall at the rear was more modern, but no less shabby. A drone of massed voices came from it.

Inside, three separate groups had divided the hall into fiefdoms. Each one was made up of a dozen or so people sitting on wooden chairs, facing an instructor with a blackboard. The lessons seemed to comprise 'listen and repeat' – traveller's phrases, mostly. One group would stumble over 'Good morning' then the next would raise its collective voice with 'How much is it?' and, to combat this, the final group would be forced to bellow 'Which way is the railway station?' before the first group started again.

Watching this process, Aubrey didn't hear the approach from behind. A hand tapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr Fitzwilliam, Miss Hepworth. What are you here for?'

It was Brandt. Standing next to him was Rokeby-Taylor with a look of honest, and delighted, surprise on his face.

While trying to deal with this unexpected development, Aubrey's brain slipped into his prepared story. 'Count Brandt. Good to see you. I was wondering if you'd like to discuss the details of setting up a clinic in this area.'

'Mr Fitzwilliam,' Brandt said, 'what a fine idea! But excuse me, I must introduce my good friend, Mr Rokeby-Taylor. He is an important man, knows many powerful people. He has promised much support for our cause.'

'We've met, Kurt,' Rokeby-Taylor said, reaching out and shaking Aubrey's hand. He took Caroline's hand and held it for rather longer than Aubrey thought appropriate. ' Miss Hepworth. You look as if you've recovered from your nautical adventure.'

'I have, Mr Rokeby-Taylor,' Caroline said gravely. 'Thank you.'

Rokeby-Taylor put his hands on his hips. 'A clinic, eh, Aubrey? Should have thought of it myself.'

'No, Clive,' Brandt said, 'you are already doing more than enough. Your generous donations to our cause, your introductions to important people, taking our talented people into your company? How can we thank you?'

'No need, Kurt, no need. We all benefit. I needed good magical talent, your people were unable to get positions here.' He took out a pocket watch and barely glanced at it. 'Goodness. I'm afraid I must be off.' He touched his tie – a striped, navy blue and white number. 'Miss Hepworth, would you be free next Friday evening? I have tickets to a recital at the Regent's Hall. Palliser is playing.'

'I don't think so, Mr Rokeby-Taylor.'

'I see. The day after?'

'I'll have to look in my diary, but I don't think so.'

'Eh? Well, if you do find a gap in your schedule, I'd consider it an honour if you'd telephone me.'

Caroline frowned at the card he handed her, but she tucked it in her bag.

Aubrey was glad no-one had glanced in his direction during all this. He was sure that his face had turned as stony as an Aigyptian statue. It was all he could do to prevent himself from cheering when Caroline declined Rokeby-Taylor's offer.

'Insistent man,' Caroline said when Rokeby-Taylor had left the hall.

'Hmm?' Aubrey said. 'Sorry, I was miles away. Didn't notice a thing.'

Caroline glanced at him sharply, but Aubrey was alert. 'Tell us, Count Brandt, what are you up to here?'

'We are up to as much as we can,' Count Brandt said. 'In exile, we do our best.'

Brandt led Aubrey and Caroline out of the hall. Around the corner was another, smaller hall in a courtyard surrounded by tall buildings. It was full of people – thirty or forty – arranged in old pews. Aubrey recognised Bloch at a lectern, and Madame Albers, but the others were strangers. Bloch was allocating a list of tasks and Aubrey was thankful for his father's insistence on the importance of foreign languages.

Those in the pews were well-dressed, if their clothes were a little out of fashion. Most were taking notes.