Lucas also saw the morning newspapers, and he cast aside everything else to read the headlines about Robert Hastings, then every other subsidiary piece that gave more details and opinions. He read The Times, as well as one of the more popular, less reputable papers whose words would reach and influence a larger part of the country.
The more he read, the more it chilled him. Hastings was not only a member of Parliament; he was considered prime minister material and was being groomed to lead the country. If these charges held, and even if they did not, he would be ruined. And in his fall, he could take a good part of the government with him. Churchill would be bitterly disappointed and angry, but there was nothing he could do about it. Was this the blow that Repton had seen as imminent, the one Allenby had hinted at the last time they met? How? And why did he see its origins as coming from Wyndham Hall? What had Repton stumbled upon that had cost him his life? Perhaps that was the most urgent question now.
Josephine was standing a few feet away. “I know,” she said before he could tell her. After so many years together, she could read his thoughts. “The newspapers have made such a splash of these charges that I doubt it will make much difference whether they’re true or not.”
Lucas nearly mentioned that he had been thinking the very same thing, but then realized how much that statement would be bound with emotions: anger, loyalty, and fear. Such headlines would make an indelible impression on many people, and proving them false would hardly matter. “I agree,” he sighed. “Hastings will never get rid of this stain. The accusations will remain front-page news. Any retraction, if there is one, will be in small print and on some middle page, long after decisions based on his supposed guilt are irretrievable.”
“And the young man who made the charges, or was reported to have done? Would he be equally stained?” Josephine asked. “Did he say it carelessly, vindictively, perhaps as a petty reaction to some minor discipline? Or was he put up to it by someone else?”
“You read that?” Lucas asked, surprised.
“One account of it,” she replied. “The others will probably be the same, or close enough. Do you think there could be any truth to it?”
“The young man amounts to an apprentice,” Lucas answered slowly, trying to think his way through as he spoke. “This account of it uses a lot of suggestive words that could mean a variety of things, but will be taken as the most salacious—”
Josephine cut across him. “What are you going to do?” She came forward and sat down in the chair opposite him. Her hair was slipping out of the pins that held it up, and anxiety had left little color in her face.
They had known Robert Hastings and his family for years. Lucas and Hastings had worked together during the war. After, in peacetime, the two families had shared meals and compared notes about their children—and, for Josephine and Lucas, their grandchildren. Most importantly, they had shared their hopes for the future.
Hastings had never known what position Lucas served in the government, and he knew better than to ask. In these recent years, their contacts had been fewer, although Josephine had remained close to Hastings’s wife and had been there to give support when she was dying.
Lucas noted the grief in his wife’s face, and his heart pained for her. Josephine shared his admiration for Hastings, for his clarity of view, his fairness, and his sense of humor. And also his dignity.
In all the fierce debates in which Robert Hastings had participated on the floor of the House of Commons, or conversations that Lucas had witnessed over a family meal at one of their homes, the man had never made a specious or personal argument, and he was always capable of acknowledging an opponent’s view if it was convincingly put forward.
“I will find out all I can,” promised Lucas. “I have to learn what Robert says, and what the young man says as well.”
“Lucas?”
“What?”
“Are you thinking there could be some truth in it? A misunderstanding, or something fabricated for blackmail?”
He sighed. These were the questions he did not want to contemplate, much less answer. But he knew she would not let him escape without facing them.
She waited expectantly.
“The answers are so many,” he said at last. “I don’t know the young man. Maybe Hastings said or did something that was misunderstood. Or worse, the young man was honest, but he had no idea he would bring the whole roof down on Hastings’s head.”
“And on his own, too,” she pointed out. “There will be plenty of Robert’s supporters who will want to crucify the young man. Don’t forget that. Not that I suppose it would do any good. They’re both ruined regardless, because it’s the sort of thing people don’t forget. Who would take the risk of employing him now? And there’ll be those who want it to be true.”
There was a catch to her voice that Lucas could not ignore.
“Do you know who will run for his seat?” she asked.
“No, how could I?”
“Of course not,” she said gently. “If this was engineered, or even if it was a stroke of luck for his enemies, they’ll waste no time in calling a by-election.” She fell silent for some time.
“Jo?”
She shook her head before speaking, as if trying to clear her mind. “You wanted to know who killed John Repton, and even more than that, why. From what you’re suggesting, there might have been a link between what he was investigating and this situation with Robert.”
“We’re thinking alike,” he told her. “I had better speak with Allenby. I wonder if he knows yet.”
“He will. It will be in all the papers,” she replied. “And Peter Howard. I will call Elena immediately and tell her the news—if by some chance she doesn’t know.”
“Thank you. And Jo—”
“Yes, Lucas, I’ll warn Elena to be careful,” she finished the thought. “I’ll tell her to warn Allenby, too, and remind her that they need to watch out for Margot as well. This thing could break wide open, couldn’t it.” That was an observation, not a question. “You had better go and see Peter. If he isn’t in his office already, he soon will be. Set out now. I’ll call him to say you’re coming.”
“I’m not calling on him—” He was going to say “officially,” but she cut him off.
“I’ll tell him to wait for you. But please, drive carefully.”
Her voice was grim when she said that, and he heard it. He didn’t have to ask if she had Peter’s office number. Josephine knew more about her husband’s life than he did!
He stood up, stopped a moment to touch her cheek, then went out to collect his jacket. Toby was on his heels, even though he had not yet had his breakfast treat.
Lucas went into the kitchen and gave Toby a double treat. “Sorry, Toby, you can’t come. I’m going into the city.”
Toby’s eyes went down and his tail drooped as if he understood him perfectly. He did not understand the words, but the meaning was clear.
It was a slow drive into the city because it was rush hour, and everybody was going the same way. Lucas was unused to traveling when there was this much traffic on the road, and he had to devote his entire attention to it, giving him little time to think about this situation with Robert Hastings.
He hoped to find Peter in his office. Josephine had said she would call to let him know he was coming with information, and he was relieved to see Peter on the telephone when he arrived.
Peter put the receiver down within a few moments. He looked tired already, harassed. His face was grim. A cup of tea sat on the desk beside him. Lucas assumed it had already gone cold. “I’m glad you’re here,” Peter said, not bothering with the usual greetings. “God, what a bloody mess! I’m not sure there’s anything to be salvaged from it. It’s the beginning of something far worse. Appeasement! God, Lucas, what are we turning into?” It was a rhetorical question; he expected no answer.
“Josephine’s calling Elena, who’s still at Wyndham Hall,” Lucas told him.
Peter gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. Lucas drew it up and sat down. “They’ve already spoken,” Peter said. “Josephine called back to give me the latest news.”
Lucas waited, nearly holding his breath.
“According to Elena, Griselda Wyndham has suggested that the chief constable of the county, Algernon Miller, should run to replace Hastings. And he is very likely to succeed. It would take a massive shift not to get him elected. No need for a change in party, just in the individual who represents them. I don’t know anything about Miller, do you?”
“Only what Allenby has told me,” Lucas replied. “But he and Elena felt he was close to the Wyndhams, and ambitious—very. Possibly, he was the one Repton was really after.”
“Does Elena like him?”
For the first time that day, Lucas smiled. “Why do you ask? You want to know if the judgment is based on emotion rather than evidence?”
Peter frowned very slightly. “Actually, I think her instincts are pretty good. And you haven’t answered my question.”
“No, she doesn’t like him. And possibly more to the point, neither does Allenby.”
“Why is that more to the point?” Peter challenged.
Lucas pondered this for a moment. Why did he trust Elena’s judgment less? Was he not only looking at the woman she was now, but also seeing her as a spellbound child, hungry to know everything through inquiry, emotional judgment, sudden bursts of logic, total honesty in their discussions, and trusting people because he did? “I’ve known her all her life,” he replied finally. “I forget how much people change. I know her vulnerabilities too well.”
“Do you know her strengths, too?” Peter asked, as if completely unforgiving.
“Perhaps not,” Lucas admitted. “One tends to be defensive of one’s children…and grandchildren.”
“What about Robert Hastings? Is he sacrificing his career to protect the young man from being exposed as an ambitious, lying, and irresponsible person? Or worse, an appeaser without a conscience? Would Hastings sacrifice his career, disappointing all the people who trusted him and possibly letting down not only the constituency he represents, but perhaps the entire country, rather than call his accuser a liar?”
“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted. “Maybe I should visit Hastings, see if I can help.”
“I’m afraid you can’t help,” Peter said grimly. “It’s very hard to refute an accusation, especially against such a young witness. But, by all means, you can try. Hastings is a good man, and we need him. The country needs him. He’s one man who would have stood out against the appeasers. With Churchill silent, perhaps the only one.”
“That’s not always in his favor,” Lucas pointed out. “There will certainly be those who say that is why we’re defending him. That is, because of political need, and nothing to do with the truth. I don’t think we have any idea yet how ugly this can get. If we defend him, then we will be seen as defending a homosexual who tries to force a young employee into actions that are repulsive to him. On the other hand, if we don’t defend him, then we will be seen as people who desert our friends who have been loyal to us and throw them to the wolves the minute loyalty could cost us anything.”
“So, we can’t win,” Peter concluded. “Does it all go back to Repton, Lucas? Is there any connection to his murder? Could he have told us something that might have changed all this?”
“I am beginning to believe so, but we’ll probably never know. As for this Algernon Miller,” he said, his gaze steady as he thought through the situation, “I know that he’s popular with the right wing. He’s considered a forward thinker, and he supports that idiot Lamb, who preaches forgiveness. Some might say Lamb is pro-Nazi and anti-Semitic.”
“There’s nothing we can do about Lamb, but Miller is another matter,” Peter said. “He was in the army, but not anywhere near the front line.”
“So, you’ve looked him up already? The story broke only this morning,” Lucas said, slightly surprised.
“Allenby told me after coming across Miller during his Repton inquiries,” Peter replied. “Just to understand the nature of the man. Nothing dishonorable about being in the army, but not in battle.”
“What more did Allenby say?”
“Or more interesting, what did Elena make of him?” Peter added.
At another less anxious time, Lucas might have been amused. “Are you really interested, or do you think she might have a different opinion?”
“I’m interested in her view,” Peter told him. “Women notice different things from men. Surely you know that already? And have you reflected on what Elena is likely to do? Actually, I’d also like to know what she thinks of the young man who’s made these charges.”
“How would she know him?” Lucas asked. “In fact, I’m sure she doesn’t.”
Peter smiled. “Not yet.” After a moment’s pause, he inquired, “What do we know about his parents?”
“Parents?” Lucas echoed in confusion.
“Their social status, their financial situation. Might they hope to profit from this mess? Or are they upstanding people, respected by others?” Peter leaned back into his chair. “There could be a hell of a lot more to this story that we don’t know yet. Even more than the relationship between Hastings and his accuser, lots of things. Lucas, we need to turn the microscope on this and see what we can find.”
“All I’ve been told about Algernon Miller is that he’s very close to the Wyndhams and, above all, Griselda.”
“Is he the ambitious type, would you say?”
“Whether he is or not, Griselda Wyndham certainly is, and so is her brother, Geoffrey Baden.” Lucas paused for a brief moment. “It’s Baden who Margot is intending to marry.”
“This certainly complicates things,” Peter said, taking in a sharp breath.
“Yes, it does.”
“Do we know what Algernon Miller wants for himself?”
“Hard to say,” Lucas replied. “But if Griselda Wyndham and her brother are as ambitious as I suspect, they could well be aiming for Miller to take not only Hastings’s seat, but his parliamentary position as well, only with the opposite view. A pacifist to replace a warmonger.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Do you think so? They’re playing to win! And the game could well be coming to a head rather sooner than we foresaw.”
“Yes.” Lucas sighed. “Don’t we learn anything?”
“Not much,” Peter replied. “We learned that we don’t like war. We don’t seem to have grasped that turning into the enemy we hate is even worse than facing him on the battlefield or bumping into him at the bus stop. You know as well as I do what is happening in Germany: terrorizing the Jews, putting people into camps like Dachau. Hitler is getting rid of his enemies. There are people like Ernst Röhm, God help us, who was getting the Brownshirts under his own control when Hitler shot him. You don’t need me to tell you that. Ask Elena, she was there.”
“I know, Peter,” Lucas said quietly. “I was there myself, just recently, and it’s out of control. We’ve succeeded in putting people in place to slow it down, but it’s not going to hold. As for Hastings, it’s very possible his young assistant was manipulated into making false accusations. Although I wonder if he might now be frightened, even ashamed, and wishes he could take back his words. If so, it’s too late. I’m afraid the damage is done. Mud like this tends to stick, whether it’s true or not. Too many people accept anything they want to, especially about successful men like Hastings, who tells them truths they are profoundly afraid of. It’s easier for them to see the truth as some conspiracy of the warmongers. To many, Hastings was the leader of a whole group of men who see very clearly where we are headed. Destroy him, and you get rid of many of his ideas.”
Suddenly tired and a little stiff, Lucas added, “I’ll go and see Hastings, find out what he has to say.”
“Don’t go to see Allenby or Elena,” Peter warned.
Lucas gave him a black look. “I’m getting old, Peter. I see a lot of things I’d rather not, but I haven’t lost my wits!” He walked to the door. “I’ll let you know what I find. I assume I can engage the best lawyer for Hastings, if he hasn’t already got him? And I may tell him so?”
“Of course, for any good it will do.”
“It will show our loyalty,” Lucas answered. “I’m damned if I’ll let him sink without a fight! He’s an old friend that I trust and respect.”
Lucas considered leaving his car in London and taking the train to where Hastings was being held in his own constituency. And since Algernon Miller was chief constable of the county, obtaining permission to visit Hastings would be awkward at best. Lucas was going as a friend, not in any official position. In fact, he no longer had one, even if he had meant to use it. The former head of MI6 was just that: former. No, he would be merely a concerned friend, with this Algernon Miller none the wiser.
Before Lucas climbed into his car, he remembered an outstanding lawyer in Oxford he knew. That would be the best place to begin. This was an emergency. He doubted Hastings would have gained access yet to a lawyer, much less one both willing and able to handle his case.
As much as he wanted to avoid public transport, he drove to the closest underground railway station and took the subway to Paddington station, where he managed to catch the next train to Oxford with only moments to spare. It jerked into motion and rattled out of the station, into the sunlight, and toward the first tunnel. Lucas sat back and began to think seriously of how to proceed.
Harry Cuthbertson was still in his office, although it was lunchtime when Lucas arrived. Cuthbertson was a slight man of average height, almost nondescript. That was, until you saw his smile. He had a charming smile, full of warmth, and perfect teeth. Lucas knew he was over fifty, yet his hair was still the same brown it had always been.
“Well, well,” Cuthbertson said with good humor. “How are you, Lucas? It’s been too long.” He held out his hand.
Lucas took his hand and shook it firmly. “And I land on your doorstep without even warning you. I apologize, Harry.”
“Don’t bother with a string of excuses,” Cuthbertson replied. “Business, I presume? Hastings, yes?”
“Yes,” Lucas agreed. It was a natural deduction. Lucas, Cuthbertson, and Hastings had all worked together on certain projects during the war, and friendships that grew from sharing fear and grief lasted a long time. They had too many memories in common to forget.
“Innocent or guilty, do you know?” Cuthbertson asked.
“I think innocent,” Lucas replied, sitting down in a captain’s chair. It was comfortable, with a well-padded backrest and armrests and a firm wooden frame.
Cuthbertson took his own seat behind his desk.
“Such inclinations are a secret most men keep very close,” Lucas went on. “His wife died recently. I didn’t know her well, but Josephine did. They have two children. Their daughter married an American and went there to live. Their son is somewhere in Europe. France, I think. They will both be deeply grieved to hear of this.”
Cuthbertson nodded. “So far, it’s only the accusation of one young man. If I read it right, he says that Hastings made advances, very explicitly, and then threatened to fire him if he reported it.”
“And what can Hastings do against this young man’s word?” Lucas asked. “What is his name, by the way? Can’t go on calling him ‘this young man.’ ”
“Rogers, I believe,” Cuthbertson replied. “Timothy Rogers. Or so says the local word.”
“Has he hired you already? Rogers, that is.” Lucas felt a sudden chill inside him, as if he had swallowed ice.
“No, but I wouldn’t take the case anyway.” Cuthbertson’s face filled with disgust.
“Why not?”
“Don’t say you are for him! You didn’t come all the way to Oxford to hire me for this wretched young man…or did you? Why? What do you know about this that I don’t?” Cuthbertson’s expression changed subtly, but all the warmth went out of it.
“No, of course not!” Lucas exclaimed, keeping his temper with difficulty. This whole thing hurt him, and more than that, it frightened him with its unending possibilities. “You and I have known Robert Hastings for decades. And I have other interests that necessitate my getting to the bottom of this, and fairly quickly.”
Cuthbertson bit his lip. “I’m afraid you’re too late to save his reputation in Parliament, Lucas. This must have been growing for a while. He has already been arrested, and I gather he’s just resigned his seat. A case of this kind is ruinous, whatever the verdict. People decide that they always knew there was something wrong with him, and now they have been proven right. It has nothing to do with reason. It is a deeply emotional issue. Largely fear, I think. Fear of something they don’t understand. Or they do understand, and only too well, and need to make sure everyone knows which side they are on.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I now must presume that you came here because you wish me to represent Hastings.”
Lucas hesitated. Should he explain to Cuthbertson that he suspected this might all tie into the murder of Repton? No, he would say that only if it were absolutely necessary, especially because no real link had yet been established. “Yes, to represent him. It seems to be tied into other things that matter.”
“And you can’t tell me.” Cuthbertson let it hang in the air, a conclusion, not a question.
“Sharp as always.” Lucas gave a brief, twisted smile. “What I can say is that Robert Hastings is not homosexual, as far as I know. But even if he is, I don’t believe that he would prey on a young man and then threaten him with dismissal. I don’t know what this Timothy Rogers is doing. Have you heard anything about him?”
“Only what I’ve read in the paper. But if Hastings wants me to take the case, I will know everything before I go to court.” There was an edge to Cuthbertson’s voice, a hard, cutting edge. And yet it was not harder than his ordinary speech. If anything, it was softer, coming from a place deeper within him.
“I think Hastings will be well able to meet your fee. But if he can’t, I will,” Lucas promised. It was a wild promise, and he knew this even as he said it. But there was more at stake than a man’s reputation. Hastings believed there was danger from those British who refused to see the truth about Nazism and the threat of another war. A war that had the potential to be even more terrible than the last one.
“We’ll argue about fees later,” Cuthbertson said quietly. “For now, let me go and see him.”
Cuthbertson made a phone call and arranged for himself and an assistant to visit Robert Hastings where he was being held.
Cuthbertson put the telephone down after having told the man to inform Hastings that his lawyer was on his way.
“We’ll go now,” he told Lucas. “Before anyone has time to change their minds or decides to barge in. Come on.”
Lucas obeyed. His mind was racing as to what he was going to say to Hastings. Was any of it true? Would they have arrested him simply on the word of a young man of no particular standing, against the denial of a member of Parliament, a man of uniquely high reputation?
Could the authorities afford to make such an expensive mistake? This was the kind of charge that was one man’s word against another, and the financial costs would be significant unless it could be settled quickly and out of court.
Sitting in the back of the chauffeur-driven car, Lucas saw Cuthbertson’s face in an unguarded moment. He recognized the anger in it—and darkness.
It was a short journey. They were admitted by the officer in charge, then almost immediately taken into an interview room. Hastings was brought in, still in his own clothes and without handcuffs. He was white-faced, and his eyes were hollow with shock. He did not offer his hand. It was not as if he wished not to, but as if he was afraid Cuthbertson would not take it.
“You came,” he said to Lucas, a mixture of pain and appreciation etched in his face. He turned to Cuthbertson. “Harry,” he said weakly.
Cuthbertson offered what seemed to be a reassuring smile and extended his hand.
Hastings took it, and some of the tension in his face relaxed.
“So, here we are,” said Lucas. “I only wish the circumstances were different.”
“How are you, Robert?” Cuthbertson asked seriously as they all sat down.
Hastings looked shaky as he sat, as if he was afraid that his legs would not hold him any longer.
“With your consent, of course,” Cuthbertson began, “I shall be happy to represent you in court, if it should go that far. But perhaps it will not.”
Hastings glanced at Lucas.
“The financial side of this is taken care of,” Lucas assured him. “Just tell us what happened. Exactly, as far as you remember.”
Cuthbertson leaned forward. “First, tell me about Timothy Rogers. That is, whatever you know about his background, his family, his education.”
Slowly, in halting words, Hastings told them about his habit, which he shared with many members of Parliament, of training a young man with skill and political ambitions in the running of his office. There was work that needed to be done regarding bills that would be presented before Parliament. That is, they needed to be written and then prepared for presentation. Hastings had put forward a few, and several had been passed. Timothy Rogers, as his aide, worked alongside him to handle the basic tasks.
Lucas was aware of several recent bills before Parliament that were intended to strengthen the army, the navy, and particularly the Royal Air Force. His mind slipped back to his old friendship with Winston Churchill, whom he had not seen recently. To some degree, the man was now in a kind of wilderness, out of office and with no reasonable hope of returning. Robert Hastings was seen as following in his footsteps.
Lucas and Harry pushed Hastings, who swore that none of the young man’s charges were true. He denied being homosexual. Lucas wondered if this had been evident to the young man.
When there was a break in Cuthbertson’s questions, Lucas stepped in. “Can you remember anything you might have done or said that could have been misconstrued?”
Hastings spoke quietly. “There were a few…experiments in my youth. They didn’t work for me. When I fell in love, in real love, I was in my twenties and it was with Lillian. We were married for nearly forty years. I still miss her, Lucas, and I can’t imagine anyone else in her place. We have two children, and thank God they aren’t here to suffer through this with me.”
“Any idea why Rogers got this into his head?” Cuthbertson asked. “Could he have known about those experiments from your youth?”
“No!” Hastings exclaimed emphatically. “As for an idea about how he thought about this—yes, but I have no proof.”
“What is it?” Lucas leaned forward. “Please! We can’t win this if we don’t know who we are fighting.”
“Timothy Rogers is a very bright young man from a very ordinary background,” Hastings began. “His father was killed during the war, which left the boy bereft. His mother married again after a good while. I was sorry for him. He always felt as if he didn’t belong anymore. Natural enough, in the circumstances. He has two younger half-brothers. He felt cheated, losing his father and then having to share his mother with a man not of his choosing. Natural feelings, I’d say, but not very helpful when I try to understand why he did this.”
The three men sat together in silence, each well into their own thoughts.
“What I know for certain,” Hastings finally said, “is that he’s an admirer of Oswald Mosley. And I only recently discovered that some surprising people are contributing large sums of money to Mosley’s cause. Very large indeed. I’m talking hundreds of thousands of pounds from each contributor. People I would not have thought…”
“Such as?” Lucas pressed.
“David Wyndham, for one.” Hastings shook his head in exasperation. “I know the man. Always thought he was pretty decent. Now I discover, and from a reliable source, that he has given another fifty thousand pounds this year. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Lucas felt as if the world had tilted sharply sideways and things were slipping off into space. He would never have believed it. His own judgment was worth nothing. He had met Wyndham only a couple of times, and his work had required him to investigate the man fairly thoroughly, but he had found nothing at all out of place. How could he have been so wrong? Was he losing his judgment?
Cuthbertson was looking at him in concern. He put his hand on Lucas’s arm to get his attention. “Are you all right, Standish?”
“I will be,” Lucas said, his tongue tripping over the words. “In a minute or two.” He looked at Hastings, then back at Cuthbertson again, feeling hopeless. “We are going to fight this all the way,” he promised both men.