‘Five out of six daughters, Francis? Is this the case of the son that got away?’
Powerscourt continued. ‘‘’I do not intend to insult the probity or the intelligence of either of these elders of the Church by laying your preposterous charges before them. I regard them as beneath contempt.”’
‘That sounds pretty clear to me, Francis,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald, staring cheerfully at his friend. ‘Don’t think his Lord Lieutenancy agrees with you. Would that be a fair interpretation of the letter so far?’
‘There’s more, Johnny,’ said Powerscourt, holding the top left-hand corner of the letter in his right hand as if it smelt. ‘Third paragraph coming.’
‘I reckon this is where he says you’re out of your mind, Francis. Terribly sad really.’
‘“Permit me to say -”’
‘People always say that when they’re about to be really unpleasant.’
‘Really Johnny,’ said Powerscourt, ‘I’m not at all happy with all these interruptions. You may have to go to the back of the class. “Permit me to say how perturbed I was to discover that such a distinguished public servant, with such an exemplary record of achievement and success, had come to a point where he was unable to distinguish between the wilder fantasies of his own imagination and the realities of the true facts of the situation. Believe me, Powerscourt, I have seen this kind of thing before. During my long service in India I saw how the great heat in Oudh or the Punjab could rot men’s minds and rob them of their sanity. It is most unfortunate. I have known a good many promising officers afflicted in this fashion.”’
‘Pompous old bugger,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald. ‘Do they select these people because they’re stupid?’
‘The Lord Lieutenant, as I’m sure you know, Johnny,’ said Powerscourt sternly, ‘is the local representative in Compton of the King Emperor himself. So there.’
‘Does the Lieutenant – he sounds much better like that, Francis, don’t you think, – have any more words of wisdom? I suspect he’s going to recommend you to some dreadful spa in Germany.’
‘Last paragraph, Johnny, here we go. “I feel I would be derelict in the execution of my duties if I did not offer you some advice.”’
‘Here comes the bloody spa, Francis,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald triumphantly.
‘“The seaside resorts,”’ Powerscourt wagged his finger at his friend, ‘“to the south of Compton are highly regarded as places of recovery and recuperation for those afflicted in mind and body. The sea air can help disperse the malevolent humours that infect the brain. Others speak of the beneficent influence of twenty-mile walks. I can recommend most highly the services of a near neighbour, Dr Blackstaff, while you are away from the care of your own man in London.”’
‘At least you’ve missed out on the cold baths, Francis. It could have been worse. And you’ve escaped the spa with the Germans in lederhosen.’
Powerscourt held up his hand again. ‘Here comes the parting shot, Johnny. You’ll like this bit.’ Powerscourt turned his letter over. ‘“Finally, Powerscourt, let me say how saddened I was by the contents of your letter and the revelations within it about your state of mind. I wish you a speedy recovery. Yours et cetera et cetera et cetera.”’
‘Tremendous, Francis, tremendous!’ Johnny Fitzgerald was laughing heartily by the window into the garden. ‘Do you think the other two will be as good as that? I haven’t given up hope of the spa yet, you know, Francis. There’s still a chance.’
Powerscourt folded the letter up and put it back in its envelope. ‘This will always be one of my dearest possessions, Johnny,’ he said. ‘I may have to make special dispensation for it in my will. The British Museum? The library of my old college in Cambridge? We shall see. You ask about the other two. I don’t think they will be as bad as this one. The Archbishop’s man may be slightly more polite. I suspect he’s the only chance of a recommendation of Bad Godesberg or Marienbad as a place of recovery and recuperation, to quote the Lord Lieutenant’s very own words. Schomberg McDonnell will be the most respectful, I’m sure.’
‘So do we just wait and let this mass defection take place, Francis? There must be something we can do.’
‘There is, Johnny. Tomorrow I have to go to London to meet William. Perhaps I could buy him a square meal. Or perhaps not. I’ll be back on Tuesday night. In the meantime could you do a couple of things for me?’
‘Just as long as I don’t have to talk to that bloody Lieutenant Lord person, Francis. Otherwise I’m at your disposal.’
‘Could you ask Patrick Butler to find out from his future father-in-law the stationmaster if there are any special trains coming down to Compton for the celebrations? And if so when they are due to arrive and so on.’
‘No problem,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald cheerfully. ‘And the other thing?’
‘The other thing,’ said Powerscourt, staring out into the garden, ‘is more difficult. I want you to get hold of some explosives.’
22
London seemed very noisy to Powerscourt. In Compton ten or fifteen people almost constituted a crowd. Carriages rushing through the streets were rare. The inhabitants never seemed to be in a great hurry. But here the streets were packed with people, hordes of them rushing in and out of the underground railway stations, the carriages stretching back along the King’s Road towards Sloane Square, moving at a snail’s pace, the passengers inside seething with fury at the long delays in reaching their destinations. Even the birds seemed to be in a hurry.
Powerscourt dined alone at home. He expected William McKenzie to be late. He knew he would track his Italian visitors to their final destination before his rendezvous in Chelsea. It was half-past eleven when a weary Scotsman presented himself in the drawing room on the first floor of 25 Markham Square.
‘William,’ said Powerscourt, ‘how very good to see you. And thank you very much for your mission.’
‘I wish I could say it had been more successful, my lord,’ said McKenzie, perching on the edge of a chair and pulling a small black notebook out of his pocket. ‘Let me give you the main points of my report.’
He checked through a couple of pages of notes, all written, Powerscourt observed, in McKenzie’s microscopic but always readable script.
‘Subject travelled to Rome. Journey uneventful. I made my rendezvous with the translator and guide. Very talkative gentleman, my lord. Following the subject difficult because the guide would not hang back and follow me at a distance. Always wished to be by my side. Two much more visible than one. Subject stayed in the building belonging to the Congregation of Propaganda, close to the Piazza di Spagna, a body composed of cardinals and others which manages the affairs of the Roman Catholic Church in Great Britain and Ireland. Subject only came out once, my lord. Dined in fashionable restaurant with a bishop and another prince of the Church, so my guide told me.’
‘William, you poor man,’ said Powerscourt, ‘are you telling me that you kept watch on this building for two days and the man only came out once?’
‘That is correct, my lord. I did learn a lot about the building, mind you. The College, attached to Propaganda,’ McKenzie peered closely at his notes at this point, ‘I wrote this bit down out of the guidebook, my lord, because I thought it would interest you, “was founded in 1627 by Urban VIII for the purpose of educating as missionaries, entirely free of charge, young foreigners from infidel or heretical countries, who might afterwards return and spread the Roman Catholic faith among their countrymen.”’
‘And the bloody place is nearly three hundred years old,’ said Powerscourt, wondering if Propaganda had tried to pull off a coup like the one in Compton in the past. Rarely could they have been so close to triumph as they were now.
‘Subject now returned to London, my lord, accompanied by bishop person and the other fellow, a rather fat gentleman, my lord, in the mould of Friar Tuck perhaps. All received great attention and tribute from the railway staff en route through Italy and France. Rather less on the passage between Dover and London. All three gone to Jesuits’ house in Farm Street. Believe they intend to go to Compton tomorrow, my lord. I overheard conversation about purchase of tickets.’