‘Are you telling me, William, that you spent all your time waiting around these Propaganda buildings? That you had no time to see any of the sights of Rome?’
‘That is correct, my lord. I had hoped to visit the Colosseum where they killed the Christians all those years ago. I would have liked to be able to tell my aged mother about that. But it was not to be. Should I follow the gentlemen back to Compton, my lord?’
Powerscourt was imagining the Compton murderer at large in the Colosseum, despatching Protestants reluctant to convert with sword, spear or trident, rejoicing as his victims met their deaths, their blood pouring out into the sand.
‘Sorry William,’ said Powerscourt. ‘My mind had wandered off. I think you should go back to Compton with the religious gentlemen, just to make sure we don’t lose sight of them.’ He suddenly thought of them as Father, Son and Holy Ghost, though which was which he didn’t know. He explained to McKenzie the plan to rededicate the cathedral to the Catholic faith on Easter Sunday, the secret attendances at Mass, the fact that the murder victims had almost certainly been part of the enterprise and then changed their minds. When Powerscourt finished McKenzie looked at him closely and said very softly, ‘Forgive them, Lord, for they know not what they do.’
Powerscourt spent most of the journey back to Compton staring out of the window, his mind debating with itself. When was it legal to break the law? Under what circumstances would a man be justified in causing damage to property, and possibly to other human lives, in a higher cause? Was it his duty to infringe the laws of England so that other English laws might not be violated, or not violated in front of so many people? As the train curved round the tracks towards the south-west he found himself measuring angles, possible explosion points on the line where the damage could not be repaired for days. Heaven knew Johnny Fitzgerald and he had done enough of this in India. When Powerscourt reached the inevitable philosophical question of did the ends justify the means he gave up and thought of other things.
He thought of a place to take Lucy when all this was over. St Petersburg, he decided, a city built on the water, a city built facing Europe to change the culture of the Russian nobility, a city built as a titanic social experiment to see if architecture and geographical position could alter the mindset of a nation. The Winter Palace, he remembered, all those other vast palaces, some with so many rooms that their owners never visited them all during their entire lives, humble servants squatting in squalor in the attics while their masters dined on eight courses of French cuisine down below.
Johnny Fitzgerald was poring over a huge map of Compton and its railway lines laid out on the floor of the Fairfield Park drawing room when he reached home. Lady Lucy was sitting by the fire, still looking pale but happier than she had been when he left. Powerscourt hugged her cheerfully and looked down at Johnny’s map.
‘There’s two letters for you on the mantelpiece, Francis,’ Johnny said. ‘They’re both from London.’
‘I see you’ve been busy with the railway lines, Johnny.’
‘Well,’ said Johnny, ‘when you asked me to find out about the extra trains coming to Compton and so on and then you asked me to get some explosives, I could see the way your mind was working. If we could blow up the tracks and stop some of these extra people coming, maybe the damage wouldn’t be so bad. Not all of the wine would have got out of the bottle, if you see what I mean. I’ve got some explosives, I’ve got the maps of the railway lines and I know that there are a lot of extra trains booked to come here. Most of them are going to arrive on Saturday afternoon. Every hotel, every lodging house for miles around is full, Francis. It may not be the right season, but in Compton this Easter, there’s no room in the inn.’
‘I don’t think we can do it, Johnny,’ said Powerscourt rather sadly. ‘I don’t mean that we couldn’t blow up the railway, we’ve done plenty of that in our time. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this in the train on the way down.’
He went and stood by Lady Lucy’s chair, his hand absent-mindedly stroking her hair as he spoke. ‘Even if we did blow up the lines, we couldn’t stop the news getting out. I’m sure the Catholic faction in the cathedral have laid their plans already for broadcasting the news. Maybe they’re going to have special announcements of their triumph in every church and cathedral in the country. Maybe even in Rome itself the College of Propaganda will announce the downfall of a citadel of the heretic English. And, even if we gave warnings, some of them might not get through, or be misunderstood. I couldn’t bear it if we were responsible for the deaths of innocent people whose only crime was setting out to attend Mass on Easter Sunday. I don’t want to sound pompous, but I don’t think we can set ourselves up as the solvers of crimes and mysteries and then rush out in the middle of the night and commit some crimes of our own.’
Powerscourt paused. He realized suddenly that if they had carried on, they would have had to place the explosives on Friday night. Good Friday the darkest night in the Christian calendar, Christ carrying his cross to the place of the skull called Golgotha where they crucified him on a cross with the inscription Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, the last drink of the sponge filled with vinegar, Jesus saying it is finished and giving up the ghost. And he and Johnny Fitzgerald riding round the Compton countryside in the dark, blowing up railway lines.
Powerscourt found that Lady Lucy’s hand had left her lap and travelled up to unite with his own on her shoulder.
‘Never mind, Francis,’ said Johnny, ‘we might be able to find a use for the explosives after all. I didn’t think you would go ahead with it in the end.’
‘Neither did I, Francis,’ said Lady Lucy in rather a weak voice. ‘I even offered to place a bet on it with Johnny but he wasn’t having it.’
‘Always nice to know that you can both work out what I’m going to do,’ said Powerscourt with a smile. ‘I’m not offering any prizes for guessing what I’m going to do now. I’m going to read these bloody letters.’
Johnny folded up his enormous map very neatly. Powerscourt observed that it said Property of the Stationmaster, Compton. Not to be removed. Anne Herbert’s father must have been prevailed upon to lend one of his maps. Powerscourt wondered if he had been told why they wanted it.
‘Archbishop of Canterbury here,’ said Powerscourt, holding up his first letter, written on expensive-looking notepaper. ‘“Thank you for your letter . . . It has been my custom, ever since taking up my current position, to maintain the closest links and personal relationships with all the bishops and senior dignitaries of the Church of England.”’
‘It’d be pretty odd if the bugger ignored all his colleagues,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald.
‘“I have known Gervase Moreton for nearly twenty years,”’ Powerscourt carried on, ‘“and I find it simply inconceivable that he should contemplate the actions you describe. Under normal circumstances I should simply have thrown your letter into the wastepaper basket. Letters from the mentally disturbed are one of the smaller crosses an archbishop has to bear. Owing to your distinguished record I have taken soundings in the diocese of Compton. I can assure you there is not one single piece of evidence to support your wild allegations.’
‘Last paragraph coming,’ said Powerscourt. ‘“I shall add you to the list of those for whom I pray on Tuesdays. Yours sincerely . . .”’
‘Tuesdays, Francis? You’re not in luck today I’m afraid. It’s Thursday. You’ve got five days to wait. But think how much better you’ll feel early next week.’
‘Do you think he has a rota like we did in the Army, Johnny? Burglars on Mondays, lunatics on Tuesdays, thieves on Wednesdays, blasphemers on Thursdays, fraudsters on Fridays, murderers on Saturdays, heretics and unbelievers on Sundays? I am rather looking forward to being prayed for, I must say. Along with all the other lunatics. Lucy, you must watch me very closely on Wednesday mornings to see if there are any signs of improvement.’