Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(49)

“An obsession,” Delingpole said.

“That’s a little harsh,” Bracknell said with a hint of rebuke. “He expresses himself strongly, but he remains one of the best we have. Nevertheless he—like many, let us be fair—he carries scars, and he chooses to blame his tragic losses on the conduct of the war. I think we can afford to be tolerant of that. The poor fellow lost his whole family, most of them in a single day and under circumstances which, I am sorry to say, reflect poorly on his own conduct. Naturally he feels a great deal of regret.”

Delingpole inclined his head. Bracknell went on. “But the fact is, Glyde is running amok. Here we have some sort of event in the Fens, which Mr. Herbert summoned him to deal with; instead of doing so he takes you off to elsewhere—”

“He didn’t take me,” Saul objected. “We went for a walk and found ourselves trapped.”

“Well, that is good to know,” Mr. Delingpole said. “Excellent. The more you can tell us, Mr. Lazenby, the quicker we will clear all of this up.”

“But why can’t you ask Glyde?”

“He isn’t inclined to talk to us,” Mr. Bracknell said. “He is, I regret, rather too used to having it all his own way. That’s been how things were for a very long time, but I fear he must learn, as so many ancient families have, that the world is changing. Tradition is all very well, but if there is some force operating in Cambridgeshire, it must be dealt with. Suppose a child had walked along that road instead of you? Suppose a child walks there again? Can you tell me that Glyde put a permanent stop to whatever trapped you on the road?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because if he did not, if it is still there, a threat lurking—”

“Yes. I understand.”

“We need to know,” Delingpole said. “We need Glyde’s cooperation, and don’t have it, so we need yours. We need to know if he is working in the best interests of the country; we need, urgently, to know if he is not. If you wish to serve those, you can help us now.”

Saul looked between the two men, both regarding him intently. He had no idea what to say, or where to start. Perhaps he should tell them everything, up to Theresa Glyde’s silvery shade breathing knowledge of Camlet Moat through him, and let the experts take action. They were, after all, official, and Saul didn’t put any more stock in Randolph’s elevated family and their sacred duty than these men seemed to. He could still feel those awful, sickening matched scars, front and back. Nothing that inflicted such a thing could be good.

Randolph had expressed the strongest possible opinion of the Shadow Ministry’s worth; but Saul had kept secrets from officialdom for the sake of a lover before, and he knew where that led.

It’s happening again, you damned fool. Don’t make the same mistake.

It’s not happening again, because Randolph is different.

Are you sure of that? asked the scarred, frightened part of Saul’s mind. Are you quite, quite sure?

“Right,” he said. “My employer, Major Peabody, is interested in Geoffrey de Mandeville.” He recounted the trip up to Burwell and the events of the night at the Abchurch house, then meeting Randolph in St. Mary’s. He allowed them to infer that Randolph had sought him out as a witness to the event of the previous night, and went on to the walk along the road.

“Whose idea was it to walk?” asked Mr. Bracknell.

“I don’t recall. Mine, possibly. I like to walk and I wanted fresh air.”

“You’re sure Glyde didn’t suggest it?”

Saul knew damned well he had, and had an unpleasant sense of a noose closing. “I can’t say either way. Why would it make a difference?”

“Just trying to get to the root of the matter,” Mr. Delingpole said. “Go on.”

Saul did, at length. He had experience of being interrogated for every detail, however slight, so he gave it, and if that meant he wasn’t asked about other things, well, that couldn’t be helped. He reached their refuge in the castle and the renewed attack of fen-grendels, omitting how they had passed the time in between, and stopped.

“Then what?” demanded Bracknell. “What did he do?”

“It’s impossible for me to say. There was light, he made light, in a sort of flash. It frightened them away, I think.”

“And then?”

“I must have fainted. I don’t remember any more.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know. I had fainted. I woke up in the vicarage.”

“Something happened then. An upheaval. A disturbance.”

“Maybe that was what made me faint. What sort of upheaval?”

“A potentially very serious one,” Delingpole said crisply. “Whatever you remember, you must tell us, and at once.”

Would Camlet Moat’s guardianship count as serious? Saul wondered that, and if he should say something. But they’d ask what he knew, and the thought of telling them gave him a wave of revulsion. He had no right, none at all, to pass on what he’d been told. Theresa Glyde had given him the guardianship of the Moat and he’d felt her fade from the world with that kiss. How long had she held on, waiting for her moment to appoint a Walker?

Saul didn’t have the least idea what to do, but that was not a trust he could betray.