At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [57]
“Of course,” she said coldly. “Oh, do be quiet, Dobson,” she said to the manservant. “I can see what has happened.” She waved her hand in dismissal without looking at him. “Who are you?” She regarded Matthew’s uniform with distaste. “What are you doing forcing your way into my home?”
“Captain Matthew Reavley of the Secret Intelligence Service, Mrs. Wheatcroft,” he replied. “I am sorry for disturbing you, but matters have arisen about which I need to speak to Mr. Wheatcroft.”
“I’m afraid whatever you have to ask him will have to wait!” she replied. “My husband is unwell, as I believe Dobson has already told you.”
“It is a matter of information necessary to the Intelligence Service, Mrs. Wheatcroft,” he insisted. “It cannot wait.”
She looked at him icily. “My husband has served his country all his adult life, and been repaid for it by vile accusations which are distressing to him and to all his family. Now you come here and push your way into his home demanding he answer your questions? You are brutal, Captain…I forget your name. The answer is no. You will have to wait for a more fortunate time.”
“Reavley,” he said again. “Undoubtedly your husband has served his country. So have we all. Some of us are fortunate that it has cost us no more than a little discomfort. I have a brother in the trenches at Passchendaele, and a sister out there driving ambulances for the few wounded they have some chance of saving. Now go and find Mr. Wheatcroft in his bedroom, and tell him I need to see him immediately. He may come down, or I shall go up.”
She glared at him, her body trembling, searching wildly for an answer to hold him at bay, and finding none. She wheeled around, her skirt swinging, and marched away.
Five minutes later she returned. Without speaking she led Matthew up the stairs and across a spacious landing whose long windows gave a view of a sunlit lawn. Then, after a brief knock, she opened the master bedroom door. She stared at Matthew, leaving him to go in unannounced.
“Thank you,” he said pointedly. He closed the door behind him, but he did not know if she waited outside it.
Alan Wheatcroft was sitting in a chair by the window, not in a dressing gown as Matthew expected, but fully dressed. He was ash pale and his skin shone with sweat. For a minute Matthew wondered if perhaps he really was ill, then he saw the hands clenched, white-knuckled, and decided it was more probably fear that made the man look so wretched.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wheatcroft, but the matter cannot wait.” He spoke very quietly, only sufficiently to be heard, aware that Mrs. Wheatcroft might be only just beyond the door.
“My wife said so.” Wheatcroft also kept his voice low. “Although I can’t imagine what I might know that would be of interest to the Intelligence Service. I haven’t been in my office for…for several weeks.” His hands clenched even more tightly on the rug over his knees.
Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, more to avoid towering over him than for comfort. “It is nothing to do with your office,” he replied. “It is a matter of possible treason.”
“Treason!” Wheatcroft was stunned. There was no comprehension in his eyes, not even fear, simply total bewilderment. “I know nothing about anything remotely treasonous. I haven’t been out of my house since…” He drew in his breath sharply and then let it out without finishing his sentence.
“Since you were accused of approaching a young man for homosexual favors at the men’s convenience on Hampstead Heath,” Matthew completed it for him.
A tide of color washed up Wheatcroft’s neck and face. He started to speak, and stopped again.
“I’m sure the charge is profoundly embarrassing,” Matthew said with some sympathy. “Any man would find it so. Whose idea was it to save your reputation by saying that Tom Corracher set up the whole scene in order to blackmail you?”
Wheatcroft stared at him in horror, as if Matthew had physically struck him.
“Presumably not only to salvage something of your career, but to save your wife’s feelings,” Matthew added. “Whether