Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [25]
Was the record accurate, as far as he had told anyone? Sanitised, of course, robbed of its passion and its humanity, but the elements that mattered to Special Branch were correct and sufficient.
Then something occurred to him, maybe an anomaly. He stood up, turned the gaslight higher again, and took the papers back out of the envelope. He reread them from beginning to end, including the marginal notes from Buckleigh, his superior then. He had not studied them the first time he read it because he knew exactly what they said, and had no desire to be reminded. His own lies had been believed too easily, even if they were largely lies of omission. But then the operation had been on Buckleigh’s orders, so he had to accept it. Morally he was also to blame.
Narraway found what he feared. Something had been added. It was only a word or two, and to anyone who did not know Buckleigh’s turn of phrase, his pedantic grammar, it would be undetectable. The hand looked exactly the same. But the new words added altered the meaning, only slightly, but enough to cast doubt on Buckleigh’s acceptance of Narraway’s account. Once it was only the addition of a question mark that had not been there originally, another time it was a few words that were not grammatically exact, a phrase ending with a preposition; Buckleigh would have included it into the main sentence.
Who had done that, and when? The why was not obscure to him at all: it was to raise the question of his role in this again, to cause the old ghosts to be awakened. Perhaps this was the deciding factor that had forced Croxdale to remove him from office. Doubts were enough, if they were sufficiently serious. One did not wait for proof that might never come.
He read through the papers one more time, just to be certain, then replaced them in the envelope and went upstairs to waken Stoker so he could leave well before dawn.
Narraway knocked on the spare-room door and heard Stoker’s voice answer him. By the time he had opened the door Stoker was standing beside the bed. In the light from the landing it was clear that the quilt was barely ruffled. One swift movement of the hand and it was as if he had never been there.
Stoker looked at Narraway questioningly.
‘Thank you,’ Narraway said quietly, the emotion in his voice more naked than he had meant it to be.
‘It told you something,’ Stoker observed.
‘Several things,’ Narraway admitted. ‘Someone else has been judiciously editing the account since Buckleigh wrote his marginal notes, altering the meaning very slightly, but enough to make a difference.’
Stoker came out of the room and Narraway handed him the envelope. Stoker put it under his jacket where it could not be seen, but he did not fold it, or tuck it into his belt so the edges could be damaged. It was a reminder of the risk he was taking in having it at all. He looked very directly at Narraway.
‘Austwick has taken your place, sir.’
‘Already?’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Pitt’s over the Channel, you’ve no friends at Lisson Grove any more. At least not who’ll risk anything for you. It’s every man for himself,’ Stoker said grimly. ‘I’m afraid there’s no one for sure who’ll help Mr Pitt either, if he gets cut off, or in any kind of trouble.’
‘I know that,’ Narraway said with deep unhappiness over the fact that he could no longer protect Pitt also from the envy or distrust of those who were part of the Establishment before Narraway took him on.
Stoker hesitated as if he would say something else, then changed his mind. He nodded silently, and went down the stairs to the sitting room. He felt his way across the floor without lighting the gaslamps. He opened the french doors and slipped out into the wind and the darkness.
Narraway locked the door behind him and went back upstairs. He undressed and went to bed, but lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. He had left the curtains open and gradually the faintest