No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [166]
“Damn!” he said irritably, peering up the barrel. “I can’t see a thing! Whoever designed these bloody guns should be made to look after them. I don’t know whether it’s working or not. Do you remember the last time anybody used it?”
Joseph was not listening. His mind was back in the hospital where he had started his medical training—the injuries, the pain, the deaths he could not prevent.
“Joe!” Matthew said savagely. “Damn it! Pay attention! Pass that rod and let me see if this is clean or not!”
Joseph passed over the rod obediently, and Matthew rammed it up the barrel of the punt gun.
“There’s something up here,” he said impatiently. “It’s . . .” Very slowly he lowered his hands, still holding the gun. “It’s paper,” he said huskily. “It’s a roll of paper.”
Joseph felt the sweat break out on his skin and go cold. “Hold the gun!” he ordered him, taking the rod from Matthew and beginning to tease very gently. He found his hands were shaking, as was the barrel of the punt gun in Matthew’s grip.
It took him nearly ten minutes to prise the paper out without tearing it, and then unroll it and hold it open. It was in German. They read it together.
It was an agreement between the kaiser and King George V, the terms of which were shatteringly simple. Britain would stand aside and allow Germany to invade and conquer Belgium, France, and of course Luxembourg, saving the hundreds of thousands of lives that would be lost in trying to defend them.
In return, a new Anglo-German empire would be formed with unassailable power on land and sea. The riches of the world would be divided between them: Africa, India, the Far East, and best of all, America.
The surgery of war would be swift and almost painless, the reward beyond measure. The document was signed by the kaiser, and obviously had been on its way to the king for countersignature.
“God almighty!” Matthew said hoarsely. “It’s . . . it’s monstrous! It’s . . .”
“It’s what Father died to prevent,” Joseph said, tears choking his voice. It was the one thing he had believed that had stood fast and whole through all the loss. His father had been right. Nothing had misled or deceived him; he had been right. It spread a peace through Joseph, a kind of certainty at the core. “And perhaps he succeeded,” he went on aloud. “There will be war. God knows how many will die, but England gave her word to Belgium, and she will not betray it. That would be worse than death.”
Matthew rubbed his hands over his face. “Who’s behind it?” He was weary, but in him, too, there was something stronger within, a doubt, a vulnerability gone.
“I don’t know,” Joseph said. “Someone in Germany close to the kaiser, very clever, with a great deal of vision and power. And more importantly to us, someone here in England, too, who was going to get it to the king—and damn nearly did.”
“I know.” Matthew shook his head. “It could be anyone. Chetwin . . . Shearing himself, I suppose. Even Sandwell! I don’t know, either.”
“Or anyone else we haven’t even thought of,” Joseph added.
Matthew stared at him. “But whoever it is, he’s brilliant and ruthless, and he’s still out there.”
“But he’s failed. . . .”
“He won’t accept failure.” Matthew bit his lip, his voice tight, his face almost bloodless. “A man who could dream up this won’t stop here. He’ll have contingency plans, other ideas. And he’s far from alone. He has allies, other naive dreamers, wounded idealists, the disaffected, the ambitious. We never know who they are until it’s too late. But by God, I’ll put every spare minute I’ve got into hunting him down. I’ll follow every trail, wherever it goes, whoever it touches, until I’ve got him. If we don’t, he’ll destory everything we care about.”
Something in the words crystalized the knowledge in Joseph’s mind, and it became undeniable, sealed forever. Whatever he felt, regardless of mind or heart, horror or his own weakness to achieve anything of use, he must join the war. If honor, faith, any