No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [36]
Shearing’s mouth flickered, as if he thought of smiling and decided against it. “His relationship with France?” he prompted.
Matthew knew what Shearing was expecting. He had read the reports. “Bad,” he replied. “He has always wanted to go to Paris, but the French president has never invited him, and it rankles with him. He’s . . .” He stopped again. He had been going to say “surrounded by awkward relationships,” but perhaps that was a bit presumptuous. He was uncertain of Shearing’s regard for royalty, even foreign. The kaiser was closely related to George V.
“More importantly,” Shearing pointed out, “he perceives himself to be surrounded by enemies.”
Matthew let the weight of that observation sink into his mind. He saw the reflection of it in Shearing’s face. “A conspiracy to start a war, beginning in Serbia?” he asked tentatively.
“God knows,” Shearing replied. “There are Serbian nationalists who will do anything for freedom, including assassinate an Austrian archduke—obviously—but there are radical socialists all over Europe as well.”
“Against war,” Matthew cut in. “At least international war. They are all for class war. Surely that couldn’t be . . .” He stopped.
“You overheard the remark, Reavley! Could it or not?” Shearing asked tartly. “What about a pan-European socialist revolution? The whole continent is seething with plots and counterplots—Victor Adler in Vienna, Jean Jaurès in France, Rosa Luxemburg everywhere, and God knows who in Russia. Austria is spoiling for a fight and only wants the excuse, France is afraid of Germany, and the Kaiser is afraid of everyone. And the czar doesn’t know a damn thing about any of it. Take your pick.”
Matthew looked at Shearing’s dark, enigmatic face, filled with a kind of despairing humor, and realized that he had worked with him for over a year but knew almost nothing about him. He knew his intellect and his skills, but his passions he had not even guessed at. He had no idea where he came from, nothing about his family or his education, his tastes or his dreams. He was an intensely private man, but he guarded his inner self so well no one was aware he was doing it. One thought of him only in connection with his work, as if he walked out of the entrance of the building and ceased to exist.
“Perhaps I had better forget it unless something else develops,” Matthew said, aware that he had learned nothing and very possibly made himself look incompetent to Shearing. “It doesn’t seem to tie in with anything.”
“On the contrary, it ties in with everything,” Shearing answered. “The air is full of conspiracies, fortunately most of them have nothing to do with us. But go on listening, and advise me if you hear anything that makes sense.”
“Yes, sir.”
They discussed other projects for a further twenty minutes, particularly who might replace the minister of war, who had resigned over the mutiny. There were two primary candidates, one in favor of peace, even at a high price, the other more belligerent.
“Details,” Shearing said pointedly. “All the details you can, Reavley. Weaknesses. Where is Blunden vulnerable? It’s our job to know. You can’t protect a man until you know where he can be hurt.”
“Yes, sir,” Matthew agreed. “I know that.”
He left, forgetting the minister of war for a moment and pondering what Shearing had said about conspiracy. It seemed as if he did not believe that John Reavley had found anything that was of concern to England.
Matthew walked the long, quiet corridors back to his own office, nodding to this person, wishing a good evening to that one. He felt extraordinarily alone because he realized suddenly that he was profoundly angry. Shearing had in effect damned John Reavley’s perception of truth. If Shearing was right, then Matthew’s father had misinterpreted a piece of paper, and he had died horribly for nothing. Matthew was so fiercely defensive of the suggestion that his father was incompetent that his fists were clenched, and he deliberately had to loosen them in order to open the door of his office.
But John Reavley was dead! And there