We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [137]
They pulled into Cambridge station, and he asked about the next train to St. Giles. It was too long to wait for. It would take him hours to get there and back. Nor did he have sufficient money. Even as it was, he was going to have to borrow the return fare, Cambridge to London, from Hannah. He would not even entertain the thought that she might not be home.
His mind raced. Who could he ask to drive him, with precious petrol, first to St. Giles, and then back to Cambridge? Who did he know?
St. John’s. That was the only answer. There must be somebody there he still knew. The question was, would they have a car, and petrol to put in it? Aidan Thyer, the master of St. John’s, would be his best chance, and there was no time to waste starting with others he might prefer. He remembered ruefully that Thyer was one of those he had suspected of being the Peacemaker. He had never been ruled out. The only thing he could do now was trust that Schenckendorff was telling the truth, and Mason also. Good men could lie, if the cause was great enough; he knew and understood that, but it was too late to hedge his bet.
He walked rapidly through the ancient streets, past the colleges he had known and loved so long. Most of them were centuries old, built of towering stone, carved, bearing their coats of arms proudly. Behind them the green grass of the Backs sloped down to the river where four summers ago young men had pushed flat-bottomed boats along the quiet waters. Pretty girls had sat in the sterns trailing their fingers in the stream, muslin dresses stirred by the breeze, hats shading their faces. Now there were no young men in sight, and girls had short hair, and skirts not far below their knees, and they were working on buses, in factories, and on the land. How short a time it had taken for the world to change utterly.
The Master’s House at St. John’s looked exactly as it always had, probably for at least three hundred years. The quad was silent. There were no leaves on the trees.
He knocked on the door. If Aidan and Connie were in, they would answer it themselves, since nobody had servants anymore. The silence closed in around him. Would they still even have a car? If they did, would Aidan be willing to help Joseph? Would he just drop everything, ask no questions, and give up his day to drive Joseph to St. Giles, wait, then bring him back?
What if he was one of those who sympathized with the Peacemaker? Victory could slip out of their hands at any moment up to the very last.
The door opened. It was Aidan Thyer himself. He still looked elegant and faintly mystified, as if he had sustained some unexpected wound and was wondering how to deal with it. Was it still because he loved Connie more than she could ever love him? Or was it the loss of so many of his young men before they had fulfilled the promise or the hope of their lives?
“Joseph?” he said in amazement. “Joseph Reavley! My dear fellow, come in.” He stepped back, holding the door wide. The light shone on his pale hair and the subtle lines of his face. “What can I do for you? Is it acceptable to ask what you are doing home so soon before the end? I hope it is not bad news of your family?” Sudden deep concern shadowed his eyes.
“No, thank you.” Joseph followed him inside. “We are all fine, so far as I know. But I have an urgent errand. I need to get to St. Giles as soon as I can, and then back to the station to London. It is very urgent indeed, and I need help.” There was no time to waste in prevarication, and he would not have known how to do that anyway. “Can you drive me, please? Or if you can’t, do you know someone who would?”
Thyer regarded him with concern. “Of course I will. Are you sure you are all right?”
“Yes.” Then suddenly it occurred to him that Thyer might wonder if one of the Cambridge students he knew was in trouble. “It’s not personal business at all,” he added. “It’s