And yet, Joe remembered the verdict of an American girl he’d grown close to in a frontier fort: ‘Joe is more like Sir George than he would ever want to admit. Give him a few more years and you won’t be able to distinguish the one from the other …’ He’d snorted and denied it but, only months later, here he was, sitting on the powerful side of the desk, delivering a second-rate imitation of Sir George.
What the hell! At the most inconvenient of moments, the rebel in Joe rose up and yelled a challenge. The rebel was yelling now.
‘Get up, Wentworth!’ He dashed round the desk and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Sit there!’ He pushed her without ceremony into his own chair and went to perch himself in the seat she had occupied. ‘Now then, instead of bombarding me with bolshy disapproval, just try for a minute or two to pretend you’re representing the State and its interests. The people who employ you to preserve the peace and see justice done. The sword and the scales, Wentworth – they’re in your hands. What are you going to do for the best?’
White with alarm, she was, for once, speechless.
He began to regret his impulsiveness and looked for common ground. ‘From either side of this desk, I’m not at all averse to preserving England’s reputation, but like you I’m unhappy about the role of those Irish lads in all this. They pulled the triggers. They shot two men dead and wounded two more. They will die whatever you or I do or say. And they will have deserved it. But they were paid? incited? persuaded? to commit murder by a third party. A third party who traded on the men’s nationality to achieve a smokescreen of terrorist aggression to hide his own narrow, personal motivation. I will add the two deaths on the gallows to his tally. The Irishmen, the admiral, the beat bobby … Constable Swithins his name was. He leaves a widow and three children. Four men dead.’
‘I’m glad to hear you’ve been keeping count, sir. But this bill – nicely tallied though it is – will never be presented, will it? As you say – the State interest will never allow it.’
‘Presenting and payment – not the same thing, Wentworth, as any tradesman will tell you.’ He came to a decision. ‘It will never be paid for the reasons I’ve given. But I see no harm in confronting the man ultimately responsible. It sounds pretty feeble to your ears, perhaps, but it’s the best I can do. And no one else, believe me, Wentworth, is going to bother.
‘I’m invited to the funeral on Saturday. I shall make time and space for a heart-to-heart chat with the admiral’s killer. There’s an Indian poet I’ve got fond of – Rabindranath Tagore. He has something to say on the subject of punishment. “He only may chastise who loves.” Well, I can’t claim to love the bloke but I think he sensed he had my friendship and respect before all this. And at least, I don’t think he’ll fail to notice the warmth of my concern! I shall name his victims one by one – I may go so far as to write out their names and head it Butcher’s Bill. I’ll note that it is, for the moment, unpaid.’
‘And leave him wriggling in excruciating suspense?’
‘Something like that. I agree, it sounds a bit feeble. He may not care. May just take me for a pompous fool and laugh in my face.’
Lily considered for a moment. ‘Then he would be the fool, sir. But we know that he’s not a foolish man. He is, though, hardened. It would take more than a gentlemanly ticking off from you to penetrate his armour. You’ll have to pierce him in his soft part …’
‘I beg your pardon, Wentworth?’
‘One short sharp stab is all it will take.’
Joe swallowed. ‘What exactly are you proposing?’
‘I’d say the thing that mattered most to him in the world is the ready-made family he coveted, the respect and affection the boys have for him. I’m glad they’re able to give it and it pains me to say it but sitting over here makes it possible – he’s usurped the place of their father. Snatched it without a by-your-leave, killed four men and ruined many lives to achieve his end. If he puts a foot wrong from this moment, or fails in the domestic duties he’s taken upon himself, he should be quite certain that the boys will be given the true facts of their father’s death. They love him all right – they’d be in a position to chastise him. You might have had your hands tied but you can always do a little fancy footwork. Put the boot in, sir.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Not sure you’re tough enough. I could do it. I will if you like.’
‘Good Lord! What a scurrilous suggestion. A decision worthy of Sir George Jardine,’ Joe said faintly. ‘Come back over this side at once.’