‘Nobody will be fooled.’
‘No, but it makes our case hard to prove. Which means we must deal with it another way.’
There was silence for a minute or two while Hornbeam thought, then he said: ‘That devil Spade did this, you know. He must be the one who found you out as a spy.’
‘What makes you think that?’
Hornbeam began to see the picture. ‘He told you the pamphlets were at his warehouse. He didn’t tell anyone else. When I showed up there to search for them, that proved that you had told me, so you must be the spy.’
‘And the pamphlets were never there.’
‘They may not even have been printed.’
‘It was a trap.’
‘And we fell into it.’ Spade was devilish clever, Hornbeam thought angrily. He would have to be crushed. Yes, he thought, like a beetle under my heel.
‘My spying days are over,’ Nash said.
‘Absolutely. You’re no use to me now.’
‘I can’t say I’m sorry. But you’ll have to help me with money. The surgeon says it will be months before I can do my round again.’
‘Get someone else to deliver the milk.’
‘I will. But I’ll have to pay him, probably twelve shillings a week.’
‘I’ll cover that as long as you’re disabled.’
‘And there’s the surgeon.’
Hornbeam did not see how he could avoid paying these expenses. If he refused, Nash would complain all over town, and the whole story would come out, how Hornbeam set a spy to betray the Socratic Society. That would look very bad. ‘All right.’
But money was not Hornbeam’s main worry. He had been outwitted by Spade, which made him mad with vexation. He had to do something.
He stood up. ‘Let me know when you’ve found someone to do the milk round, and I’ll send the money.’ He went to the door, eager to get away before Nash could think up any more demands. He glanced back: Nash lay still, staring at the ceiling, white as a corpse. Hornbeam went out.
He brooded as he walked through the rain. He had the feeling that he was losing control of events, and that unnerved him. Twice now he had tried and failed to put an end to the Socratic Society: first Alderman Drinkwater had refused to ban the group, and now punishing Hiscock had backfired.
The real trouble, he thought in frustration, was that the law wastoo vague and feeble. The country needed a tougher ban on sedition. There was talk in the newspapers of stronger treason laws. Members of Parliament should stop talking, get off their backsides, and do something. What was Parliament for if not to keep the peace and crush troublemakers?
The member of Parliament for Kingsbridge was Viscount Northwood.
Northwood had never taken his parliamentary duties very seriously, and now that the country was at war and the militia was active he had a good excuse. However, he still went to Westminster from time to time, so perhaps he could be persuaded to support new laws against groups like the Socratic Society.
Hornbeam went to the market square and entered Willard House.
Stamping his wet boots in the hall to shake off the rain, he spoke to a sergeant with greying hair. ‘Alderman Hornbeam to see Colonel Northwood immediately.’
The sergeant said haughtily: ‘I’ll enquire whether the colonel is free.’
Typical of a low-born upstart, Hornbeam thought. The man had probably been a butler before getting conscripted into the militia. ‘What’s your name?’ Hornbeam said.
The man clearly did not like being questioned, but was not brave enough to stand up to an alderman. ‘Sergeant Beach.’
‘Carry on, Beach.’
Northwood was a Whig, and they were more liberal than the Tories, Hornbeam reflected while he waited. However, Northwood had a reputation for military efficiency, and that usually went with a strict attitude towards insubordination. On balance, there was a good chance Northwood would be against the Socratic Society.
