Not My Blood

He placed the file with quiet triumph on the table.

Dorcas and Martin looked at the name with interest, but it was Joe who reacted strongly. He recoiled with the startled disgust and fear he might have shown if Gosling had flung a snake in front of him.

“Gosling!” Joe cleared his throat, trying for control. “This name. Have you established a co

“Oh, they’re co

This was confirmed by Martin’s low whistle. “Gawd ’elp us!” he muttered, and he reached into his pocket for the list he carried about with him. “Here he is. Listed. Eugenic Education Society, Mayfair branch.”

Martin eyed Joe with a blend of amusement and pity. “Better seek an appointment with the prime minister, Sandilands.”

THEY SAT ON in silent contemplation of the task and barely noticed the hesitant tap on the door.

When it was repeated, Martin called, “Come in!”

It creaked open to reveal the small figure of Jackie Drummond.

“Oh, hello, old son! Come and join us,” Martin said cheerfully. Trembling with some emotion and clearly awed by the assembly of adults at the table, Jackie nevertheless shot into the room and ran to Joe’s side.

“Here! What’s up, old man?” Joe asked with concern. He took the boy by the shoulders and held him steadily for a moment. “Jackie, what’s the matter?”

“They told me you’d gone! They said you’d left and gone back to London, Uncle Joe. Without telling me.”

“No, no! What rubbish! We’re both here, Dorcas and I, as you see. We are leaving and pretty soon, but not without saying goodbye. Never!” Defiantly, he gave the boy a hug. Gosling and Martin looked aside tactfully, but Dorcas gri

Recovering fast, Jackie spoke up. “It’s not that, Uncle Joe. It’s all right here.” He flashed a shy glance at Gosling. “And I reckon if Mr. Gosling can stick it, I can. No, I wanted to say, when Mummy arrives, she’ll want to see you. I wondered if, with Easter coming up, she could bring me to Auntie Lydia’s and we could all have a talk.”

Dorcas came around the table and took his hand. “Excellent idea, Jackie!” she said. “There’s a great deal of talking to be done. I’ll bake a few extra hot cross buns. Can’t wait to meet—Nancy, is it? Now, push off, old thing, and leave us to get on with our packing up. We’ll see you again before we go. Perhaps—as there’s no headmaster to say no—we can sneak you out for supper at the roadhouse this evening? What about it?”

CHAPTER 32

APRIL 1933. SURREY.

“Dorcas! Come here and help me test out the hammock!” Joe stood back and checked his handiwork. He enjoyed a bit of estate work at the change of the seasons: repairing the fences, cutting the grass on the croquet lawn, assembling the garden furniture. Lazy old Marcus could never be bothered even to give the instruction to the men to do it.

He’d changed into a pair of rough gardening trousers and an Aran lifeboatman’s sweater so old he remembered his father wearing it. He knew what Gosling would have said he looked like: a ratcatcher.

“Oh, hello, Joe. Look at you! Now I know it’s true—Lydia’s story that you’re descended from Ragnar Hairy-Breeches, Man of the Borders. Does she know you’ve been busy doing this? It’s only just spring, you know.”

“It’s su

Joe settled down on the hammock and patted the space by his side. “Come on. Jump up. You can do it.”

Dorcas looked at him doubtfully. “You never used to let me sit with you.”

“You’re much bigger now. The balance will be better.”

Dorcas settled herself awkwardly into the space he’d left.

“I thought you’d be needing a bit of company,” she said. “I was watching your face when you said good-bye to Jackie after lunch. You looked like a father waving his oldest son off to school for the first time. You know, the tears bouncing off the stiff upper lip. You got fond of him, I think. Well, we all did. I know how you must feel. I’ve lost people.”

“More than your fair share, Dorcas.” Joe smiled. “But then, you’ve found some too. And, speaking of your latest acquisition, was that your Truelove on the phone just now? That’s the third time today.”

“Not fu

Joe rolled his eyes. “Since when was that an obstacle to skulduggery? I’ve decided to speak to Orlando. It’s time your father told him he was aware of nefarious intentions towards his daughter and warned him off.”

Dorcas groaned. “Not horsewhips and club steps?”

“Yes. And I shall hold his coat while he does it.”

“And a very silly pair you’d look.”

Dorcas wriggled and hitched herself closer. In a voice that was almost a whisper, she asked: “Would you really like to know how things are between me and James? You’re never going to ask me, are you?”

Joe shook his head.

“He’s attractive, friendly, fu

“That all?”

“All I’m prepared to say to you.”

“And is that what he had to say just now? I wondered what had put that secret smile on your face.”

“No. James had some good news he wanted me to pass on to you. He’s been given a new department.”

“I think I can guess which.”

“Education. With Aidan Anderson under investigation, not to say a threat of imprisonment, James is taking over. Since you stormed into London, flinging accusations and handcuffs about and generally tearing down the pillars of the Temple, there have been resignations and reshuffling in several departments of state. Starting, of course, with the spider at the centre of the lethal network: Aidan Anderson, alumnus of St. Magnus, member of the Eugenic Society and minister in the Education Department.”

“I was pleased to corner him and rip his mask off. And I don’t regret it, whatever happens. Dorcas, there was no family resemblance, was there? I didn’t miss that, did I? Between the minister and his cousin? Our first lost boy, the study in sepia?”

“No. I couldn’t see one either. As boys, they must have known each other, Joe. They were at St. Magnus at exactly the same time: between 1895 and 1900. But there were no features in the photograph you could possibly have identified.”

“But Aidan thrived and went on to Oxford and a political career. Arthur sickened and sank under a debilitating nervous illness. Precisely what we’ll never know. Was it unintentional, that first disappearance? It could have been, you know. Or was the child put down? Whichever one, the idea of a convenient disappearance with the blessing of a eugenist philosophy was planted, one must assume, by that occurrence. And the notion of a cull in the name of eugenics passed on down the generations.”