Ring of Terror Read Free

to keep a sense of proportion. Not to try weighing up absolutes of right and wrong. In this case you were putting three years’ work at risk for three minutes of ill- judged self-justification. You may not know this, but Sir George and I looked on you as a boy of exceptional promise. I can remember being impressed – oh, many years ago – when you were at the village school and I came to teach you all Divinity. A sad waste of time for the most part. But your comments and your questions were far above anything your fellows could produce. That was when our plans for you were made. They must not be thrown away for a single night’s misunderstanding.’
    One part of Luke’s mind was ready to accept what the Rector said. Another part was in revolt against it. He said, ‘I understand that some men are placed above others and the ones below must respect the ones above. But that doesn’t seem to me to be what Christianity teaches us. Christ was quite prepared to challenge the classes above him. I mean, all the scribes and the pharisees and that lot. He was always ready to argue with them. He even took a whip to them when he cleared the Temple.’
    ‘That may have been all right in those days,’ said the Rector sadly. ‘But not today. Not in England. The classes are set and fixed. You can’t argue them away. Remember what the hymn says, “God made them high and lowly and ordered their estate”.’
    Hezekiah brought them down to earth.
    ‘You realise, boy,’ he said, ‘that if Sir George takes against us, I could lose my job. And we could be turned out of house. It belongs to him, not me.’
    This hit Luke between the eyes. He was almost too upset to speak. He said, ‘You don’t think—could he really—’
    ‘I don’t say he would. I only say he could.’
    ‘Then of course I’ll apologise. I’ll go right round today.’ In spite of his consternation he managed to grin. He said, ‘I shall have to think out pretty carefully how I’m going to say it. After all, it was Oliver who was breaking the law. And he attacked me. Not me him.’
    ‘Watch your grammar,’ said the Rector. ‘The subject of the verb “to attack” should be the nominative pronoun. You should have said, “Not I.’”
    This made them all laugh, which was, no doubt, the Rector’s intention.
     
    The heavy, nail-studded door at the back of Bellingham Court opened on to a flight of steps which led down to a passage flanked by doors on each side, a subterranean area of cold stores, wine cellars and game larders. In his childhood, Luke had feared it. He had thought of it as a cemetery.
    This was partly the fault of his grandfather. The old man had been versed in the mythology of death. In his own childhood, he could remember how heavy stones were laid on newly dug graves to prevent their occupants emerging and he had entertained the little boy – sometimes frightened, but resolute not to show it – with stories of vampires and ghosts and of men who turned into wolves as the light began to fade. So it was that when Luke had to carry messages to Mrs Parham, he had hurried down that particular passage, fearing to hear the pheasants and partridges coming back to life and fluttering their wings to escape from the hooks on which they hung.
    Now, he was too old for such fancies, but none the less, he wasted no time in making for the far end of the passage and climbing the steps which led up to the kitchen quarters, a more temperate zone. Here lived and worked the platoon of maids who served the house, under the joint generalship of Parkes the butler and Mrs Parham the housekeeper.
    Luke had once calculated that if you added the outside staff, the gardeners and grooms and stable boys, you could easily reach a total of thirty people. It seemed a great number to be looking after Sir George, who was a widower, and his two sons; but when he had mentioned this to his father, Hezekiah had not been impressed. ‘It might seem strange to you,’ he had said,