Page 238 of The Hallmarked Man
‘We can probably get into Seventeen now.’
‘How common would it be for a mason to change lodges, in your experience?’ asked Strike, as they left the museum to walk along a marble-floored passage.
‘Not that unusual,’ said Hardacre. ‘People move to different towns. You might just find one you like better, or you’d rather not see someone you’ve fallen out with.’
‘I imagined the brethren would be in such a state of fraternal goodwill that would never happen.’
‘Just told you, masonry doesn’t change human nature. Why’re you interested in people switching lodges?’
‘Idle thought. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Winston Churchill? It meets here.’
‘So do about a thousand other lodges,’ said Hardacre. ‘There’s a rumour one of them uses actual human skulls in their rites. Norwegian, if the rumour can be believed, but don’t quote me. I don’t want to be excommunicated.’
A suited man was walking towards them holding a long staff topped with a cross of Salem. Strike let the man move out of earshot before saying,
‘Does the Pope mind you wandering around with stuff like that?’
‘He’s not keen on us generally. Too many non-Christian gods allowed.’
A few minutes later they arrived at a wooden door bearing the number Seventeen, which Hardacre opened. The room was panelled in dark oak, with enough chairs set around the chequerboard floor to seat eighty. Behind a thronelike seat was a large chained swan carved onto the wall.
‘Symbol of Buckinghamshire,’ said Hardacre, pointing. ‘This temple was funded by Freemasons from the county. It’s where three of the oldest – pre-1717 – lodges meet.’
‘And what’s all this?’ said Strike, turning to point at the strange assemblage of objects in the middle of the chequerboard floor.
‘Now, there, I’d have to kill you if I told you,’ said Hardacre.
Ten banners hung from poles faced each other on the black and white carpet, and Strike’s eye was drawn immediately to the lion beneath the word Judah. On the floor lay tools including a spade and a pickaxe, an aged book that was embossed with the lodge’s name, and a group of three-dimensional geometric objects carved out of white stone.
‘This is set up for some rite, is it?’ he asked Hardacre. ‘This stuff wouldn’t usually be here?’
‘No,’ said Hardacre.
Strike glanced around the rest of the chamber. He noted the ‘rough’ and ‘perfect’ ashlars – cubes of stone representing the uninitiated and educated masons – sitting beside chairs that evidently belonged to masons having some elevated ceremonial role.
‘Can’t say it’s obvious what William Wright wanted to see in here,’ he said at last, after giving the place a comprehensive look, ‘but that’ll do me.’
As they left the temple Strike asked,
‘D’you still maintain masons aren’t allowed to use membership to advance their personal interests?’
‘It’s right there in the rules, Oggy,’ said Hardacre. ‘We’re not allowed to discuss politics or religion during meetings, or do business deals.’
‘But, as you’ve already pointed out, masonry doesn’t change human nature.’
‘Have it your own way,’ said Hardacre, good-humoured as ever.
As they emerged from the hall into the sunlight, the conversation shifted easily to mutual military friends, and Strike mentally filed away GAOTU, the chained swan and the symbolic significance of bridges to be pondered later, when he had the time.
73
I knew the mass of men conceal’d
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal’d
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
