Charles said that he would find out. He spoke with Vernon Kell the following day, knowing they were training Buelow: testing his possible loyalty, using the very same house in Maida Vale where Charles had become entangled with Madeline Drew.
Kell worked on plans to infiltrate agents among German prisoners of war, so that they could be informed of conversations, and thus gain fresh intelligence. It had become part of Charles’ work to assess and analyse the information. He still thought of Madeline a lot, but took care to enquire only occasionally if they had any news of her. He asked now, during the conversation concerning Buelow.
‘As a matter of fact, C has had one message from her.’ Kell told him about the hint that Nicolai seemed to be suggesting her return; then they passed on to Buelow, and Charles returned that night with the welcome news that he could arrange a meeting.
On the following Tuesday, Otto Buelow met for an hour with Mary Anne. Charles was not present, but another MI5 officer sat in, together with the interpreter they were using at the Maida Vale house. MO5 had been given its new name – MI5 – earlier in the year.
The conversation was stilted, but it was obvious that the two young people were very much attracted to one another. Later, Kell spoke of this to Charles, asking if, perhaps, Mary Anne could be of value to them as far as Buelow was concerned.
Charles held out little hope. In fact, Kell became a trifle concerned. Overnight, Charles seemed to have lost interest in the whole business.
The truth was that, foolishly, in an attempt to draw Mildred back to some semblance of normality, Charles had spoken to her at some length about Mary Anne’s visit to thank Buelow.
His wife appeared to take the whole business calmly enough when they talked, but that evening when Mary Anne came down to dinner, Mildred had suddenly begun to rant and rave at her, calling her a lover of Germans, sarcastically asking her if she was granting this Hun Captain the same kind of favours she must have given away in the hospitals. ‘Women of our class do not get themselves raped unless they ask for it,’ Mildred shrieked, adding, melodramatically, ‘You have brought shame upon us: unto the third and fourth generation.’
Charles tried to remonstrate, attempting to defend his daughter against these ridiculous suggestions, but Mildred became wilder. She didn’t want a woman like Mary Anne under the same roof; she didn’t want Mary Anne contaminating her son, she cried hysterically.
In tears, Mary Anne tried to use reason. In the end, the girl lost all patience, slamming out of the room while her father attempted to calm her mother.
By the time Charles had quietened Mildred and got upstairs, Mary Anne had gone. Her old gladstone bag was not there, and she had taken enough clothes for immediate needs.
He telephoned Kell, who talked to Thomson. Discreet feelers were put out. The Metropolitan Police issued a description to officers on the streets. In the meantime, Charles spoke carefully with Andrew, Margaret Mary, Giles, and, lastly, Sara at Redhill. None of them had heard from Mary Anne. For Charles it was the end. Apart from the matter being embarrassing to the family, Mildred had behaved abominably. He told her plainly that he thought she needed medical help.
Mildred laughed in his face, put on her coat and went down the road to pray for her harlot daughter’s soul.
*
‘Well, Richard, I gather congratulations are in order.’ They sat in Giles Railton’s drawing room at Eccleston Square, after dinner. Denise had brought them coffee and brandy. She had not actually served at table, but Dick Farthing felt she might just as well have joined the servants, for her grandfather appeared to treat her as an unpaid housekeeper. Shame, he thought, for Denise was growing into a beautiful young woman.
Dick grinned, ‘I suppose I really should have come and asked your permission or something.’ He always found flattery helped with people of Giles’ standing.
‘I think not,’ the words came back like a cold shower. ‘Sara holds the Railton family in thrall, Richard. A very difficult situation for an old established clan like ours. Her marriage will undoubtedly raise legal questions. We can deal with those when the time comes.’ He raised his glass, ‘Here’s to you and Sara. You’ll be taking her back to America?’
‘No!’ Charm had not paid off, so Dick was quite prepared to play Giles at his own game.
‘Oh? Then what are your immediate plans?’
‘First, to marry Sara. We’ve set the day. 23 December. A Christmas wedding. I rather think Sara wishes you to give her away.’
‘I see. She plans to be married from Redhill, then?’
‘Naturally.’
‘And after that?’
‘Well, I’m applying for a commission in the Royal Flying Corps. Marry Sara; fight the Hun. My priorities.’
‘Well, you should have no problem with the RFC. I have a number of…’
‘Oh, I think I’ve taken care of that, sir.’
‘Really? All right, Richard, you wanted to see me, I take it that the meeting is about the wedding, the provision you are making, and the provision Sara will have to make because of a remarriage. I would suggest…’
‘No, sir, I did not come to talk about the wedding. To be truthful, I know Sara’s talking to the family solicitors. I guess she’ll want to see you as well…’
‘I would be most surprised if she did not.’
‘No, sir. I’m here on official business.’
‘Official?’
‘Mr Wilson, the President of the United States, has asked me to speak with you.’
‘I fear you have the wrong man in me, Richard. I’m only a Foreign Office consultant. The President’s kind of business goes through the American Ambassador to someone of higher rank than I.’
‘Not this.’ Dick held his ground. ‘I know you liaise and coordinate on intelligence business, Mr Railton.’
Giles’ face froze. ‘Well, you know more than I, sir. Where has this extraordinary idea come from?’
‘The President himself, via the Ambassador. You’re well-known in the field of secret diplomacy. I’ve simply been asked to speak with you privately.’
Silence. A car outside. Then a dog barking nearby. ‘Speak then,’ Giles finally said quietly.
Dick Farthing began. He talked about the fact that the internal security of the United States was handled by the Federal Bureau of Investigation; that Military Intelligence, as such, was in a shambles, and the Secret Service was, in fact, part of the Treasury Department, having nothing to do with espionage.
Giles nodded, indicating he knew all this.
‘An officer called Van Deman has the President’s ear, Mr Railton. He’s reorganizing what is known as the Information Branch of the War College. The General Staff are against having anything like the Services you’ve built up here. They…’
‘They know that, if they’ve the guts to get into this war, we, together with the French, will have to hand them intelligence on a plate. They won’t have to work for it.’
‘You could be right, sir. The President’s a far-seeing man. He feels the United States should at least have some people who know the workings of intelligence departments like your own…’
‘Does he now?’
‘He’s asked me to speak with you privately.’
‘To what end?’ Giles seemed vaguely amused.
‘To see if you would accept two, maybe three, accredited officers to study the workings of your own intelligence departments, so the United States has a basis on which to work.’
Giles seemed to think for a moment, then he rose. ‘As it is private, and very confidential, I can give you an answer to take back personally to Mr Wilson. When The President sees fit to bring the United States to the aid of Europe, I shall be only too pleased to use all my power on his behalf, and give him whatever facilities he asks. You must tell him to send another emissary when America enters the war.’
*
‘Merciful heavens, but he’s as cold as charity.’ Dick gave a mock shiver. ‘I left with rime on my eyebrows.’<
br />
‘Told you so, darling,’ Sara laughed. ‘But there are those who can get the better of him.’
‘Let me guess. You?’
She gave him a cat-who—licked-the-cream smile, and nodded. That morning, she had been to see young Mr King, of King, Jackson & King. She explained to Dick the trouble she had experienced with Giles after John Railton’s death. ‘I’m not a Railton – well, only by marriage – and Giles is scared witless lest I make off with the family fortune. Redhill Manor is the sacred stone in their crown.’
‘It’s been a Railton property since before the Ark. I understand that. But, Sara, you are a Railton. You were John’s wife.’ Dick gave a frustrated sigh.
‘I bore him no children, but you’re right. Mr King says it’s quite clear in John’s will. I can marry. I can live there; farm there. My husband can live there, and share in any income. He says its almost without precedent, but if another Railton, like Giles, tried to test it, he’d lose. The only thing I cannot do is leave it to a new husband. I must leave it to James, and so on down the line.’
Already she had seen Andrew, and he upheld her staying on. ‘Called me his little sister, but I think he was a bit drunk.’ She planned to explain things to the others. ‘The women are with me, though I don’t really know about Mildred any more, nobody does, since Mary Anne disappeared.’
They finished lunch, and left the Ritz where they had been eating, Dick to keep an appointment at the War Office, Sara to call on Caspar.
As though to further demonstrate his independence, Caspar had left home and was living in a small house he had rented near Bedford Square. Sara had rung his office number early that morning, but was told he had a day’s leave. So now she thought to surprise him.
She arrived just before three and rang the bell. No reply. While she stood fiddling on the doorstep, Sara discovered that the front door was not properly latched, but swung open at a touch. She stepped into the narrow hall, immediately becoming worried by the sounds from behind the door to her right. They were the noises of someone in pain, struggling and panting for breath.
Not wishing to frighten Caspar, should he have fallen, or hurt himself, she gently pushed open the door. Within seconds she closed it again.
The room was a drawing room, small but well decorated and furnished. Under a high window stood a day bed. Caspar lay on the bed, minus his peg-leg, and stark naked. A young woman straddled him, riding him as though bent on winning the Derby.
The couple were too engrossed in one another even to notice her, but Sara smiled as she tiptoed from the house. She wondered if another wedding could be in the offing, for the young woman so ardently fucking Caspar was none other than his erstwhile nurse, the Honourable Phoebe Mercer.
Fancy, she said to herself, hurrying away. Just fancy. Old Phoeb.
*
Since his message in May – saying the Dimpling woman had been taken – there had been no further contact with Peewit.
Silence. In June, a short paragraph in the Berliner Tageblatt gave the news that Frau Henrietta Dimpling, an Englishwoman who had taken German nationality by marriage, had been tried for espionage, found guilty and shot. No Franke; no Grabben; no Railton.
‘They’re not even going to tell us.’ Giles was convinced that James had died. C noted that, for once, he seemed upset.
C decreed that Margaret Mary should be told nothing of their suspicions until after the birth of the second child, due in August. Until then, they would wait. Seagull had sent four other messages – nothing particularly startling.
There was still no news of Mary Anne, but Charles had managed to get Mildred to see a doctor. She still haunted the church, but prescribed sedation appeared to have some effect.
So, they waited until August before saying anything to Margaret Mary; and while they waited there was plenty to occupy everyone. Charles still monitored reports from their infiltrated men in the prison camps, who now included Otto Buelow. Some of Kell’s men worked close to Special Branch officers in France and Ireland, where tension grew steadily. ‘Ireland’s like a watched pot,’ Kell said. ‘It never quite boils, but one day it will, and maybe we won’t be looking that fine morning.’
With Gallipoli a shambles, Churchill left the Admiralty, taking the Chancellorship of the Duchy of Lancaster in Asquith’s new Coalition. Later in the year he would leave the Cabinet altogether. The drive for munitions was on at last under the silver tongued whip of Lloyd George, and a new terror struck. German Zeppelins began to attack England, even bombing London. Now nobody felt safe.
On the Western Front, men fought and died for a few hundred yards of earth, and names like Neuville and Givenchy exploded from the maps that people marked with little pinned flags in their parlours.
‘Keep the Russian going,’ Giles goaded Ramillies. ‘You’re going to need it, and sooner than you may think.’
On 20 August, Margaret Mary Railton gave birth to a daughter. A sister for little Donald. She was called Sara Elizabeth. A week later, Giles went with C to Redhill Manor, and spoke to Sara. They would tell Margaret Mary next week, they said. It was not correct protocol, but they felt, as James’ stepmother, she should be the first to know.
The news put a blight on all the happy preparations she was making with Dick, whose commission had been granted. He would not be required for service until the following January. ‘I thought they were crying out for pilots,’ he raged.
‘Be thankful,’ Sara whispered, ‘I thought you were crying out for a wife.’ Suddenly she covered her face, and gave a mighty sob. ‘God, I can’t believe it about James, Dick. Tell me it isn’t true.’
But it was Margaret Mary who told them it was not true. Two officers from C’s Service went to the house near Kensington Gardens, and Sara contrived to be there, to see the baby, at the same time.
They told her, flat-voiced, with sympathy. It was the considered opinion of his commanding officer that James had died in action.
Sara moved in to comfort her, and was surprised to see a secret smile on Margaret Mary’s lips as she slowly shook her head. She thanked the officers with a steady voice, saw them to the door and went on with her conversation.
Sara suddenly interrupted her, ‘M-M, my dear. Please, how can you be so sure about James?’
‘He’s alive, Sara.’ Her face lit up as she spoke. ‘I just know he’s alive.’
Sara thought she sounded strangely like Martha Crook. ‘But how can you be so sure?’
‘James and I always know about each other. He’s with me when I play the piano. Believe me, Sara.’
*
In the village of Ashford, Co. Wicklow, Padraig O’Connell met Malcolm Railton in their usual bar.
They had talked for about an hour when Malcolm put a hand on Padraig’s arm. ‘I’ve never seen you wrong yet, have I?’
‘No, but I’ve told you already, I’ve never trusted an Englishman before. What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing’s the matter, but you must know that I have to go to England for Christmas, and take Bridget with me.’
‘So, and will you come back?’
‘Padraig, it’s essential. Family business. A marriage. I have to be there, they would suspect if we dodged it.’
‘Maybe I’ll have work for you while you’re there. How long will you be gone?’
‘A week. Ten days at the most.’
‘Good. Come back for the New Year, because things will change fast then. How can I trust a bloody Englishman? But you come back. God love us all, Casement’s returning, and there’ll be fire in this country in the next months. It doesn’t take spies to know that.’
‘No.’ Malcolm turned away, and caught a glimpse of the sun going down over the Wicklow Hills, with dark clouds hanging as though God was sending a storm in on cue.
Chapter Ten
It was in early October – soon after Nurse Edith Cavell had finally been betrayed, and executed in Brussels – that Giles knew his nephew Charles had been compromised.
&n
bsp; ‘Cavell was nothing to do with us,’ C reiterated for the umpteenth time, as though trying to convince himself.
‘We used her, though.’ Caspar was troubled.
‘Of course. She was there, ran a good escape route. Gallant lady. It remains, young Caspar, she was not official. If the public wishes to make her a martyr, all well and good.’
Later that same day, Giles was with Vernon Kell and Charles. They also talked about Miss Cavell’s execution. ‘Betrayal, treachery – it’s all part of the trade. Terms of our trade if you like.’
Giles continued in a monologue, ‘Take the fellow Buelow. Doing us some good in the prison camps, but a traitor to his own; and the Seagull woman, treacherous to both countries.’ He paused, trying to gain Charles’ attention. ‘She’s sending interesting stuff, so C tells me.’
There was something odd about the way Charles stood. A stiffness; an unusual angle of the head.
That evening, hunched over the maps and soldiers, reliving the events in Scotland during ‘The Forty-Five’ Jacobite Rebellion, which ended with the carnage at Culloden, he put his mind to work on Charles’ possible predicament. A few years earlier, Giles had visited Culloden. He was not superstitious, but in that grim place, he knew there were ghosts, shadows of the terrible slaughter. He wondered if Flanders would hold ghosts a couple of hundred years hence.
Then his nimble, labyrinthine brain turned again to Charles. Of course the man was worried, obsessed, with Mary Anne’s disappearance, and his wife’s emotional turmoil. But Giles smelled something else, and the only other element in Charles’ situation was the woman they called Seagull.
By October 1915, there was hope for Mildred, and Charles knew it. The gleam of hope came unexpectedly. Charles had behaved himself; even though, like any normal man, he missed the company of a woman who could be all things to him. He had taken up his old habit of dropping into the Travellers at day’s end. A few stiff gins before going back to Cheyne Walk gave him courage.