by Daisy Styles
Having had one too many shocks, her mother just gave a confused nod.
‘ “I enclose our wedding certificate to prove my official status as Edward’s wife. We married in secret before Edward left to work in Europe while I remained in England,” ’ Bella read.
‘Do you think it’s true?’ her mother asked.
Bella studied the two certificates, one in English, the other in German. ‘They look authentic enough, but it’s a damned weird set-up!’ she exclaimed. ‘ “I understand that, legally, because of the nature of Edward’s work, I cannot inherit anything from the Walsingham estate.” ’
‘Certainly not!’ Lady Caroline cried indignantly.
‘ “Edward always said if anything were to happen to him, he would want me to rebuild my life with a new identity that had no association with him or his past. But without his financial support, I am virtually penniless! Edward assured me you would help me, which is why I have the confidence to write to you. He told me of the Walsingham family gold held by Coutts Bank. Would you consider helping his grieving widow by donating a sum of gold to the value of two thousand pounds to help her carry out your son’s dying wishes?” The cheek!’ Bella cried.
‘She has a point,’ Lady Caroline said thoughtfully. ‘If the solicitor agrees that the certificates are authentic, then it would be the right thing to help Edward’s widow establish a new life in a place where she’s completely anonymous.’
‘Mummy!’ Bella cried. ‘The woman could come cap in hand to us whenever she’s broke.’
‘Our solicitor would have to make it clear that this is a one-off payment for closure on the whole sad business,’ her mother said, as tears welled up in her tired eyes.
‘Two thousand pounds is a lot of money!’ Bella protested.
‘Darling, think about it. She could kick up a hell of a fuss and try to claim more. This could be a smart, tactical move and, if it is what Edward wanted … he is still my son, whatever he did …’ Lady Caroline concluded bleakly.
Bella put her arm around her mother’s shaking shoulders; she was shocked at how cold and removed from her brother’s death she felt. She had ceased to have even a residual sisterly affection for Edward some time ago and was secretly relieved that he couldn’t harm any more innocent people. But her heart ached for her poor mother. She had suffered two blows: first, her husband’s sudden death at Christmas, and now her son’s suicide.
‘I’m so sorry, Mummy,’ she said softly.
Standing on King’s Parade in Cambridge, Edward Walsingham, two stone heavier than when he was last in England, his hair dyed black and sporting a goatee beard, examined his reflection in the large window of the Copper Kettle café.
After hearing of his father’s death, Edward’s first thought had been how he could lay his hands on some money. Given his circumstances, he would be denied any claim to his inheritance. A German spy couldn’t possibly take on an ancestral title! But the family gold sitting in Coutts Bank in London was quite another matter. He wanted a part of that gold stash, but how to lay his hands on it? Then he had a brainwave: he would claim his money through Geraldine, his mistress, who was the nearest to a wife that Edward would ever get. He smiled as he imagined her hamming up the part of the grieving, penniless widow mourning the ‘death’ of her beloved husband.
Travelling with a false passport and identity papers, Edward had made his way from Berlin to Bremen by train, then crossed the North Sea in a decrepit passenger ship. He planned to stay with Geraldine, who was now a senior tutor in the German Department in Cambridge. She had pleasant set of rooms in King’s College, where he could hole up until the business with his mother was wrapped up. Geraldine always welcomed him with open arms, particularly if he arrived armed with brandy, cigarettes and nylons. There was no doubt he had a soft spot for the old girl, they went back a long way, right to Freshers’ Week, when she was at Girton and he was at King’s. She’d been groomed for spy work along with him, but she had baulked at the eleventh hour.
‘I don’t fancy it,’ she confessed. ‘It always leads to some ghastly torture,’ she joked. ‘Far too messy, darling!’
Nevertheless, they’d remained lovers when he was in the country, and she was the soul of discretion, plus, cunning Edward had kept a secret dossier of information on her, which he wouldn’t hesitate to use if she tried any funny business.
Over a boozy, expensive dinner at the Ritz, followed by a very satisfactory night of sex in one of the hotel’s most opulent bedrooms, Edward had had no problem persuading Geraldine to present herself as his desperate widow who wanted to flee the disgrace and shame of a treacherous dead husband.
‘Darling, I’ll weep convincing tears in my widow’s black Hartnell suit and veil,’ she had promised.
Back in Cambridge, in Geraldine’s comfortable rooms, Edward paid out a considerable amount of money for a fake wedding and death certificate, then put them in an envelope with the callous letter he had concocted. After patting Geraldine’s rather ample bottom, Edward asked her to address the letter to his mother for whom he showed not a jot of emotion.
‘Now all we have to do is wait for the money to come rolling in,’ he said, as he led smiling, eager Geraldine into her bedroom.
Back at Walsingham Hall, Maudie went about her work with a permanent smile on her face.
‘You look like the cat that got all the cream,’ Ava teased, as the two girls rolled pastry on the floured kitchen table for half a dozen meat-and- potato pies.
‘I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,’ Maudie admitted. ‘Can you believe it’s nearly a year ago since Kit was gunned down and Raf was murdered and everything looked so terribly bleak?’
Ava shook her head and said, ‘A year! We’ll never get over losing Raf, but his lovely daughter is nearly three months old, and Bella’s expecting now.’ Turning to Maudie, Ava winked mischievously. ‘Soon be your turn, lovie!’
Maudie burst out laughing. ‘Let me get married first!’ she cried.
Their happy chatter was interrupted by Bella, who had hurried below stairs to tell her friends of Edward’s death. Neither Maudie nor Ava could pretend to grieve over it.
‘I feel very sorry for your poor mother,’ Maudie said, with genuine sympathy.
‘God! She must be in shock,’ Ava said compassionately.
‘She’s in double shock,’ Bella added grimly. ‘His widow wants paying off.’
‘Grasping cow!’ cried Ava. ‘You’d think she’d give Lady Caroline time to grieve before making a grab for her son’s money.’
‘They sound like the perfect couple,’ Bella remarked bitterly. ‘Both completely out for themselves!’
As Edward’s complex plan to line his pockets swung into action, the RAF were preparing airbases around the country for a major raid on the German coastal batteries positioned along the Normandy beaches. A thousand aircraft would be involved in the D-Day landings, and the hope was that it would radically change the course of the war. The ground crews at Holkham airbase were working around the clock, making ready their Lancasters. A sense of tense expectancy ran through the airmen, who knew that, since Bomber Command’s strategic bombing policy had been operational, Britain’s battle in the air had grown in strength and power.
Knowing Maudie was terrified of him being gunned down again, Kit, sworn to secrecy about any forthcoming raids, barely mentioned his work. But there was no hiding when a squadron took off: everybody in the area could hear the mighty Lancasters rumbling down the runway and taking to the air over the Norfolk turnip fields before flying out over the North Sea. The last thing Kit wanted to do to his beloved was inflict further fear and pain; like most of his comrades who were in love, he kept secrets to shield Maudie.
One night, when Maudie heard the deafening drone of Lancasters taking off, her blood ran cold. She didn’t need Kit to tell her – she instinctively knew he was up there. She could even picture him, silent, stony-faced and determined at the controls of his beloved plane.
It was lucky that Maudie didn’t know about Kit’s raid on 5 June 1944. Five thousand tons of bombs were dropped on the Normandy beaches that night, the greatest amount in the war so far. D-Day, 6 June, dawned, the Germans were on the run, and the Normandy beachheads, where rocket launchers were permanently aimed at England and the Channel, toppled to the triumphant Allies.
41. King’s College, Cambridge
Edward’s plan might have worked but for his fatal mistake in sending a coded message to Berlin during the week of the D-Day landings. What drove him to behave so recklessly was the shock of what happened to the Germans; the superior Aryan power, under the leadership of Adolf Hitler, had been made fools of. They had been tricked by clouds of chaff ‒ thin pieces of metallized glass fibre ‒ which had been dropped from Stirling bombers to create an illusory false target on the enemy’s radar screens. By the time the Germans discovered the smokescreen, it was too late. Fighter planes were upon them and they were being gunned down on the Normandy beaches.
While Geraldine was out giving a lecture, Edward tracked down her old radio transmitter, which she’d briefly used during her training period before abandoning the idea of spying. Edward set up the aerial and, using his code name, he logged in and started transmitting to Berlin.
Back at Walsingham Hall, Maudie, out of habit after months and months of checking the radio transmitter while Kit was away, still continued to tune in from time to time. Besides, she liked to keep up her Morse code. That afternoon, as she sat with earphones clamped around her head, her green eyes grew wide in amazement.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ she gasped, as she recognized Edward’s code name, then – curbing her astonishment – she concentrated hard on writing out the coded message he was sending. As soon as he’d signed off, Maudie ran into the kitchen, where she found Ava making tea.
‘You’re not going to believe this. Walsingham’s transmitting!’ she gasped.
Ava nearly dropped the teapot. ‘But he’s dead!’
‘Then somebody’s using his code name,’ Maudie replied.
‘Phone the Brig!’ cried Ava.
When Maudie got through to him, he said, ‘Read out the message, exactly as you wrote it down.’
Slowly and carefully, she repeated the message she’d written down in Morse code.
‘I’ll have a crack at decrypting it,’ the Brig said. ‘Can you let Kit have it, too? Between the two of us we might be able to get the location of the sender, which will give us a lead as to who it really is. Does Bella know?’ he asked.
‘No, she’s teaching,’ Maudie told him.
‘Be careful not to mention this to Lady Caroline. She’s upset enough about her son being dead, but imagine how devastated she’ll be to find out it’s a hoax. But then, it’s exactly the kind of thing Walsingham is capable of.’
Maudie cycled faster than she ever had before through the lovely, winding lanes, barely noticing the birds singing their hearts out in the treetops in full summer leaf. She was surprised that she felt comfortable about being back at the airbase; she’d avoided it the whole time when she’d feared Kit was dead. Now here he was, suntanned and handsome in his RAF uniform, walking towards her with a wide smile on his face.
‘Sweetheart!’ he exclaimed, as he drew her into his arms and kissed her full of the mouth. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
Though Maudie longed to linger over his kiss, she pulled away to tell him the news.
Kit’s arms fell from her shoulders. Stunned, he could only stare at her.
‘It might be somebody using his code name,’ Maudie added quickly. ‘The Brig asked me to bring you a copy of the message I picked up this afternoon.’
Kit finally got his voice back. ‘Could the bastard have faked his death?’
‘Wouldn’t put it past him,’ Maudie answered, as she handed him a copy of the coded message. ‘The Brig’s trying to crack it to see if it really is Walsingham. He wants you to a have a go, too.’
‘With pleasure!’ Kit said eagerly.
‘He said we might find the location of the sender by the strength of the signal,’ she added.
Kit nodded. ‘The louder and clearer the signal, the closer the sender,’ he replied.
‘I’ll have to love you and leave you,’ Maudie said, as she jumped back on her bike. ‘I promised Ava I’d be back to help with supper.’
‘I’ll drive over later,’ he promised. ‘Especially if I have any news!’
As soon as Bella had finished teaching the code girls she skipped downstairs in order to help Ava carry the loaded supper trays up to the canteen. When she heard the news about her brother, she was shocked rigid.
‘I need to talk to the Brig!’ she cried.
‘Best leave him to his work for the moment,’ Ava advised. ‘He’s trying to crack the code,’ she added.
Bella gave a brief smile. ‘Point taken!’ she said.
Maudie arrived back, and all three girls served cauliflower cheese, with barely a scraping of cheese, and Spam fritters. As they worked, they had only one thought on their minds: was Walsingham alive? As soon as she was free, Bella also started to puzzle over the coded message Maudie had given her. When the phone in the hall shrilled out, she dashed to get it and, at almost the same time, Kit drove into the courtyard in his old MG.
‘I can’t be sure yet,’ the Brig told Bella over the phone. ‘I’m still trying to decrypt the code by using his old cyphers.’
Kit came bounding up to Bella. ‘Sorry to be rude,’ he said, ‘but would you mind if I had a word with the Brig?’
Bella handed over the phone, and Kit spoke rapidly into it. ‘It’s Walsingham!’
‘Sure?’ the Brig asked sharply.
‘Definitely. Who else always signs themselves out, über Alles? You know, the line from the German national anthem, “Deutschland über Alles”? Didn’t you spot it at the end of the message?’
The Brig shook his head. ‘Sorry, old man, I still haven’t got to that bit. It’s been a slow process,’ he said apologetically.
‘And there’s more. I got my top signalling chaps to locate his whereabouts,’ Kit added soberly. ‘He’s only in bloody Cambridge!’
There was a brief pause before the Brig, on the end of the phone, and Bella, standing beside Kit, said in unison, ‘King’s College, Cambridge!’
The Brig wasted no time in racing up from London and involving the local police constabulary in Cambridge. He and Kit met up with them the next day.
‘We suspect he’s at King’s, his old college,’ the Brig informed the detective in charge, who hastily outlined his plan.
‘We’ll surround the grounds, and position plain-clothes policemen around the college, too. The sooner we move in on him, the better – if Walsingham is in the college, the last thing we want is to lose him.’
Edward was enjoying a quiet smoke while Geraldine was supervising her tutor group in the Gibbs Building. With no idea that he’d been rumbled, he rose and stretched, deciding to take a stroll by the river. As he opened the door on to a pretty quad where early roses were in bloom, Edward walked straight into a burly policeman who was standing guard by the door.
‘Excuse me, sir ‒’ the policeman began, but Edward delivered a swift right-handed punch which sent him reeling.
Edward dashed across the quad to the bridge, where he found another policeman on guard. Managing to dodge around him, Edward caught him off balance and pushed the poor man backwards into the river. Kit, who’d been standing with a police constable by the college chapel, saw Edward sprinting off.
‘Bugger!’ he yelled. ‘He’s getting away!’
The policeman broke into a run. ‘I’ll follow him, sir, you cut him off at Trinity!’ he cried over his shoulder.
Luckily, Kit was familiar with the tiny paths and alleyways that linked the colleges. Tearing past Clare College and Trinity Hall, he ran across Trinity College Great Court then tore down the leafy back lane which led on to the Backs, where he intercepted Edward and knoc
ked him to the ground. Winded but not hurt, Edward sprang to his feet and hit out at Kit, who retaliated with a savage right swing. Edward came at Kit with both fists clenched.
‘You bastard!’ he snarled.
Kit moved around him, keen to land another punch. ‘Murderer! Bloody traitor!’ he swore, and threw himself on to Edward. He would cheerfully have strangled him with his bare hands.
Fortunately, the Brig, the detective and his men had by now caught up with Kit, and dragged him away from Edward.
‘Leave him!’ the Brig cried.
Trembling and sweating, Kit stood over Edward. ‘You filthy, rotten, stinking traitor, I hope you swing!’
The detective gave Kit, who was trembling in anger, a firm pat on the shoulder.
‘Let’s leave it to the law now, shall we, sir?’
It was left to the Brig to break the news to Lady Caroline: her son was not dead, but alive, and presently in police custody, charged with murder and treason.
‘I had a long interview with Edward after he was arrested,’ the Brig told Bella when they had some time alone. ‘The bastard was only here to plot with his lover, his “widow”, Geraldine. He was totally unrepentant – just said he had a right to the family gold, if nothing else.’
‘Didn’t he even think how much it would hurt Mummy?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Quite honestly, I don’t think he thought about it,’ the Brig replied.
‘What will happen to Geraldine now?’
‘She’ll be questioned, she might go to prison for sheltering a traitor,’ the Brig answered.
Bella gave a heavy sigh, ‘God! This could kill poor Mummy.’
The Brig put an arm around her shoulders. ‘He’s behind bars now, my love,’ he whispered reassuringly.
Bella looked up at her husband, as she replied, ‘Thank Christ! It’s the best place for him.’
42. Justice is Done
Just one week after the triumph of the D-Day landings, Hitler, in vengeful mood, rained V-1 bombs on London. Nicknamed Doodlebugs and Buzz Bombs, due to the distinctive sound made by the pulse-jet engines that powered them, the bombs fell every hour on London. Over an eighty-day period, more than six thousand innocent people were killed, over seventeen thousand injured and a million buildings wrecked or damaged. Londoners dreaded the deadly hush as the engine suddenly cut out before the bomb plunged towards the ground, followed by an ear-splitting explosion as the warhead hit its target. The indiscriminate bombing went on around the clock, in all types of weather, causing suspense and terror among the population of London, and in parts of Kent and Sussex, too.
