series 02 01 Conspiracy of Silence

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  “Then I renounce it now, immediately! I owe allegiance to no flag save the star spangled banner.”

  “Yes, you may renounce it today,” Gordon answered smoothly, “but you may not retroactively renounce it as a legal convenience.”

  Annabelle looked to Lincoln. “What does he mean?”

  Lincoln put his spectacles back on and avoided her eyes as he answered. “He means, my dear, that regardless of your actions now, you were, legally, a British subject at the time this alleged sabotage took place. But, Gordon, as Miss Somerset had no notion she was a British subject, this is nothing but a technicality. It cannot have bearing on her state of mind, which is central to a charge of wilful treason.”

  “She is certainly free to make that argument in court when and if the time comes,” Gordon answered, “although I would think such legal hair-splitting would look unseemly as a defence, and leave her more open to conviction on the simple charges of sabotage and murder.”

  Lincoln was silent for a few seconds and then spoke in a low voice. “This is a shameful thing your government does.”

  If the accusation angered or offended Gordon, he gave no evidence of it. “I am here as a courtesy, your Excellency, to lay out our position and answer what questions I can. It is not my place to defend my government’s actions, even should I believe they required defending, which of course I do not.”

  There seemed little else to say, and so the meeting was ended. Once Major Gordon had left, Annabelle turned to Mister Lincoln.

  “This is all quite preposterous. Surely you must see that?”

  “I do, dear lady, I do. However, it would appear our hands are somewhat tied at this moment.” He stepped over to her and took her hands in his. “Be assured, however, that the United States Government will underwrite your defence. For my own part, I shall interview and hire a solicitor. And perhaps a barrister, should this matter come to trial.”

  Annabelle was shocked. “Do you suppose that is likely?”

  Mister Lincoln looked at her sadly. “I hardly see how any other course of action could present itself.”

  Chapter Four

  “An Offer is Made”

  1.

  JACOB FOLKARD thought it odd that he should be summoned like this, especially since he had requested to stand down as captain of HMAS Sovereign, and was now enjoying a period of rest while the Admiralty considered his request and the reasons he had given. Nonetheless, rest or not, he could hardly ignore someone of Rear Admiral Cavor’s standing. That the place of the meeting should be Charlbury in Oxfordshire added an unexpected mystery to the summons. And if there was one thing Folkard rather liked, it was a good mystery.

  He was picked up from the rail station in the nearby town of Chipping Norton by one of Cavor’s footmen, and enjoyed a pleasant carriage ride through the country. It was not often that Folkard was afforded the opportunity of a day in the English countryside, his Earth-bound duties often centred around big cities like London, and so he enjoyed the bracing air. He was bundled up warm, a blanket provided for his legs by the footman, and had a great coat and scarf wrapped about his upper body. He had dispensed with the goggles once he had boarded the train in London, but he retained his flat cap. It had been some time since he had been able to step out of uniform, and was already in the process of growing a beard. He was uncertain of his future, and supposed that it was such that Cavor wished to discuss with him.

  The carriage was pulled into the grounds of a small country house, and Folkard smiled at the sight. It had been many years since he had visited the admiral’s ancestral home. As Folkard understood it, the land had been owned by Cavor’s family since Anglo-Saxon times.

  He alighted the carriage and was guided by the footman into the house, past the large central stairway, and into a drawing room. The footman collected Folkard’s hat, coat and scarf, requested he wait in the drawing room, and retired.

  Folkard was not a man known for waiting, and Cavor knew this, which, Folkard reflected, was exactly why the admiral saw fit to make him wait. If it were any other man, regardless of rank, such behaviour would irk Folkard quickly. As it was, he and Cavor had a long history in their respective naval careers, going back some twenty years, and everything Folkard knew about being a captain he had learned from Cavor. Including the necessity of testing a man’s character. Hence the waiting game.

  Finally the drawing room door opened again, and Rear Admiral Herbert Cavor walked in. Like Folkard, Cavor was out of uniform, which further suggested that the summons to Charlbury was unofficial. Folkard’s curiosity piqued once more. Small talk ensued, during which Cavor tugged the bell-pull and ordered the butler to bring them two glasses of the best local beer. Folkard remembered this to be that which was brewed by Hitchman’s Brewery in Chipping Norton, and with the first sip he recalled how much he had missed the thick taste of it. He had travelled as far as an aether propeller was able to take a ship, but nothing compared to homemade beer. Not that Chipping Norton was home, but it was close enough.

  “Forgive my insensitivity, old man, but am I correct in surmising that your current state of indecision has something to do with the approaching, ah, anniversary?” Cavor asked.

  “It is still a month away,” Folkard began, “and although the loss of Charlotte will be forever felt, it does not dominate my thoughts.” He raised his glass. “But I appreciate your concern.”

  Cavor nodded and took a seat near the freshly stoked fireplace. He removed a cigar from a small case on the table beside the chair, and offered one to Folkard. He accepted, and settled himself in the chair opposite.

  “You have read my report on the recent mission to Luna?”

  “Of course, and also the reports of Lieutenant Bedford. Although he never said as such, there was a certain, ah, tone in his report that suggested he agreed with your decision to step down as Sovereign’s captain. I must say, the idea that some alien intelligence is able to compromise the integrity of one of our finest captain’s is somewhat unsettling.”

  Folkard watched Cavor’s expression carefully. Although the admiral would never say such a thing, the way he glanced away when saying “our finest captain’s” struck Folkard as significant. Cavor certainly held quite a lot of sway within the Admiralty, and it was he who had recommended Folkard for the position of captaincy of Sovereign in the first place. That he should take Folkard’s failure personally was hardly a surprise.

  “I quite agree, which is why I’ve requested to stand down. Sovereign is the most advanced ship in the aether, and will always be seen to represent the best of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. As such it is highly likely she will often be called upon for missions involving Luna and the developments occurring there. To have a captain who will be influenced by the Heart whenever in the vicinity of Luna would be…problematic at best.”

  “Yes, and so your request is quite prudent. I daresay the Admiralty will agree, and will no doubt assign you to sea duty henceforth. Regardless of your service record, the two missions to Luna notwithstanding, I cannot envision the Admiralty allowing you to command an aether flyer again.”

  Cavor chewed on his cheroot, allowing Folkard to digest such information. Since he had returned to Earth, Folkard had felt nothing of the Heart, but he had to admit he understood the Admiralty’s concern. How many times would an aether flyer under his command have to pass by Luna? Would he feel the Heart’s presence, be influenced by its whims, whenever his ship neared the grey rock? Who knew what danger that would bring to his crew? Although he was not foolish enough to believe he was directly to blame for every death on the previous two missions to Luna, as captain he was responsible for every man who served on his ship. Every officer, even the ratings, understood the risk of serving on a naval vessel, but only the captain bore the responsibility. As such, the actions of a captain had to be above reproach. Influence by an alien intelligence of unknown origin was a risk of which Folkard was unwilling to expose his men.

  “They would be right, sir,” Folkard said,
a decision made. “Perhaps it is time for me to retire from naval service.”

  “I say, that is a little hasty. Maritime commerce is still the life blood of the Empire, and protection of the sea lanes remains the overriding mission of the Royal Navy. Good captains are essential to that task. Do not let recent events lead you to think you are less than you are. In the past year you have proven yourself to be a worthy captain; your service on Sovereign has been exemplary, like the rest of your naval career to this point.”

  “Perhaps, but…”

  “Jacob, there is something else. I am going to tell you something very important, although it must never leave this room. You are, of course, aware of Project ‘G’, and Sovereign’s involvement. What you are not aware of, however, is the connection between Project ‘G’ and Peregrine Station. Since the station’s destruction certain things have come to light, but I am not sure I can trust the source of such things. I need your help in finding out the truth.”

  “Me? I am a naval captain whose reputation is under some scrutiny. What help can I be?”

  “You are, right now, in the perfect position, precisely because of your current standing in the Navy. Depending on developments with Doctor Grant, the Admiralty may well have the perfect mission for you. However, before that time I have a more, unofficial, mission for you.”

  “Hence your invitation.”

  “Quite so.” Cavor leaned forward in his chair, and lowered his voice. “Unfortunately reaching Doctor Grant and Miss Somerset is something I may have some difficulty with since they are held by the Crown, and Miss Somerset is being accused of treason…”

  “Treason!” Folkard could hardly credit it. “That is a ridiculous accusation.”

  “Yes, a despicable affair, and one I cannot be seen to involve myself in. You, however, are a resourceful chap and I daresay something will occur to you in due course. In the meantime, I do not suppose you are aware of what has transpired for Professor Stone since he returned to Earth, so I will tell you. But before that, be aware that the mission I have for you is one of utmost danger. You see, many lives are at risk, foremost among them Professor Stone’s…”

  2.

  ANNABELLE SLEPT POORLY the night following the meeting with Major Gordon and Mister Lincoln, troubled by confused and alarming dreams, some involving a hangman’s noose and others, oddly, a small girl with raven-black hair. She woke well before dawn, or what passed for it in the smoke-shrouded city. She conducted her morning toilet, dressed, and then assumed her now-accustomed position on the couch in the sitting room and, in the still pre-dawn gloom of a single gas lamp turned low, simply thought.

  What now?

  Her immediate desire had been to formally renounce her British citizenship but Lincoln advised against it. It would have no bearing on the legality of the treason charge, he explained, but might be viewed as confirmation of her antipathy toward the British crown. For a diplomatic envoy, Mister Lincoln then spoke very undiplomatically about the British government, or at least what he termed the “scoundrels behind this affair”, and expressed a conviction that they would attempt to distort and place in the worst possible light any action she took, no matter how innocently intended. Therefore she must now act with great circumspection, guarding even her conversations with the domestic staff of Dorset House, who were, after all, apparently employees of some government agency. Mrs Dubbner came immediately to Annabelle’s thoughts.

  Yes, act with circumspection—but act how? What options were now open to her, aside from awaiting the decision to charge her and then fighting the charges in court? If only she had someone she could talk this through with. Where was Nathanial? Why had he not visited?

  For that matter, why had she not heard from George Bedford? On those last few days aboard HMAS Sovereign she had felt as happy as she could ever remember, comfortable in his company, sharing meals, sometimes simply reading together. His duties as acting captain of HMAS Sovereign would have occupied him for several days after landing, but once he learned she was being held as a prisoner he would have sent word to her or tried to see her. She might have doubted that once, wondered if concern for his career would make him reluctant to contact an accused traitor and saboteur, but no longer. If George had not contacted her, it would not have been due to faintness of heart. That thought brought a smile to her eyes, but the other possible explanations for his absence troubled her.

  She must have dozed on the couch because she awoke with a start at a knock on the sitting room door.

  “Major Gordon to see you, Miss,” Stanhope announced after she had called for him to enter. The butler turned up the gas lamps as Gordon entered and bowed, the leather portfolio again under his arm.

  “Have you come with more evidence against me, Major?” she asked once Stanhope left them, and she gestured to his portfolio.

  Gordon inclined his head slightly. “No, Miss Somerset. But I have a document which I believe may end this entire affair to everyone’s satisfaction. May I sit?”

  This time she allowed it. If nothing else, Gordon had at least captured her attention. He sat, opened the portfolio, and drew out several pages of documents.

  “I have been directed by my superiors to make the offer of a settlement with you, in which you will receive immunity from prosecution on all charges relating to the Peregrine Station incident,” he said.

  “By your superiors, you mean General Buller?” she asked.

  Gordon shifted in his chair and frowned slightly. “I am not authorised to disclose the source of this offer,” he said, and something about the way he said it made Annabelle think that the offer came from higher than some general in charge of military intelligence. “However the offer includes a letter to you signed by General Buller thanking you for your full cooperation in the investigation, commending you on your efforts to prevent the destruction of Peregrine Station, and extending the Crown’s sympathy for your injury sustained in that effort. Coming from the chief of Military Intelligence, it is as complete an exoneration as is possible under the circumstances and would make any effort to prosecute you effectively impossible.”

  “I see. And what am I required to give in return?”

  “A court will certify your uncle mentally incompetent. As his closest living relative, the court will appoint you his legal guardian with complete power of attorney. You, in turn, will transfer all rights to both the original Grant pattern and the Grant-Stone pattern aether propeller governor patents to the British crown, in return for a royalty paid on every governor manufactured and a life-time pension for both you and your uncle. It is, if I may say, a very generous pension.”

  Annabelle sat quietly and for several seconds the only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the mantle clock above the fireplace, a sound so soft she normally did not even notice it.

  “No.”

  “Miss Somerset, I understand your reluctance, but please allow me to persuade you,” Gordon said, and for once there was a flicker of…something human, even compassionate, in his eyes. “Your uncle may recover and go on to other work, or he may remain in his current state for the rest of his life. If so, he will be unable to provide for you or himself. You are clearly willing to shoulder your familial burden with respect to him, for which I hold you in the highest esteem, but how will you provide for your material needs while also constantly tending to him? And that assumes you are able to prevail in court against the charges now in preparation against you. If you fail in your defence, who then will look after him? I ask only that you consider these things before making your decision.”

  “Thank you, Major Gordon, for your advice, which I must assume you offer with the best of intentions. However, my decision remains unchanged. Please be so kind as to convey this answer to your superiors, whoever they might be: no, and again, no.”

  3.

  THE SAVILE CLUB, located in Piccadilly, was a place Nathanial used to frequent with great regularity. It had been some two years since his last visit. The lower halls were reserve
d for dining, while the rooms on the upper floors were reserved for the more exclusive members of the club.

  One such member was the Honourable Sir Eleias Thomas, who greeted Nathanial warmly. They now sat at a table by a window overlooking Green Park, a view unmarred by the industry and aerial flyers that polluted most of the London skyline, a decanter of sherry standing between them.

  “I must say, I did wonder if you would ever grace us with your presence again, Stone. When word of your adventures reached us, most of the lads expected you to return to bigger things than this club can offer,” Sir Eleias said, his Welsh baritone verily shaking the lid of the decanter.

  “Stuff and nonsense, dear chap, I have always found the Savile Club quite adequate for my needs.”

  “Ah! But that was before you became the creator of the aether propeller governor. I hear it will change the very nature of aether travel.”

  Nathanial idly wondered how many more would make that mistake. He had not created the governor, merely improved on Grant’s original design. Although he supposed he ought to do something about the design patent, after all even though he had worked on it at the behest of Director White, he still owned the design. Or, at the very least, half of it. One more thing to put on his list of business to which he had to attend once he was settled in London.

  “I think you hear too much, perhaps, Sir Eleias.” Nathanial offered his friend a genial smile and sipped his sherry. “I also think that perhaps your mind is better suited to law than to the application of the sciences.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Sir Eleias responded with a deep belly laugh. “However, it does pay to keep one’s ear to the ground. The details are scarce, but I hear talk that the political ramifications of your inventions are quite broad.”

  Nathanial shrugged, and indicated the newspaper on the table. The headliner was the news that the Austrian Ambassador had been assassinated. “I do not care much for politics, as you know. Look at the inherent dangers in such things! I have experienced enough danger on my travels. Besides which I have only been back these past few days, and I am eager to return to inventing things of a more humanitarian benefit. I was never one for aether travel, and now my feet are firmly back on terra firma I see no reason I should leave again.”