by V M Knox
‘You’re lying!’
‘Is Sir Cedric dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘You killed him?’
‘Yes, I killed him. Out-lived his usefulness.’
‘Who did he fly into the country?’
‘Lots of people.’
‘Last night, I mean.’
‘Well now, that would be telling.’
‘The coup won’t happen now.’
Silence.
Clement heard the cynical laughter, then a shot rang out, hard against the stone walls. He stood and edged his way around the pillar. Armstrong’s body lay sprawled on the hard stone. A grey-haired man stood over Armstrong, a pistol in his grip.
Clement levelled his Welrod. ‘Who are you?’
‘Sir Samuel Hoare. British ambassador to Spain,’ the man said, lowering his pistol.
From the corner of his eye Clement saw Johnny inch forward, his Welrod pistol in his hand.
‘I have nothing to do with this murderer,’ Hoare was protesting.
‘Stay where you are. Where are the others?’
‘Waiting in the Chantry.’
Clement glanced back at Johnny. ‘I’ll stay here with him. Get C,’ he said, then added half under his breath, ‘and Johnny, make it as quick as you can. I don’t trust him.’
Johnny nodded and vanished.
Clement kept his eyes fixed on Hoare. ‘We’ll wait here until Sir Stewart arrives.’
‘This is outrageous! I’ve told you who I am?’ Hoare was shouting.
‘Yes, you’ve told me and right now, I don’t care much. What’s more, I don’t know if you are just a foolish man or a traitor. So, stay where you are, Sir Samuel, while we wait for Sir Stewart Menzies.’
Clement stared into the man’s glowering eyes. He waited, his Welrod still levelled at Hoare.
Clement heard running feet. Keeping his gaze on Sir Samuel, Clement stepped over Armstrong’s dead body then moved slowly towards Hoare, so he could see who was approaching. He held his Welrod steady.
C approached. ‘Thank you, Major. I’ll take it from here. Where are the others, Hoare?’
‘In the Chantry.’
‘Who, exactly is there?’ C asked.
‘Lord Halifax, Lady Armstrong and Lady Hasluck.’
‘Captain Winthorpe, bring Lord Halifax and the Lady Armstrong here. Tell Lady Hasluck to wait where she is. Reverend Wisdom can look after her.’
‘I’ll fetch them, sir,’ Johnny said and disappeared back along the passage.
‘Would you come this way, Sir Samuel?’ C gestured back along the cloister to the Chamber Court beyond.
‘This is an outrage, Menzies! Who is this?’ Hoare said, pointing at Clement.
‘Not now, Hoare. We’ll discuss your part in today’s events later.’
‘What events? I’m here only to speak to Winston. Privately!’
‘I think not. The attempt on the Prime Minister’s life has been unsuccessful.’
‘What!’
‘As was Hugh Armstrong’s attempt to assassinate their Majesties, King George and Queen Elizabeth.’
Hoare’s face remained stern and indignant. ‘I know nothing about assassinations. It’s preposterous to suggest that I, or Lord Halifax, would have any involvement with an attempt on the King or Queen’s life. And as far as Winston is concerned, I may disagree with him but I could never condone murder.’ Hoare turned and pointed at Armstrong. ‘There is your murderer.’
‘When you’ve finished, I have an aeroplane nearby at my disposal. You and Lord Halifax will be flown to Lisbon, then you will return to your posts as soon as possible. I will arrange for Lord Halifax’s passage to America from Lisbon. As for Lady Armstrong, I suggest she returns to the south of France for the duration of the war. Captain Winthorpe will escort you all to the aeroplane.’
‘This way, sir,’ Johnny said. He nodded and smiled to Clement on leaving the cloister.
C turned to Clement. ‘Thank you, Major. Would you see to this?’ C pointed at Armstrong’s body. ‘And would you also attend to Sir Cedric. You are perhaps the best person for this anyway. Also, please see that Lady Hasluck is taken home.’
‘Sir.’
‘I will speak to the porters in the lodge here and arrange for two hearses to come to collect the deceased,’ C said. ‘And Major. Take two days off then I’ll see you in my office in Whitehall on Monday morning.’ C turned to leave then stopped and held Clement’s gaze. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Major, that everything you have seen and heard here today is top secret. This includes the identities of all the people involved. I remind you also that you have signed the Official Secrets Act and I would be forced to take it very seriously if this was to be breached. You do understand me, Major?’
‘I understand,’ Clement said, replacing his Welrod. He watched C go. He squatted beside Hugh Armstrong and rolled his body over. The bullet had entered his chest almost directly over his heart. Congealing blood had pooled around his body. Clement stood and stared at Armstrong, a man who had caused such carnage. Or was he its victim? Sacrificed by others more important? Clement walked through the ancient cloisters to the small Chantry and found Lady Hasluck. Entering the tiny sacred place, he saw her sitting alone. He walked silently up to her and sat beside her.
‘Lady Hasluck. My name is Reverend Wisdom.’
The frail woman looked up, her tearful eyes wide with fear and apprehension. ‘Is he dead?’
Clement nodded. ‘So is Hugh Armstrong. It’s over now.’
Lady Hasluck bowed her head. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’
‘Why do you say that Lady Hasluck?’ Clement asked.
‘She was always there. Helena, I mean, Lady Armstrong. Every time we were in Lisbon she came. I never knew why she befriended me. She invited me to join them in Caen. I was flattered, I suppose. I’m not really like them. I don’t mix easily with people. She even introduced me to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. I was swept off my feet. She asked all sorts of questions about Cedric and I was too flattered to see what she was doing.’
‘Did Lady Armstrong learn that your husband owned an aeroplane?’
‘Yes. And what he did for the government. Don’t you see, it’s my fault he’s dead.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Many people have been manipulated and deceived by these people. Your husband was a very brave man. As indeed is your son.’
‘You know Michael?’
‘I do. He’s being cared for by a very kind family,’ Clement said, thinking of Kendall. ‘But now he needs his mother.’
Clement escorted her to the front entrance of the college. ‘I’ll arrange for your husband to be taken back to Cambridge. The driver here will take you home.’
Clement waited at the college until both hearses had removed the bodies of Sir Cedric Hasluck and Hugh Armstrong. Remembering the map of Winchester, he walked back through the town, past the Cathedral and across the grassy lawns. The crowds had gone. There was no sign of anything untoward having happened. He walked towards the Buttercross in the High Street and found a place where he could have something to eat and be able to sit for a while. An hour later he walked up the hill in the late-afternoon sun towards the railway station.
Chapter 32
Monday 16th June 1941
Clement climbed the well-known stairs to the third floor. He’d read all the weekend newspapers and this morning’s but there hadn’t been a single reference to either Sir Samuel Hoare or Lord Halifax. Rather, the tabloids had said that a network of terrorists had been uncovered and the ringleaders arrested. There was nothing about treason or murder. He knew it was what the Service did best; maintain authority and no sensationalism. He smiled at Nora Ballantyne and Joan Cunningham as he approached them.
‘They’re inside,’ Nora said.
Miss Cunningham smiled.
Clement nodded. When he’d last seen C at Winchester College, Clement felt that his boss intended to conceal the truth about Hoare�
��s and Halifax’s involvement, if not with insurrection, then at least with consorting with the enemy in secret meetings during wartime. These were acts of treason. But instead, Hoare and Halifax, along with the Lady Helena Armstrong, had been whisked away, out of the country and away from any impeachment. The only reference to Winchester in the newspaper were happy pictures of the King and Queen giving out bravery awards in Winchester’s Great Hall with a smiling Prime Minister. It appalled Clement that censorship would mean that the truth would not be told and none of the influential people would stand trial. It reinforced his opinion that such lowly members of the Service such as himself were, indeed, expendable and that the Official Secrets Act conveniently suppressed unwanted or undesirable truths. In Clement’s opinion, senior members of the British establishment appeared to have one rule for themselves and another for everyone else. Or perhaps the web of secrecy in Freemasonry at influential levels had kept the truth from being revealed. Either way, it had helped to cement his decision.
Johnny smiled as Clement entered the office and sat down.
C was seated in front of Johnny’s desk. ‘Thank you for coming, Major. You will be interested to know that the King and Queen are well and have returned to London. The King has a slight graze to his arm but otherwise is unhurt. The Queen was unharmed. Mr Churchill also. Mr Thompson will have a sore shoulder for some time but he is alive. And Sir Samuel Hoare has returned to his post in Spain as has Lord Halifax to America. The Lady Armstrong will be watched for the rest of her life. I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble in future.’
‘Am I permitted to ask why there will be no prosecutions?’
C frowned. ‘Much of our work, Major, goes unreported. That way we avoid scandal and sensational gossip. When no real harm is done, life returns to something approximating normality which, given our current circumstances, is the best outcome for everyone concerned.’
‘Sir Cedric Hasluck was murdered, sir. And his wife and son terrorised.’
‘Yes. A tragedy.’
‘And Lord Halifax?’
‘Has returned to America, as I said.’ C stood and walked towards the window. ‘It is, of course, entirely possible that some of these people didn’t know what Sir Hector Armstrong and his cronies were attempting to do. It is also conceivable that they’d been told that they were there merely to meet secretly with Churchill and that the meeting would take place sometime after the ceremony.’
‘Sir, with respect, I overheard Hoare talking with Bainbridge. It’s my opinion that he was very much involved.’
‘And it is my opinion, Major, that Sir Hector Armstrong had been very clever. If anything were to go wrong at the last minute, these prominent people would have been used as ransom to guarantee safe exit out of Britain for Armstrong and his family. If the uprising had been successful, well, these well-meaning people would know they’d been used and protest their innocence.’
‘Am I permitted to know what you and Sir Samuel discussed?’
‘No.’
A palpably tense silence ensued.
Clement felt a surge of injustice, or was it disillusionment. Perhaps both. ‘So the war goes on.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Hess?’
‘Is at His Majesty’s pleasure. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.’
‘Why did he come to Britain?’
‘Partly personal; to put things right between himself and Hitler with whom he’d lost some influence. Hess read the British opinion of war with Germany incorrectly, largely due to organisations like the Right Club and some zealous members of the Nordic League as well as the secret peace talks that were being conducted by well-meaning but misguided members of our own aristocracy. Don’t upset yourself about this business, Major. Nor about the people involved. They will be watched. While it will never be publicly known, you have done your country immeasurable service.’
Clement left the War Office. He walked to King’s Cross Station. Despite what C had said, or rather not said, about the men involved, Clement’s resentment was barely suppressed. Good but inconsequential people had been murdered and a child traumatised but their stories would never be told. They were as much sacrificed as any soldier on the battlefield but with none of the honours. As Clement approached the railway terminus, he was almost running. Not because he was late. He just wanted to be gone from the machinations of Whitehall and the Service in particular.
Finding a seat in a compartment, his hand reached up to feel his newly acquired clerical collar. It made him feel normal again. He closed his eyes. Even the cut above his eye had repaired and the stitches removed by an SIS doctor in Harley Street. His hand reached into his coat pocket and he felt the eye patch. It would be the only tangible reminder of recent events. One duty remained. Until this was done he couldn’t truly rest.
Morris was at Cambridge station to meet him. ‘How are you, Arthur?’
‘Mending every day,’ Morris said. They walked through the station to the street outside where a constable waited by the police car. Clement sat in the rear beside Morris as they drove through the streets of Cambridge, heading for St Andrew’s Street.
‘Thank you for this,’ Clement said.
‘How will you take him?’
‘The Service is providing a car and a hearse. They’ll be here at midday.’
‘A sad duty, Clement. How did it go in Winchester?’
‘Hugh Armstrong is dead. As, unfortunately, is Sir Cedric. Armstrong killed him.’
‘And the others? The grey-haired man?’
Clement visualised Sir Samuel Hoare and Edward Frederick Lindley Wood, first Earl of Halifax, known to his friends as Teddy. ‘There were no others, Arthur, just misguided fools.’
‘What?’
‘Some well-known men became involved in something they shouldn’t have. So nothing will be said and they won’t be convicted. Armstrong killed Sir Cedric Hasluck, Ailsa Hazelton killed Bill Hayward, and a Nazi called Albrecht Haushofer killed John Nicolson so there is no one left to accuse. And the war goes on.’
‘I see,’ Morris said at length. ‘You will be saddened to learn that we found the body of a young woman inside Hitcham Hall. I’m guessing Hugh Armstrong shot her.’
Clement glanced at Morris then let out a long sigh. ‘Evil man! We heard a shot after Reg and I left Hitcham Hall with young Michael. Her death was so unnecessary. She was completely innocent. I should have taken Isabel with us.’
‘You weren’t to know what Armstrong would do. You’re not responsible for her death.’
But Clement would always feel the guilt. The car drove into the rear yard at Cambridge Police Station and they got out. There, already waiting, was a Service car and a hearse. Kendall was standing beside the driver.
Sergeant Kendall approached Clement. ‘Sergeant Naylor is already inside, sir,’ Kendall said, indicating the hearse.
‘Thank you. Thank you also for your part in recent events and for looking after Michael Hasluck. He’s with his mother now, I presume?’
‘He is indeed. My boy has been invited over any time he wants to play with the lad.’
Clement smiled. Standing beside the car he shook hands with Morris.
‘Thank you, Arthur.’
‘Clement, despite the obvious cover-up, which I can see has upset you, I repeat what I said at Bottisham Airfield. You are a brave and decent man. Better than many of our so-called betters. Perhaps, after the war, if we’re both still here, we could meet again at The Trout in Godstow?’
‘Of course. Thank you again, Arthur.’ Clement smiled and got into the car. He waved to Morris as the car left Cambridge. He felt it unlikely that he would ever see Morris again.
The car drove quickly through Cambridgeshire heading south. Clement wanted to see the landscape he treasured; the open fields of crops, the hedgerows, the tranquillity of the luxuriant green and cool, shady glades of large oaks and elms. East Sussex was his home county and the village of Fearnley Maughton was where he had spent the ha
ppiest years of his life. He breathed it in like a prodigal son, drinking in the sight of the undulating country of southern England, the rolling fields of pastures dotted with villages and the white chalk land. Returning to Fearnley Maughton was a vision he’d cherished. But not now. And not like this. He sat alone in the rear seat of the SIS-supplied vehicle. Behind him, a hearse carried the body of Reginald Naylor. Every time Clement thought about Reg, he saw the mutilated body of a loyal and dear friend.
Just on dusk, the cars pulled into the graveyard of All Saints, his former church. He stepped from the car. Reverend Battersby greeted him. Clement saw Battersby’s shocked reaction to his appearance. Gone was the old Reverend Clement Wisdom. What was left was a hollow man.
‘Clement. Welcome home,’ Battersby said, his voice low.
‘I can’t stay long. Just for the burial.’ Clement turned and looked at the lychgate. He knew what was down the lane. The Rectory, his former home and the police station where he had first met Arthur Morris. Clement frowned, suppressing the emotion, a wave of sadness washing over him as he remembered Doctor Phillip Haswell’s house. Beyond that the village and all the people he now couldn’t face. They would want to know where he’d been and to ask about Mary. As much as he longed to see them, he couldn’t. He turned away.
Battersby conducted the quiet service beside Reg’s grave, Clement the only mourner. He gave five pounds to Battersby who promised to arrange a headstone for the man. Clement had written the inscription:
Here lies the mortal remains of
Reginald Naylor,
Resident of this village
who died in the service of his country, June 1941
Clement shook hands with the elderly cleric and returned to the car. During the trip back to London he closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter 33
Tuesday 17th June 1941
Johnny was at his desk when Clement entered the office.
‘Please sit down, Clement. I am instructed to inform you that you have been awarded a Distinguished Service Medal and a citation from the King. It’s a very great honour.’
