A Deadly Caper (Innocents At War Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  “I should have recognised your face sir. As should my sergeant! I believe you must be Mrs Stark, ma’am – I saw your face in the newspaper, too. Major Bennet, Wiltshires, ma’am.”

  A minute or two of quiet conversation followed by a further apology for the sergeant’s obtuseness and they parted.

  “Let us not stay here, Tommy. We can see the cathedral on another day. I do not much like the atmosphere here.”

  There was a small crowd, cheering the few young men who stepped forward to volunteer and inclined to jeer at those who walked on by.

  “Schoolboys, old men, and too many womenfolk with nothing better to do than send men to war. I don’t like them much myself.”

  “Mrs Rudge said that I should open an account at Liptons for her, Tommy, so that she could arrange for deliveries to the house. They have a van which comes out every week, it seems, and it will be easier to give them an order than for her to take the train in and bring back the foodstuffs herself. Most of the meats, she says, she can arrange in Wilton with the local people; there is a butcher’s, she says, but tea and cheese, and a dozen other things which I forget, must come from town.”

  “We must, of course, obey orders, my love!”

  Tommy was inclined to be amused; he had not the slightest idea of housekeeping, and he much suspected that Monkey knew no more. They needed Mrs Rudge, and the rest of the staff she was appointing, if they were to survive.

  They found the branch of Liptons and made their way past the marble counters with their glass-covered trays of cold meats and butters and cheese, down to the cashier in his cage in the corner, next to the hanging game birds, it being winter. The young gentleman was polite, almost obsequious, which presumably pleased the bulk of the customers.

  “An account, sir? The manager will be pleased to discuss that with you, sir. Just one moment whilst I call him, sir.”

  The young man delicately tinkled a little brass bell on his counter; the manager, svelte in his charcoal grey three-piece suit, paid for out of his own pocket, paced self-importantly across.

  “Captain and Mrs Stark, sir. We have recently moved into River Cottage in Wilton and the housekeeper tells us we must have an account. I am informed that your van calls in Wilton on a Tuesday?”

  “It does, sir. I believe the firm received a letter with a first order only this morning, sir.”

  Monkey spoke up to confirm that Mrs Rudge had sent the order at her instruction.

  “I understand, from my housekeeper, that my husband is to establish the account and that I must keep it in credit, or that was the words she used.”

  “Yes, indeed, ma’am. If Captain Stark will give me his cheque, for say five pounds, then you may place further monies in the hand of the delivery driver as necessary.”

  “I shall probably give him my cheque, sir – there being no branch of the bank in the village.”

  The manager blinked at that, being unused to ladies in possession of such a thing as a cheque-book of their own; it was wartime, however, and no doubt the Captain would soon be involved in the conflict. The gentleman did seem very young to be a captain; but perhaps he was getting older and that was changing his perspective. The cashier was poking him, very apologetically, from behind, whispering something; he bent down to his little cage, presented his ear.

  Tommy was watching the pantomime, while appearing wholly unaware.

  The manager straightened, his attitude much changed.

  “Your cheque, ma’am? Of course! More than satisfactory!”

  She smiled and thanked him, not having noticed anything at all.

  “I wonder, sir, could you tell me of a proper tailor where I could perhaps purchase ribbons appropriate for a medal? I must arrange for my husband’s uniforms to be made proper.”

  “There is a branch of Gieves in Salisbury, ma’am. Down the street to your right and the next turning to the left, a matter of a furlong or so, ma’am.”

  The manager actually bowed as they left the premises.

  Their reception in Gieves was, as was to be expected, formal, courteous and efficient.

  “I am Captain Stark, and I need, I discover, to purchase ribbon for my uniforms.”

  “Of course, sir. Are you posted to an airfield locally, sir?”

  He had not mentioned the RFC, was flattered that his name was known.

  “I have recently purchased a house in Wilton, sir. I am still on wound leave, until Monday week, in fact.”

  “Very good, sir. If you would be so kind as to give your address, sir, then the simplest course will be to send one of our people out to make the addition to your tunics, sir. The Military Cross, I believe. Will tomorrow morning be appropriate, sir? Will there be anything else, sir? One might presume that your flying breeches might have been irreparably damaged, sir?”

  “Of course. You know, I did not think of that!”

  “It is our experience that our clients do not, sir. It is only fair to say that uniform is not the most pressing matter for them to consider when wounded in action! If I may take your measurements, sir…”

  Tommy left having ordered four sets of breeches and stockings, for it was not easy to maintain standards and clean laundry when flying in battle, as the tailor had pointed out.

  They took lunch in the hotel where Tommy had left the car, and after eating, wandered off in the opposite direction, to look into a furniture maker they had been advised of.

  A window full of old oak, solid pieces in the English style, and making no concessions to Art Nouveau, or indeed to any art at all. The craftsmanship was outstanding, the working of the wood perfection itself, and the chairs and sideboards were four-square and unmemorable, but designed to last for generations.

  “We need a dresser for the kitchen, Tommy, to carry the chinaware particularly. Many of the wedding gifts are still sat in their boxes for lack of a place to put them.”

  “Of course, let us make the purchase immediately. How tall must it be? How high are the ceilings?”

  They were quite tall, she thought, but had no concept of just what that might be in feet and inches.

  “Let us go inside and speak to the gentleman.”

  Ten minutes established that they did not know any of the dimensions of the kitchen, and had little idea of where any piece of furniture might be placed. The master cabinet-maker was in no way upset to discover this; he was used to the young ladies of the County and their little ways; he arranged to make a visit to River Cottage next morning, bringing his folding ruler with him.

  “I can measure they out, ma’am, and sir, and tell thees just where things can go, and can’t. Do thees just give I an hour, ma’am, to talk with the housekeeper and we shall put all on a piece of paper, as is, and let thees decide how all shall be.”

  Tommy started to chuckle, turned his laughter to a cough – no doubt from the sawdust in the air – and agreed that they would take that course.

  “Captain Stark, sir? Beg pardon, sir, but I shall place thy name on the wall as one of my valued customers, with thy permission, sir.”

  Tommy could not be sure that it was a healthy atmosphere – he had little patience with hero-worship. He must talk it all over with Squire when they visited him at the weekend, as they were pledged to do.

  A Deadly Caper

  Chapter Two

  Squire had much to say to Tommy, while his lady swept her daughter away for ‘a little talk’.

  “Hero-worship, my boy? I have seen some of it in the newspapers – bloody nonsense, too! It was bad in the Boer War, thinking on it. That damned foolishness over Mafeking, as an example! The bloody town was put under siege because the Army made a cock-up, and then they took twice as long to relieve it as they should have, for sheer damned incompetence, losing battles for bad staff work and officers who were brave but ignorant of their trade. Then the newspapers played it up as a great victory, would you believe! I don’t know, because the truth ain’t out yet – never will be if the politicians have their way – but I suspect we
are seeing the same thing now.”

  Tommy knew very little of the Boer War, but he did know that the current war the newspapers were reporting was not the same one he had been fighting.

  “The Army was certainly taken by surprise, sir, but they should not have been. The Schlieffen Plan was known – taught to us at the Central Flying School, and at Sandhurst, I am told – and so the Army should have had its strategy in place in advance. But they did not. Besides that, our guns are too small – we have sixty-pounders while the Germans are using shells greater than two hundred. Machine-guns, as well – the Germans seem to have ten for our one. Inexcusable, sir!”

  They shook their heads, but were sure that they could muddle through – the British always did.

  “No word from George, sir?”

  “None.”

  “How are things in the City, sir? Is finance proceeding as normal?”

  “Not normal, Tommy. The government is spending money at a far higher rate than in peace-time, and the banks are lending it to them while they arrange issues of Consols to the public. Don’t be tempted, Tommy! Do not buy War Loan or any other stock the politicians may offer.”

  “But, should one not, sir? As a matter of patriotism?”

  “No. The war will last for a year or two, but if you make a wrong step financially you may be impoverished for life. They will offer stocks at par – for £100 and paying two per cent and redeemable at forty or fifty years. They will plummet in price, because interest rates on the market will rise to four and five per cent as soon as the war is won. You will find your £100 bond worth £40 if you are lucky, and the value of money fallen, too. There is already a premium on gold; if you know the ‘right’ people, you can sell gold sovereigns for twenty-six shillings in paper now, provided you have a few thousands of them to sell, that is. That can only rise. Keep your money in sound investments – which I can do for you. You owe a duty to your wife and family, Tommy, not to cripple yourself financially.”

  That settled the matter; patriotism was all very well, but family came first, especially when the family was Monkey.

  “What of the purchases overseas that you mentioned, sir?”

  “In hand, Tommy! We have chartered American refrigerator ships – neutrals under the Stars and Stripes – and are bringing beef in from the Gulf of Mexico by the thousands of tons, and we have a large purchase of wheat from the north of India coming by way of Suez.”

  “From India? I did not know they grew wheat there, sir. I thought as well that the country was hungry, forever into famine.”

  “Been coming in these twenty years, Tommy, on the quiet. No need to make a fuss about it -the Indians prefer their rice, you know! Like Ireland – the Paddies eat their potatoes out of choice and sell the wheat and barley into England.”

  Squire knew about such things, Tommy did not. No need to enquire further.

  “Flying again next week, sir! I do not know what Mr Sopwith has in hand, but it will be good to get into the air again. This must be my longest time on the ground in five years, sir, apart from the big snow, of course.”

  Squire had wondered whether marriage might not change Tommy’s ideas to an extent, but it seemed he was still as enthusiastic as ever when it came to his aeroplanes. A pity, in many ways; he wondered if perhaps Tommy was looking for an escape…

  “All well in the house, Tommy?”

  Squire would not venture further into any discussion of personal affairs, could not conceivably ask if all was as it should be in the bedroom or offer unsolicited advice to his son-in-law. Neither man would have survived the embarrassment; they would have been quite unable to talk to each other again afterwards. Tommy failed to understand the more intimate implications of the question.

  “Fine, sir. My old housekeeper, Mrs Rudge, has come to us, and she has taken on the staff we require, all without my having to do anything – not that I would have known how to, in any case. My sole domestic effort this week has been to interview and set on the gardener and a boy for outside. I hope to get Monkey to learn to drive the car, so that she will be able to make her way about the area and into Salisbury, but I fear she will not be easily persuaded; it might set the neighbours all in a buzz, it would seem, and that would never do.”

  Squire very much agreed with his daughter, was glad that she was not turning into one of these ‘modern women’ with their demands to ‘do’ things. In his opinion, shared by the great majority of his contemporaries, he believed, the woman needed to ‘do’ nothing – it was her place simply to ‘be’. If things needed doing, well, that was the man’s function in life; the woman was busy enough creating and preserving a family. He said as much to Tommy, who had never considered the question, was not really aware that it existed.

  “You know, Tommy, these suffragette people!”

  “Oh, them! Arty-farty types in London – nothing to do with us, sir! Ordinary people are much too busy just living their lives to put up with their sort of nonsense. Don’t know what the fuss is all about, myself. Voting? Not that important, because every politician is a crook anyway. But, why should they not vote, sir? Monkey knows more about politics than I do, cares more, too. Just as long as she is safe and secure, that is all that’s important to me; if she wants to vote as well, I have no objections. Thinking on it, sir, she’s cleverer than me, when it comes to books and things; she should be telling me how to vote.”

  Squire was saddened to discover that the young men of the day were so irresponsible; he thought of referring Tommy to the Bible, but he could not remember exactly what it said. No matter!

  “Aeroplanes, Tommy – what do you want to see of these new machines you are to test?”

  “Faster and higher, sir, and able to carry a greater load. A machine-gun and its mounting and ammunition must come to nearly one hundred and fifty pounds, at a guess. Besides that, at least one hundred pounds of bombs to be worthwhile. The aeroplane must be able to lift that weight, and pilot and observer, to at least ten thousand feet and then travel at as much as one hundred miles an hour, to avoid the guns on the ground. That means a powerful engine – and there ain’t many of them about, I believe!”

  “Why not?”

  “No money, sir. The Germans were paid by their government, so I am told, to produce engines that were both powerful and light; the British were left to try to make a profit, which can’t be done in flying. Just as stupid as telling the navy to design its Dreadnoughts to make money! So the engines have to be bought in from overseas while the British makers have to catch up on the lost time. The trouble with that is that the French Air Force wants all their engines, and the Italians aren’t a lot better than ours at the moment. There is the Hispano-Suiza from Spain, and that seems to be very nearly the best, but it’s a small factory and has orders from France and Italy to supply. Even if the British start to make engines, it won’t be easy – the only maker of good magnetos is German, so they will have to start producing them from scratch.”

  Squire shook his head again; there was something wrong with Britain.

  “Mr Sopwith said that one of the problems was finance, sir. He could never find a bank that would lend his firm money. Too big a risk.”

  Squire had nothing to say to that – he would certainly not risk his money or Tommy’s on something as chancy as aviation.

  Monkey and her mother returned to the room, both slightly red-faced, and turned the conversation to local affairs.

  “Lavinia believes she may be in the family way, Tommy!”

  “I am sure she will make the best of mothers, Monkey. She will want a son, to carry on the name, of course. Has this by-election been called yet, do you know?”

  “The Writ was returned yesterday, Tommy, so that means the election will be held in exactly three weeks, because it was a Thursday, and elections must be held on Thursday. Not that it seems to matter in this case. Only the Conservatives will put a candidate forward; the Liberals will not stand, there is to be no contest.”

  Squire snorted his
disapproval.

  “The Labour Party has put forward a man of their own. There will be a campaign and a vote. Pointless, for the Labour Party has not a hope in this part of Hampshire; they are a party of the big industrial towns. Mr Monkton is displeased, however, for it means he must make some speeches and at least make a display of asking for votes, rather than taking them for granted. He will not lose, of course and there will be no General Election during the war, so it does not matter if he makes a poor showing in this campaign – it will have been forgotten by the next and the Liberals will take no advantage from it.”

  Tommy was inclined to be amused.

  “Poor old chap – forced to stand on the, what do you call ‘em, hustings, and speak kindly to the Great Unwashed; I doubt his self-consequence will stand the strain!”

  “It’s not that which worries me, Tommy. The Labour man is said to be a pacifist, to be opposed to war. If he stands up in front of a crowd to say that, he will be lucky to survive. They will pelt him, and then go on to riot through the town, having once started; at the least they will smash the windows of those they think support his views, and they could break into the shops. The last thing we want at the moment is public disorder!”

  That would be very bad, Tommy agreed. There were only a very few policemen in the County Constabulary, and them generally quite old, for the younger men had mostly joined up. It would be necessary probably to borrow men from the Metropolitan Police, bringing them in by train, and paying for them from the Rates.

  “All we can do ourselves is keep well clear, I suspect, sir. Might they call the army out? There are dozens, literally, of battalions training on Salisbury Plain, a bare hour distant. No – that answers itself, does it not? Untrained soldiers would not do a lot of good on our streets. Cannot someone whisper in the ears of the Labour Party leaders and tell them they are not playing the game?”

  “They do not believe that politics should be a game, Tommy. They are not the right sort of people to be in the House, you know!”