“So great a waste, and for what, Father?”
“I do not know, not now. Change, I think. The day of the Emperor is over. We have a world of Presidents and Prime Ministers, of millionaires and tycoons. No change is ever peaceful. I do not think it can be.”
“But, what of our King, sir? He rules our country.”
“No. He reigns, but he does not rule. He detests Lloyd George and will not want him as his Prime Minister; but, when Asquith falls, he will accept Lloyd George, for having no power to refuse him. He has some authority and will be able to ease out lesser men of affairs who he particularly dislikes, but he will not be in a position to appoint his own favourites to any position at all.”
“What about Ireland, and votes for women?”
“He will do as he is told by his government. Ireland will have Home Rule, in some form, and women will be enfranchised; there will be argument, and nothing will happen until after the war, but both will come about. The war, in fact, will provide a convenient excuse for both.”
“Then, if it is all inevitable, what does government do?”
The new Lord Moncur shook his head; the closer he came to the centre of public affairs, the less he liked what he discovered.
“All that it must, and very little that it wishes to, Grace. The more I see of the actual business of ruling this country, the less I believe that government is possible. I shall do my best to ensure that shiploads of beef and wheat reach our shores, and I shall work to create shell-filling factories, and chemical places to manufacture the explosives themselves, and will achieve those aims; but anything more complicated is beyond my capabilities, or that of any other politician or civil servant in the land. Have you read of Darwin’s work, Evolution?”
“A little, Father. I do not believe Mama approves of the concept and I have come across no books in this house that refer to him.”
“You are your own woman now, my dear. Buy a book or two on the topic. Darwin, simply expressed, believed that animals and even people, develop by way of competition and survival of the fittest. I think now that countries are the same – change is not created, it comes about as a natural process, and the politicians and kings and public servants merely do as the circumstance dictates they must. Consider Tommy – something I know you do all the time! Given the choice, he would be a test pilot, aiding in the development of newer, safer, bigger aeroplanes that eventually will carry passengers and cargo through the skies; but he has had no choice and is therefore a captain in the RFC and will one day be a major and eventually a general perhaps, and he will spend his days improving pursuit planes and bombing craft. He is doing what he must, because the times decide for him – what he wants does not matter. I think perhaps we are all part of that same process of change.”
She did not like the idea; it seemed to lessen her freedom, to make her no more than part of a great, impersonal machine.
“We are what we are, and do what we do. In process, sometimes, we can use the machine to our gain. I have become richer than ever I expected, because of this war. I shall make a lot more yet. You have heard of millionaires, Grace?”
She had, and had always believed them to be fat, vulgar objects speaking with a comic northern accent, habitually saying ‘ee, ba gum’ and like expressions.
“The ‘self-made man’, my dear? Such do exist, of course, mainly in the cotton and woollen industries and in iron and steel. But there are also many such as myself, financiers you might call us. There are some like Mr Stark, as well. He is not a millionaire yet, I would imagine, but I have small doubt that he soon will be. To come back to the point, I am already worth more than one million, and may confidently expect to increase my wealth. Some of that will be passed across to my brother, of course, to maintain the estate after I die. The remainder will go to Lavinia and to you. Do not mock the millionaire, my dear – if this war lasts another two years then, eventually, you may be one.”
“But… whatever would I do with huge sums of money? It will be Tommy’s, of course, to control and use.”
She seemed quite thankful that her husband would have all the bother and work of being rich.
“No. It will not, in fact, be Tommy’s. Not because I do not trust him, but because you are just as capable as he is of looking after your money. The inheritance will be placed in trust with yourself as signatory – any spending will be your concern, so you might be well-advised to discover something about business and finance in this country, my dear!”
She was taken aback – she had no wish to go to all the fuss and bother of looking after her own interests, it was much easier simply to sit back and allow other people to do the hard work. What was a husband for, she wondered, other than to care for his wife… and that was a two-way process, after all, for she cared for him in every possible way. She wondered for a brief moment about the word ‘possible’, but she dismissed that thought for another day.
“Do you not think it might be better to purchase an estate, Father? Rather than leave money, would not land be safer?”
He shook his head.
“The Land is dead, Grace. A man needs money to own land, now. If I relied upon the rents from the estate for my living, we would be far poorer than we are today. I was drawn into the City for needing to increase my income each year before the war, so as to stand still, as you might say. Farming is no longer profitable in England – has not been for many years, in fact. It never will be, unless we change its nature. A family, working their own few acres as a smallholding, mostly selling bacon and vegetables in town, can make a hard living. A man with a hundred acres and a herd of milkers and a dairy can do quite well for himself, as long as he can put his milk and cream and butter and cheese onto the train to London. The big farmer, growing wheat, or with beef cattle and sheep, cannot make his money; the Americans and Australians particularly can undercut his prices, and will always be able to do so. No money in an estate, not now. I would sell the farms, was it not for the entail. The word is that sooner or later, there will be an Act of Parliament to end all entails, simply to break them as being no longer viable. It cannot come soon enough for me!”
The concept was appalling to Grace – possession of Land defined the Family; the Land was what they were.
“Not any more, my dear. The word is ‘change’ – and change is upon us now! We will not recognise the world when this war is over. But we - you and me, that is – will still be rich and powerful. I would not necessarily say the same for your sister, by the way. Monkton is incapable of understanding that anything can ever be any different. I know that he has bought up a couple of farms that have come upon the market recently, and that he intends to snap up more if he can. He is welcome to them!”
“I thought farms very rarely came up for sale, Father?”
“The farmer dead and no son to leave the land to – many a young man of the land went out with Yeomanry regiments last year, and will not be coming home again. The cavalry regiments took very heavy casualties when they charged machine-guns in the war of movement in August and September and October.”
“And Mr Monkton is seeking to make a profit from those losses, you say?”
“So he thinks. They will simply burden him with their costs, adding almost nothing to his income, but he believes he will become one of the great of the land.”
She could understand what her father was saying, nodded thoughtfully.
“What of Tommy’s half-brother, Father? Do you think it possible to tell me the whole story now?”
He nodded, knowing that his wife would not approve; after his exposition of Mr Lloyd George’s nature there was no reason why his daughter should not have her eyes opened further.
“Joseph Stark’s first wife was a duke’s daughter – Darlington, grandfather of the present holder of the title; she was High Society, which at the time was at least as loose as it is now, possibly more so. To express the matter briefly, she had no concept of marital fidelity and her son could have been fathered by any one of a doze
n different men. Unusually loose, in fact – convention demands that even the most lax should ensure that the first son, the heir, should be fathered by the husband! So, Tommy’s half-brother might have been sired by his father, but to look at him probably was not.”
“I think, Father, that I might be rather pleased by that. I would rather that Tommy was not related to a gentleman who I believe may be of poor character.”
“I agree. His grandfather took responsibility for his upbringing when his mother died, which she did two or three years after his birth. Details of that have been well-hidden, by the way – what she died of is unknown, but probably discreditable! He was reared in near-seclusion, with tutors in a manor somewhere in the north, and never appeared in public until he inherited from Tommy’s father.”
“A pity; it sounds almost as if he was punished for being born.”
“Perhaps. I can understand why he was kept out of sight. There were rumours, of course, such things can never be wholly kept quiet, and he would have suffered cruelly at school, if he had gone. The same at University.”
She nodded; people were malicious whenever given the opportunity, she had read of that.
“So, Grace, he appeared here and set himself up as Joseph Stark’s heir, and was seen in local Society and quite quickly made himself unwelcome. His manners are not of the best, he was never wholly at ease, but most importantly, he was discovered to be of the sort of man who does not seek female company. In fact, it soon became clear that he was keeping company with a young man of the County who was already known to be of perverse habits. He has made small attempt to disguise his nature, but has not made himself publicly obnoxious, and so is ignored by the police, although his conduct is unlawful.”
Monkey displayed a blank face; she did not know what her father was talking about.
“Briefly, my dear, there are some men who are attracted not to women but to other men, and who indulge in sexual activities with them.”
“How?”
“Better perhaps you should discuss that privately with Tommy – though it is not impossible that he is not at all certain himself. It is not a matter that is much talked about, you will appreciate.”
She decided not to speak to her mother; she would wait until Tommy came home. Besides, the funeral had to come first, must be looming in her mother’s mind.
The weather was unkind for the interment, a bitter, sleet-filled rain, just a step short of snowfall. It had the advantage of reducing the audience of the morbid, sight-seers who might otherwise have driven out to the churchyard to watch the County sending off one of its own. There was a firing-party and a bugler to play the haunting lament of the Last Post and bring tears to every eye. There were two photographers as well, intrusive and obtrusive, a menace to civilisation and decency. The family left the graveside and returned to the big house; twenty minutes after their return, the last of the County filing into the big dining-room for the funeral feast, and Tommy was put down at the door.
Lord Moncur was still stood in the hallway to welcome the mourners into the house and smiled his pleasure to see his son-in-law, and his relief that he was simply on leave, unwounded.
A glance at the full mourning on display and Tommy comprehended.
“George, sir?”
The older man nodded.
“I am so sorry, sir. I am not dressed correctly, sir, must play least in sight.”
“Abbot will see to you, Tommy.”
The butler led Tommy upstairs, out of view of the assembled gentry.
“I have not bought dress with me, Abbot.”
“No, sir. Not to be expected that you would have. How many days are you here, sir?”
“Eight, all told. It will take me a full day to return and I must not be late.”
“Quite, sir. I will have your bag taken up to your room, sir. Mrs Stark has been staying here to be at her mother’s side in her time of tribulation. You will not have eaten yet today, sir?”
“No chance of breakfast on the ship across the Channel – full of wounded and the crew busy with them. Quite rightly so! I was lucky with my trains as well, no time wasted in Dover or at Waterloo. I can drive across to Wilton in the morning to pick up some clothes.”
Abbot shook his head gravely.
“I shall have a tray brought up to you, sir. You will not wish to wear civilian clothing while on leave, sir. There can be unpleasant interludes in the towns, sir. A number of ladies find it appropriate to hand out white feathers to young men who are not in uniform.”
“Nasty! War seems to allow the worst in people’s characters to be discovered.”
“But not, I presume, in actual combat, Captain.”
“It has a way of finding the flaws even there, Abbot. There are one or two gentlemen in the mess who I shall be pleased never to meet again.”
“I have never been to war, of course, sir. The Boer War passed me by and I am now too old for this affair. I think I can be rather glad of that fact, sir.”
“I am glad to have seen it, Abbot, but I am not so happy that I shall see a great deal more yet. I had rather be at home. Mind you, another five or six months and I expect I shall be sent back to England. The word is that they wish to rotate pilots between postings in England and France, so as to relieve the fatigue of too many months of flying over the trenches.”
“You certainly seem tired, sir. I shall see to the tray, if you will excuse me, sir. What uniform have you in your bag, sir?”
“Two shirts and some underwear and stockings. I believe Smivvels put up a pair of breeches as well. We did expect to wear civilian clothes in England.”
“No, sir. It is no longer the case that one should. An officer must be seen as such, sir.”
Abbot left and Tommy slumped into the armchair in the bedroom, glad to be away from the airfield, even if he was not at home as such.
He ate of the funeral roast meats and drank a single glass and glanced at a newspaper while waiting. It was nearly two hours before Monkey could come away from the tables downstairs; as a member of the family she was a hostess and had her obligations.
The door opened and she ran into his arms.
“Tommy, I thought I might not see you again! After George, and seeing the lists in the newspapers, and so many of them so very young, Tommy!”
“It’s the young and the inexperienced who are at greatest risk, Monkey. New pilots coming out of England have barely half a chance of living at the moment, and it won’t get better for them. The old hands are far less likely to die. They say that many are lost in their first weeks of training – but we don’t know the figures for them. But those of us with a couple of hundred or more hours in are far less likely to go down, or so it is just now.”
“Those who don’t go to war at all are safest of all, it seems, Tommy.”
“The price of safety can be too high, little love. I cannot pay that. My name is not Monkton!”
She smiled, crookedly.
“Mr Monkton is serving his country as best he can, Tommy. And that is a quote! He feels that he can do more for King and Empire in Westminster than ever he could as just another subaltern in the trenches. He is lucky, he says, to be able to make such a contribution to Great Britain. He told me a few minutes ago that we must be proud of George, who had also done his best, implying that his own ‘best’ was better than George’s. He asked very kindly after you, by the way, telling me how proud I must be of you and how he often spoke of you to his colleagues in the House.”
“How good of him! I could never be a politician, you know, Monkey, the shame would be too much for me. He, of course, is wholly shameless. What of my half-brother? Have you heard much of him?”
She chose her words with some care, thinking that she might raise the question of his sexual preferences later, after the bedroom door was locked.
“He is very busy in the way of supplying rations to the army, and food to the poor – all at a very satisfactory price, one gathers. Father tells me that he is becoming rich,
and quickly. Not that one can object to that, for Father as well is making himself a wealthy man, so he tells me. Quite how, I am not sure, something to do with ‘finance’, and the nature of that escapes me. I must go downstairs again, Tommy; the mourners will be leaving soon and I must be to hand with my parents to make the family’s farewells. A pity that you are not dressed correctly for the occasion – I would be far more comfortable on your arm.”
She returned an hour later to lead him down, the house now empty.
“Engines, Tommy! You told me we were short of them. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, sir. Excuse me, that should be ‘my lord’, should it not?”
“Not in the house, Tommy! Outside, then yes, it must be. Do the Americans make engines?”
“They must, I would imagine. It would not have been easy for them to import them from Germany. We could always send a man to Germany to discuss any problems – a day to Berlin by ferry and express train; the Americans would have found it less easy to do that, and far more costly. I am sure they would have built for themselves. Add to that, they are becoming increasingly strong in the field of engineering.”
“Good. Mr Lloyd George wants to send a man or two across the Atlantic to discuss procurement of munitions and I have suggested that he should put an aircraft engineer into the team that will go with him.”
“The sooner the better, sir. The Germans have not yet produced a new plane, but they must very soon do so. We control the air over the trenches, you know, sir. Our sole enemy is the gun on the ground, and they must fire many thousands of shells to make even a single hit. It cannot last. We must have more powerful planes ourselves, and quickly.”
A Deadly Caper (Innocents At War Series, Book 2) Page 20
