Black August

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘My dear, where have you been, I’m terribly glad to see you,’ he smiled affectionately at Veronica.

  ‘Oh, everywhere,’ she waved her arms, ‘all over England, and Scotland too I think!’

  ‘By jove!’

  ‘But tell us,’ she urged, ‘what’s been happening, we’ve only heard the Proclamation on the wireless.’

  ‘Well really, I don’t know,’ he stroked the fine brown moustache. ‘We’ve just been carrying on, most of us. It’s all been done from Windsor; we occupied Maidenhead for a few days, ordered there you know, then last night we were ordered back to London, and there you are.’

  ‘You maddening person, surely you were in the fighting?’

  ‘Oh, rather, if you call it that, but of course it was of no value as experience to a soldier, beastly work and the men hated it as much as we did.’

  ‘Hark at him!’ Veronica appealed wildly to the darkening sky. ‘To hear you talk anyone would think that there had never been a revolution at all!’

  ‘Oh, well, there was a nasty patch in the middle of last week, but the sailors did most of the—er—laying on of hands, if you know what I mean!’

  ‘The sailors? but I thought they’d all mutinied?’

  ‘There was a little trouble with them in the earlier part, but when things began to look really sticky they turned themselves into special police.’

  ‘Well done the Navy!’ laughed Kenyon.

  ‘Yes, good show, wasn’t it? But tell me about yourselves quickly because I’ve got a job to do.’

  ‘Darling,’ gasped Veronica, ‘it’s been too thrilling, first we were all nearly murdered in the East End somewhere, but we were rescued and taken on board a destroyer—’ She paused suddenly as Gregory appeared from behind Silas’s broad back.

  ‘Hullo!’ exclaimed Hay-Symple sharply.

  ‘Hullo!’ replied Gregory with a twisted grin.

  ‘By God! you’re the bogus Brigadier,’ cried the Major, thrusting his way past Veronica. ‘The crook I’ve been sent from Colchester to get; you’re going to be court-martialled my fine fellow—and shot!’

  26

  September Moon

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Veronica burst out; ‘Gregory’s been marvellous, we should all have been dead a dozen times if it hadn’t been for him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hay-Symple shook his well-groomed head. ‘You don’t understand the enormity of the thing. It would have been bad enough if he had only dressed himself up in a uniform he had no right to wear, but to divert half a company of troops at a time like this is treason of the blackest kind, and, of course, the moment you mentioned a destroyer I tumbled to it that he’s the same chap who got away with a platoon and the Shark a month ago. I was ordered to follow him up from Colchester and arrest him, and I shall.’

  ‘You can’t!’ stormed Veronica, ‘you can’t.’

  ‘My dear I’m sorry, terribly so if he’s been decent to you, but you must realise that plain murder is nothing to what he has done.’

  ‘But you don’t really mean to shoot him, do you?’ Kenyon asked in a shocked voice.

  ‘Not personally.’ Hay-Symple beckoned to some of his men. ‘But my orders are to take him back to London for court-martial, and there’s no doubt about the verdict or the penalty. He will undoubtedly be shot.’

  As Hay-Symple’s soldiers surrounded him Gregory began to laugh, quietly at first, then louder, until he rocked where he stood, shaken by gargantuan bursts of laughter.

  ‘I see nothing humorous about it,’ said the guardsman acidly.

  ‘Don’t you? I do.’ Gregory sighed as he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. ‘First I’m to be shot by mutineers because they thought I was an officer; then by Communists because they thought I was a King; and now despite the fact that I’ve regained this town for the Government, by you, because I’ve got myself up in your stupid fancy dress. If that’s not funny …’

  Hay-Symple’s face turned a darker shade of red. ‘You will refrain please from insulting His Majesty’s uniform.’

  ‘Go to hell, you brainless idiot,’ cried Gregory with a sudden burst of fury.

  Veronica flung herself between them. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Alistair,’ she pleaded, ‘he’s overwrought; we’ve all been through the most appalling time.’

  ‘Then make him keep his tongue between his teeth.’

  Gregory shrugged. ‘I didn’t mean that personally; it’s just that I loathe your type.’

  ‘There, my dear,’ Veronica begged, ‘do try and forget that you’re a professional soldier for a moment. We’re all alive, Alistair, and that’s what really matters. How can we get back to London?’

  The guardsman gave her half a smile. ‘I’ve no desire to quarrel with this chap, only to hand him over to the proper authorities. As for London—I’ve got to take him there, so I can take you too, if you like; that is if you don’t mind going in the lorry?’

  ‘Of course not! And you’ll take the others as well?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t mind.’ He glanced round quickly and his eye fell on Rudd. ‘Who’s this man?’

  ‘Batman to the General, sir,’ said Mr. Rudd.

  ‘Oh, you’re the minor crook, are you? Well, I’m glad we’ve roped you in,’ he swung round on Gregory. ‘You see, it happens that, quite apart from this business at Colchester, I heard all about your first exploit from the Colonel whose men you trundled off with. He’s a particular friend of mine, and he’ll be better pleased to see you shot than to get another bar to his D.S.O.’

  ‘Will he?’ sneered Gregory, ‘he’s a fool then, he’ll never live this story down, you know. “The Colonel whose troops were marched off by a civilian, in a hired suit from Clarksons!” I’d hush the whole thing up if I were you.’

  ‘And let you off scot free? No thank you. In due course you’re going to get it in the neck, my friend, so you’d better make up your mind to it. Are the subalterns from Colchester still here or have you sent them off to the War Office with another fake message?’

  The ex-king of Shingle Street laughed. His furious anger at being caught had given way to his habitual philosophy. This earnest soldier was more a matter for amusement than abuse. ‘You’ll find them in the Town Hall,’ he said cheerfully, ‘a nice pink-faced youth, and a tall spotty one; Spotty is the senior, but the cherub’s got more brains!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hay-Symple nodded to the escort. ‘Put these two men in the back of the lorry while I go across and see that things are all right. You others had better make yourselves as comfortable for the journey as possible.’ He turned and thrust his way into the crowd.’

  When he returned they were all settled among the half-dozen privates on the sacking in the back of the vehicle with the exception of Veronica; despite Silas’s protest she had elected to take the only place that would be vacant on the driver’s seat. Hay-Symple climbed up beside her.

  Slowly the lorry was turned and edged through the seething mass of people. The whole population of the town seemed to have congregated in the square and principal streets; they were singing, cheering, and carrying soldiers, Greyshirts and policemen shoulder high as they swayed and rocked before the Town Hall. From the windows men were making speeches which had no chance of reaching their enthusiastic audiences, others were waving Union Jacks dragged forth for the occasion.

  At last the lorry crawled into Fore Street, likewise crammed with people and, passing along it at a snail’s pace, reached the less congested end where it was able to put on speed and take the London road.

  When they were clear of the town Alistair Hay-Symple turned to Veronica. ‘The Prince makes his official entry tonight.’

  ‘What? Of London? How positively thrilling; shall we see anything of it?’

  ‘We might. I have to report to Wellington Barracks and that’s only a stone’s throw from Buck House as you know.’

  ‘My dear, how too marvellous. But listen, Alistair; you’ve just got to let Gregory Sallust go. Arrange it so that
it looks like an escape if you like. I’ll never speak to you again if you do hand him over to the authorities.’

  ‘Sorry, Veronica,’ his voice was kind and sympathetic. ‘I can understand in a way that you think he’s a bit of a tiger but that doesn’t alter the fact that he has twice got hold of troops, who might have been needed very urgently elsewhere, under false pretences. It was absolutely criminal and he’s got to take his medicine.’

  Veronica stood up in the front of the lorry which was now rattling along at a good pace. ‘All right,’ she said firmly, ‘if you feel that way you’re no friend of mine. I prefer to travel with the troops.’

  ‘Steady, steady,’ he urged, catching her by the arm and pulling her down; ‘I’m only doing my duty and that’s got to be done.’

  ‘I don’t care a hoot in hell for your filthy little duty, and I’m going to travel in the back of this pantechnicon. Now, pull it up and let me get out.’

  ‘Veronica, darling, don’t you see that I can’t help myself.’

  ‘Help? You!’ Veronica gave a sudden angry laugh. ‘You wouldn’t raise a finger to save your own mother from drowning if your Colonel said you were to march half a dozen men to the baths!’

  ‘Veronica!’

  ‘Yes, I mean it. You’re weak and narrow; hidebound by this fossilised code which orders you to kill a man whose boots you are not fit to lick!’

  ‘Damn it, be fair. I don’t want to kill him; if he’s in a mess it’s his own rotten fault.’

  ‘But you admit that they’ll shoot him if you hand him over?’

  ‘Yes, they’ve got ample powers under the National Emergency Act, and this is a case for shooting if ever there was one.’

  ‘Then I beg of you, Alistair, to let him go.’

  ‘I can’t,’ exclaimed the unfortunate soldier, goaded beyond endurance; ‘and it’s rotten of you to ask me! I couldn’t do it even if you promised to marry me—and you know it!’

  Veronica gave an angry snort. ‘I wouldn’t marry you in a thousand years! what’s more I’m married already.’

  ‘Good God! do you really mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I haven’t sunk to sitting beside the common hangman yet, so pull up at once, d’you hear?’

  With a sullen nod Hay-Symple ordered the lorry driver to slow down, but when they came to a halt he climbed out himself; ‘Stay there’ he flung at Veronica, ‘I’ll send the other female along to keep you company.’

  Thanks, but I’d rather have my husband, he’s the largest man in the back!’

  The driver cast a glance of mingled fear and admiration at this wrathful lady, then smothered a grin as Hay-Symple climbed in behind and Silas took the vacant seat.

  Ann was sleeping with her head pillowed on Kenyon’s knee; Gregory sat, hunched between his escort, with Rudd beside him, their backs against the fore-part of the wagon. The wretched Major sank down beside Kenyon.

  ‘Veronica’s crazy!’ he snapped, as the lorry started off again.

  ‘Always was,’ replied Kenyon lightly.

  ‘First of all she tells me she’s picked up a husband, and then she wants me to let this blackguard escape who tried to march off with the troops.’

  ‘Tried?’ Kenyon’s voice was cold. ‘Did, you mean, and he’s a damn’ fine sportsman. I’d rather serve under him than any of you hidebound professional warriors any day when there’s real trouble about.’

  ‘Oh, shut up! I know my job as well as most people.’

  For a time they fell silent. The lorry rattled and clanged through the narrow lanes to the west of Colchester, Hay-Symple having decided that it would be quicker to avoid the towns. The driver was getting every ounce out of his engine, and there was little danger that they would run into other vehicles as these were still almost non-existent.

  ‘What was it really like in London?’ Kenyon asked after a while.

  ‘Bloody!’ replied the soldier tersely—‘absolutely bloody! but the troops put up a first-class performance.’

  ‘What really happened?’

  ‘God knows! I don’t. Each of us only saw our own little bit of it, and personally, I thought the whole lot of us were for the high jump a week ago; but H.R.H. has been quite marvellous. It seems he had the whole party taped before it even started.’

  ‘It’s wonderful the hold he has on the affections of the people.’

  ‘Well, he’s earned it.’

  ‘He has, but what’s going to happen now?’

  ‘Ask me another. All sorts of rumours are flying about; the banks are to be taken over by the state they say, and anybody who can prove their bona-fides will be able to get loans, to develop property or business, on fantastically easy terms.’

  Kenyon grunted. ‘That sounds all right, but what about private overdrafts? My people have always treated me damn well but I bet I’d never get a penny from the state without security when I’m hard up!’

  That’s true, anyhow, it’s only a rumour, and another is that the great Industrialists have sunk their differences and are to pool the interests of their own trades in the future, rather like the old City Guilds did centuries ago I gather, each bunch to supervise and foster their interests for the common good. There is one bit of good news I’m pretty certain about though, I had it from a chap who is on the Prince’s staff; He means to kill D.O.R.A. as dead as mutton, and the liberty of the individual is to be restored. Even our seaside places may be worth a visit in a year or two, and the tax is to be taken slap off beer!’

  ‘Yo-Ho for Merrie England!’ Kenyon laughed.

  For another hour they discussed rumours and possibilities while the lorry bumped and jolted its way towards London. Here and there figures stepped out into the road, begging a lift and food or, if they had heard the news of the re-established Government, giving a cheer at the sight of the soldiers. Abandoned cars, tradesmen’s vans, and every sort of conveyance littered the sides of the roads as they drew nearer to the capital.

  Silas, on the box beside Veronica, was holding her hand in his, almost oblivious of the journey as he told her of his favourite home in Georgia, and his orange grove spread among the lakes and lagoons on the Florida coast above Miami.

  At last they entered the Southend by-pass, and a few miles further on came to Camden Town; here they met the first crowds. In type they were the same mixed multitude who would have kicked them to death a month ago, but now their whole bearing was absolutely different. Laughing and waving to the Tommies, they made way for the lorry with ready cheerfulness.

  ‘Ever been to the Zoo, darling?’ Veronica asked as they passed the North End of Regent’s Park, ‘if not I’ll take you one day.’

  ‘I’ve been,’ he smiled, ‘and it’s a poor show to what I’ll take you to see in Central Park.’

  ‘That’s quite enough from you, my boy. You’ve got to learn from now on that England has the largest and best of everything, and also that little something that others haven’t got!’

  ‘I’ll bet they haven’t got the largest Zoo,’ grinned Silas; ‘can you hear any little lions aroaring now, or the dog-faced apes chattering on Monkey Hill?’

  ‘Now you speak of it I can’t,’ she confessed.

  ‘Of course you can’t, honey—they’ve all been eaten long ago!’

  ‘Silas you idiot, of course you’re right, but if you call me honey again I’ll eat you—get that?—eat you alive!’

  At the top of Baker Street they met a long column of sailors.

  People were lining the pavements eight and ten deep to watch them pass, and the naval men seemed to be the heroes of the hour; but as they advanced they realised how terribly the upheaval had stricken London. Smashed shop windows, now temporarily boarded over, showed on every side. On one corner of Portman Square a whole great block of flats had been burnt right out, and only the twisted girders showed clear against the sky. The streets were dark and strangely mysterious, not a single standard threw its arc of brightness in the dim half light of the summer night. Only the principal
cross-roads boasted flares—relics of an orderly London when special precautions were taken against fog.

  Selfridge’s windows lay gutted and empty, but a small army of men were already clearing away the wreckage preparatory to refitting at the earliest possible moment. In Oxford Street a vast crowd overflowed the pavements and spread across the roadway. The traffic was still practically nil, only an occasional car carrying a Government official on urgent business or a line of vehicles loaded with sailors, police, Greyshirts or troops, crawled through the crowds who made way for them with cheerful badinage.

  On the west side of Grosvenor Square Hay-Symple halted the lorry and, getting down, walked round to Veronica. ‘Want to get down?’ he inquired, but she shook her head.

  ‘No, ducky; I want to see the fireworks so you may as well take us with you. Half a minute—Silas and I will come in the back now, then we shall all be together.’ Her rancour at the guardsman’s determination that Gregory should pay the penalty of his exploits had subsided. Old friend as he was, she realised now that it would have been easier for him to cut his throat than to grant her request.

  Ann had woken up, and smiled with some of her old merriment as Silas lifted Veronica bodily over the side. ‘Do you remember the dinner we cooked in the kitchen?’ she laughed, nodding her head towards the east side of the square as the lorry moved on again.

  ‘The night you slid down the drainpipe? Do I not, my dear! We’ll all go back and cook another in an hour or two.’

  ‘If there’s anything left to cook,’ laughed Kenyon.

  ‘Oh, we’ll find something—but darlings, I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘Why, it’s Ann’s job to say if she’ll have us now!’