‘A tramp?’
‘Yes and no, sir. He’s in the kitchen.’
‘Phyllis is feeding the poor fellow?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. You know my policy on tramps. The fellow’s down on his luck. More than likely a victim of the war. If he wants he can sleep in the potting shed. Bacon and eggs for breakfast.’
‘The gentleman said, “Are you free to punt the pill?”, sir.’
‘He did, did he?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell Lord Frederick, “Give me time to check the weather”. I’ll meet him in the potting shed ASAP.’
‘I knew it was him, sir. He fooled Phyllis but he didn’t fool me. I hadn’t the heart to tell his Lordship he’d been rumbled. He insisted on pretending to be a tramp. “I’m a tramp, sir,” he kept saying. The number of times he pulled his forelock was embarrassing; talk about amateur theatricals. I will say this for his Lordship, he puts his heart and soul into his act. If I’d told Lord Frederick I knew it was him, I’d have spoilt his day … and I’d never do that. His Lordship’s been kind to me in the past.’
‘How’d you rumble him?’
‘Tramps don’t have clean fingernails, sir … nor do they smell of aftershave.’
‘You’re sharp, Bert, very sharp.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘O’Neil’s golf clubs?’
‘I’ve searched his room, sir, like you said I was to do but can’t find them. A wardrobe is locked. I assume they are in there.’
‘And he has the key?’
‘It’s not in the keyhole, sir.’
‘You looked under the bed? Yes, of course you would. Sorry. By the by, what’s O’Neil drinking?’
‘Coca-Cola, sir.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Mr Harry brought it, sir, courtesy of his American aunt.’
‘You’ll never guess what,’ said Marigold, sauntering up to them and smiling. ‘Harry’s fallen into the Ha-Ha and O’Neil’s shouting, “Ha-Ha” at him.’
‘Bert …’
‘Sir?’
‘Bang the gong.’
34
‘Before you sit down to dinner, Harry,’ said Sir Charles, ’you need dusting down, that bruise on your forehead … looks nasty. Elizabeth, be a dear and show our guests into the dining room. I’ll look after Harry.’
‘He pushed me,’ said Harry.
‘Who did?’
‘O’Neil.’
‘When you flew low over The Hall this morning he thought you were trying to kill him. O’Neil is an Old Testament American; an eye for an eye, that sort of thing.’
In the kitchen Phyllis refused to provide meat for a poultice.
‘What you need is this. Sit down, Mr Harry, this’ll sting.’
‘Ouch!’
‘Harry, I’m sending you on a mission,’ said Sir Charles. ‘When we finish dinner I want you to excuse yourself. Use the bump on your head as an excuse.’
‘If I do that everyone will think I’m a wimp.’
‘You will be in good company. May I remind you that Marigold is acting the part of a dumb blonde unable to read a railway timetable and Mike, though he does not yet know it, is going to have to play the part of a reckless driver.’
‘That won’t be difficult for him. I don’t like the idea of Marigold thinking I’m a wimp.’
‘She is privy to all our subterfuges. When we tell her why, she will think you a hero. I want you and Freddy …’
‘Lord Frederick is here?’
‘In the potting shed dressed as a tramp. He’s working under cover. When you make your excuse I want you to go to the potting shed and tell Freddy that you and he are to break into the wardrobe in O’Neil’s room. If England’s top spy can’t use a hatpin on a wardrobe lock, the country’s done for.’
‘What are we looking for?’
‘Golf clubs which are too small with which to play golf. By the by, how is my grandson?’
‘The ride I gave him in the Puss Moth made him sick.’
‘Did it indeed? What with all the afternoon’s shenanigans I’ve not had a chance to have a proper chat with him. I wonder if he’s met Jack.’
‘If he has, we’d better watch out.’
35
At the end of dinner Sir Charles suggested that the women be allowed to join the men for port and cigars.
‘It’s a break with tradition, I know, but I think it important that Marigold is included in all our discussions, however informal.’
‘I agree,’ said Mancini. ‘We all know she is closest to the President.’
‘Charles,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘this may come as a shock, but Marigold and I are not available for port and cigars. We are off to the railway station to collect Marigold’s bags. We have been informed they are awaiting collection.’
‘Why can’t one of the servants go?’
‘I have a letter to post to the President,’ said Marigold. ‘It goes registered mail.’
‘The post office will be closed.’
‘Lizzie knows the post mistress.’
‘Emily will open up for me. A registered letter to the American Embassy in London for the President of the United States of America will give her something to gossip about. Clothes may not be important to you, Charles, but they are to us women. Marigold is young. She wants to look her best. Tell your guests about your melons. My husband is a keen melon grower, Marigold. In fact, talk about anything but Hitler, but of course, that is what you will talk about. I’m sick and tired of hearing about Hitler.’
36
After one glass of port Harry asked to be excused.
‘You chasing after the women?’ said Mancini.
‘You took a nasty tumble when you fell into the Ha-Ha,’ said Weinberger.
‘Too many cocktails?’ said Macdonald.
‘I was pushed.’
‘Who are you accusing?’ said O’Neil.
‘Chaps don’t tell tales.’
‘Ah, the British stiff upper lip,’ said Macdonald. ‘Hitler has a toothbrush moustache on his stiff upper lip.’
‘Will the American eagle peck it off?’ said Sir Charles.
‘Charles, in days of old when knights were bold, all roads led to Rome. In your case it is becoming increasingly obvious that all conversation now leads to discussing American intervention in Europe.’
‘Ha!’ said Mancini. ‘Let each of us talk about something and see how long it takes Charles to reintroduce the subject of American involvement in a second war with Germany. Butterflies.’
‘I’d suggest that American intervention is at the pupa stage,’ said Sir Charles.
‘Good night,’ said Harry.
‘If that bump on your head swells to an egg, I’ll have it for breakfast,’ said Weinberger.
‘Scrambled or sunny side up?’
‘Harry … you’re cracking me up.’
‘Touché. Good night, gentlemen.’
37
‘I hope the boy doesn’t give in so easily when he has a 109 on his tail,’ said Weinberger. ‘You shouldn’t have pushed him, Bob.’
‘I didn’t, he slipped.’
‘What would you say if I said I saw you push him?’
‘It’s lucky any of us are alive after the way the young idiot flew his plane so low. He might have taken us all to Kingdom come … if he wants to play hard ball that’s fine by me. There’s nothing wrong with his appetite … he’s Ok.’
‘He won’t be able to leave a combat zone as easily as he’s left us to our port and cigars, that’s for sure. “Excuse me, Mr German Fighter Pilot but I’ve a headache, may we resume hostilities tomorrow?” What do you say, Charles?’
‘My nephew is a good pilot – that is why he did not crash when he flew low over
The Hall. If it comes to war and he finds a 109 is chasing him, he will not give in.’
‘How’d you know?’
‘I, of course, don’t, not for certain. It is my experience that a chap does not know how he will react under fire until he is put to the test.’
‘In the trenches,’ said Macdonald, ‘I was never sure if my diarrhoea was due to dysentery or fear.’
‘But our fear did not stop us doing our duty,’ said Sir Charles. ‘How did you find the war, Bob?’
‘I’ve not so far had the experience of fighting for my life.’
‘Combat makes you scared,’ said Weinberger, ‘then it makes you angry. You don’t want to get killed so you start fighting back.’
‘If Germany takes over Europe will America feel “scared”, then “threatened”, then “fight back”?’
‘Charles, you’ve done it again,’ said Mancini, ‘all roads lead to Rome.’
38
‘There’s a murderer in the potting shed,’ said George, bursting unannounced into the Smoking Room. ‘We’ve locked him in.’
‘We don’t know that he’s a murderer, not for certain,’ said Jack, ‘but he was acting suspicious.’
‘He didn’t see us because of our camouflage.’
‘I knocked him out with a brick.’
‘I apologise for the intrusion, sir,’ said Bert, hard on the heels of the gate-crashers, ‘but Master Jack put Moses up my trouser leg.’
‘’Moses?’ said Mancini.
‘The young gentleman’s pet ferret, sir. It was while I was struggling to stop it reaching my vital parts that the young gentlemen, taking advantage of my predicament, gained entry to the port and cigars. I fear, sir, that the gentleman they have incapacitated is the tramp I told you about.’
Sir Charles lit his pipe.
‘Boys, do you know the meaning of the term “Friendly fire”?’
‘Have we done something wrong?’ said George.
‘Sometimes, chaps think they are doing the right thing when, actually, they are rather putting their foot in it.’
‘Is he not a murderer?’
‘Probably not if he is who Bert and I think he is. Better go and check, Bert.’
‘Sah!’
‘I’m afraid the gentleman you have hit on the head is probably a policeman. His Majesty’s Government, you see, have doubts about the Hitler Youth.’
‘What do you mean “doubts”?’ said O’Neil.
‘We think they are here to spy. The area around The Hall is under surveillance. If you see a postman riding a bike and his mail sack looks empty, assume he’s a policeman. If you see workmen digging a hole in the road, assume they are policemen.’
‘I knew they weren’t workmen,’ said Jack. ‘They kept sweeping the road over and over again in the same place.’
‘What do you think of the Nazis, Jack?’ said Macdonald. ‘Charles has told us of your brush with the regime.’
‘I hate them. They murdered my father and mother.’
‘You sure you’re not making that up?’ said O’Neil. ‘Who said they did?’
‘I saw them do it.’
‘You’re the sniper with the peashooter, aren’t you? If I had my way I’d take my belt to you.’
‘Boys,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I think it best that you wait outside. I’ll decide what to do when Bert reports back.’
‘Where’s the ferret?’ said Mancini.
‘He your friend?’ said Macdonald.
‘He is my best friend.’
‘Sometimes, in some situations an animal is the best friend you can have,’ said Weinberger. ‘You gonna let us see your friend?’
Jack brought out Moses. Everyone stroked him except O’Neil.
‘Bert?’
‘It’s who we thought it was, sir.’
‘Badly injured?’
‘Nasty cut on his head, sir.’
‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen. Bert will look after your every need. Boys, follow me.’
39
Sir Charles walked fast. George and Jack followed like dogs with drooping tails. What had they done wrong? They’d never seen Egghead so determined. At the potting shed they met Harry.
‘How is he?’ said Sir Charles.
‘Bert told you what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bloody … a head wound, they always bleed a lot. He’s confused. God, how I hate the Irish. First it was Pruney, now this, the head of MI5 No time for a peek inside the wardrobe, Uncle Charles. When I found his Lordship he was already out of action. He’s lucky to be alive. I wonder why they didn’t kill him.’
‘The IRA didn’t kill him because they weren’t responsible. Jack and George are the culprits.’
40
Harry’s torch showed a stubble faced tramp holding a blood soaked handkerchief to a head wound.
‘Newspaper,’ said Sir Charles.
From a pile kept in the potting shed for the purpose of stuffing inside upturned plant pots to catch creepy crawlies, Sir Charles made a poultice.
‘Did this many times in the war.’
He dipped the folded paper into a tank of water.
‘Freddy, hold this over the wound. Five sheets of the Times is better than a bandage.’
‘Where am I?’
‘You are at The Hall.’
‘At a ball?’
‘No, The Hall.’
‘Is that you, Charlie?’
‘Yes. I’m taking you to hospital.’
‘Don’t want to see a vet. What happened?’
‘Someone hit you on the head with a brick.’
‘Is the brick alright? Ha, ha!’
‘It’s broken and so is your head.’
‘Who hit me? They must have been professionals … ‘
‘We’ll talk about that later. Can you walk?’
‘Of course I can bloody talk. What do you think I’m doing now? Where’s the brick? I want to see the weapon. Find the weapon, I always say, and you are well on the way to making an arrest. Bloody Irish or was it the Hitler Youth?’
‘Friendly fire.’
‘Kindly hire … what are you talking about? I don’t want to hire anything. I want the brick. Where’s the bloody brick?’
Sir Charles picked up a brick. ‘As requested, Freddy, the brick with which you were hit.’
‘That’s not the one. It’s not cracked. You said the blow that cracked my head, cracked the brick.’
‘This is the one,’ said Jack.
‘This is the one, Freddy.’
‘That’s better. Now that I have evidence I shall take a nap.’
‘Not a good idea, Freddy. Harry, keep him awake. I’m going to get the Rolls. We’ve got to get him to hospital. Boys, you come with me.’
41
‘He’s on our side, isn’t he?’ said George. ’I am sorry, Grandfather. But why is Lord Frederick dressed as a tramp?’
‘He is working undercover.’
‘Pardon, I missed that.’
Sir Charles moved to a moonlit part of the path.
‘Lord Frederick,’ he repeated, ‘is working undercover.’
‘Being a tramp is his camouflage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the garage to get a car. We’ve got to get Freddy to hospital. Run on ahead, get the garage doors open.’
‘Come on, Jack.’
At the garage Sir Charles told the boys, ‘When I’m away at the hospital I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. And do be careful. This afternoon Mike and the American guest he was chauffeuring to The Hall were attacked. They are lucky to be alive. We think the fellow who tried to kill them was an Irishman.’
‘Did he blow up the Assembly Rooms?’ said Jack.
‘We don’t know. But he is dangerous. We think he is friends with the Hitler Youth. The car in which he escaped was badly damaged. He has a funny ear. If you see a man like that tell Bert.’
‘Where is this man now, Uncle Charles?’
‘We don’t know. He’s disappeared.’
42
‘What a lovely little station,’ said Marigold.
‘It is, isn’t it? Sir Charles’ father had it built. “If I have to have trains puffing across my land,” he always said, “then I want my own railway station”.’
‘How olde-worlde.’
‘Bags?’ repeated the railwayman through the ticket window grill, sounding as if he’d said ‘sins’ like an irritable priest taking confession.
‘Yes,’ said Marigold, ‘bags.’
‘You don’t want tickets?’
‘No.’
‘This window is for tickets.’
‘You rang The Hall to say my bags were here.’
‘Not tickets?’
‘I can see them. The two green cases beside the golf bag.’
‘Hang on a tick.’
‘I’d like to hang him,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘Does he have to repeat every question we ask? I once had a maid like that. I’d say, “Tea, Gladys” – she was called, Gladys – and she’d say, “Tea?” as if she expected me to reply, “No, I want a nice lamb chop” … good manners are in short supply these days. If it comes to war Charles says everything will be in short supply. He’s started stockpiling Darjeeling. Where’s the fellow gone? Coo-ee!’
‘If you’d come through, ladies,’ said the railwayman, poking his head round the door next to the ticket office.
‘That’s them,’ said Marigold.
‘Name?’ said the railwayman.
‘Striker.’
‘That’s not what it says on the tags.’
‘Those are my cases.’
He looked at the tags. ‘It says, “Professor Striker”, you a Professor?’
‘Of course she’s a professor,’ said Lady Elizabeth.
‘In that case they must be yours, mustn’t they? You were right and I was wrong.’
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