Spies on Bikes

by Dennis Forster

  ‘I’m always right.’

  ‘Is that because you’re gentry or because you’re a woman?’

  ‘Don’t be flippant. You are new here?’

  ‘Two weeks a station master, in charge of myself and half a porter when he’s not lying in bed picking his nose. You one of the Stetsons?’

  ‘If you are asking in your vulgar way if Professor Striker is an American,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘the answer is, yes. Though what it has to do with you is beyond me. I knew the old station master very well. He liked venison. Do you like venison? What’s your name?’

  ‘Sean.’

  ‘Sean, what?’

  ‘Roy.’

  ‘Well, Roy, until we know each other better you will not be receiving free venison from The Hall.’

  ‘It must be difficult for you to call me Roy when my surname could be a Christian name … makes us sound as if we know each other really well, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I assure you, young man, that it is extremely unlikely that I will ever know you … really well. Pigs will fly before I do. You have the look of a poacher. I will tell my gamekeeper to keep a sharp eye open for a poacher wearing a railwayman’s uniform. My car is outside.’

  ‘Your car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why, what?’

  ‘Why are you telling me your car is outside?’

  ‘I wish you to know where to carry the cases.’

  ‘To the car?’

  ‘Yes, and you will not be receiving a tip … and make sure to water the geraniums in the horse trough. Norman, the old station master, made the station quite botanical. His horticultural efforts made my using public transport almost bearable. The man with green fingers will be a hard act to follow.’

  ‘I have no intention of following Norman.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Norman is dead.’

  ‘Natural causes?’

  ‘Venison poisoning.’

  ‘Get on with it and be grateful I will not be writing a letter of complaint.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Next stop, Marigold, the Post Office. Emily, the post mistress, will be pleased to see us. When you tell her who your letter is for she will faint. She is Bert’s sister. Since her husband died she lives alone. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. What makes her tolerable is her gossip. I would never admit this to Charles but I do like to know what’s going on in the village. She likes to talk to me because of who I am. She is a snob. The difference between us is that I know I’m a snob, she thinks she isn’t.’

  ‘Will she curtsey?’

  ‘She is a socialist.’

  ‘Like Sir Charles?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  43

  Mr Crozier’s white coat was bloody.

  ‘Some days, Sir Charles, patients bleed, some days they don’t. One of life’s little mysteries, I’m thinking. So, the wee chap with the head wound I’ve been stitching up is important?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A battleship, not a frigate.’

  ‘Let me put it to you this way, Crozier … if this was Trafalgar you’d be dealing with Lord Nelson.’

  ‘I was there, you know.’

  ‘Trafalgar?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have mentioned that before.’

  ‘It worries you?’

  ‘One of my chauffeurs has a penchant for wearing odd socks. I find his eccentricity amusing. When my surgeon believes in reincarnation, it makes me thoughtful.’

  ‘Your haemorrhoids OK?’

  ‘No longer a problem.’

  ‘I did a good job?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘You know why? Practice. I did my first haemorrhoidectomy in fifty-seven BC. You might have heard of my patient … Julius Caesar. The man with the hook nose as the Swan of Avon called him. Julius was in a lot of pain during the Gallic wars. Without my expertise he might have lost those campaigns.’

  ‘Is it true that he only had one ball?’

  ‘Sir Charles, you should know better than that. A medical man is never allowed to divulge a patient’s details.’

  ‘You told me Caesar had haemorrhoids. Is that not a breach of the rules governing the doctor-patient relationship?’

  ‘I mentioned the great man’s affliction to give you confidence in my skill as a surgeon. Despite the bleeding, your chap will be fine. A three stitch wound, hardly worth a needle and thread. He’s a little confused but, then again, these days, aren’t we all? He’s right at the top of the ladder you say, a gold braid and epaulettes man, but you can’t say more?’

  ‘You have correctly read my signal flags.’

  ‘England expects?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can rely on me, Sir Charles.’

  ‘And how is Leading Seaman Mike?’

  ‘I’ll no repeat what the big fellow said when I asked him if he wanted cross stitch or satin. When you brought him in he was the Victory after Trafalgar. He’s ready to sail. He’s asking for shore leave. I’ll be glad to see him disembark. He’s drinking all my grog. Last time I had a patient like that was in 1066; terrible boozers the Normans … that’s why they wore those helmets with nose guards, you know, to hide their red noses. Don’t look so worried, Sir Charles, I made that up to scare you. But I did help William the Conqueror with an ingrown toenail, now, that is true. Dinna look so worried, man, or I’ll be putting you into bed next. One of the nice new beds in Ward Nine with its newly painted walls. I’ve never seen so much new plastering in a hospital.’

  ‘You should not have told me about the Conqueror’s ingrown toenail … doctor-patient confidentiality, what?’

  ‘And you will not tell me the secret of Ward Nine?’

  ‘Official Secrets Act.’

  44

  Mike limped to the Rolls.

  ‘You need a stick?’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘The glove compartment.’

  ‘Blended or malt?’

  ‘Rusty Nail.’

  ‘My God, I needed that. He’s mad, isn’t he?’

  ‘Crozier been telling you his stories? Which one was it? Caesar’s haemorrhoids or William the Conqueror’s ingrown toenail?’

  ‘He says he operated on Samuel Pepys for the stone.’

  ‘That’s a new one. How did you react?’

  ‘I looked at him as if I thought he’d gone mad.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He stuck a needle in me, next thing I woke up in bed with this bloody bandage on.’

  ‘It was his way of testing you. He was tickling your grey cells with a tall story. He wanted to know if you were compos mentis. If you hadn’t looked alarmed when he told you that cock and bull story about Samuel Pepys he might well have thought you were off your rocker.’

  ‘How many people know I fainted at the sight of my own blood?’

  ‘Marigold’s not been discreet.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Some women like vulnerability in a man, don’t you know, brings out their motherly instincts. If she had her way she’d award you a Purple Heart.’

  ‘What about Harry? I suppose in his eyes I’m some kind of coward?’

  ‘He’s much too busy making eyes at Marigold.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The boy’s smitten.’

  Sir Charles parked outside the village post office.

  ‘Isn’t that Lady Elizabeth’s car?’

  ‘It is. That’s why I stopped. Let’s join the ladies.’

  ‘Ladies?’

  ‘Marigold and Elizabeth. Marigold’s posting a letter to the President.’

  45

  ‘Charles, thank goodness you are here,’ said Lady Eliz
abeth.

  ‘Mike,’ said Marigold, ‘how’s the leg?’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Sit down, take my chair, I insist.’

  ‘I hear you fainted at the sight of your own blood,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘and you’ve been drinking. Only you could turn a hospital into a public house. Pure alcohol, was it? From the dispensary? And why are you here?’

  ‘I’m with Sir Charles, my lady.’

  ‘I know that. What I meant was … why is he here? Why are you here, Charles? Don’t bother to answer. I’m weary of hearing cock and bull stories. Charles, you have authority.’

  ‘Do I?’

  Lady Elizabeth loved her husband to the moon and back but sometimes, quite often in fact, she found him infuriating. On this occasion she ignored his feigned modesty and, rather like a distant third cousin who’d perished in the Charge of the Light Brigade, pressed on regardless.

  ‘I want you to use your authority to make Emily here break the rules and tell us what she heard when she broke the rules and listened in to a certain conversation she’s been hinting at telling us about. Emily, appraise Sir Charles of the situation.’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘Tell Sir Charles what’s been going on.’

  Emily, a little woman with small eyes that sparkled like diamonds, swivelled on her telephonist’s chair. The switchboard she was sitting in front of, reminded Sir Charles of the coat stand in The Hall’s vestibule, the one used for hanging up dog leads and horse whips.

  ‘It was the call from the telephone box at the crossroads,’ said Emily. She paused. All these rich, powerful people hanging on her every word. Lovely. She looked at Marigold. She’d never met an American before. She’d met one Frenchman, two Italians and a German weightlifter when she’d been a high kicking dancer (two Christmas seasons in the chorus line at Newcastle’s Empire Theatre) but never an American, and her a professor as well. She looked too young to be a professor. Why, oh why, had she fallen in love with a postmaster who’d had to go and die? He’d left her a useful inheritance, that was true, but not a glamorous one. The only fun she had now was eavesdropping. ‘Of course I never listen-in, that would be against GPO rules.’

  ‘And you, being a Methodist, obey the rules?’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘I’m C-of-E, Lady Elizabeth. I won’t have religion coming between me and my glass of sherry. If you don’t mind my saying, Lady Elizabeth, I know why you might be thinking I’m a Methodist. My speaking part in the pantomime last year was given me on merit. I can’t deny Reverend Ponsonby wanted me to join his flock, but I wasn’t for turning. Percy, that’s the Reverend Ponsonby, respects my principles. He would have it no other way. After “flights of angels” took my Albert up to his eternal resting place, Percy was very good to me. His “goodness” upset a lot of people. It’s a mystery to me how doing “good” can cause such a lot of upset … but there you are.’

  ‘What’s a pantomime?’ said Marigold.

  ‘If you’re a professor, like her Ladyship said you were, I’m surprised, Lady Marigold, that you don’t know what a pantomime is.’

  ‘Marigold is not a “Lady”,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘she is an American. Americans have money but not titles, nor do they have pantomimes … isn’t that right, Marigold?’

  ‘Ladies,’ interrupted Sir Charles, ‘may we for the moment put to one side an explanation of the British pantomime. While we digress I fear England’s enemies are preparing to attack. Emily, cut to the quick and spill the beans.’

  ‘Charles, British telephonists do not “spill the beans”, they elucidate. Emily, elucidate.’

  ‘I’d rather “spill the beans”.’

  46

  ‘So,’ said Sir Charles, ‘if I may sum up all you have told us, Emily. It was when you were making sure that the American was connected to the railway station that you heard him speak “foreign”. At first you thought there was something wrong with the connection and so continued listening. The person to whom the American was speaking was a man and this man answered in what sounded like the same language. As a high kicking dancer, front row of the chorus line, at Newcastle’s Empire Theatre, you met people from France, Germany and Italy. Because of your contact with these foreigners you are familiar with how their languages sound, though not a fluent speaker of any. You have a suspicion that the American and the railwayman were speaking Gaelic … is that correct?’

  ‘The more I think about it, Sir Charles, the more certain I am it was the Gaelic. Sergeant Belt, he’s in charge of Kielder Police Station, you know, the village in North Northumberland.’

  ‘I know where Kielder is, Emily.’

  ‘Sergeant Belt hails from the Western Isles. The only time I heard him use the Gaelic was at the pantomime this year. When you’ve worked in the theatre like I’ve done you get an ear for the ways people speak. You see, Sir Charles, since my dear Albert passed away, I’ve been in demand.’

  ‘In demand?’

  ‘She has suitors, Charles,’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Sergeant Belt fancies me. I know that for a fact. You can always tell, can’t you?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a gift, like being a clairvoyant.’

  ‘Do you think so? When he gave me a bunch of flowers and spoke to me in a language I didn’t understand and had never heard before, not even back stage at the Empire, that’s when I knew. Though I didn’t know what he was saying, I knew he was saying nice things, you could just tell … at least I could. I wonder if I am clairvoyant.’

  ‘My dogs are like that. They know when you are telling them that you love them. It’s your tone of voice.’

  ‘Do you think Sergeant Belt was telling me he loved me?’

  ‘Charles,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘you are not an agony aunt. Straighten your back and remember why we are here. England, our dear England, is under attack.’

  ‘Quite right, my dear … and the only two words you recognised, you say were … “Mickey Mouse” and “Walt Disney”?’

  ‘Excuse me, I have a customer.’ A light was flashing on the switchboard. Emily plugged in a ‘dog lead’. ‘Operator speaking. How may I help you? Number please … I mean the number you are calling from. If you are in a public phone box you will find its number in the middle of the dial. Thank you … and the number you wish to call? That will be three pence. One moment please while I connect.’

  ‘In America that switchboard would be in a museum,’ said Marigold.

  ‘Who is it?’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘I’ve told you, milady, I work for the GPO and they have strict rules. It’s more than my job’s worth. You see, milady, I once saw this picture. It was at the Stoll in Newcastle if I remember right where a brave telephonist refused to let a private detective … I’ll bet you’ve met private detectives, Lady Marigold, you being an American.’

  ‘Marigold is not a Lady,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘how many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘Call me Marigold,’ said Marigold. ‘Tell me about the movie.’

  ‘I love the way you Americans call the pictures, the “movies”. I’ve been to the movies. It sounds more exciting than going to the pictures. Anyway, as I was saying, the brave telephonist refused to let the private detective listen to the caller because he didn’t have a walnut.’

  ‘You mean a warrant?’ said Marigold.

  ‘Is that what they are called? I was close though, wasn’t I?’

  ‘What happened to the telephonist?’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘The private detective shot her.’

  ‘Well, Emily, I can assure you that no one here is going to shoot you though the person waiting to be connected may well wish to do so. Now, tell me, is the person waiting to be connected the Gaelic speaker?’

  ‘Not sure … don�
�t think so.’

  ‘American?’

  ‘Yes. He’s calling from the telephone box at the crossroads near The Hall. The number of the telephone he gave me tells me that. I’m not clairvoyant, but I wish I was.’

  ‘What number does he want?’

  ‘It’s a Newcastle number.’

  ‘Not the railway station?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Better connect him.’

  ‘Sorry for keeping you waiting, sir … don’t you talk to me like that, I said I was sorry … cheek! You are through now, sir.’

  47

  ‘He’s speaking foreign,’ said Emily, ‘talking to a woman. Gina … she’s called, Gina. She sounds pleased. I think they know each other.’

  ‘Is he speaking Gaelic?’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘No, this is different. He keeps saying, “Bella Bella”. There was a sword swallower at the Empire who kept saying that and he was Italian, couldn’t keep his hands to himself. All the girls called him Bella the Octopus.’

  ‘Give me the headphones,’ said Marigold, ‘I speak Italian. It’s Mario.’

  ‘Who’s Mario?’ said Emily.

  ‘An American friend,’ said Sir Charles, ‘he’s a guest at The Hall. Emily, is this the man you heard speaking what you thought was Gaelic?’

  ‘No, this gentleman sounds sexy. I shouldn’t say things like that, should I? But he does. I suppose that’s because he’s Italian. The other gentleman sounded bad tempered.’

  ‘Men,’ said Marigold. ‘I knew Mario had an eye for the ladies but what he’s saying to Gina, well, if my mother had been doing the eavesdropping she’d have been disgusted.’

  ‘I wish I could speak Italian,’ said Emily. ‘Italians are passionate, aren’t they?’

  ‘Emily,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘we are in mixed company.’

  ‘I wonder if Maurice, that’s Sergeant Belt when he’s not in uniform, has Italian blood. You never know, do you? Him telling me he loved me in the Gaelic was romantic, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You don’t know what he was saying. He might have been saying, “Have you found my handcuffs?”.’

  ‘I didn’t know he’d lost his handcuffs. When did he do that?’