‘I have the honour to present Lady Jennifer Buckingham, Lieutenant Carstairs of my Staff, and Doctor John Smith, my personal physician!’
Lady Jennifer gave a stately inclination of her head, while the Doctor and Carstairs bowed stiffly.
The Doctor glanced at Churchill, and saw the mischievous twinkle in his eye. If their mysterious hosts wanted Ruritanian pomposity, they should have it.
‘Allow me to add my welcome to that of my friend the Count,’ said the Countess. Her accent was exotic, musical, utterly foreign. The accent of the beautiful spy on the Orient Express.
More charades? wondered the Doctor, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Why do I feel everyone is playing a part? Playing games?
‘We were expecting you earlier, Major Churchill,’ the Countess went on. ‘And, forgive me, alone and in a staff car rather than in an ambulance with your so-charming companions.’
Churchill bowed. ‘Were it not for my companions, Countess, I should be unable to be here at all. I did indeed begin my journey in a somewhat mysteriously provided staff car. Close to a wood, not far from this chateau, I was ambushed and my driver was killed.’
The Count looked at the Countess and spat out something in a language that sounded, as Carstairs said later, like a cat-fight.
The Countess retorted with something equally spirited in the same tongue. The Doctor watched them with keen interest. Both had had their composure badly shaken.
‘Forgive us,’ said the Count, forcing a thin-lipped smile. ‘We are shocked at your news. Ambushed, you say? By whom?’
‘We’re not sure,’ said the Doctor.
‘Did you not see them?’ asked the Countess sharply. ‘What nationality were they? What uniforms did they wear?’
‘A mixture,’ said the Doctor. ‘They wore scraps of many different uniforms. They were hungry and half-starved.’
Again the Count and Countess exchanged glances, and there was another brief exchange in a foreign tongue. The Doctor got the distinct impression that his news came as a relief to them.
‘Bandits,’ said the Count scornfully. ‘Renegades! There are quite a few of them, here in No Man’s Land. Criminals and deserters from both armies. They form an unholy alliance and prey on anyone they can find. They would have killed you for your car, your luggage and your clothes.’
‘They certainly endeavoured most earnestly to do so,’ said Churchill, and the Countess gazed at him with her eyes flatteringly wide.
‘Aren’t these renegades a danger to the chateau?’ asked the Doctor.
The Count smiled. ‘Our defences are strong, Doctor. Perhaps you will see them later.’
‘We are keeping our guests talking when they must be famished,’ said the Countess. ‘Major Churchill, will you take me in to dinner? We are dining in the Petite Salle. We are too few for the Great Hall, and it is always so cold and draughty. The table is so long that one is forced to shout, and food gets cold travelling from one end of the table to the other…’
Gallantly, Churchill gave her his arm, and led her, still chattering brightly, from the room.
The Count offered his arm to Lady Jennifer, and the Doctor and Carstairs followed.
While the Petite Salle was still somewhat large, the round table in the centre was small enough to make conversation possible.
Relays of servants brought course after course, and wine after wine to the table. The Doctor ate and drank little and spoke less, being content to observe. The others more than made up for him. Carstairs and Lady Jennifer sat together and seemed to find a great deal to talk about.
The Countess listened to Churchill’s political anecdotes with flattering attention. Occasionally she would say something in a low voice that made him roar with laughter.
The meal ended but there was no move for the ladies to leave. Port and brandy and coffee were served at the table, and the Countess encouraged Churchill to light a cigar. Suddenly, the Count broke in on their conversation with an outburst in the foreign tongue he had used before. The Countess made a brief and angry reply in the same language.
The Count turned stiffly to Churchill. ‘I was sorry to hear of your problems over the Dardanelles, Major Churchill. Your scheme was a good one and should have succeeded.’
Churchill, who unlike the Doctor had been eating and drinking – especially drinking – heartily, responded at once.
‘It would have succeeded, Count, had it been properly executed. For a fraction of the effort that is being expended out here we could have disposed of Turkey and shortened the war. But General Kitchener had little faith in the scheme and refused to send sufficient troops until it was too late. Admiral Fisher too had doubts and was irresolute in pressing home the naval attack…’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Ah well! Recriminations are useless, and all that is behind me now.’
‘So, your political career is over, and you come out here in search of military glory.’ There was a curious edge of malice in the Count’s voice. ‘How unfortunate that your military career is also over.’
Churchill laughed, uncertainly. ‘Over, Count? It has scarcely begun.’
‘It is over before it has begun,’ said the Count. ‘I hope you have enjoyed tonight’s dinner, Major Churchill. Tomorrow night you dine with the Kaiser in Berlin!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLIGHT
WINSTON CHURCHILL LEAPED to his feet, his chair crashing to the stone floor. His hand went to the revolver – that was no longer at his belt.
‘Revolvers are not worn with mess dress, Major Churchill,’ said the Count mockingly.
Calmly, Churchill picked up his chair and sat down again. He took his cigar from the ashtray at his elbow and took a long meditative puff. The Countess watched him with bright, fascinated eyes.
‘I am, of course, aware, Count, that it was you who sent the car to Boulogne for me,’ said Churchill quietly. ‘Indeed, your beautiful lady friend has already admitted as much. I was delayed by the ambush – and then walked, by chance and ill fortune, into the lion’s den of my own accord. But if you think you and your attendant servants can keep me here, armed or not…’
‘I have other servants,’ said the Count. He clapped his hands and soldiers marched into the room. They carried rifles, and wore grey uniforms with spiked helmets. Effortlessly, they arranged themselves so that they formed a cordon about the dinner table.
‘A detachment of the Imperial Guard,’ said the Count. ‘The Kaiser is most anxious to see you, Major Churchill. It was one of their patrols that saved your life in the wood, incidentally. They knew I wanted you alive. You have been in my power since you left Boulogne. If you had not come here of your own accord, you would have been captured and brought to me.’
‘You can’t hope to get away with this,’ said Churchill confidently. ‘Without wishing to sound immodest, I am something of a public figure. My arrival in France is widely known. Indeed, General French is already expecting me at St Omer. When I fail to appear, inquiries will be made. When it is discovered that I have been kidnapped, there will be uproar and an extensive search will be mounted. Do you really think that you and your band of enemy soldiers can whisk me through No Man’s Land unseen?’
‘The soldiers are for my protection, not yours,’ said the Count. ‘Soon they will pass through No Man’s Land and merge with the German army again. Yours is a swifter and surer means of travel.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ asked the Doctor suddenly. ‘Are you of German blood?’
‘I am Danish in origin,’ said the Count coldly. ‘My friend the Countess is Hungarian. But we are – internationalists. We have lived all over Europe, we have both been expatriates for many years. For many, many years…’ He gazed off into the distance, then smiled faintly. ‘We have no petty patriotic stake in this conflict.’
‘For money then? You’re mercenaries?’
The Count laughed. ‘I hold high rank in the German Secret Service, but only because it suits me to do so. I accept no salary. I am one of
the richest men in the world.’
‘That still doesn’t answer my question.’
‘Why am I doing this, Doctor? Because I choose to!’
‘Just for the fun of it, eh?’ said the Doctor, rubbing his hands. ‘To see what happens?’
‘If you wish.’ Losing patience with him, the Count turned to Churchill. ‘It will be interesting to see what use the Kaiser makes of you.’
‘What use can I possibly be, except as a captive to gloat over?’ said Churchill scornfully.
‘He might announce that you have joined him voluntarily,’ said the Count. ‘A gesture to show that you disapprove of the war.’ He nodded in approval. ‘Yes, that would be of great help to the German cause.’
‘Nobody would believe such a thing,’ said Carstairs indignantly.
The Count smiled. ‘Many would believe such a thing of a failed politician. Especially in the light of your singular presence in Berlin.’
‘No one who knows me would credit such a vile suggestion for a single moment,’ growled Churchill. ‘And since I should make no statement to support it…’
‘Captives can be persuaded to say practically anything, Major,’ said the Count. ‘There are many effective means of persuasion. My friends in the Secret Service are expert in them all…’
‘At least let my companions go free,’ pleaded Churchill. ‘We met by chance today, they can have no interest for you.’
The Count shook his head. ‘On the contrary, they form part of a fascinating mixed bag. The Doctor, in particular, interests me.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ said the Doctor, beaming with delight.
The Count ignored him. ‘They will all go with you, and I shall follow at my leisure. Later on, we shall all have a happy reunion in Berlin…’ He paused, holding up his hand for silence. ‘Listen.’
They heard the low drone of an aircraft engine.
‘Ah, at last…’ The Count rose, and strode over to the window. He gestured to two of the soldiers who immediately drew back the long velvet curtains, revealing a long flat field next to the chateau.
The field was lined with two rows of the Count’s servants, all carrying blazing torches.
As they watched, the dark shape of an aeroplane dropped out of the clouds, glided between the parallel lines of light, and landed in the field below them.
‘Night landings are difficult, you see, but not impossible,’ said the Count. ‘Night take-offs, apparently, are another matter. I should advise you all to get some sleep. You leave at dawn.’
‘Will there be room for us all?’ asked the Doctor, airily.
‘The plane is one of Germany’s latest and largest designs. It is unmarked, and holds six passengers as well as the pilot. Room for you all, and two armed guards. I repeat, at dawn tomorrow you fly to Berlin.’
*
The captives were taken back to their bedrooms. The baths had been taken away, and their former garments, now sponged and pressed, were laid out on the bed.
Churchill, Carstairs and Lady Jennifer changed back into their everyday uniforms, but both Churchill and Carstairs discovered that their service revolvers had disappeared.
The Doctor changed back into his check trousers and frock coat with some relief, lost in thought as he carefully transferred all his miscellaneous possessions back again to their usual pockets. He failed to find anything that looked as if it might be useful – this didn’t seem to be the sort of situation that called for a sonic screwdriver.
The prisoners discovered that while they had liberty of movement in the upper corridor, there were armed sentries at either end. Nobody felt much like sleep and, eventually, everybody ended up congregating in the Doctor’s room.
‘I’m sorry, everybody,’ said the Doctor. ‘I should’ve known better. I wanted to find out what was going on, but I didn’t expect anything as elaborate as this.’
‘It was a joint decision, Doctor,’ growled Churchill. ‘We are all equally to blame. Now we must concentrate on finding some way of escape. Windows, perhaps? Mine was locked, but –’
‘I think you’ll find they’re all locked,’ said the Doctor. ‘Mine is, I know.’
‘And mine,’ said Lady Jennifer.
‘Mine too,’ said Carstairs.
‘We could break one open,’ suggested Churchill.
‘Not without alerting those sentries out there,’ said the Doctor. ‘Besides, there are plenty more soldiers in the corridors and outside the house.’
‘But we must form some plan of escape,’ insisted Churchill.
‘Oh, I’ve already done that,’ said the Doctor.
Churchill stared at him. ‘You have? Splendid, Doctor! What scheme have you devised? If it is as ingenious as your stratagem in the wood…’
The Doctor smiled disarmingly. ‘There’ll be just one moment when we may be able to seize our chance,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it in a moment… There’s a special part I’d like you to play, Major Churchill.’
‘At your command, Doctor.’ As he spoke, Churchill realised this was quite true. He wasn’t a man who took anyone’s orders easily, but there was something about this strange little fellow…
‘I want you, when the time comes, to say a particularly affectionate farewell to the Countess,’ said the Doctor solemnly. ‘I rather think she’s taken a shine to you.’
Churchill harrumphed as he thought on this. ‘She is an extremely attractive woman, Doctor, and I admit to a brief flirtation at dinner. But at heart I am a happily married man. My dear wife Clementine…’
‘She’ll forgive you, I’m sure,’ said the Doctor, looking a little flustered. ‘It’s all in a very good cause! Now listen carefully, all of you…’
In the chill of the dawn, the prisoners were marched out to the waiting plane. It was guarded by armed sentries and the engines were already turning over.
Beside the plane stood the Count and Countess, waiting to see them off. The Count wore a long cloak and the Countess was wrapped in furs.
‘Farewell, dear lady,’ said Churchill cheerfully as they approached. ‘And thank you for a most pleasant evening.’
Before anyone could stop him, he stepped forward and embraced her. For a moment her fur-clad body pressed against him, and her hand found his… Then she pulled away, and slapped him hard on the face.
The Count smiled, and the sentries marched them to the plane.
As the Count had told them, the plane was an unusually large one. There were three rows of two seats behind the pilot. Churchill looked at the Doctor, nodded briefly and climbed into the front row.
Then instead of sitting down he stood up and presented an automatic to the pilot’s head.
‘Raus, raus!’ he roared, heaving the startled pilot bodily from the plane and scrambling over to take his place at the controls.
The astonished sentries raised their rifles, but by that time Churchill had tossed the gun to Carstairs, who covered the Count with it and bellowed, ‘Nobody move!’
The soldiers froze.
Suddenly the Doctor snatched the automatic from Carstairs and thrust it at arm’s length into the Count’s ear.
‘I’m a terrible shot and guns make me nervous,’ he said agitatedly, as if afraid the weapon would go off in his hand of its own volition. ‘But I don’t think even I could miss at this range! Lieutenant Carstairs, you and Lady Jennifer get onto the plane.’
‘But Doctor –’
‘Do as I tell you,’ shouted the Doctor. ‘And look after her, Carstairs. You two are made for each other, don’t be too British to see it! Once you’re aboard, tell Major Churchill to take off!’
‘We can’t leave you here, Doctor…’ said Lady Jennifer.
‘You must.’ His voice became more gentle. ‘Someone has to stay.’
‘Why, Doctor?’
‘Because we can’t keep the Count covered properly from the plane, can we? The minute he’s a free agent, his soldiers will riddle the plane with rifle-bullets before you leave the ground.’ He
glanced nervously at the Count, who was still standing stock still, then back at his friends. ‘Now go!’
Carstairs helped Lady Jennifer into the plane, climbed in after her and leaned forward to speak to Churchill.
The Doctor saw Churchill shake his head. Cupping his free hand to his mouth, the Doctor raised his voice in a shout so loud it rose above the noise of the engine.
‘I implore you, Winston, just go! Take off! Your country needs you, now and in years to come!’
He saw Winston Churchill touch the brim of his cap in salute.
The plane rolled forwards, and rose slowly into the dawn sky. The Doctor waited until it was out of rifle range. Then, ignoring the furious Count, he tossed the little automatic to the Countess.
‘Yours, I think…’
As the plane soared upwards Lady Jennifer said, ‘It feels so awful, leaving the Doctor.’
Churchill had grown fond of the Doctor during their brief friendship, but he had no intention of landing the plane until it was safely behind British lines.
‘The Doctor made a noble gesture,’ he said. ‘We cannot save him by sacrificing ourselves.’ He considered for a moment. ‘Many years ago, I was helped in my hour of need by another Doctor…’ Abruptly, he shook himself back to the present. ‘Now, we must fly low and look for some familiar landmark. Inform me if you see anything useful, Lieutenant.’
‘I didn’t know you could fly a plane, sir,’ shouted Carstairs.
‘I had a number of lessons before the war. Pressure of work and the pleas of worried friends forced me to abandon the sport.’
‘But you are a qualified pilot?’ asked Lady Jennifer.
‘I fear not. I never found time to take the qualifying tests.’
‘Have you made a solo landing before, sir?’ called Carstairs.
‘Not yet!’
Carstairs took Lady Jennifer’s hand. ‘You heard what the Doctor said, back there?’
She smiled. ‘About being made for each other?’
‘I think we’d better not waste any more time,’ said Lieutenant Carstairs. ‘I’m not sure how much we’ve got left!’
Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition Page 9
