‘The Prime Minister presents his apologies, Your Majesty. A sudden cold…’
‘A sudden attack of cold feet, more likely!’ said the King.
‘Mr Baldwin has asked me to take his place,’ Churchill went on. ‘May I present my guests, Your Majesty? Doctor Smith, and his ward Miss Brown, who you have already met, and two American friends of Miss Brown’s. I trust Your Majesty has no objection?’
‘No, no, the more the merrier,’ said the King carelessly.
Churchill looked round at the Blackshirts lining the walls. ‘Your Majesty chooses strange escorts for this solemn occasion,’ he said, reprovingly.
‘I know you don’t care for Mosley, Winston, but he and his Blackshirts have always been loyal to me. I need loyal friends at a time like this.’
‘I have some guests of my own,’ said Wallis Simpson. ‘Mr Churchill, may I introduce Countess Andrea Razetki and Count Ludwig Praetorius.’
The Count was in full evening dress, with stars and orders and medals blazing on his breast. The Countess wore a magnificent scarlet evening gown, with diamonds shining in her hair.
Churchill studied them both with keen interest. ‘We have met before, I think. In France, some twenty years ago. You bear the ravages of time remarkably well, Countess.’
The Countess smiled. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.
‘You, Mr Churchill, on the other hand, look considerably older,’ said the Count. ‘It is to be hoped that you are now wiser.’
Churchill merely gazed impassively at the elegant figure.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Winston,’ said the King, hurriedly. ‘You’ve always been my friend, a real tonic to me. You’re just in time to hear my broadcast.’ He looked across at the technicians and called, ‘Are you chaps ready? Mustn’t keep the nation waiting.’
‘Ready, Your Majesty.’
The King gave a boyish grin. ‘Pay attention, now, Winston. You’re in for a surprise!’
‘Your Majesty forgets that I have already seen the text of your speech. I assisted Mr Baldwin with the final draft.’
‘Oh, that’s all over and done with,’ said the King dismissively. ‘Just you listen to this!’
He strode over to the improvised studio and sat down, taking a sheet of paper from his inside pocket.
Peri saw Dekker and the Op drift after him, as if fascinated by the proceedings. Dekker was still carrying his violin case.
The King looked at the technician, who was pale and tense, and asked, ‘What about the introduction?’
‘All handled from the other end, Your Majesty. Just start talking when that green light goes on.’
There was a moment of tense silence. Then the cue light came on and the King began to speak, in slow, measured tones.
‘People of Britain! This is the voice of your King. You know of the personal turmoil in which I have been involved. You know that there has been a plot by those in high places to prevent me from marrying the woman I love. I have decided that I cannot face the heavy burden of my duties without Wallis by my side.’
Churchill and the Doctor exchanged glances. This was the crucial point of the speech.
‘I have also decided that I will no longer tolerate this interference with my wishes,’ the King went on. ‘I shall marry Wallis Simpson, and she will be my queen – and yours! I have therefore decided to dismiss the Government!’
Churchill closed his eyes and clenched his fists. The Doctor said nothing, and raised a finger to his lips to stop Peri speaking.
The King continued. ‘For a time I shall rule directly as your monarch. In due time, a new and more loyal form of government will be established. Even now, those loyal to me are engaged in seizing the reins of power. I have the help of Sir Oswald Mosley and his loyal organisation of Blackshirts, and of my friend and ally Chancellor Adolf Hitler of Germany. Stay in your homes, remain calm and await further instructions. Goodnight.’
The Doctor looked at Churchill. ‘Well, he did it!’
‘Indeed he did,’ said Churchill, sadly.
Jumping up, the King embraced Wallis and came hurrying over to the Doctor and Churchill. He turned to Churchill.
‘Isn’t it splendid? We’ll get rid of that old fool Baldwin and you can be my Prime Minister. Better still, you can be my Chancellor.’ He looked at Churchill’s solemn face and said, ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I am appalled, Your Majesty. Shocked and horrified by this act of monstrous folly.’
The King scowled. ‘Be careful, Winston, this is close to treason.’
‘It is treason,’ thundered Churchill. ‘But the treason, Your Majesty, is not mine, but yours!’
The King’s face twisted with anger. ‘Arrest him!’
Blackshirts moved forward, but Churchill held up his hand.
‘Wait!’ he boomed. The King was so taken with the authority in his voice that he nodded, holding up a hand.
Churchill turned to the King and said quietly, ‘I have to inform Your Majesty that the speech you have just made has not been broadcast. It has however been recorded – and can, if necessary, be used in evidence at your trial for high treason. Everyone on the list of your treacherous associates is under observation. When the signal fails to materialise, it is likely that most will do nothing. However, anyone who does take any treasonous action will be instantly arrested.’
Suddenly the Count raised his voice. ‘Seize that recording!’
Blackshirts surged towards the terrified technicians – and stopped, this time at the sound of a shot.
The Op, standing in front of the improvised studio, had just fired his gun in the air.
‘It is only one man!’ shouted the Count. ‘Shoot him, someone. Trample him down!’
The Blackshirts surged forward again.
Standing beside the Op, his open music case at his feet, Dekker stooped down and came up with his tommy-gun in his hands. He fired a single burst high above the heads of the advancing Blackshirts.
The noise was terrifying. The intimidated Blackshirts froze.
From outside, as if in response to the shots, there came the boom of a field-gun.
Beckoning to Peri, the Doctor ran across to the windows.
They pulled back the yellow satin curtains to reveal rank upon rank of soldiers lined up outside.
The light from the windows glinted upon fixed bayonets.
The Doctor raised his voice. ‘This building is now totally surrounded. Remain where you are and wait for instructions. If you have weapons, lay them down and step away from them.’
The Doctor moved over to the King and spoke in a low voice. ‘Your Majesty, a studio has been set up in the Augusta Tower at Windsor Castle. Sir John Reith, Director of the British Broadcasting Corporation, is waiting there, with members of your family. You will go there now and sign the Instrument of Abdication. At ten o’clock this evening you will deliver the speech announcing that abdication to the nation. The speech you originally agreed with Mr Churchill and Prime Minister Baldwin.’
The King was white-faced and trembling.
‘And if I refuse?’
‘You will be arrested and put on trial for high treason, Your Majesty’ said the Doctor sombrely.
‘But you can’t do that! I’m the King! Winston, tell him.’
‘The matter is deadly serious, Your Majesty’ said Churchill.
‘The English love their monarchs,’ said the Doctor. ‘But they still chop off their heads if they get above themselves.’
The brutal words had their effect. Wallis Simpson grasped the King’s arm.
‘Do as they say, darling. We’re beaten.’ She looked at Churchill. ‘Believe me, I never wanted this. That damned Count and Countess gave him the idea.’
The King said, ‘If I do as you say – what happens afterwards?’
‘The original agreement stands,’ said Churchill. ‘You will be given the title of Duke of Windsor and a generous income. As soon as all the necessary arrangements are completed, you will lea
ve the country and live abroad.’
‘And Wallis?’
Churchill turned to Wallis Simpson.
‘I advise you to change and pack. You, madam, will be leaving the country tonight.’ He turned back to the King. ‘Once you are both established in residence abroad, you may marry whenever you please.’
Wallis kissed the King briefly, gave them all a comprehensive look of hatred and ran from the room.
‘Wait for me in France, darling,’ called the King. ‘I’ll come to you, I’ll never give you up!’
Colonels Carstairs and Fitzsimmons came into the room at the head of a squad of soldiers.
Under Colonel Fitzsimmons’s supervision, the guardsmen began rounding up the subdued Blackshirts and leading them away.
Carstairs came over to the King and saluted. ‘If you will come with me, Your Majesty? My orders are to escort you to Windsor Castle.’
They watched as the King followed Carstairs from the room.
The Doctor looked at Churchill and saw tears in his eyes. He beckoned to Dekker and the Op and touched Peri’s arm.
‘Everything seems to be well in hand, I think we might slip away.’
Peri looked round the crowded room. ‘Doctor, what about the Count and Countess?’
‘What about them?’
‘Well, shouldn’t we do something about them?’
I don’t think we can, just at the moment,’ said the Doctor, looking round. ‘They appear to have vanished!’
CHAPTER THIRTY
DEPARTURES
NEXT DAY, CARSTAIRS and Winston Churchill came round for morning coffee – or rather, at Churchill’s suggestion, for morning champagne.
‘How did things go at Windsor Castle?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Very well,’ said Carstairs. ‘He signed the Instrument of Abdication and read the speech as good as gold.’
‘I know, we caught the end of it,’ said Peri. ‘Quite touching, really. What was that last bit about the new King…’
‘“And now we have a new King”,’ quoted Churchill. ‘“I wish him and you, his people, happiness with all my heart. God bless you all. God save the King.” One of my better efforts, I think!’
‘Saying that last bit must have cost him something,’ said Peri. ‘After all his efforts last night…’
‘I don’t know,’ mused Churchill. ‘One would almost think that he had forgotten it already. This morning he is wrangling about the financial settlement and planning the wedding of the century! He has a curiously childlike temperament.’ He raised his glass. ‘My thanks for all your help, Doctor. We must arrange a suitable celebration.’
‘I’m afraid this will have to be it,’ said the Doctor. ‘Miss Brown and I are leaving almost immediately. We have business elsewhere.’
Churchill looked disappointed. ‘I was hoping to have a long talk with you, Doctor. I wished to ask your advice about the future.’
‘I’m sorry. We really must go, mustn’t we, Peri?’
‘Afraid so.’
Churchill shook them both warmly by the hand.
‘I wish you well, Doctor.’
‘And I you, sir,’ said the Doctor. ‘And I will give you one piece of advice about the future, if I may. There are hard times ahead, for you and for England. But don’t despair and don’t give up. You’ll reach the broad sunlit uplands of prosperity, right enough.’
‘A fine phrase, Doctor,’ said Churchill. ‘I may use it in my next speech.’ As he left the room they heard him rolling the phrase over his tongue. ‘The broad sunlit uplands of prosperity…’
‘I’d better go too,’ said Carstairs. ‘Nice to meet you –’ He paused. ‘I almost said, “Nice to meet you again”… Goodbye, Doctor, Miss Brown… Oh, by the way, there’s no trace of the mysterious Count and Countess anywhere. I hear von Ribbentrop’s gone scuttling back to Berlin. Perhaps they went with him…’
When the signal failed to materialise, and the abdication speech followed soon afterwards, von Ribbentrop ordered up his big private Junkers aeroplane and fled to Berlin.
He didn’t think he was implicated in the failed coup, but all the same… A diplomatic absence seemed indicated.
Next morning he was summoned to see the Fuehrer, who had already heard the news and was far from pleased.
‘Abdicated! An English king who was our friend and he has abdicated!’
‘I am sorry, my Fuehrer. All arrangements were in place – but something went wrong.’
‘What about these Consortium people who were behind it all,’ demanded Hitler. ‘Can’t they tell you anything?’
‘I’m afraid not, my Fuehrer. They have disappeared.’
Something crackled in von Ribbentrop’s tunic pocket and he said hurriedly, ‘All is not completely lost, my Fuehrer. I have a list, a surprisingly long list, of those in England sympathetic to our cause. Some of them in very high places.’
He took the list from his tunic pocket and handed it to the Fuehrer.
Hitler studied it for a moment and then looked up and frowned. ‘The list is in code?’
‘No, my Fuehrer, in clear. A list of important names –’
‘Three pairs of socks, five pairs of underpants, six vests… This is a laundry list, you imbecile!’ Hitler sprang to his feet. ‘Fool! Idiot! Incompetent swine!’
Terrified, von Ribbentrop turned and fled. An inkwell crashed against the wall by his head as he ran from the room.
In the outer office, Martin Bormann looked up in surprise as von Ribbentrop hurried past.
‘The Fuehrer is – distressed,’ gasped von Ribbentrop. ‘I must return immediately to England!’
He disappeared down the Chancellery stairs.
Bormann listened for a moment to the shouts and screams, the sounds of splintering furniture coming from Hitler’s office. The Fuehrer was becoming distressingly prone to these attacks of uncontrollable rage. What was the name of that latest psychic consultant, the one who seemed to have such a calming effect…
He picked up the telephone.
‘I wish to place a call to Doctor Kriegsleiter…’
The Doctor finished writing and handed the completed papers to Dekker.
‘There you are, Mr Dekker, a complete power of attorney. With that, you can pay off the house rent, house bills and car hire, pay off any other outstanding debts, and, most importantly, pay for the invaluable services of yourself and the Op, plus a handsome bonus.’
Dekker studied the papers and gave the Doctor a worried look. ‘With this I could also rob you of your last cent, Doctor.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the Doctor. ‘But you won’t, will you?’
Dekker sighed. ‘No, I guess I won’t.’
‘Spend whatever you need to spend and leave the rest on deposit at Cholmondeley’s, for myself or for my descendants.’
‘OK,’ said Dekker. He stood up. ‘Well… If you’re ever in the area…’
‘I’ll look you up,’ said the Doctor. ‘I promise.’
Dekker shook hands with the Doctor and then with Peri. ‘If you ever run into a girl called Ace…’
‘I’ll give her your love, shall I?’ said Peri.
‘That’s right,’ said Dekker. ‘Give her my love.’
He went out of the room just as Rye was coming in.
‘Will there be anything further, sir?’
‘No thank you, Rye,’ said the Doctor. ‘Mr Dekker will settle up and make all the final arrangements. Many thanks for all you’ve done.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’ He permitted himself the faintest of smiles. ‘It’s been much more exciting than working for the Duke.’
Rye slipped out of the room and the Doctor turned to Peri. ‘That takes care of everything, I think.’
‘With two rather large exceptions.’ She stared up at him and tugged on his sleeve. ‘What about the Count and Countess?’ she implored.
‘What about them? We put paid to their little scheme.’
‘They may have others.’
&n
bsp; ‘I’m sure they have.’
‘Don’t you want to stop them?’
‘I don’t want to make chasing them a full time job.’
‘Who were they, Doctor?’ said Peri. She shivered. ‘What were they?’
‘Put them from your mind, Peri,’ said the Doctor. ‘Come on. Let’s go and take a last look at the garden, shall we?’
They went out into the high-walled area, and Peri jumped back with a gasp of horror.
There was a dead body lying on the lawn. It was the would-be assassin from the veldt and from the garden party, just as he’d been when he fell from the tree, face down with a gaping wound between his shoulder blades.
Suddenly the Count and Countess appeared. They might have been lurking in the bushes for ages, but somehow Peri didn’t think so. They just… were there. The Count wore a long overcoat, and the Countess wore a travelling cloak. She was holding an automatic in her hand.
The Count had a long cane. He stripped off the wooden sheath to reveal the sword inside.
‘I hear you are leaving, Doctor,’ he said. ‘We too must depart – but we have one or two things to attend to first.’
‘We thought you might like another look at your handiwork,’ said the Countess.
‘The Doctor didn’t kill him,’ said Peri, even as she said the words feeling guilty for endangering Dekker.
‘He paid the man who did,’ said the Count. ‘We shall destroy Mr Dekker at our leisure – but first we shall deal with the true cause of our friend’s death.’
The Doctor looked at the Countess’s automatic. ‘You gave that to a friend of mine once. I don’t suppose…’
She smiled. ‘I’m afraid not, Doctor.’
The Doctor looked at them, thoughtfully. ‘The relationship between you two seems… How can I put it – variable?’
‘You could say so, Doctor. In South Africa we were opponents. In France we were allies – until I changed sides on a whim. Here we were allies too – in a wonderful, poetic scheme which you have entirely wrecked, Doctor, costing us a life. You must pay for that, with your own and that of your friend.’
‘First satisfy my curiosity,’ said the Doctor. ‘Allies and opponents in what?’
‘In the Game,’ said the Count. ‘The Game that never ends.’
Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition Page 21
