Polly had heard about the message through the ships scuttlebutt and she came by to say goodbye to Gwen and Kitty, embracing them both warmly and shedding a small tear. They promised to write and to meet up whenever their respective leaves coincided, but all three knew that it was more than likely that they wouldn’t see each other again until the war was done and dusted.
It was the second time that the mechanics had assembled Dreadnought on the flight deck and, even though they were doing it at night, they pulled out all the stops and had her airworthy in record time, several hours before dawn. Getting the Misfits on board and settled in took less than ten minutes and then she inflated her balloon and floated into the sky, watched by almost the entire crew. It was a tranquil beginning to an extremely nervous four-hour flight at top speed and in the dark across more than a thousand miles of open water to a small airfield in the extreme north-east of Scotland, where she stopped only briefly to refill her hydrogen tanks before continuing the flight.
After slightly more than six hours, just after eleven in the morning, Dreadnought entered London’s airspace. She was given priority landing clearance and was directed to the Royal hangar at Hyde Airstrip, where a frantic Royal Guard captain urged the pilots to change into full dress uniform as quickly as they could, before bundling them into three waiting autocars. They were then taken at breakneck speed through the streets of London, careening perilously around Trafalgar Square, then zoomed along Whitehall at several times the legal limit. The drivers didn’t slow down when they reached their destination, either, and the wheels of the heavy machines almost left the ground as they hit the steep ramp down into the basement autocar bay of the Palace of Westminster. They raced around the claustrophobic space, barely dodging reinforced concrete columns and the small spring-powered vehicles of the ministers, before finally screeching to a halt at the doors of a pneumatic lift.
The lift was only just big enough to accommodate the pilots and their guide and took them up into the Palace itself, the doors opening into a short, wood-panelled corridor that led only to a private, well-appointed lounge where refreshments were waiting for them. There, the guard captain told to wait, then slipped out of the door into the main chambers, leaving them alone.
After all the frantic rushing around the sudden inactivity was surprising, to say the least, but they were in the military, so they were used to such hurry up and wait behaviour on the part of their superiors.
The bacon sarnies the mess of the Arturo had provide them with had run out fairly quickly during the flight and most of the pilots were hungry, so they dived straight onto the sandwiches and pastries provided and made an attempt at draining the large brass tea urn ticking away cheerfully in the corner of the room. Mac left the tea alone, though, and just swigged from the hip flask, which was all he could conceal in his dress uniform, while he picked at a croissant.
Almost half an hour went by before the door into the Palace opened again and the Misfits looked up, expecting it to be the guard or perhaps someone like the Marshal of the Court, however, the woman who appeared was dressed like them in an RAC uniform.
‘Penny!’ Abby led the rush and, heedless of both their uniforms, threw her arms around the woman, folding her into a hug that was crushing enough to overcome the resistance of the dozen or so petticoats between them.
‘Abby, dearest.’ Penny returned the hug, a single tear of joy escaping eyes that were squeezed tightly shut.
When Abby finally relaxed her hold enough that Penny could breathe again, she opened her eyes and smiled at the rest of the squadron. ‘Hello, darling Misfits. I’m so happy to see that you all made it back in one piece!’
The pilots began to fire a barrage of questions at her and she laughed and held up her hands. ‘Hold your horses!’ When the Misfits quietened again, she shook her head and smiled enigmatically. ‘Let me just get myself a cup of tea, then I can answer all of your questions.’
She walked to the brass urn, where she bent to fill a cup, added milk and sugar, then turned and walked back.
The simple act of crossing the room and pouring oneself a drink was unremarkable and would have brought no comment if carried out by anyone else, but Lady Penelope Bagshot had lost both of her legs only a few months previously and the ease with which she accomplished the feat was astounding. Especially seeing as the last time they’d seen her, she’d been staggering around like a newborn foal. Now, though, there was barely any sign that she had been injured.
She came to a halt in front of them, perfectly steadily, and grinned at them over the rim of the delicate Wedgwood cup.
Again the torrent of questions broke over her, but she remained impassive in the face of them and merely raised an aristocratic eyebrow at Abby.
Abby shushed her pilots. ‘Settle down, everyone! Let the poor woman find her feet!’
There was a sudden stunned silence as the Misfits stared at their commander, aghast.
Lady Penelope just snorted, though, all pretence at ladylike behaviour lost as tea came out of her nose and she broke down into guffaws. When she finally managed to calm down again, she dabbed at her eyes then nose with a handkerchief that she produced from her sleeve. ‘Oh, thank you, Abigail. I needed that.’ She glance around the Misfits, who were still uncertain as to what to do and sniggered. ‘Everyone’s been pussyfooting around me far too much since my accident and I have been getting well and truly fed up.’
‘I’m sure that nobody in this squadron would ever be anything less than totally frank with one of their own.’ Abby gave her pilots a pointed look and they all had the decency to look slightly ashamed.
‘Thank you.’ Penny nodded gratefully. ‘Now, while I’ve got this walking lark down pat, it is a bit of an effort to stand still so, if you don’t mind, I’m going to plonk myself down.’
She flopped heavily into the nearest armchair and looked up at them while going back to sipping her tea.
When she was settled, Abby asked her what was on everyone’s mind. ‘Have you got any idea why we’ve been rushed here so urgently? Seven hours ago we were a couple of thousand miles away in the middle of the ocean!’
‘Gracious! You really did hotfoot it to get here on time, didn’t you?’
‘Get here for what, Penny?’
Abby was running out of patience and pressed her friend, but Penny wasn’t offended. She did, however, shrug. ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea, but I suspect we’re about to find out.’
She nodded towards the door, which had just opened to admit the same Royal Guard who had brought them to the Palace.
He gave them a nod and spoke quietly but firmly. ‘Would you accompany me please?’
It seemed that once more they were in a hurry and he chivvied them out of the room, then marched them quite rapidly down thickly carpeted hallways with impressive portraits on the walls.
The hallways and corridors were completely deserted, apart from a few clerks who barely looked up as they passed, and they made it to their destination in quick time, but then, infuriatingly, they were told to wait again while the captain slipped through a thick wooden door.
Thankfully, it was less than a minute before he came back and beckoned urgently for them to go in. ‘Single file, go down to the front row of seats as quietly as you can and file along until you fill them. Do not sit until the King gives you the wink.’
Gwen had never been to the House of Parliament before so she had no more idea of where they were or what they were doing than when they had arrived. However, she assumed that they were about to find out, so she held her tongue and her back straight as she followed the rest of the Misfits into the room beyond the door.
She could tell right away from the quality of the sound in the chamber beyond that it was large, but she was in no way prepared for what she encountered.
The door opened up onto a balcony with a dozen rows of tiered seats, like in a theatre, but it was what they overlooked that caused a hitch in her steps.
This was where the King and his
ministers met to discuss policy, the place where laws were passed and decisions were made that affected a fair portion of the world.
Down below her, a couple of hundred men and women, dressed in black, occupied blue leather benches in two opposing groups on either side of a long and ancient-looking table. Between them, near the head of the table, sat the King on an ornate, high-backed wooden chair that didn’t quite reach throne status. His position in the room was as much symbolic as practical - he formed part of neither side and, while his was the ultimate word, any decisions he made were made under the gaze and, theoretically, the approval of the representatives of the people.
Or at least that was the theory.
In practice it was very different. The ministers never really cared much for representing the people who had voted for them and were always trying to snatch as much power for themselves as they could. Up until that point they had been unsuccessful, but they had been able to use the excuse of the defeat in France to take away some of the King’s autonomy, saddling him with one of their own, Regis Cummerbund, as a Minister for War.
Technically, the minister’s job was solely to advise while the King continued to make the decisions. However, a precedent had been set and, even though Cummerbund had proved to have widely different opinions to the King as to how to run the war, especially where the Misfits were concerned, the King couldn’t afford to ignore him completely otherwise, if there were any further defeats, he could well find himself losing more than just command over the armed forces.
It was that man, Mr Regis Reginald Rufus Cummerbund, who had just begun to speak when the Misfits entered the chamber, his voice clear and loud despite his advancing age.
‘Your Majesty, distinguished colleagues, thank you for allowing me this opportunity to address you as regards the progress of the war with the Prussian Empire.’ He bowed his head to the King to show his respect, but it was a minute gesture that was barely perceptible. ‘It is with a heavy heart that I am obliged to report that the situation is increasingly dire with each passing day, indeed each passing hour. Quite aside from the setbacks we are facing in North Africa and the Mediterranean, the convoys bringing desperately needed supplies, purchased at great expense from our friends across the Atlantic I might add, are being intercepted and destroyed. This, as we all we know, means that resources are becoming increasingly scarce.’
He paused for effect and glanced around the chamber, meeting the eyes of the men and women grouped around him one by one, before his gaze finally coming to rest on the King, where it remained during his next words. ‘It is time to tighten our belts and stop wasting what little resources we have on frivolous endeavours.’
He paused again, still looking at the King, forcing his point across, before looking down at his papers.
‘I believe the experiment, started by His...’ Cummerbund’s eyes came up from his speech and he stopped in mid-sentence as he finally noticed the row of pilots standing directly in front and above him and blinked in surprise at men and women who by all rights should have been thousands of miles away.
Up until that moment, the attention of everyone in the room had been firmly fixed on him, but now, as silence filled the chamber, every eye turned to see what he was staring at.
The transition from silence, to eager murmuring, to thunderous applause, took all of three heartbeats.
Chapter 7
Gwen stood at the wooden guard rail as the noise washed over her. While the applause from the ministers in the chamber below was enthusiastic and polite, the public in the gallery ringing it were far more rowdy, as many of them added their voices or even whistled to show their approval.
She took it all in with a single scan, sweeping the room just as she did the sky, seeing expressions ranging from awe, pride and delight on the faces of everyone, politicians and civilians alike.
Except for two people.
Two people in the entire chamber reacted very differently to the appearance of the Misfits. One was the man standing at the table in the centre of the room - Cummerbund. His surprise had swiftly changed to anger at seeing the Misfits, his face darkening to a most unbecoming shade of red. He had managed to control himself after a couple of seconds, though, and regained his politician’s mask, but Gwen couldn’t help but chuckle when he glanced around surreptitiously, trying to see if anybody had noticed his lapse.
Nobody had, apart for Gwen and the one other person down below who hadn’t joined in the cheering.
Throughout the uproar, the King had sat in his chair, leaning back and smiling faintly, his eyes fixed firmly on the Minister for War and it was only when the man reluctantly started to clap that his smile widened and he joined in with the applause himself. He allowed the noise to go on for few seconds more, but then he looked up at the Misfits and gave them a big grin, along with a wink and a nod. As signals went it was fairly obvious and would have given away the fact that the interruption had been planned, but fortunately nobody was watching the King so they didn’t notice
The Misfits sat, but it took a good few seconds more for silence to fall completely and the people to take their seats once more, but then their gaze returned to the man in the centre of the room.
Cummerbund looked around, as if surprised to be the centre of attention once more and for a while it seemed like he didn’t quite know how to proceed. He peered down at the papers with his speech for a few seconds, but then just gathered them up, folded them in half lengthwise and put them into the inside pocket of his long-tailed suit jacket. He took a deep breath as if steeling himself, then cleared his throat and resumed speaking.
‘Your Majesty, distinguished colleagues, as I was saying before we were so pleasantly interrupted...’
The Minister for War’s speech was rambling, lasted more than half an hour long and sent half the already-exhausted Misfits to sleep. It dealt mostly with logistics and the need for continued rationing and care with resources, but contained nothing that directly affected the squadron. This puzzled the Misfits somewhat and naturally was the only subject of conversation when they were taken back to the lounge and were again told to wait.
‘Did you see his face when we showed up?’ asked Gwen, looking around the group. When they shook their heads she grinned. ‘You could almost see what he was thinking. Something like “bloody hell, I can’t make this speech after those blighters have gotten this reception!”‘
Abby nodded. ‘So, you think he was going to use his speech to continue his agenda against the King and us?’
‘Indeed, that was exactly what he was going to do.’
The voice came from the doorway and the Misfits leapt to their feet as the King strode in, grinning from ear to ear, followed by the Marshal of the Court and the guard captain.
‘Morning all! Please, remain seated!’ He wandered over to an empty armchair next to Abby and settled into it with a sigh, squirming slightly. ‘That bloody chair down there might look impressive but it’s dashed uncomfortable.’ He looked around at the group. ‘First things first, welcome home and bloody good job, bloody well done!’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Abby answered for her squadron, but they all beamed, pleased by the King’s approval.
‘Now, before we talk about why I had you “hauling arse”, as the Americans put it so quaintly,’ he nodded at Kitty, who raised her teacup at him in salute, ‘I have a few admin things to do.’ He held his hand over his shoulder and the Marshal of the Court stepped forward to hand him a piece of paper. ‘I’ve got some gongs to hand out and Sir Douglas has very kindly given me special permission to inform those of you who’ve earned promotions by your deeds in Muscovy, basically because I ordered him to.’ He glanced at Scarlet, who had sat up straight at the name of her boyfriend. ‘He sends his love, by the way and says he will see you this evening at the Ritz.’
Scarlet all but bounced up and down in her chair at the news. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty!’
The King laughed at her enthusiasm. ‘Ah, to be young again...’ He shook
his head in mock regret, then looked down at the paper. ‘Abby, it is with the greatest of pleasure that I can confirm your field commission. Congratulations, Group Captain Dame Lennox.’
The Misfits cheered, slapping knees, tables and armchairs to show their approval and Abby smiled her thanks at them, but the King hadn’t finished so they stopped fairly quickly.
‘Next. Scarlet, darling, I’m awarding you a Distinguished Aviation Medal for your work as an infiltrator to go with your various Crosses and crosspieces and such. Wonderful work, by the way. I very much enjoyed Mr Featherstonehaugh’s account of your mission, but I would love it if you would grace us with your presence at dinner one evening, so you can tell me about it in your own words.’
‘Of course, sir, I’d be delighted!’
The King nodded, then searched out and found Wendy. ‘Aviator Lieutenant Llewellyn, I’ve got a Distinguished Aviation Medal for you too for your contribution to the abilities of the squadron to carry out their task. It is accompanied by a request from the Defence Ministry to head your own experimental weapon department.’
Wendy inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty, for the medal that is, but I’m going to have to decline the Ministry’s invitation.’ She leaned back on the sofa that she was sharing with Owen and put her arm around her husband. ‘I’ve found my place and purpose in life with the Misfits and I can always develop weapons while I’m with them.’
‘I told them you would say something like that, but they asked me to try anyway. You will, of course, continue to send them updates on your innovations, please?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ The King smiled at her, then turned his eyes on Mac. A brief frown creased his brow when he saw that the Scotsman didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the proceedings. ‘Aviator Lieutenant MacShane, sterling work foiling the Prussian saboteurs. I know that it won’t do anything to assuage your sorrow at your loss, but you have been awarded a Distinguished Aviation Cross for your exemplary actions and bravery. Congratulations.’
A Misfit Midwinter Page 5
