A Misfit Midwinter

by Simon Brading

  Mac said nothing but just nodded, his eyes barely focusing on his sovereign.

  The King frowned again, but didn’t comment and instead lifted his head slightly to find the newest member of the squadron, who was sitting painfully upright on a wooden dining chair at the back of the group. ‘Aviator Sergeant Arrowsmith receives my commission and is hereby promoted to Aerial Officer.’

  If anything, Chastity managed to sit up even straighter. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘You are most welcome, Officer Arrowsmith. Quite apart from the fact that you scored more victories in Muscovy than any of your fellow pilots, except for Group Captain Lennox, of course... Oh, that reminds me.’ Something occurred to the King and he broke off speaking to Chastity to search out Scarlet once more. ‘Sir Douglas says that you can’t paint the kills from that raid on your aircraft because they’re not air victories, the same as aircraft shot when on the ground.’ He grinned. ‘I tried to persuade him differently, but he wasn’t having it, sorry. Perhaps you can get him to change his mind this evening.’

  Scarlet winked lasciviously. ‘I’ll give it my best shot, sir; I want those crosses!’

  The King laughed, then looked around the group, frowning in concentration. ‘Now, where was I?’ His eyes met those of Chastity. ‘Ah, yes. Apologies, Officer Arrowsmith for being so scatterbrained. Well, as I was saying, quite apart from the fact that you more than deserve the promotion for your exemplary skill as a pilot, I like my Misfits properly dressed as officers when they come to visit me! Just ask Gwen and Kitty.’

  He gave Chastity a wink, which shocked her more than the unexpected promotion, before turning his attention to Gwen. ‘And last, but not least: Aerial Officer Stone, you’re promoted to Aviator Lieutenant.’

  Gwen blinked at him in surprise. ‘Why, Your Majesty? I haven’t done anything more than anyone else and far less than most.’ She shot a quick glance at her fellow pilots, expecting to find at least resentment, if not anger, for what, in her opinion, was an unwarranted promotion, but all she saw were smiles.

  ‘You underestimate yourself, Miss Stone. Has nobody ever informed you of that fact?’

  Gwen blushed. ‘Once or twice, sir.’

  ‘And I suspect they will most likely continue to do so until you accept how important you are to this squadron and by extension the war effort. I suggest you assimilate that fact now, because it will make things easier for you further down the road when I have to reward you for doing something truly important!’

  He grinned widely and the Misfits laughed, but Gwen found it hard to even force a smile, certain that she didn’t want such expectations heaped on her. ‘I will try, sir.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He held up the piece of paper with the list of awards and the Marshal took it from him. ‘Unfortunately, that’s the pleasant stuff out of the way and now we have to get back to that odious man, Cummerbund. Yesterday evening he announced that he would be speaking to the house at noon today on a matter of national importance. My spies in his camp told me that he was going to use the news of the destruction of Murmansk to push for the Misfits to be disbanded and myself completely removed as the last word of British tactics. The only way that I could think of to take the wind out of his sails was to have you here and pray that you received a good reception. Thankfully, you did and, as you saw, there was no way he could speak out against you after such a demonstration of your popularity.’

  ‘You know, it would have been far easier just to kill him.’ Scarlet grinned. ‘I could do it for you in a jiffy if you’d like...’

  Her comment brought laughs from everyone, but Gwen wasn’t sure if it was entirely a joke; sometimes the Irishwoman was a little too bloodthirsty for her own good and she certainly had the training and expertise needed to carry out such an assassination.

  The King grinned. ‘I must say that’s tempting, Scarlet, darling, but no, thank you; what you’ve all done today will take the wind out of his sails and give us some breathing room for at least a few weeks. Now he’ll have to find some other excuse to oust me.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll have much problem in doing that.’ Abby said. ‘It’s not as if there aren’t setbacks every day in every war.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I think you’re right.’ The King smiled. ‘Which is why I’ve decided to fund a little exhibition in the Crystal Palace over the Midwinter holidays. If you have no objections, I’m going to put a couple of your aircraft on display, along with some of the photographs that we have of you, both from over the summer and Muscovy.’

  Abby nodded reluctantly. ‘If you think that’s a good idea, sir.’

  ‘I do.’ The King nodded earnestly. ‘Anything we can do to keep you in the hearts and minds of the people is a good thing.’

  ‘You said a couple of aircraft, sir,’ said Owen. ‘Would you mind my asking which ones you had in mind? It’s just that some of them are too large even for the Palace and I’m sure Charles would agree with me that we would rather not have Bloodhound or Vulture exposed to too much scrutiny.’

  ‘I quite understand and don’t worry; I was thinking about a couple of the smaller fighters. I asked Mr Dunne at Hamleys which models were the most popular with the public and he informed me that Wasp has been his top seller for quite a while now, but unfortunately...’ He smiled apologetically at Gwen. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Stone.’

  Gwen inclined her head in gratitude and the King went on. ‘Apparently, the next best sellers after Wasp used to be Dragonfly and Hummingbird, but he says that recently Dove and the two identical aircraft have been selling like hot cakes because people want to get their hands on what are being called “Gwen Stone originals” so I’d quite like to borrow the three of them.’

  Again, Gwen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘But I didn’t design any of those aircraft on my own, they were a joint effort.’

  The King shrugged. ‘Dunne says that he tries to make that clear whenever he is asked, but nobody takes much notice apparently. It doesn’t help that the management of Hamleys made your name prominent on the box and marketed them that way, either.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘And as for security - there will be an entire regiment of our boys and girls from the Army camped out around the Palace, guarding it night and day, so there’s no need to worry about that.’

  He looked at Abby. ‘Well? What do you say, Group Captain? Will you allow me to borrow a couple of your aircraft?’

  Instead of answering him herself, Abby turned in her chair to look at the members of her squadron. ‘Bruce? Monty? Do you mind?’

  ‘‘Course not, boss.’ Bruce’s grin was wide as he answered for both of them. ‘As long as they put a big picture of me next to Sable so any publicans who visit know who I am.’

  The King laughed. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

  Abby shook her head in exasperation, then looked at Chastity. ‘Any objections to Dove being on display?’

  ‘No, ma’am, as long as I can take my family to see her.’

  ‘Of course; the exhibition will be free to one and all and I could arrange to show your family around personally, if you’d like?’

  Chastity’s eyes widened and she turned white at the King’s offer. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a squeak, so instead she nodded eagerly.

  ‘Wonderful! I will have the Marshal here contact your parents and arrange something.’ He clapped his hands and stood up, the pilots surging to their feet with him. ‘Well, I have to be off, but before I go I have one last thing to say - effective immediately you are on leave until the second of January. I suggest you rest as much as you can because I have no doubt we will have need of your talents in the new year.’

  He turned and made his way to the door, which the Marshal held open for him, but stopped on the threshold and turned to smile broadly at them. ‘Merry Midwinter, Misfits.’

  Chapter 8

  Thanks to the King, the Misfits had an entire two weeks leave, almost unheard of in the military, to rest and be with their
loved ones over Midwinter.

  After the Enlightenment in Britain towards the end of the previous century, there had been some argument as to what to do with the religious festivals that had formed a large part of life for so long. Some people continued to celebrate them, even calling them by their old names, like Lent and Easter, out of habit, but many, in the scientific community especially, had either stopped celebrating them all together or began calling them by the names of the events that were the original reasons for them being on those dates, equinoxes and solstices for example, keeping the celebrations themselves while banishing the contrived reasons for them.

  Officially, the period leading up to the winter solstice, previously known as Christmas, was now called Midwinter, or the Midwinter Festival, harking back to Anglo-Saxon pagan traditions documented in the texts which had been found buried beneath Stonehenge some fifty years before.

  However, despite the change in name and the removal of the religious aspects, the Midwinter Festival was essentially the same as it ever had been. It remained a time to gather as families, exchange gifts and generally eat too much, and in most households Father Winter still brought presents to children, although, while his message remained the same, his coat of many colours had been replaced by something altogether more astronomical and educational.

  Before leaving, the King ordered the Marshall of the Court to organise early lunch for them in the restaurant of the Palace of Westminster and, after stuffing their faces with food that should by all rights have been rationed, the Misfits parted ways, but only after Lady Penelope had extracted a promise from them all to spend New Year’s Eve at Bagshot Hall.

  Kitty had nowhere to go and no family outside of the Americas, so she very happily accepted Gwen’s invitation to join her at the Hawking estate and just after two they boarded a train from Paddington, arriving in Oxford less than an hour later.

  Somehow word had gotten out that two Misfit Squadron pilots would be gracing the town with a visit and, despite the fact that Gwen had lived nearby most of her life and gone to university in Oxford, a reception committee of about a hundred people, led by a large contingent of local dignitaries and university representatives, was waiting for them on the platform. Gwen’s parents, Harriet and Sheridan Hawking, were also there, standing to one side and looking quite irritated that their family reunion had turned into some kind of circus.

  Gwen was just as annoyed to see them as her parents, but she was also amused by the fact that the people had gathered in the part of the platform where the first class carriages let out. They evidently assumed that two such august personages, officers from extremely well-off families, would travel in all possible comfort, not knowing that neither Gwen nor Kitty particularly cared for such things and had gone third class.

  Gwen peeked around the side of the door, out of sight in the shadows still. ‘Shall we make a break for it? There’s an exit just a bit back along the platform.’

  Kitty grinned. ‘Those people have taken time out of their day to come see the original Gwen Stone. Who are we to disappoint them?’

  Gwen growled at her; ever since the King had made his comments about the models on sale in Hamleys, her fellow pilots had been taking any opportunity they could find to poke fun at her.

  Unfortunately, though, Kitty had a point. ‘Oh, very well. Come on, then, let’s get this over with.’

  The two pilots stepped out onto the platform and began walking towards the group.

  They got three steps before someone noticed them and Gwen staggered to a halt in alarm as the crowd surged towards them, the people in the front rather rudely thrusting aside a man who had just got off the train with them, almost knocking him off his feet in order to get to them.

  Gwen found herself completely surrounded, her hand grabbed and shook vigorously by one person after another, jerking her and starting a dull ache injured shoulder. By her side, Kitty didn’t fare much better, but while Gwen was overwhelmed, the American was in her element, laughing and smiling at all and sundry.

  As the crowd shifted around her, Gwen managed to catch a glimpse of her parents and her mother rolled her eyes and shrugged apologetically, as if to say it’s not our fault. They had been shoved aside in the rush, just like their fellow passenger and were standing against the wall of the station building, unable to get to them. They were in their mid-forties and Gwen had always thought they looked young for their age, but it seemed that the stress of the war was catching up with them. The lines on her father’s forehead were more pronounced than ever and he was looking very tired, but it was the change in her mother that was most shocking; her hair, always so lush, was frizzy and she looked far too thin.

  The commotion surrounding the two pilots died down suddenly and Gwen looked around to find that a man had climbed up into the doorway of the carriage behind her. He was portly and grey-haired, with thick gold chains around his neck, denoting some kind of office, and he drew himself up as much as his short stature allowed him.

  However, as soon as the man opened his mouth to speak, the whistle of the train blew, drowning out his opening words, then moments later it lurched forwards, sending the man tumbling off balance.

  The crowd gasped as one and watched as he fell out of the doorway, on top of some of his subordinates.

  ‘I think they’ve had enough Gwen Stone for now, don’t you?’ Gwen took advantage of the distraction to grab Kitty and they slipped out of the crowd. She met the eyes of her parents, jerked her head in the direction of the exit that she had previously mentioned, then rushed off before anyone could notice.

  The station let out directly into a parking area, which was deserted except for a single, large, but extremely sporty, white, spring-powered Panther autocar.

  The family driver, Randolph, was waiting for them by it and he opened the large boot as they hurried up to him.

  ‘Hello, Randolph, this is my friend, Kitty Wright. Kitty, my good friend, Randolph.’ Gwen made the introductions as quickly as she could, while still remaining within the bounds of civil behaviour.

  ‘Afternoon, Miss Gwen. Ma’am.’ He tipped his black velvet top hat to them before relieving them of their kitbags. He stowed them in the storage space, then, seeing their nervous looks at the station, hurried around to open the door for them.

  In his late fifties, Randolph had been on the family staff since before Gwen had been born and had served her paternal grandparents until they had been killed in an autocar accident in Switzerland. He had taught Gwen how to drive when she was twelve, a good five years after she had soloed an aircraft; to the thinking of Gwen’s parents, the roads were much more dangerous than the skies, so they had made her wait until she was “old enough”.

  No sooner were the two pilots settled and the door closed behind them than the opposite door opened and the Hawkings climbed in.

  Sheridan Hawking collapsed bonelessly on the seat opposite with a sigh, gave them a quick smile of greeting, then turned away to peer anxiously out of the windows, turning his head this way and that nervously, as if he was looking for something. Gwen frowned at him; such behaviour wasn’t at all like him, he was usually far more restrained and composed.

  His wife sat next to him, with rather more dignity and spread her skirts neatly about her while smiling at Gwen first, then Kitty. ‘Miss Wright, it is lovely to see you again.’

  ‘You too, Mrs Hawking, and thank you for letting me stay.’

  She delicately waved away the American’s thanks. ‘Say nothing of it, my dear; any friend of Gwenevere’s is always welcome. And please do call me Harriet.’ She clutched at one of the handles over her head as the autocar accelerated strongly, then turned her gaze back on Gwen. ‘Gwen, you look wonderful. It seems that life in Misfit Squadron is agreeing with you. And I do so love those coats, by the way.’

  ‘They are rather nice, aren’t they?’ Gwen smiled down at the black fur coat that the King had graciously allowed Misfit Squadron to add to their uniforms, for the umpteenth time caressing her
sleeve and feeling its softness. ‘And yes, it really is, Mum. I’m having fun and I’ve met some wonderful people.’ She reached out and took Kitty’s in hers.

  Despite her poise, Harriet couldn’t quite stop gasping out loud but to her credit, she recovered quickly. ‘I had prepared separate rooms for you, but perhaps you would prefer...’

  Gwen smiled at her mother’s reticence. ‘We’ve been sharing a billet for months. It would feel strange to sleep apart.’ She turned to Kitty. ‘Unless of course...?’

  Kitty grinned and shook her head. ‘I’m not sure if I could get to sleep without the sound of your snoring serenading me to sleep.’

  ‘I do not snore!’

  Harriet laughed gently. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, darling, but you always have, even as a baby.’

  They had made it to the outskirts of the city now and, as they headed out into the empty countryside, Sheridan turned round again. ‘Right, what have I missed?’

  ‘Gwen’s snoring.’ Kitty said.

  He laughed. ‘Ah yes. Terrible racket she used to make. But why are we discussing...’ It was his turn to notice that Gwen and Kitty were holding hands, but instead of being even remotely shocked he grinned widely. ‘I was wondering why you were looking so happy. Good for you, Gwenevere!’ He sighed, looking suddenly wistful. ‘I know how lonely it gets sometimes in war. During the first show, back before I met your mother of course, my friend, Willoughby, and I...’

  ‘Yes, dear, we don’t need to hear about that now.’

  ‘What?’ Sheridan looked at Harriet, wondering why she had interrupted him, then seemed to realise that he had been saying too much and blushed. ‘Sorry, it’s just I’m really glad to see you back to your old self. I missed you.’

  ‘Thank you, Dad.’ Gwen leaned forward and patted him on the knee. ‘And you should never be ashamed of anything that makes you happy.’ She sat back again and smiled at Kitty. ‘I’m not.’