 
## Lady Collendon's Cook

### Herbert Howard Jones

Copyright © Herbert Howard Jones 2018

The right of Herbert Howard Jones to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

This is a work of fiction. Opinions expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the author's own views.

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### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter One

Taunton 1957

Fear is an ugly emotion and not for pretty faces. It subsided slightly when Marjorie walked into Taunton Police Station with the bag of old diaries under her arm. Taking a deep breath, she went up to the enquiry desk being manned by a middle-aged duty officer. He looked at the attractive dark-haired young woman standing before him and smiled. 'Can I help you, Miss?'

'I would like to speak to somebody important, please?' Marjorie asked in a tense voice.

The officer winked at her. 'Will I do?' He glanced at the bag she was awkwardly holding.

'I think I might need to speak to an inspector.'

The officer considered this for a moment and then motioned for her to sit down. 'Alright. Please have a seat. I'll see if Inspector Burse is around. As it happens he's retiring today, and so it won't hurt him to have a little chat with a nice young lady. What's it to do with?'

Marjorie smiled self-consciously as she tried to summarise the problem. 'Well, it's to do with what's in these diaries in this bag. Things that the police might need to know.'

'Right, fair enough,' the officer replied none the wiser. He went into a rear office to get the inspector, who came out after a few minutes with a curious expression on his face. He wasn't really a fat man, though he had a wide girth and a thin face with a wattle of flesh underneath.

'I'm Inspector Malcolm Burse, and your name is?'

'I'm Marjorie Moore,' she stated.

'Ah,' he said. 'Come through. That's a strong accent you've got, if you don't mind my saying so!'

'People do say that! I'm from County Galway, but now I live just down the road in Nailsbourne!' She followed the inspector into a nondescript but functional-looking office.

The Inspector went behind his desk and sat down, waving her into the chair opposite. 'Nailsbourne, know it well. Sit down please and tell me why you want to disturb me on the day I'm supposed to be clearing out my desk? I'm retiring today!'

This humorously intended remark threw her for a moment. She gathered herself together and removed the diaries from the bag and placed them on the Inspector's desk. There were eight in all, and they had the appearance of being some years old. 'I'm here because of these,' Marjorie began. 'I was hoping you could help me. These are some of Mrs Green's diaries, and she was Lady Collendon's cook up in Lincolnshire. And there's a lot of stuff in them. Well, people got hurt and things. People died.'

At these ominous words, the inspector's face changed and seemed to register some undefined emotion. He reached forward to pick one of the diaries up. 'Ah, yes, Lady Collendon's cook! I remember. It was in all the papers, some good while ago!'

'Just before the war,' she replied. Her confidence was beginning to return.

'Yes, a lot of things happened before the war, and during the war,' the Inspector said with the wisdom of man who had himself done many things. He flicked through the diary he was holding and glanced at an entry dated 15th September. He read a few lines and then looked up. 'Nice handwriting. Yes, Mrs Green was accused of murder as I recall, and she was sent to prison.'

'That's right,' Marjorie replied. 'They said she killed a diplomat.'

The Inspector's face was blank. 'Can you remember his name?'

'It's in the diaries,' she answered. 'I can't remember. But it was good for the country.'

'Oh really?' he said with a wry look. 'Sounds doubtful. Why have you come forward with these now? I mean, how can I help you?'

'My husband reckoned I should, to clear Mrs Green's name. You are our nearest main police station, so I thought I'd come in. She was blamed for a murder but there wasn't much proof. She was badly treated. The diaries tell some of her story and might help to prove her innocence.'

'And what's that to you?'

'Well, it's important to me,' she replied. 'I'm related to her. I think she should have got compensation for what she went through.'

'Is she still alive, this Mrs Green?'

'Yes, but she's very poorly and I've come to speak on her behalf.'

The Inspector's eyes were mildly interested, and he sat back in his uncomfortable chair. 'Then, well done for having the presence of mind to bring these...diaries in. But regarding compensation for a case like this, you would really need a solicitor.'

'I know,' she answered. 'But we were wondering if there were any official public records about her conviction? See, we can't find any. We thought you might be able to check.'

'Could you give me some more details?' he asked with a frown. 'In what capacity are you related to her? Was she an aunt or something, or your mother?'

Marjorie licked her lips. This was a question she had anticipated and had planned to lie about. But the earnest look on the Inspector's face broke through her resolve. She decided to come clean and admit an uncomfortable fact known to few others. 'It's a bit of a long story,' she began. 'And I'm not sure where to begin.'

Inspector Burse smiled. 'I'm an old hand at this, let me tell you. The best place to begin is always at the beginning. Or just before!'

Marjorie nodded her head. The Inspector was right. But in this case, there were two beginnings to speak of. But which of these should she talk about first? Hers? Or Mrs Green's? That was the question.

Chapter Two

Tennyson House late 1930s

Lady Clara Collendon's genius for successfully pairing guests at her frequent dinner parties had markedly fallen short that evening. She realised her mistake when she sat Dr Deiter Fefferberg next to Marcia Ingrich, a rabid Theosophist. The doctor was a mercurial if naïve national socialist, who openly promoted the science of eugenics as the future of medicine. When he espoused this at the dinner table, it only found incredulity among the guests.

It particularly prompted strong moral resistance from his supper neighbour, Miss Marcia Ingrich. With all the verbosity of an outspoken suffragette, she began an assault on doctor Fefferberg's most treasured bastion of thought. Other diners at the table found their own conversations drowned out by their heated exchange. It became an increasingly bitter dialectic fuelled by Miss Ingrich's intolerance of chauvinistic men, of which doctor Fefferberg was most certainly one.

Their host, the beautiful Lady Clara Collendon was an impeccably turned out socialite who deplored insensitivity and never indulged extremists. Her green eyes blazed as she recoiled with barely concealed embarrassment at what she regarded as Fefferberg's unsuitable conversation. She didn't mind discussions of politics at her late-night dinner parties, as long as they were elegant and offended no one. The choice of medical terminology used by Fefferberg, which he mixed liberally with quasi-scientific racial humbug, left an abhorrent taste in her mouth. It was radically at odds with her British Christian values. Certainly, this graphic politico-Speke was completely incompatible with the evening's menu of several courses of rich food.

But as it transpired, the present company was rather enjoying the exchange. They were glad to have a strutting pro-Nazi with the grating voice put in his place by the clear-thinking Miss Ingrich. As a conversational tennis match, Miss Ingrich had more than won every set and had the full support of everyone around the table. The present company was most esteemed, being peppered with lords, ladies, gentry and wealthy common folk.

'Eugenics has no moral or factual basis,' Miss Ingrich was saying. She was a slim bespectacled woman with fair hair.

' _No factual basis!_ ' the doctor spluttered, his sapphire coloured eyes glittering with rage. 'Are you in the medical profession? Have you ever read a medical textbook?'

'A person doesn't have to go to the moon to know that it isn't made of camembert,' she commented.

'That is a poor analogy!' the doctor asserted, running a finger through his bushy white moustache. 'Camembert is not green. If the moon is supposedly made of green cheese then Sage Derby would have been a better analogy, don't you think?'

There was muted laughter at this.

Miss Ingrich bowed to Fefferberg's point. 'I'm impressed with your knowledge of our cheeses. But the colour of the moon is grey even creamy sometimes! It doesn't alter the fact that to compare a race of people to rodents, as you did earlier, is vile. It is also ridiculous, repugnant, ignorant, facile, politically biased beyond belief and not worthy of a man of medicine!'

Fefferberg sat back in his chair and smiled self-consciously at the eager faces around the table staring at him. 'And here was I thinking that I was in enlightened company! In the Berlin universities, learned men are propounding a new basis of human understanding. They believe the superman can be birthed almost as a by-product, when we eradicate the accidents of nature...'

'Accidents of nature?' Miss Ingrich interrupted.

'Let me finish my point,' Fefferberg said. 'When Friedrich Nietzsche coined the term Ubermensch - superman, he believed it justified the existence of the human race! Read 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra'! Even your Bernard Shaw is in favour of eugenics! It is selective breeding, no more no less, and is exactly the same as a gardener trying to improve the characteristics of a genus of primrose.'

Miss Ingrich nodded. 'But who is the ultimate arbiter of what is desirable in human beings? It is surely superficial to try and beautify everything, which would make the world a very bland place.'

Before the doctor could reply, the young handsome earl sitting opposite him said, 'Sorry to butt in old man, but tell me doctor, is Mr Hitler planning to go to war with us?'

Lady Collendon glanced at her tubby drunk husband sitting at the other end of the table. Lord Felix Collendon nodded at her with a wink. She understood this to mean that hopefully, the conversation would now move in a more constructive direction.

Dr Fefferberg shook his head with emphatic vehemence. The white Romanesque curls at his forehead waved briefly about and then almost perfectly reformed themselves. 'War? No, no, no. Obviously, this is a fear reflex on the part of the English undergraduate classes. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our leader has a natural affinity for your country. This is after all the birthplace of Shakespeare, Byron, Elgar, men with great minds who are universally respected...'

'Yes, all well and good,' the earl replied. 'But there is a translation of Mr Hitler's book in my old college which pretty much spells out his intentions. Book's virtually unreadable, but your leader wants to take over the world. He seems to think he's the Messiah.'

There was a murmur around the table.

'The Fuhrer is a progressive thinker,' the doctor observed. 'He likes to play with ideas like an intellectual. That is why he has such a following in our country and in the academic community.'

Suddenly Lord Collendon stood up. 'I would like to propose a toast to countries and alliances,' he said. 'And the academic community!'

'I'll second that,' said a retired schoolteacher sitting nearby.

Gordon Westcott, a thickly set Yorkshire businessman raised his flute of champagne. 'Me too. And to greater trading cooperation everywhere.'

Dr Fefferberg looked slightly bewildered at this digression, and then he smiled. 'Yes, alliances will be the basis of the relationship between our two great countries. Now and in the future!' He raised his glass. The response to this around the table was lukewarm, with only a few glasses chinking in unison. 'And, I also propose a toast to the cook for preparing such a splendid meal. I really must congratulate her in person! What's her name?'

'Mrs Green,' Lady Collendon replied.

The diners were beginning to get restless. It was time for the men to retire to the Smoking room, and the women to the Drawing room. Here, drinks and tasty sweet and savoury canapes would be served.

***

Lady Collendon's cook, Alice Green, had come into service when she was still young. She had remained attached to one stately house or another all her life. Now at the age of forty-three, she was contemplating a life of remaining in service, with the prospect of independence being dashed years ago. Not to say that she hadn't been a popular young woman with the footman and at least two butlers. Unfortunately, circumstances had contrived to block the three marriage prospects which were available at that time. She did eventually secretly marry a butler by the name of Stuart Clawe, though it was not a happy union. Years later she dropped his surname and adopted the title of 'Mrs Green,' rather than 'Mrs Clawe', substituting her maiden name for her actual married name. It stuck with her throughout the rest of her life.

Her dalliance with Lord Fenwicke's butler, Stuart Clawe, at Stukely Manor back in the twenties was the high point as far as romantic involvement was concerned. In fact, Clawe's persona was forever burned into her mind and soul and still impacted on her to this day. Certainly, there were strong possessive elements in the way Stuart Clawe had manipulated her for his own satisfaction. Somehow this had drawn her to him rather than repel her. And as affairs of the heart were concerned, it had been completely overpowering. In fact, it was so intense, whatever had followed afterwards seemed quite impuissant by comparison.

Clawe's personal power over her was an example of the mastery of a superior mind upon someone who had been quite immature. At the beginning, she was easily taken in by this cocky, dominant alpha male. Over the years this impression was still very much an indelible feature of her memory of him, which time had not eroded. But gradually, the attraction she had felt for him at the start had declined. Then to everyone's disbelief, he suddenly died under apparently unusual circumstances. Unbeknown to others, his death was a secret relief to her despite her public show of grief. Rather than leaving her feeling bereft beyond words, she was jubilant, as their all-consuming love had turned into the bitterest of hatred.

Continuing work as a cook occupied the vacuum which her husband once filled, and there was also one other consideration which frequently engaged her thoughts. It was almost a justification for her existence, the most tangible reason for her being alive, for continuing humbly in servitude. It was a matter which might have been frowned upon by her employers. So, it was kept securely locked in her heart with all the diligence of an official guarding a state secret. It was a secret whose name could never be spoken or even raised in confidence with friends, and certainly not with fellow workers. It wasn't, in the scheme of things a bad thing, just a supremely personally embarrassing one. But she knew that in time, it would surface.

Aside from that, and an occasionally returning longing for the dead man she had grown to hate, life wasn't so bad. Life as a cook with a respectable established family in the middle of England had its compensations. Among other things, these included, board and lodging, reasonable hours, interesting work, friendship and wages to boot. They more than scratched the surface of daily satisfactions. And if fate or caprice or intention had robbed her of a husband, it had provided comfort and stability in other ways.

The staff who worked for Lord and Lady Collendon felt they were practically family in all but name, social rank and finances. These were relatively small considerations in the face of such uncharacteristic familial warmth from nobility! Nor did the Collendon family ever attempt to lord it over their staff. There was an element of basic democracy in the way they ran their household. Or rather, these values were impressed upon their butler, Mr Lawrence Kearns, and he ran the household according to the high principles of his master and mistress.

And so, what happened to Mrs Green when a German diplomat, by the name of Dr Fefferberg came to stay, was completely unexpected. The consequences for her, of their unfortunate interaction, were truly appalling. On the surface, it appeared that it was entirely outside of Lord and Lady Collendon's frame of reference or control. For so powerful an elite as they were, their inability to protect a member of their extended family was humiliating for them. It subsequently turned out to be a watershed moment in the history of great aristocratic families, who had always triumphed over adversity and politics. It suggested perhaps, that the twenty-first century was determined to intrude itself, regardless of the fact that it was still only the late 1930s. Mrs Green, a rotund, pert, strong-limbed, able, decent, loyal woman was about to be stripped of her dignity, reputation and liberty. She was confronted with the ugliness of politics in a way which was all too common in those days.

New levels of bestiality and degradation were stalking Europe, which had not been seen since the fall of the Roman Empire. In the twentieth century, it was particularly insidious, creeping into British society in an almost choreographed fashion. An overview would reveal that it was controlled by dark European powers centered in Berlin, a black octopus with dreadful far reaching tentacles.

As it transpired, the reversal in Mrs Green's fortunes began with a summons from the good Dr Fefferberg one sunny afternoon. He was ensconced in a guest room in Tennyson House, Lord Collendon's fine seventeenth-century seat in Lincolnshire. Fefferberg was part of a contingent of London based diplomats at the German Embassy, who were invited by the Collendon's to stay for a weekend. The basic idea was to butter up the Germans. This was despite the Germans being labelled by Churchill as war mongers, if the build-up of their army and munitions was anything to go by. War was an expensive enterprise, in terms of money, lives, alterations to infrastructure and the possible change of fortunes for the incumbent government. And so, if being nice to high ranking visiting Germans carried any political weight or value at all, it was felt worth pursuing. In this way the Collendons believed they were doing something good for the country.

Towards the end of Saturday afternoon, one of the footmen appeared in the kitchen, where Mrs Green was in discussion with Mr Kearns, the butler. They were debating a choice of wine for the evening's meal, in which pheasant was the central meat offering. The Housekeeper would have been part of this conversation, but she was currently away on a break. Mr Kearns, a tall thin man with receding hair and deeply tanned skin, had rattled off his favourite choices of mature classic reds for this dish. These included Bordeaux, Burgundy and some obscure northern Rhone reds. Just as he was in the middle of his exhaustive list, the footman, Paul interrupted him.

The footman, in his early twenties, appeared quite agitated. 'Begging your pardon Mr Kearns, but Dr Fefferberg in the guest room wants to see Mrs Green.'

The butler frowned. 'Paul, can't you see that Mrs Green and I are in discussions at the moment? What does he want with Mrs Green anyhow?'

The footman shrugged. 'Don't know Mr Kearns.'

'Well, clearly the man doesn't realise that it's not appropriate for a guest to request an audience with a member of the senior domestic staff. That is, unless I am informed of the matter beforehand.'

'Yes, Mr Kearns. What shall I tell him?'

The butler pursed his lips in his characteristic way and stared at the cook. 'Perhaps I should go and see what he wants first.'

'I don't mind going to see him,' Mrs Green said.

'That's not the issue, Alice,' the butler said. 'But he'll probably only press his point if you don't speak to him. And Lord Collendon did say that we should be bending over backwards for Fefferberg in particular. We'll both go!'

The butler's annoyance was quite palpable. On the walk to the guest room, he ironed out his features so that they appeared agreeable and pleasing to the eye.

Mrs green followed mutely behind him, her mind naturally curious to know what their guest wanted. The butler tapped politely on the door of the guestroom, where Fefferberg was, which was in the rear wing on the first floor of Tennyson House. Initially there was no response and so the butler tentatively opened the heavy dark door, and he and Alice entered the beautifully appointed room.

Dr Fefferberg was seated in the window at a small Louis XVI desk which had its sliding panels extended at both ends. He was pouring over some official papers, and he looked up and turned around to face them. 'Ah, Mr Keen.'

The butler smiled sheepishly. 'It's Kearns, sir. I am the butler. And this is Mrs Green, the household's cook. You wanted to see her?'

The doctor nodded his head, stood up and walked towards them. 'Ah, the cook!'

Mrs Green curtsied slightly. 'Yes sir,'

'And Green, that is a Jewish name is it not?' The doctor asked unexpectedly in a patronising voice.

'Begging your pardon, sir?' Alice replied, completely taken aback.

'I believe that Green is a name adopted by some Jews as a substitute for Greenberg,' Fefferberg said. 'I also have the suffix 'berg' attached to my own name, but I am not of Hebrew extraction.'

Alice paused and looked at the butler quizzically. 'If you're asking if I'm Jewish sir, well yes and no.'

'Well, either you are or you're not,' Fefferberg said.

Mr Kearns smiled again. 'May I ask what this concerns, sir?'

The doctor shrugged. 'To be or not to be, that is what your bard famously asked. But my question is not existential, it is about identity, and in any case, it was directed at Mrs Green. In fact, Mr Kearns, you can leave the room if you want.'

Mr Kearns looked uncomfortable at this suggestion. 'Perhaps I can be of some assistance in this matter, sir?'

Dr Fefferberg suddenly laughed and wagged a well-manicured pale finger at the butler. 'You're very good, do you know that? We could do with someone like you at our embassy. But actually, I was hoping to speak to Mrs Green, alone.'

'It's alright Mr Kearns,' Alice said with a smile. 'I'm quite happy to have a word with our honoured guest.'

'Why don't we put it to a vote,' Fefferberg said with heavy sarcasm. 'Better still why don't you leave the room now Mr Kearns, because those are my wishes?'

The butler hesitated for one more long second before he bowed graciously. 'As you wish, sir.' He left the room quietly closing the door behind him.

Dr Fefferberg smiled, although this time, in a broad ingratiating way. 'You must forgive me Mrs Green. I am not normally this forceful, except when I am being confronted by obstinate butlers. But what I really want to know is, have you ever been to Germany?'

'No, sir, never,' Alice replied staring hard at the doctor's professorial features.

'Well, the reason I ask is because it might be useful if you had,' he said walking back to the desk in the window. 'And I only asked if you were Jewish because then I might be able to do something for you, in return for a favour.'

'I'm not following you, sir,' she said with growing nervousness.

'Let me ask you a question. Do you have any relatives in Germany?' he asked.

'Relatives? I couldn't say, sir,' she answered. 'See, my father was Jewish, and my mother wasn't, so I think that means I'm not. I know his father, my grandfather, was from Poland.'

Fefferberg nodded his head. 'I see. The point is, I haven't been back home for nearly a year now, and frankly I miss the food. Do you know what weisswurst is? Also known as wurst.'

Alice smiled. 'I haven't heard that word for years, sir. Yes, that's German sausage. My mother used to buy it when she lived in east London.'

'Precisely, and here we are in Lincolnshire,' the doctor said making an exasperated gesture. 'My question to you is, can you obtain some for me? I don't mean get it from London, I mean, make it? Could you make me a couple of pounds in weight of German sausage? As a cook I presume that is theoretically possible.'

'Wurst is something I've never made before,' Alice said. 'But we do have our own pigs here, and Mr Jode, our farm manager, does make an English sausage using pig's intestine. We sell them to the butchers in Horncastle. But for wurst, you would need veal and certain spices like mace and, well, they might not turn out how you would like them.'

Dr Fefferberg stared at her and then cast his eyes down. 'Are you saying _that_ because you couldn't be bothered to do it perhaps? As I say, I could put a good word in for any relatives you might have in Germany.'

Alice shrugged her shoulders. 'Well sir, I'm not sure if I have any relatives in Germany...'

'I can tell from your replies that you don't want to tell me,' he said.

'Honestly sir,' she answered. 'If I had any, I'd tell you.'

'Would you now?' The doctor's voice had become more sinister. 'Obviously we have well-to-do people in Germany and they have servants. Perhaps you have relatives in service over there and you are trying to protect them? Sometimes they change their names to escape detection. It's understandable.'

Alice was so unused to this form of questioning, she was stumped for an answer.

'Well, are you?' he demanded. 'Are you trying to protect them?'

'Am I trying to protect them? I'm sorry, sir, I don't get your meaning, could you say that again?'

The doctor's face suddenly became almost diabolical. 'For heaven's sake woman, can't you understand simple English? I am asking you whether you are refusing to tell me what I want to know? Are you trying to protect your Jewish relatives in Germany?'

Alice was bewildered. 'No, sir, honest sir, and I don't think I have any.'

The doctor laughed wryly. 'See, that's what I mean. You use the word 'honest' at the drop of a hat, but do you really know the meaning of the word? Okay, but you _can_ cook, so that's one saving grace. So, putting all moral considerations to one side, please, Mrs Green, make me a handful of sausages. I don't care if they don't have any veal in them. Can you do that? Get hold of a good cookbook and get the recipe and make some wurst for me?'

'I will try sir, but...'

'No buts,' the doctor said holding up his hands. 'Just make the damned sausages! Thank you! You're dismissed!'

Alice blinked at the man's rudeness, half curtsied and left the room.

***

Mr Kearns was standing at the other end of the long dark corridor staring out of a window, when Alice exited the guest room. She was dabbing her eyes with the back of her yellow cotton sleeve; clearly upset by the exchange she'd had with the doctor. Mr Kearns walked solicitously over to her. 'Are you alright, Alice?

Alice gave him a haunted look. 'I suppose so.'

They walked together along the corridor to the top of the stairs overlooking the house's impressive central vestibule.

'What did he want?' the butler enquired.

'He thinks I've got relatives in Germany,' she replied. 'But honest I don't, well, I don't think I have.'

'Don't let it bother you,' he said. 'Was that all?'

She shook her head. 'He wants me to make some stupid German sausages for him.'

Mr Kearns scratched his perfectly shaven chin. 'Well, can you?'

'I'll ask Mr Jode if he'll cut me a bit of pork shoulder from the cold smoking shed, and I'll have a go. But he'll have to put the skins on the mixture, because I can't do it very well! Not as well as him, anyway. And I'm not sure if we've got any fresh parsley or dried for that matter.'

Mr Kearns nodded his head. 'Do what you can. Not that you'll have much time. I will, however, report this to his lordship.'

'Yes, Mr Kearns,' she replied taking a deep breath. 'The doctor was horrible. Practically called me a liar and everything.'

'He's not the nicest guest we've had,' the butler replied.

'No, Mr Kearns.'

'Ok, Alice, best get to it!'

***

Robert Jode had been with the Collendon household since the turn of the century, and there wasn't a job he couldn't do or didn't know about. That included making wine, beer, gin and vinegar, producing cheese, rearing pigs, butchering carcasses, growing herbs and rare flowers, repairing upholstery, and doing carpentry and basic electrical work. In fact, he had built an electrical generator using compost as its power source. It kept the hot and cold smoking sheds powered, and the greenhouses warm in winter. He had been reading Popular Mechanics since it first came out in 1902. He had used the knowledge he had gleaned to virtually revolutionise the way the Collendons ran their farm. This, along with rented cottages, and rents from properties in Horncastle, provided the Collendons with a fair income.

But Jode was now, by virtue of his experience and long-standing association with the household, a manager in his own right. He was only answerable to Mr Kearns the butler, and of course the Collendons. Unfortunately, as Jode's stature within the household grew over the decades, so did his girth and general attitude. Also, his unfettered access to alcohol and to the dairy products of the farm, and the home-grown pork had taken its toll. It had turned him into a grotesque parody of his former self. This was accompanied by increasingly bad manners, although he was still able to lay on the charm if and when required.

Mostly, his portly overfed figure could be found in the little wooden shed he had built for himself at the periphery of the herb garden. He could be found endlessly frying pork chops in a small iron pan over his charcoal oven and drinking his own lethal ethanol-based concoctions. Recently, he had been experimenting with the production of a form of sloe gin made from the wild plums of the estate's blackthorn hedges. These just happened to populate the farm along the western boundaries.

Putting all ingenious improvisations to one side, in personal terms, the man had become more and more self-serving. Kearns viewed him as a vulgar, if self-educated, drunken, overweight boor, who had lost sight of the point of his existence.

After thirty years with the household, he had evolved into a sort of independent island of activity within the mainland of the estate. Whenever he declared war, the house, purely out of self-survival, would send an emissary, and usually this was Mr Kearns. For a member of the lower ranks of domestic staff to actually ask him anything, or request assistance, was truly taking their lives into their hands. Of course, Mr Kearns recognised this maverick behaviour for what it was, and dealt with it accordingly. It resulted in a form of partial estrangement from the household, not that anyone really cared. But Jode's consumption of alcohol was a compensation that blurred his perception of the error of his inebriated ways. It gave him an arrogance, which even Lord Collendon shied away from.

However, the responsibility of salting, curing and butchering the endless cuts of meat, whether they be white or red was Mr Jode's. Someone else very often was obliged to bring it into the kitchen for use by the cook. The cook, in this case, Mrs Green, would then put the cuts of meat either in the pantry or Frigidaire unit, for use within a certain time frame, usually three days. But such was the dread that Jode's presence created, it would fall to either the cook or the butler to make any requests for meat.

On this occasion, Alice was in no mood for the man's nonsense, which was likely to be accentuated on the Sunday, which he regarded as his day of rest.

Paul, the footman, refused to go and see Mr Jode with the request for a cut of shoulder of cold smoked pork. This was despite Mr Kearns giving him a ticking off, and so Alice went instead.

She had to rap on the small shed door three times before a bleary eyed Jode condescended to open it. 'No peace for the blamed wicked!' he said in his characteristic Cornish accent at the sight of the cook. 'But you can come in any time my dear Alice. Come and have a seat and wet your beak, as they say in America.'

'Faring well then, I see Mr Jode,' she answered, reluctant to enter the shed because of the fug of alcoholic fumes, smoke, sweat and dank unchanged clothes which hung about the place.

'Faring well? What kind of talk is that?' he said in mock seriousness. 'One day you'll call me Robert, but no doubt, by then I'll be dead! Sit down for heaven's sake and have a little drinkie poo, it's a Sunday. It's one I made myself. Got a kick like a horse.'

'I haven't got the time, Mr Jode,' she answered. 'There's a big dinner being laid on this evening, and all hands will be needed on deck.'

'My sentiments exactly,' he said. 'The house _is_ a bit like a ship, isn't it? And if it wasn't for you and me and Mr Kearns, God bless him, it would sink! So, what can I do you for?'

'I need a nice bit of pork shoulder, cold smoked,' she explained.

'What's that for then?' he asked.

'Dr Fefferberg, one of the guests, wants me to make him some wurst,' she replied.

'Ah yes, German sausage!' he said knowingly.

'That's right,' she said. 'He's staying the weekend, and he's a bit of a git!'

'Show me one who aint!' Jode replied. 'One of Hitler's little friends, I dare say. Well, I don't know if I want to put myself out for _him_. Haven't you read the papers? They reckon they'll be war.'

Alice's eyes swivelled skywards. 'I don't really read them, Mr Jode. Look, I need the meat straight away.'

Jode gave her an unpleasant glance and went and sat heavily down at his little makeshift bureau. 'Well, you'll have to get it yourself, Alice. My gout's playing up. That's why I have to keep drinking, see. It helps with the twinges!'

'Well I've heard it's the drink that causes the twinges in the first place,' she said in an informed voice.

'Don't talk soft!' he replied with a disingenuousness which was typical of him. 'Look, there are four shoulders hanging up in the cold shed just in the doorway. Don't bother with those, they haven't been cured yet. They are only there for a couple of days, 'cos there's a leak in the other shed. Use one of the shoulders at the far end of the rack. Get that lazy Paul to help you!'

'Can't you just cut me half a pound off a shoulder?' she asked. 'I only need to make eight sausages.'

'You'll want me to eat them next!' he said with a frown. 'Paul's a strong lad. Get him to take one of the shoulders off the hook, put it on the table, cut some off the 'picnic' not the 'butt', and put the shoulder back on the hook. Easy! All the knives you'll need are there! Tell you what, I'll get Fintan to help you as well!' Fintan O'Brian was one of the strapping farmhands.

'Mr Jode, I am not happy.'

He shot her an odd look. 'Who is in this world? If I was happy I wouldn't be drinking. I'd be happily married, perhaps to a nice girl like you. _Come here you sassy thing_!'

'Mr Jode, you're drunk and I'm going to report this to Mr Kearns!' she said leaving quickly. Although, secretly, she was charmed that he referred to her as a 'girl'.

He silently mouthed what she had just said and pulled a horrible face. 'Oh blimey, alright!'

Alice didn't reply. She closed the shed door firmly and walked swiftly back to the kitchen entrance. She was met by one of the scullery maids holding a big basket of washing which she was about to hang up to dry. 'Ah, Shirley, have you seen Paul?' Alice asked.

'No, I haven't, sorry,' Shirley replied.

Alice acknowledged this, and without breaking her stride went looking for the footman. She found him in the cosy servant's communal dining room having a secret cigarette, which was normally forbidden. He jumped up hiding the cigarette behind his back.

'I need your help, now!' she said. 'And you can finish smoking _that_ outside!'

'Help you with what?' Paul asked.

'We're going to the sheds. I need a cut of pork because I'm making some sausages for that blooming Dr Fefferberg. _And I hope they choke him_!'

***

Although Alice was not a butcher, she was no stranger to the use of butcher's knives. Despite this, obtaining eight ounces of edible pork to convert into a Bavarian sausage proved fraught with complications. For one thing, an old Escoffier cookbook, which Alice quickly consulted, had put a spanner in the works. It stated that wurst was best made with back bacon and not ordinary pork in the absence of available veal. But Alice knew from experience, that ordinary pork was arguably more veal-like in its consistency. Using bacon would not have done her sausages justice and might have disappointed Dr Fefferberg.

Her original instinct to use smoke flavoured pork, was therefore, in her estimation, a fair substitute. Secondly, a visit to the cold smoking shed with Paul, proved to be confusing. The joints hanging up on the steel hooks along one of the walls were not as Jode had described them. Fintan, the farmhand, who had come to assist, wasn't able to clarify the matter either.

In fact, all the joints of pork looked the same, and it was almost hard to tell shoulders from legs or loin from the belly! So, to be on the safe side and mindful that consuming pork which hadn't been properly cured could cause fevers, Alice was cautious. She directed Paul to get down a shoulder from the middle of the rack, which she was sure had been cured. This is something which she had seen Jode do himself on a couple of occasions, and so felt she was on safe ground.

Alice also knew, from being around pigs, that their appetites knew no boundaries. They would happily eat faeces, rotten carcasses and literally anything which befell them including insects. Also, she knew pigs didn't sweat, and so their bodies were riddled with poisons. This was one reason why Alice herself never touched bacon or pork.

After some considerable effort, a cutlet was taken from a shoulder of pork, and then Paul, helped by Fintan, hung the twenty-pound hunk of meat back on the hook. Alice, meanwhile, quickly took the meat to the kitchen where she immediately began the task of converting it into something resembling a German breakfast sausage. This involved preparing the ingredients, such as parsley, chives, ginger, all of which were grown in the garden, to name but a few. She also trimmed the cutlet of any excess gristle, tendons, blood vessels or silver skin.

Then, a couple of mixing bowls and a manual grinder with a stuffer tube was organised. It was all a bit of a palaver and employed at least two pairs of hands.

Mr Jode made his own hog casings from intestine, and these came in a variety of lengths. Paul had to run back to one of the sheds to get a sheath of the stuff which was being preserved in brine. Somewhat repulsed, and holding his nose, he carried the intestine back on a metal plate. He put it on the tiled kitchen worktop ready for the stuffing. Making wurst for Dr Fefferberg was turning into a fulltime staff activity. Understandably, Mr Kearns was not pleased.

He expressed these views to Lord Collendon who found the whole affair regrettable. He did, however, laugh at Jode's reported exchange with Alice, when he refused to get a cutlet from the shed for the German doctor.

Then to everybody's mortification, the Fefferberg himself appeared at the inner kitchen door with his arms behind his back like a general making an inspection. He didn't speak and after a couple of minutes retreated back upstairs.

When Mr Kearns was informed of this, he was quite livid about it. 'He seems to think this is some sort of baronial castle in Heidelberg or something!' he said in a heated tone. 'He can't swan about here and there just whenever he wants!'

Alice was in full agreement, although of course there was little anyone could do. While political rumblings were reverberating up and down the breadth of merry England, a lobby of 'appeasement and containment' was brewing in Whitehall. And that was even before war was being acknowledged as a real possibility.

Although Prime Minister, Mr Neville Chamberlain was savvy enough to recognise the possible threat of war on three fronts, he was hesitant. He did propose, however, a strengthening of Britain's armed forces. This was welcomed by other voices, one of which was the voice of Winston Churchill.

As Churchill later suggested, he planned to write a history that reflected well on the Allied actors of that time. Still, there were no reliable crystal balls in 1937, and the Collendons were committed to being 'as nice as pie to their German friends as possible!' So, Dr Fefferberg had the run of Tennyson House, and had even begun flirting with Lady Collendon in the pump room over afternoon drinks.

The omniscience of a household's domestic staff is legendary. Virtually no conversation or exchange of information got passed Mr Kearns' radar, or Paul's auditory perception, which bordered on hyperacusis! Apparently, the doctor had been discussing Bavarian sausages with Lady Collendon. She had expressed a desire to sample some herself, which was met with disdain downstairs.

'Well, that's your work cut out for you now, Alice,' Mr Kearns observed to the Alice, who was putting the final touches to her 'Bavarian' creations.

Alice pulled a face. 'God help us!' she said. 'Wurst is best eaten the same day, if you make them yourself. But they need to be put in a very cold place for a couple of hours before they're ready.'

Mr Kearns raised his raven wing eyebrows. 'And I presume the doctor wants you to cook them for him as well?'

'Well yes, Mr Kearns, I assume so.'

'Drat! Then it will fall to me to find out for sure,' the butler said striding off in the direction of the pump room. He returned fifteen minutes later with an aggrieved look on his face. 'Apparently, he wants to have some cooked as soon as possible, and also to have some with his dinner tonight, and to take some away with him uncooked. He'll be leaving on Monday, thank God!'

Alice nodded her head. 'Right! But, wurst easily goes off, Mr Kearns, so I'll put some in the freezer compartment then, and I'll cook a couple for him in a little while.'

'I've made you a nice cup of tea, Alice,' Shirley the scullery maid said putting a pretty cup and saucer on the large country-style kitchen table.

Alice smiled at her gratefully. 'Thank you, Shirl, and now, if you don't mind, Mr Kearns, I think I'll sit down for five minutes. If Shirley wouldn't mind sticking these in the Frigidaire?'

***

Regardless of the fact that the main meal of the day was due to be served within the next two hours, Dr Fefferberg was impatient. He insisted on having his much-anticipated repast at the earliest opportunity. Lucy, one of the kitchen maids, nervously took the cooked 'German' sausages up to him, finding him in noisy conversation on the phone in his room. He smiled at her and made a friendly hand gesture, directing the plate of sausages to be put on the table where he was working.

She quickly complied and exited the room, running downstairs as fast as she could, disturbing one of Lord Collendon's white Borzoi wolfhounds. It skidded excitedly across the polished tiled floor of the main vestibule, almost tripping her up. News, any news, had to be reported immediately and as speedily as possible!

Alice was glad to receive the information that the sausages 'had landed,' to quote Mr Kearns, and everyone awaited the verdict. It was not, however, incumbent upon guests to express a view either way. Besides, at this point, the whole kitchen was embarked on the main mission of the day. This was to provide a sumptuous meal of pheasant for fourteen guests, and Dr Fefferberg was, for the moment, forgotten.

***

Gout was not actually the real reason why Jode had been reluctant to help Alice with the matter of the pork shoulder. He had been genuinely incapacitated by an incident which had taken place ten days before in Horncastle. Being a market town, which had received its Royal charter in the thirteenth century, it was a natural magnet for farmers. Especially those with an interest in horses. In fact, it even had its own annual horse fair. 'Horses from Horncastle,' was a popular slogan which had helped put the annual horse fair on the map. The fair usually ran in August and was attended by interested parties from miles around. It was of particular interest to Jode, who was in charge of the stables belonging to Lord and Lady Collendon.

The Collendons' use of horses on the farm had greatly declined due to automation. They had briefly toyed with the idea of establishing a stud farm as a way of expanding their business interests. Jode had reckoned that it would be a 'doddle'.

And such was his confidence in Jode, that his Lordship had given him carte blanche to 'look into the matter'. He had even granted him a budget of £150 to work with. This was more than Jode's yearly wages of £120 a year, which had been commensurately increased from £90. As far as income and status was concerned, this wage now put Jode on a par with a House Steward, although the Collendons did not have one.

In fact, the Collendons had paired down their staffing levels significantly over the last decade. Over the course of several years they were obliged to dismiss the valet, under-butler, coachman, upper housemaid, upper laundrymaid and the still-room maid. Nonetheless, they were still forced to retain a skeleton staff. This consisted of butler, housekeeper, cook, three footmen, groom, stable boy, two farmhands, nurse, maid-of-all-work and two scullery maids. Finances, while not exactly being tight, had declined since the middle of the last century. The Collendons now looked to the extraordinary talents of Mr Robert Jode to set them aright.

Running a stud farm seemed just the ticket, especially as Jode had a veterinary surgeon as a drinking partner at the Goatherd Inn in Horncastle. And Jode _had_ made a pilgrimage of attending the horse fairs, which were not off the beaten track as far as he was concerned. In fact, he also delivered Tennyson Farm produced sausages, beef and fowl to the butchers in the area. But the fair was perceived as a wonderful arena for attracting customers and horse trainers from up and down the country. The Collendons were sure that Jode would make the necessary connections, and their enterprise would flourish.

However, at the time of the current horse fair, Jode had been taken aside and publicly berated by an irate butcher for supplying him spoiled produce. The sausages that Jode had supplied him were, according to him, bitter. This, Jode hotly denied. He denied it all the more so as a crowd gathered around them. Jode and the butcher didn't quite come to blows, but a few weeks later in the Goatherd Inn, matters were ramped up. The same butcher, now quite drunk, began to heckle Jode, who was sitting quietly in front of the inn's fire in the inglenook.

Jode, although a very hands-on man, preferred not to mix unnecessary emotion with drink, and tended to be a loquacious though non-violent drinker. Tonight, he was in a quiet mood. Nonetheless, the butcher seemed determined to bring him out of his shell.

' _There_ you are, you thieving wretch!' the butcher had shouted at the sight of Jode bent over his cider opposite the inglenook. 'I think you owe me some money, and I've got some returns for you.'

All conversation in the inn ceased.

Jode's body immediately tensed. 'Oh, come on Michael, not this again. I thought you'd got it out of your system the other week!'

The butcher, a red-faced stocky man with a fierce temper wouldn't be pacified. He strode over to him. 'Your blamed sausages are a disgrace to the Tennyson name. You're getting fat and lazy, that's your problem and you're not properly attending to business as you should! By my reckoning you owe me at least three pounds for that last batch of putrid flesh you delivered. Not to mention all the other rubbish you've been palming me off with!'

Jode turned around to face the man who appeared to have several supporters. 'There is nothing wrong with the produce of the Tennyson farm. You're probably just peeved because you've got some unsold stock.'

The butcher brought his face down in line with Jode's. 'Well that's just the problem isn't it! Mrs Clyde, the postman's wife got quite ill, didn't she, after I sold her a pound of your muck. And now some of my regular customers are keeping their distance.'

'Well that's got nothing to do with me,' Jode replied unmoved.

Infuriated, the butcher knocked Jode's glass of cider out of his hand and sent it crashing to the floor. 'Hasn't it?'

'You need to pipe down now,' Jode replied looking uncomfortable. He was feeling too tired and addled to do anything physically, and besides it was the wrong time of day. He was usually at his peak in the afternoon.

The butcher suddenly grabbed Jode by the lapels and pulled him out of the comfortable chair he was sitting in. ' _You going to give me a refund or what?_ '

Jode gripped the butcher's wrists, his ire slowly rising. 'Michael, you're making a hog of yourself! Take your hands off me and sit down and let's discuss this like gentlemen.'

The butcher removed his grip. 'Alright, let's be gentlemen. _Pay me!_ '

'Sit down sit down, let's talk about it,' Jode implored as he tried to limit the damage to his reputation. Practically every eye in the inn was on them.

' _Sit down with you?_ ' the butcher said, his eye wandering over to the inglenook where the fire irons were. 'Tell you what, the only way I'll sit down with a beggar like you is if you cough up three gold sovereigns!'

'You know that's not going to happen,' Jode said glancing around at the gathering and smiling self-consciously. 'You've got this all wrong, Michael. My sausages are the best in the county, and I eat them myself every day. Look, let's go to your shop and have a nice chat. The landlord is looking a bit piqued at our little conversation.'

'Booshwash!' the butcher spat, determinedly going over to the fire irons in the inglenook and quickly snatching up the black poker. He waved it menacingly in Jode's face. 'Are you going to pay me or what?'

The landlord of the inn leaned over the bar. 'Michael!' he shouted. 'Put that down before you hurt someone!'

'The old bastard needs to be taught a lesson,' the butcher said with a malevolent grin.

'Calm down, Michael, please!' Jode said. 'This is not going to settle anything.'

'Why don't we see!' the butcher said taking a reckless swing at Jode's rheumatic legs with the poker.

The first blow landed just above the knee, and the second on the shin, which sent Jode reeling on the floor, crying out in agony. ' _Ow!_ _You damned bloody fool!_ ' he moaned in an anguished voice, clutching his leg as he rolled around.

' _Now that's enough Michael_!' the landlord shouted, coming from around the bar and restraining the butcher. 'You're as drunk as a skunk and if you don't leave now, you'll be banned for life. _Now get out!_ '

'It was only a tap!' the butcher said throwing the poker on the floor with a clatter and barging out of the inn with a nasty sneer. The landlord took Jode's hand and with some difficulty pulled the bulky man to his feet. 'Are you alright, Mr Jode? Tommy, get Mr Jode another drink on the house.'

'Blasted inane fool!' Jode said, clearly in pain. He collapsed into the chair and pulled up the leggings of his right leg and examined his injury. Two red stripes like a corporal's insignia were fast turning into ugly welts. Jode touched them tenderly and then rolled his leggings down. 'I'll be lucky if I make it home on foot, damn it to hell!'

'Do you need a doctor?' Tommy the barman asked bringing Jode a fresh bumper of cider.

'Nah,' Jode shook his head, and gratefully took the drink which he gulped down like a man with a Saharan thirst. 'Tell you what though, if I ever see that Michael again, he won't have it so easy!'

Chapter Three

Mr Jode never did meet the butcher in public again. After that, there was a marked decline in demand for the Tennyson farm sausage in Horncastle. This became a serious cause of concern to Lord Collendon and he temporarily resolved the problem by getting Jode to market them in Lincoln instead. When his Lordship questioned Jode about the drop in local sales, the farm manager put it down to competition. Lord Collendon accepted this philosophically.

However, for the main meal that evening, sausage was not on the menu. Pheasant was the evening's principal viand, although some wurst had also been especially prepared for Dr Fefferberg as a side dish. The beautiful grey and orange John Turner dinner set was used, and the meal was served 'a la Russe,' as opposed to 'a la Francaise'. The principal difference between these two being that the dinner was presented as a sequence of dishes rather than all at once. It was a modern practice observed by aristocratic families since the late nineteenth century and was religiously kept up at Tennyson House.

First course was a soup with sherry, succeeded by fish and white wine. Then an entrée of sweetbreads with claret was served, followed by the relevé, consisting of poultry pie in a heavy red wine sauce with potatoes and vegetables. Then came the roast game, accompanied by round potato chips and claret, and this was chased by the entremets, a plum tart with devilled sardines.

Finally, everything was refreshingly rounded off with black berries, sliced pears, brazil nuts and fine old Portuguese madeira wine. Finger bowls were also laid on for the convenience of guests. Most of the wines had been distilled inhouse and did not bear labels which was not particularly observed by the guests. Some of the wines had been decanted into crystal wine bottles and carafes.

The amount of alcohol consumed had the desired effect of getting tongues wagging, which was the main point of dinner parties. The added bonus of this, was that very often secrets were divulged which otherwise would have remained undisclosed. Probably the very security of nations was compromised by alcohol in one way or another. It was one of the unseen enemies of state, working always to loosen tongues and reveal sensitive and often scandalous information.

Dr Fefferberg was particularly susceptible to the effects of wine which impacted disastrously on his general movement, speech, judgement and memory. Under its effects he would often exaggerate things, and he was inclined to engage in embarrassing buffoonery. After his eighth glass of wine he began playing with the three wurst sausages on the little plate in front of him. He pretended to smoke them, rolling them close to his ear like cigars, much to the amusement of the young woman sitting next to him.

'In my former life I used to work as an animal doctor in the circus, and I got to know the clowns very well, and then I became assistant lion tamer,' he said in a very drunk voice.

The young women, a countess, smiled indulgently. 'I can tell.'

'How can you tell?' he asked earnestly.

'I saw you trying to get the cat to sit on your lap, earlier,' she replied.

Dr Fefferberg laughed at this. 'I am also good with dogs. In Germany we had two German Shepherds, Rufi and Heini. They loved me so much, and I trained them to catch rats. Actually, they were better at it than cats!'

Lord Collendon nodded in Fefferberg's direction. 'How are you with the ladies, doctor? Lady Collendon certainly has me _well_ trained.'

There was laughter at this.

'Oh, darling, don't talk rot,' Lady Collendon replied over the heads of the other guests. 'You know you're the boss in this establishment.'

'I'd rather be the boss off Great Britain,' Lord Collendon replied.

'And what would you do if you were?' Dr Fefferberg asked, slightly coming to his senses.

'I'd toss Chamberlain out for starters,' Lord Collendon said with a wink at the dour faced politician sitting two down from him. The politician frowned at this remark and muttered something to the elderly lady next to him.

'Chamberlain is a man I most admire,' Fefferberg mumbled.

'I beg your pardon?' Lord Collendon shouted. The table was now cacophonous with drunken talk.

'I said that Chamberlain is a man I most admire,' the doctor shouted back. 'I think he understands the political situation in Berlin perfectly. He's position is most intelligent.'

'There are some who would dispute that,' Lord Collendon replied.

'Oh, yes, Mr Winston Churchill, for one,' the doctor said with a falsely approving nod. 'I heard him giving a speech recently. He said that an appeaser is someone who feeds a tiger hoping he'll be attacked last. I think he could have come up with something better, perhaps a wolf would have been more appropriate! But please don't quote me.'

The young countess next to him scratched the back of her hand with curiosity. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, that's the Fuhrer's nickname – Wolf!' the doctor said with a smile. He picked up his wine glass and drank the last few drops of claret that remained. 'And my friends in the Home Office and Foreign Office are all of a like mind. They think Chamberlain is bang on the money. They understand that the last thing that Adolf Hitler wants is a war with Great Britain. Geoffrey Beresford, a good friend, minister at the Home Office, is particularly understanding of this view. But war in my opinion, _can_ be helpful, especially if it decreases the surplus population – now who said that?''

'You men!' Lady Collendon interjected, almost with disgust. 'That's all you talk about! You seem to think that war is a noble pursuit. Especially if you don't actually have to do _any of the fighting yourselves_!'

'Don't forget that we lost dear cousin Damien to the Great War,' Lord Collendon replied. 'So, we are not immune to the effects of it. The whole establishment experienced a catastrophic loss of their young men, such were the casualties of that terrible conflagration.'

'Hear hear!' someone said.

'But it gave birth to great poetry, didn't it,' the doctor said. ' _If I should die think only this of me, etc.'_

The verse was taken up by white bearded Professor Quain, sitting near Lady Collendon, who drunkenly began reciting the next line of the verse. He was half accompanied by a young Oxford graduate opposite. Then, as if moved by a great invisible force, others at the table joined in.

Some were word perfect, most weren't. But the words of Rupert Brook's war sonnet, 'The Soldier,' rumbled throughout the dining room like a solemn prayer. It was a homage to all the lost loved ones, and those who had perished thirty years earlier. Emotions around the table had suddenly become sombre despite the somewhat farcical nature of the situation.

Lady Collendon reacted by sitting bolt upright and reaching for a handkerchief to dab her eyes. Then, the table suddenly went quiet as Lord Collendon's young grandson, Archie, who was standing in the doorway, began reciting something in a loud clear voice.

' _And all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put humpty together again_ ,' he said.

There followed a further silence as the diners stared at him incredulously.

' _What are you doing up at this time of night, young man?_ ' Lady Collendon demanded, breaking the strange spell which had descended on the diners. 'Bed please!'

Dr. Fefferberg, guffawed and had another drink. The table returned to normal. Professor Quain shot the doctor a dark look. 'I'm interested that you describe Geoffrey Beresford, the Under-secretary of State at the Home Office, as a good friend. I should imagine that he wouldn't be too pleased to hear you boasting about your acquaintanceship.'

Fefferberg's face dropped. 'What do you mean?'

'Well you're a diplomat,' Quain said, 'and the Home office is not the Foreign Office – two different kettles of fish!'

Fefferberg shrugged. 'Whitehall is a small world, a pond, to follow up on your analogy. We all drink in the same bars and clubs, in the palace of Westminster, the Athenaeum etc. There's nothing odd about it at all.'

The professor pulled a face. 'Well, I read that he's always going abroad, taking trips to Berlin and so forth. What is a Home Office official doing taking so many trips to Berlin?'

'You're confusing him with Horace Charrington from the Foreign Office,' Fefferberg said. 'In any case, I don't understand what you're implying.'

The Oxford graduate managed to say the unsayable, excused by his age. 'It's obvious, isn't it? The man is a spy for the Germans!'

'Who Charrington or Beresford?' Fefferberg said. Then he laughed. 'Don't be ridiculous! See, it's the paranoia of the undergraduate classes - you can't get away from it.'

'Well, I think the professor has a point,' the graduate said. 'And besides, I am not an undergraduate anyway!

'Good for you, good for you!' Fefferberg replied.

Lady Collendon smiled awkwardly at the other guests and rapped her wine glass with a spoon. 'Ladies, I think it's time we retired to the Drawing room, don't you?'

***

As ebullient as Dr Fefferberg had been that evening, he became less than jovial as the day came to a close. When he went to bed, his face looked agitated, and he began to complain of dizziness and stomach pains. Being a doctor, he self-diagnosed his condition as mild cirrhosis brought on by his alcoholic indulgences. He noted that his face had taken on a yellow hue like jaundice. This was a classic symptom of cirrhosis, as was his nausea and abdominal pains.

The nurse was immediately called. She administered two spoonsful of Dr Caldwell's Syrup Pepsin, a spoonful of a mustard-based emetic, and a mint tea. Unfortunately, these collectively seem to worsen the doctor's condition. He brushed aside any further assistance and got the chambermaid to prepare him some hot water. He used this to make a toddy out of the bottle of cognac he kept in his room. It was typical of him to act in this way, ignoring the normal rules of health which he believed he was somehow immune from.

Lord Collendon was informed of his guest's condition, and so he solicitously got out of bed and went to see his guest, wearing his dressing gown. He tapped gently on the guestroom door and was admitted by Fefferberg who was sweating copiously.

'I'm sorry that you're not feeling well, doctor,' his Lordship said in a concerned voice. 'Would you like me to call out our regular doctor. He's a good man and will come out at any time, day or night.'

'Good of you to pop in,' the Fefferberg replied as he sat panting on the bed. 'But as a doctor myself I am perfectly capable of assessing my own condition. I've had these sweats before, and it is due to the activity of the liver. It throws a fit when it's given too much to do.'

Lord Collendon noted the bottle of opened cognac on the bedside table. 'I doubt if _that's_ going to help.'

The doctor smiled at this observation. 'Did you know that in Armagnac, where they make this cognac, incidents of heart disease are very low? It's good for the heart, and if the heart survives the liver will too. That's what my professor at Lubeck used to say. And did you know that rum is good for shell shock? I believe your tommies used to say, that if it wasn't for rum, you Britishers would have lost the last war!'

His Lordship shook his head. 'Any excuse for a good drink, eh? You can't fool me. But, I'll have the nurse stand within earshot of your room, or you can ring the butler at any time. I will inform him.'

Fefferberg smiled with a grateful nod, and then to his Lordship's astonishment, suddenly dissolved into tears. 'Forgive me, forgive me,' he spluttered, wiping his eyes.

'My dear man, what on earth is bothering you?' Lord Collendon said advancing towards the bed.

'I'm going to die, I just know it,' Fefferberg said as tears ran down his cheeks.

'Nonsense man!' Collendon said. 'You're just plain drunk, that's the problem.'

'But if I die, I shall never see my Elica again!' The doctor took another swig of the cognac. Then he groaned and clutched his stomach. 'I really need to go to bed now. Does your nurse have anything to counteract stomach acidity? Mint tea just isn't strong enough.'

'I will go and ask her, meantime, get into bed,' Collendon commanded. 'Don't upset yourself! The last thing I want you to do is complain about your stay here. It's very important that you have a pleasant time!'

'No, no, no, don't concern yourself!' Fefferberg said, slowly removing his damp shirt. 'You have been a most gracious and generous host. In fact, I have already pencilled Tennyson House in for a possible conference event next month.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' Collendon said as he opened the bedroom door to leave. 'I'll get Sue, our nurse, to see if she can't rustle up something for your stomach!'

'Thank you, thank you,' Fefferberg said falling back on his pillow. He stared up at the ornate George Latham style, barrel-shaped ceiling, feeling completely disorientated and nauseous. The pains in his stomach were getting worse, which he was now equating with a bad dose of appendicitis. He tried to sit up, but his hand slipped, and he lost his balance. He fell sideways off the bed with a crash, knocking over the bottle of cognac, and hitting his head on the bedside table.

By the time the nurse had rushed into the room, on hearing the crash, Fefferberg was truly breathing his last. Belatedly, the local doctor was called, and when Dr Dennings finally arrived, Fefferberg was stone dead.

***

The last time there was a death at Tennyson House, was two years ago, when one of Lord Collendon's dogs passed away from canker and old age. Understandably, the death of a visiting German diplomat was a serious matter. It carried with it the potential for severe social, and even political repercussions for the household.

Lord and Lady Collendon were mortified beyond words when a sombre Mr Kearns alerted them to Dr Fefferberg's demise. Lord Collendon, followed by the butler, immediately returned to the guest room. They found Sue, the nurse, in tears, trying to prop up Dr Fefferberg's inert body against the bed. The butler tried to assist.

Dr Dennings, the local doctor, took twenty minutes to arrive, and he charged up the stairs, and was shown into the guest room by a chambermaid. He immediately put down his leather bag, crouched beside Fefferberg and took his pulse. The patient was well beyond the pale.

Dennings stared at the bottle of cognac, now righted on the bedside table. 'Is this what he was drinking?' he asked.

'I'm afraid so,' Lord Collendon said. Then, Lady Collendon came into the room dabbing her eyes, something she was accustomed to doing a lot lately. Lord Collendon rubbed her back.

'Was he taking any medication? Dennings enquired.

'I'm afraid I don't know,' Collendon said. 'I should have made sure Sue acquainted herself with any medical conditions, if there were.'

Sue, the nurse frowned. 'I did ask Dr Fefferberg earlier if he had any history of illness and he said his father had diabetes.'

'So, he was a doctor himself then?' Dennings said with interest. 'Medical? Doctor of philosophy?'

'Actually, I don't know,' Collendon replied. 'I just assumed he was a Doctor of Medicine. Wait a minute, I think he did say he was a former animal doctor! But he spoke like a doctor, like you in fact.'

Dennings shot him a curious glance. 'I see. But we can assume that this was a natural or possibly accidental death then? No funny business?'

'No, decidedly not,' Collendon replied.

'Wasn't suicide?' Dennings asked.

Collendon appeared stumped at this question. 'Well, he did say a rather strange thing. This evening, he started crying and saying that he was going to die! But I just assumed it was the cognac talking!'

'Hmm,' Dennings nodded. 'Could we look through his personal effects to see if he was taking any medications? Perhaps sleeping pills. He didn't request any I suppose?'

'No,' Sue said. 'I _had_ given him some syrup pepsin and an emetic earlier, and then he requested an antacid for his stomach. But he died before I could give him any.'

Lady Collendon did a quick search through Fefferberg's suitcase which was on a low table. 'Nothing here,' she said.

'How did he end up on the floor?' Dennings asked.

'There was a bang and I rushed in a found him there,' the nurse said. 'I then tried to bring him 'round and checked his pulse.'

'Could someone have pushed him onto the floor?' Dennings enquired.

Collendon was clearly perturbed at this question. 'Whatever do you mean?'

'Mr Kearns, your butler, informed me when he phoned, that he was a German diplomat. So, it's possible that he could have been a target.'

'A target?' Lord Collendon's face went pale. 'Well, I'm sure, if he was, that he wasn't in any danger here. Not in Tennyson House.'

'How do you know that for sure?' Dennings said. 'Mr Kearns has informed me that there are several guests here at the moment.'

Lord Collendon stared at his wife wonderingly. 'There you've got me, doctor. I _was_ aware that he wasn't terribly popular with the others. He kept spouting all that neo-Nazi rubbish about the Jews.'

'I don't think he mentioned the word 'Jew' once,' Lady Collendon said.

'Yes, he _did,_ ' Collendon said. 'Not at the table perhaps. But he implied it. And Mr Kearns told me Fefferberg had spoken to Mrs Green, earlier. Apparently, he had upset her, and had asked her if she had any relatives in Germany.'

'You didn't mention that to _me_!' Lady Collendon said.

'Sorry, darling, but I didn't want to annoy you,' Collendon replied.

'Mrs Green?' Dennings said. 'That's your cook, isn't it? She isn't on my books.'

'Never been unwell,' Lord Collendon answered. He went and sat on the bed. 'This is all rather starting to sound quite sinister.'

'Hmm. I'd like to take a sample of his blood, if I may,' Dennings said. 'I have a syringe and some phials in my bag. It will allow us to detect the presence of any barbiturates in the blood.'

'Carry on,' Collendon said.

Dennings removed his paraphernalia from the brown leather bag and extracted a quantity of blood from Fefferberg's forearm assisted by the nurse. This he then injected into a glass phial sealed at the top with a one-way rubber membrane. It allowed blood to be transferred into the vessel without spillage. The nurse then staved the blood flow in Fefferberg's arm with some cotton wool.

'I'll have this analyzed, and then let you know the result,' Dennings said. 'In the meantime, you need to phone the police and tell them what has happened. I'll inform the coroner, if they don't.'

Lord Collendon nodded with a weary sigh. 'Thank you, Dr Dennings. But it's the embassy I fear telling. I'm sure they can get pretty suspicious of things like this.'

Dennings packed everything safely into his bag and straightened himself up. 'Good luck with that, my Lord. I'll get onto the Lincoln County Hospital and have them pick up the body. But that will be subject to what the police want to do. They may want to make a small formal investigation of their own before the body gets shipped off.'

'Indeed,' Collendon licked his bottom lip. 'I'll have to let the German Embassy know straight away as well. They might even have their own plans regarding the storage of poor Dr Fefferberg's body!'

***

Mr Kearns offered to do all the necessary phone calls, though Lord Collendon suggested that they could split the duties. Kearns would inform the police, while Collendon took on the more onerous task of getting onto the German Embassy. Lord Collendon was acutely embarrassed that something as catastrophic as this had happened in his home. He knew it would not reflect favourably on his reputation as a high society host. He had the contact details of one Herr Aldinger, at the German Embassy, whom he knew moderately well. He was just unsure how to broach such a delicate and catastrophic subject. Also, the lateness of the hour meant that Aldinger was probably going to be woken up from sleep to take the call.

It took half an hour to finally reach Aldinger, who was in Suffolk at the time, as no one else was able to take Lord Collendon's call. Collendon nervously licked his lips, 'Herr Aldinger? I'm frightfully sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, this is Lord Felix Collendon of Tennyson House in Lincolnshire. I'm afraid something terrible has happened. Dr Fefferberg, who as you know, was staying here with me as a guest, has passed away!'

There was a long pause as Aldinger, having been woken up, orientated himself to make the correct response. 'Oh dear! Dear me! I'm aggrieved to hear it, your Lordship.'

'Yes, Herr Aldinger. It's an awful situation, but he just died around one thirty tonight. We've had the doctor here and it appears to be a natural death. There was nothing we could have done to have prevented it.'

'I see,' Aldinger replied pausing again for a long moment. 'He was due to return to London on Monday, wasn't he?'

'That is correct,' Collendon said. 'But from all accounts he had an interesting and restful stay here and was perfectly well, until this happened.'

'Well, I'm much saddened to hear this news,' Aldinger said in a solemn voice. 'He was a valued colleague and a good friend of your great nation.'

'Indeed.'

'He was looking forward to his stay with you, and so I'm glad that it went well, for the most part,' Aldinger replied, diplomatic Speke flowing effortlessly off his tongue. 'Where is the body now?'

'Where he died, in the guestroom,' Collendon answered. 'Our family doctor, Dr Denning will be informing the local hospital, so that they can collect the body. But the police may want to conduct an investigation first.'

'Ah,' Aldinger said, his tone changing. 'Actually, it would be better, ultimately if the body was transferred down to London. I'm staying with a friend at the moment, but I'll be at the consulate on Tuesday. Then I can make the necessary arrangements, to have the body flown back to Berlin.'

'Yes, yes of course,' Collendon said with a frown. 'However, I'll see what the police want to do, first. I will inform you as soon as I'm apprised of the best way to proceed.'

'That would be very helpful indeed,' Aldinger replied. 'I will inform our masters in Berlin, and I look forward to your update on this very sad situation. It might be better if the press were not informed at this time.'

'You can rely on me, Herr Aldinger.'

'I appreciate that very much, your Lordship. Good bye for now!' and he rang off.

***

Lord Collendon was in his study, when he put down the phone and let out a long relieved breath and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He too was now sweating, and he wondered if there wasn't some sort of airborne virus doing the rounds. It would be very inconvenient if he went down with something.

The butler, Mr Kearns had slipped discretely into the room. 'I've just spoken with Inspector Haycock of the Lincoln Constabulary, at his home. He seems quite content that Fefferberg's death is not suspicious. He said that the matter will have to be referred to the Home Office, in view of Fefferberg's diplomatic status. The police will doubtless contact the Foreign Office as well, themselves, and then probably the Prime Minister will be told.'

'No doubt! And in the meantime, I will be regarded as the worst host in Christendom!' Collendon observed. He reached for the cigar box and pulled out a deluxe Robert Burns cigar, which Kearns quickly lit up for him using the gold lighter on the desk.

'So presumably the police won't be coming then?' Collendon asked, taking a long consoling puff on the cigar.

'No, sir, so the body can be taken to the morgue straight away,' Kearns said. 'I'll let doctor Dennings know the situation, so that he can contact the hospital.'

'Good man,' Lord Collendon replied. 'And now perhaps we can get some sleep. Being a socialite can have its drawbacks. It isn't everything it's cracked up to be, Kearns!'

'No sir,' the butler replied. 'Begging your pardon, your Lordship, but I wouldn't be a socialite for all the tea in China!'

***

The night had been significantly diminished by the time everyone had gone to bed. Dawn had barely reared its fleecy mantle before the approach of a car could be heard. It crunched its way deferentially up the gravelled driveway of Tennyson House, waking everyone up. Staff went to the windows to see who it was.

Kearns who slept little, finding the Lincolnshire countryside a little too bracing for an ex-townie like himself, immediately made his way to the main entrance. He was met by two well-dressed but officious men claiming to be from the Home Office, asking to see Lord Collendon. They had driven all the way up from London, having left in the wee small hours, on a matter which was clearly of concern to the government.

Lord Collendon was in the depths of a fitful sleep when he was summoned from his bed by the butler. Kearns had shown their two visitors into a downstairs reception room, of which there were three. Lady Collendon, still in bed, had dived under the covers claiming a migraine, which was perfectly understandable under the circumstances. His Lordship quickly donned something decent and went to see the unwelcome heralds of the morning, who looked as neat and as uncrumpled as new pins. Both were politely holding their trilbys to their chests.

'I'm William Greaves, from the Home Office and this is Bertrand Clavvers attaché to the German Embassy, colleague of Herr Aldinger,' said Greeves, a stocky well-groomed man. 'We've driven most of the night to get here.'

Lord Collendon shook their hands. 'You should have telephoned.'

'We did, but the lines were constantly busy,' Greeves said.

'Well, have a seat please,' Collendon said taking a chair himself. 'And tell me what the urgency is. Clearly you are here because of Fefferberg's death. But the police are not treating this as suspicious.'

'We know,' replied Clavvers, a thinner man by contrast with a bit of a squint in his light blue eyes. 'We were contacted by Inspector Haycock, from your local constabulary, and he is quite content, given who you are, that nothing unsavoury has taken place. But because Dr Fefferberg is an important diplomat with the German Embassy we need to ask some questions. Apparently, he was quite close to the German leader, and so we are duty bound to make some enquiries. Just a few questions, if we may.'

Collendon sighed and looked up gratefully when the butler tapped politely on the door and offered some morning refreshment which was universally welcomed. There then began a series of questions concerning the circumstances of Fefferberg's death, which followed normal protocol. Collendon did his best to confirm everything that happened, including Fefferberg's strange behaviour towards the end of the night.

'You say he began crying and suggested that he might die?' Clavvers said with especial interest. It was obvious from his near-maniacal stare that he thought this was significant.

'Yes, but to my mind it was just a drunken man, probably feeling a bit homesick, perhaps overwhelmed by his job, given vent to his feelings,' Collendon replied succinctly. 'Also, he claimed he wasn't feeling well.'

'Unwell in what way?' Clavvers asked.

'Stomach upset,' Collendon explained. 'And our doctor was called, and he took a blood sample.'

The two men looked at each other. 'And you gave him permission to do that?' Clavvers asked.

'Well, I didn't think it would do any harm,' Collendon said feeling on the back foot.

'Then I'd appreciate it if you could give me the doctor's contact details,' Clavvers said.

Lord Collendon obliged and Clavvers wrote it all down in a little notebook

'Thank you,' Clavvers nodded. 'But regarding the crying episode. When I've had a drink or two, I don't necessarily imagine the worst. Why do you think Fefferberg thought he was going to die?'

'It's possible that he had a premonition,' Collendon replied. 'It has been known. My cousin Damien was in the Somme during the last war and he wrote home regularly saying he didn't think he was going to survive.'

'That's understandable in those circumstances,' Clavvers said. 'Regretfully, your cousin was surrounded by death. But here in this beautiful house, surely that would be the last thing on anyone's mind. Personally, the only thing that would be on my mind at that time of night would be curiosity about the breakfast menu.'

'Amen to that,' Greaves said with a smile.

'So, do you think it's possible that he may have feared an assassination attempt?' Clavvers asked. 'I mean, he was an important diplomat, at a period of time when political feathers on all sides are being ruffled. Anyone can be a target.'

Collendon got up from his chair and walked over to the beautiful white marble Adams facsimile fireplace, his hands behind his back. 'Assassination is rather a _dramatic_ word to use, don't you think?'

'But it can be an accurate word under these circumstances,' Clavvers said.

'What we would like to ask you,' Greaves said. 'Is whether you could provide us with a guest list. I understand there were several diners here last night. Are they still here?'

'Some, yes,' Collendon said reluctantly. 'But that sort of information is rather confidential.'

'Not from the Home Office, surely.' Greaves said.

At this point Kearns brought in some tea, and the conversation paused while everyone was served. As soon as he departed, Greaves said, 'Are there any foreign nationals here? Or other politically based individuals?'

Frowning Collendon said, 'We have an Indian prince here and an official from Warsaw.'

The two visitors exchanged meaningful glances. 'Really,' Clavvers said. 'You do know that Poland is on Herr Hitler's list?'

'What are you talking about?' Collendon said growing tired of the conversation.

'It is being claimed by some, and I don't dispute it, that German nationals living in Poland are being persecuted by the Poles,' Clavvers said. 'So, there are no natural affinities between the two nations.'

'Is it possible to have a word with this Polish gentleman?' Greaves asked.

'Certainly not, he's a guest and I would not want to vex him!' Collendon said his hackles raised. 'That would be a matter for the police surely. You'll have to show me a letter from the minister before I would consent to such a thing.'

Greaves nodded as his large hands carefully negotiated the delicate tea cup. 'I understand. Well thank you for your cooperation. Where is Dr Fefferberg's body now?'

'In the guest room where he died,' Collendon replied. 'The body will be taken to Lincoln County Hospital as soon as possible.'

Clavvers pulled a doubtful face. 'I think the German authorities might have their own ideas about that. A London hospital would be preferred, I think.'

'Frankly,' Collendon said bringing the discussion to an abrupt end. 'I don't care where you take him. The situation has caused us enough consternation as it is!'

***

Lady Collendon was up when Lord Collendon came back to the bedroom. She was in the middle of putting the finishing touches to the virtual layer of plaster which passed as make-up on her face. His Lordship paused as he watched his wife sitting at the art deco vanity desk, trying, as she did every morning, to turn back the clock. Of course, this was never going to be achieved, despite her natural beauty, given she was in her early fifties and addicted to drink and sleeping pills. Also, she was inclined to outbursts of temper mixed with periods of inconsolable weeping. It had begun when Damien, a family cousin had passed away in the great war. This had made Lord Collendon suspicious that something had been going on between them. But that was decades ago, and the marriage had never quite been the same since.

Lady Collendon looked at her husband in the vanity table mirror. 'What did they want then?'

'They want a guest list, but I said no,' he replied.

'What for?'

'They think Fefferberg might have been...assassinated,' Lord Collendon said sitting down on the crumpled bed.

'Ridiculous,' she replied. 'Haven't they got better things to do?'

'Fefferberg is apparently chums with old Herr Hitler,' he said. 'So, he's a very important chap in Germany.'

'I don't know why we had him here in the first place,' she said pouting her lips in the mirror as she applied some lipstick.

'We've got to do what we _can,_ to support the government in these difficult times,' Collendon said. 'The prospect of another war is unthinkable. One war a generation is more than enough, don't you think? If buttering up the Germans is going to keep them sweet, then it's worth it. For the sake of this generation!'

'I think this generation is perfectly capable of looking after itself without a load of self-important middle-aged men digging their noses in,' she said standing up and turning to face him. 'Well, are you going to give it to them?'

'Give what?'

'The guest list,' she said shaking her head. 'Wake up Collendon!'

Lord Collendon shook his head. 'No, absolutely not. The guests I have here are purely a matter for _me_ , and it's a confidential affair. If they want to know who was here, then they'll have to get the minister to make a request. I'm not going to tell any old tom dick or harry!'

'I think your refusal could be taken the wrong way,' she observed as she made her way to the wardrobe. 'It might make you look intransigent.'

'Don't talk nonsense,' he said as a look of worry passed over his face.

'They might think you were behind it,' she said as she removed a red satin gown from the wardrobe.

'Behind what?'

'The assassination, of course!'

Lord Collendon stood up and clenched his fists. 'Honestly, you don't half come out with them! Don't let the staff hear you talk like that. It might spread an unwanted rumour!'

'Well, it would only be another rumour added to the half dozen or so already doing the rounds!'

' _What are you talking about?_ ' he said his eyes blazing.

'I love it when you get riled!' she said removing her night slip and putting on the gown. 'It reminds me of how you used to be when you were young. Young and able! Never mind about Cain and Abel! Young and able, that's what it's all about!'

'Please, spare me,' he said tiredly. 'What specific rumours are you talking about?'

'About you and Jode,' she said. 'Everyone thinks you're scared of him. If it was up to me I'd fire him immediately.'

'Then the farm would grind to a halt, wouldn't it?' he snapped. 'An experienced manager like that is worth his weight in gold, literally.'

'It's not what I've heard,' she said turning around. 'Zip me up, please!'

Lord Collendon obliged, zipping his wife up in her splendid morning dress. She would probably change again at midday. 'What _have_ you heard then?'

'Apparently, Jode got into a fight with one of our retailers,' she said. 'Michael O'Flaherty, the butcher. Apparently Jode sold him a crate of rotten meat.'

'I don't believe it,' Collendon said with a frown. 'Who told you that?'

'Kearns, of course,' she said going over to the full-length mirror to admire herself. 'He's my William Cecil!'

'What?'

'You know, William Cecil, Queen Elizabeth 1st's spymaster!'

'For God sake!' Collendon said retreating to the door. 'Let me know when we can have an intelligent conversation.'

Lady Collendon smiled. 'Joining me for breakfast?'

Lord Collendon shook his head. 'Got things to do. I want Fefferberg's body out of here as soon as possible. He'll start stinking soon! I'm expecting Dr Dennings to organise that today, hopefully. But he'll have to talk to the German Embassy first I think. They may want the body down with them in London!'

Chapter Four

After breakfast, Alice sat down with Mr Kearns for a quick tea break before beginning the onerous task of peeling fifteen pounds of potatoes for the evening dinner. It would be a meal at which all the guests minus Dr Fefferberg, would be present. Mr Kearns was unusually sombre, though Alice was in good spirits.

'Cat got your tongue, Mr Kearns?' she said.

'Where is the cat anyway?' Kearns asked. 'I haven't seen him for a while.'

'Funny you should say that,' Alice said as she quaffed her tea and bit into one of the Eccles cakes she had made a few days ago. 'Shirl put down Sootsac's breakfast this morning but there was no sign of him.'

'He'll show up when he's hungry,' Kearns said. 'Apparently Dr Fefferberg was feeding him at the table.'

'Poor Sootsac,' Alice said looking worried. 'I hope he didn't give the cat any wurst!'

'Never mind the cat,' Kearns said. 'What about Dr Fefferberg! Couldn't be more embarrassing for his Lordship. He's really ticked off I can tell you. Hopefully they'll be taking the body away today.'

'The sooner the better,' Alice said standing up and taking her cup and plate to the sink. 'Well, I'm just off to post a letter, won't be five minutes.'

Mr Kearns looked at her with an obvious curiosity. 'A secret suitor, Alice?'

'Chance would be a fine thing, Mr Kearns,' she replied touching her nose.

'I'll wash that up for you Alice,' said Shirley, the scullery maid.

'Thank you, Shirl,' Alice replied with a sweet smile as she went up the back stairs to her sleeping quarters. The letter was on her little wooden table in the window and was already sealed up with a 2d stamp on it, addressed to Ireland.

She picked it up reflectively and checked the address. There was a slight smudge where she had underlined the word 'Ireland', but it didn't matter. The letters she had been sending had never failed to arrive. Every other month she would receive a reply, which confirmed the postal service had been operating as it should. She put the letter down as she quickly slipped on her beige coat with the wide tailored lapels. Then she retrieved the letter again and left the building by way of the side door opposite the herb garden, to the path which led to the edge of the estate.

The weather had been quite temperamental lately with intermittent showers, although they had abated in the last hour. She was able to walk to the letterbox without regretting not taking the umbrella. As she left the estate via the turnstile, she thought she saw the cat hiding underneath a nearby bush, and then it darted out of sight. She made her way to the postbox at the crossroads where she used to pause and have a cigarette, years ago.

The local environs had not changed, though she had, as a person in many ways, having given up smoking altogether for one. During special occasions she would have a glass of sherry, which to her was a great luxury. It was an innocent sin which hardly made up for the generally barren nature of her life. Being in service really did involve a twenty-four-hour participation despite the official hours of work. It left no room for any socializing or opportunity to establish oneself in the greater world, but it was a life she wouldn't trade for anything. To her it was a great honour to be in service to one of the nation's great historical families. It was these very families which kept culture and grace alive, at least, according to Mr Kearns, and he was no fool!

Taking the letter out of her pocket, she walked up to the postbox and posted it. She listened to it fall into the inner recesses of the box. There was a small metal notice on the front of it which informed her there would be a collection in the afternoon. That would be fine as there was no rush. The letter would eventually make its way to Ireland and get there in a few days, of that she was sure. She took a deep breath and gazed across the unplowed local farmer's field, taking in the pleasant bucolic air. It appeared to be as pure as the farmland was changeless and untouched by civilization. She was aware of the heavy smell of hay hanging in the atmosphere, apparently still damp from the morning's rainfall.

Suddenly, a solitary car trundled up the slightly steep nearby incline, and slowly made its way passed her. The driver gave her a friendly wave, as was the habit of solitary figures crossing each other's paths in a huge rural landscape. It was the local padre, the Reverend Daniel Cope, a friendly slim, closely shaven man with short black hair. He had presided over many a household occasion at Tennyson House. He pulled his dull green BSA Saloon to the side of the road and wound down his window. 'Mrs Green, afternoon to you! Sad business I hear.'

'Very sad reverend,' she replied as she walked up to the car.

'I heard the news from your Mr Jode,' he said. 'The deceased, apparently, was a bit of a bigwig in the world of politics, I understand.'

'Yes, Reverend,' she replied. 'And he liked his sausages!'

'Did he indeed?'

Alice nodded. 'They'll be shipping him out today, so I gather.' She wondered if she had said too much. She made a mental note to tell Mr Kearns about Mr Jode's indiscretion.

'Well, his Lordship knows that I'm always available if he should need me,' the priest said leaning back into his seat. 'I take it that you are well?'

'Couldn't be better,' Alice replied. 'Got another big dinner party to organise this evening,'

'Better busy than not.'

'Oh yes, Reverend,' she said.

'Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, would you ask Mr Jode to sort me out a nice knuckle for Friday? I forgot to ask him.'

'Certainly, Reverend,' she said with a smile.

'Terrible weather,' the priest said, putting the car into gear.

'It's the wind that bothers me,' she said. 'It whistles down the flue in the fireplace in my room!'

Reverend Cope laughed. 'Stick a cushion up it, I would.'

'Might do just that,' she said laughing as he drove off with a friendly wave. She watched the little green car speed off round the bend. It was on its way to the rectory which was little more than a couple of miles away.

When she arrived back at the house, it was already a hive of activity. Apparently three more diners were coming, which meant more work for the kitchen staff. This was quite common at Tennyson House. Uninvited guests would suddenly turn up and stay for dinner. In some respects, it was like an open house for floating aristocrats and other social butterflies.

The toll on the Collendon's finances seem to be ever growing. That didn't stop the managers below stairs from selecting the best cuts of meat for the staff. In fact, it was well known that the staff at Tennyson House were the best fed in Lincolnshire.

***

News of Dr Fefferberg's demise was beginning to spread like ripples in a pond. In the chain of communication which ensued, the representatives of the Home Office contacted Dr Dennings asking about his medical findings. They were particularly interested in the whereabouts of the blood sample. Apparently, the German Embassy had demanded that Dr Dennings surrender it to them, although this was not immediately possible. It was still being examined at the Lincoln District Hospital laboratory.

Dennings felt his hackles rise at the bolshie approach the embassy was taking. He expressed these sentiments to Morgan Bloughmont, Coroner for the Lincolnshire jurisdiction, who had already been informed of the death.

The Coroner was firm the body should be kept in the geographic area of Lincolnshire subject to a local autopsy and possible Inquest. Then a day later, he was contacted by the German Embassy. They haughtily explained that the body was the property of the German authorities and had diplomatic immunity and privileges. In effect, this meant it could be apprehended by the Embassy and taken to London, where an autopsy would be performed there. The exchange between the Coroner, Bloughton and Clavvers, at the German Embassy had become quite heated.

'When a death occurs within my jurisdiction I am entitled to oversee the matter and ensure that the correct procedures are being followed,' said Bloughton, a bald, middle-aged man, from his office in Lincoln.

'And they _will_ be,' Clavvers had replied from the German Embassy. 'We have our own procedures which also involve supervision by a coroner, Die Gerichtsmedizin, in Berlin. As a diplomat, Herr Fefferberg enjoyed the benefits of treaty protections and is immune to any local regulations. Or, for that matter any local British law or statutory obligations or proscriptions that apply to British citizens. He was a citizen of Germany and in that capacity, is subject solely to German law.'

'That may have applied when he was alive,' Bloughton had answered. 'But the man is now dead, and there is talk that there may have been foul play involved.'

Clavvers paused. 'What makes you say that? The police seem content that no foul play was suspected. Or are you simply repeating something I suggested a few days ago, and which was said in confidence and has somehow now ended up in circulation?'

The Coroner coughed. 'Dr. Dennings told me that you had spoken with Lord Collendon and expressed the view that Herr Fefferberg could have been assassinated.'

'That is not entirely correct,' Clavvers said. 'I expressed the view that assassination was a possibility. It is something that the Home Office was interested in examining.'

'Exactly,' Bloughton said. 'The fact that the Home Office want to look into the matter tells you that English Law _does_ apply. Accordingly, I am empowered to order that the body be kept in Lincoln for an autopsy and possibly an inquest.'

'But why an inquest?' Clavvers said. 'Surely that would only be necessary if the cause of death was unknown or if foul play had definitely been suspected. But at the moment it is just a rumination.'

'Well it all depends on what the police finally say on the matter, and the outcome of the laboratory analysis of Fefferberg's blood sample,' the Coroner said. 'And also, on the doctor's and pathologist's report. Dennings will present his view in the next day or two.'

'But the circumstances of the death were quite unextraordinary, I believe,' Clavvers said changing his tune somewhat. 'He was a guest at Tennyson hall, drank too much, felt unwell and then died. Possibly from a heart attack or something natural like that.'

'Or, as you have previously suggested, was the victim of an assassination!' the Coroner said. 'You can't have the cake and eat it, Mr Clavvers. Are you _now_ saying that you don't think assassination was a possibility?'

'It is on the table,' Clavvers said irritably. 'Surely it has to be on the table as one of many possibilities. He _was_ a German diplomat, relations between our countries are strained. So, he may have been targeted. But we Germans are perfectly capable of conducting our own investigations.'

'But not when the events unfolded on British soil!' the Coroner said tiredly. 'Then it is a matter for British Due Process. My powers are quite extensive. If I am not satisfied, I can order a police investigation, it depends. I can order autopsies or have them wavered, or order inquests or issue Certificates of Facts of Death. Each circumstance is different. There will of course be a pathologist's report if he is kept in Lincoln, as I have said. It would be very remiss and irresponsible of me if I agreed to allow the body to be transported to London without performing my legal duties.'

' _Then, if necessary we will get a court order!_ ' Clavvers said nastily. 'You do realise it is this attitude of noncooperation which will not sit well with the German authorities?'

'My role in this is not a political one,' Bloughton said. 'Frankly, what the German authorities think about British Law is not a matter for me. I am simply in the employ of the state. My function is to ensure that even in death our citizens or visitors to this country are treated fairly and properly.'

There was an exasperated pause at Clavvers end. 'Well, thank you Mr Bloughton. You will be hearing from our legal department in due course.'

'That is entirely your privilege,' the Coroner said. 'Goodbye!'

***

Clavvers hung up the phone in quiet rage and looked over at Greaves, who was visiting from the Home Office. They were in an upstairs office at the German Embassy.

'Well?' Greaves demanded, already knowing the answer.

' _Damn! Damn! Damn! I think I've become hamstrung by my own theories_!' Clavvers said his face red with emotion. 'Now the Coroner seems to _think_ it might very well be an assassination after all! I should have played it down, and kept my mouth shut, _damn it_!'

'Well, he does have the power to order a police investigation, even if the police have so far waived it.'

'That's exactly what he just said,' Clavvers replied getting up and going over to the drinks cabinet. He poured out two more refills of Gilbey's Spey Royal Scotch.

'Ok, I'll see what the minister has to say,' Greaves said. 'He apparently was quite chummy with old Fefferberg. And, I must say, have you noticed the Foreign Office have been a bit quiet over this? _And_ I gave them the lowdown yesterday!'

'Well, they need to pull their finger out and get onto the Coroner before there's a diplomatic incident. In fact, I'll phone them right now! And any pressure you can bring to bear would be much appreciated! _We want Fefferberg's body now!_ '

***

As Parliamentary Under-Secretary to one of the Ministers of State at the Home Office, dashing, forty-five-year-old Geoffrey Beresford was very much at the forefront. He tended to work in tandem with his more senior colleagues, though his remit was somewhat muddled. He had become a jack of all trades, even dealing with everyday national security issues which arise in a great democracy. Very often he would jump on a plane and go in place of his boss to numerous destinations at home and abroad when he wasn't available. One of the destinations on Beresford's itinerary was very occasionally Berlin, which he enjoyed visiting, seeing it as an interesting junket.

Whilst the Minister of State held dubious views about the rise of National Socialism in Germany, Beresford on the other hand, as Under-Secretary saw it in a positive light. To him it was a wave of inevitable politics which would eventually sweep Europe. Hitler appeared to him to be more than just a jumped-up corporal, on the contrary, a man of charisma and vision. In Beresford's view it would only be a matter of time before war would be declared. Then the German Wehrmacht would sweep into the British Isles to take over the levers of Government.

Beresford felt that by ingratiating himself with the Germans he would be in line for a handsome reward, a promotion for want of a better name. This could possibly be an important government post in a future Reich controlled Britain, for showing such unreserved support. He therefore supplemented his activities by regularly and privately attending German language and culture classes, which he found he had a natural talent for.

The British view of German domestic politics was largely indifferent. Stories of ethnic pogroms were received with vague interest and in some quarters even sympathetic agreement. Beresford didn't care either way. He was from good solid British stock, which he knew the upper echelons of the German elite approved of and even envied. But Beresford was not unusual in the way he positively viewed Nazism. A number of high-profile members of British aristocracy were also taking a shine to it and had even attended Hitler's 50th birthday party in April.

Yet, there was a natural xenophobia among the ordinary British people which made then generally anti-German. There were even pockets of working-class young men who relished another war as a way of escaping their own humdrum circumstances. Beresford was, to a certain extent caught up in this general feeling which was constantly being fuelled by newspaper and news reports. They had the effect of throwing everyone into an increasingly anticipatory frenzy.

And so, when Beresford learnt that his friend, Dr Deiter Fefferberg had died in unusual circumstances at Tennyson House, he was quite overcome. Whether it was with genuine sorrow or dampened ambition was a moot point. Fefferberg had been Beresford's ticket to job security in a future possible Germany controlled British government. In fact, Fefferberg had been promising to personally introduce Beresford to the Fuhrer himself, which was now in jeopardy. It depended on how much Beresford could ingratiate himself with the Germans without his help.

When Beresford was told by Home Office's William Greaves, and then by Clavvers at the German Embassy that Fefferberg was dead, they slightly skewed their reportage. They originally suggested there was a Polish official who might have had a motive for arranging his assassination, and then backtracked on it. It caused Beresford to have a light bulb moment. Although he instinctively didn't believe an assassination had really taken place, here, in his eyes, potentially, was an opportunity!

Clavvers had explained the Lincolnshire Coroner's reluctance to release Fefferberg's body, which from all accounts was still at Tennyson House. The question as to whether the Home Office had the power to force the Coroner's hand was untested. It was a legal issue outside of Beresford's control, which he pointed out. However, this wasn't the issue that concerned him most. The word which kept reverberating in Beresford's head was the word, 'assassination'. In the back of Beresford's mind was a vague notion that he could use the situation as leverage for his own ambitions. If the German authorities saw how dynamic he could be in exceptional circumstances, they might flag him up in correspondence to the Fuhrer, and elsewhere. It could raise his profile in the new dictatorship.

When Beresford visited his German tutor, Frau Brinkmann, in her little office in Knightsbridge for his usual Wednesday evening lesson, he began discussing the case. This of course, went against all ministerial protocol and rules of security. Beresford though, felt quite relaxed about it as he didn't regard his academic-looking tutor as a threat in any way. In fact, it was her seemingly innocent habit to pump him for information which he invariably thoughtlessly gave her.

'What I am about to tell you, is just between you and me,' Beresford managed to say in German, as he relaxed in the red armchair in her office.

'Aber natürlich!' she replied with a smile, her glasses twinkling underneath her bouffant of dark hair. 'And I know that Herr Fefferberg was a good friend of yours.'

'That's just the thing,' Beresford said. 'Without him I'm like a boat without a paddle now. He was only just beginning to open doors for me.'

'In Germany?'

'Within the inner circle,' he replied with a wink.

'The inner circle?' she repeated with a slight frown.

'You know – the Fuhrer's _inner circle_.'

'Ah, fantastiche!' she said.

'Not any more,' he observed as he lit up a cigarette. 'But something has come up that I could make use of.'

'Oh?' she said.

Beresford leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. 'Well apparently, Fefferberg might have been murdered. Now, if I brought that to the attention of say, the Daily Express, and they printed it, it would create a bit of a furor in Whitehall. Obviously, I would tip them off anonymously. And it would certainly upset the German Government.'

'And why would you want to do that?' Frau Brinkmann asked with apparent concern.

'Well, I'm just thinking out loud now. But see, then I could publicly come to the situation's rescue and suggest a remedy which would help calm any German angst,' Beresford said. 'If the Germans want to prosecute somebody for this, I could help. In fact, I could even ramp up the angst behind the scenes, and then arrive on my white horse as the problem solver. Even though it's not within my remit, I could do the patriotic thing and involve myself in the resolution. Sort of do it in a way that would really make our opposite numbers in Berlin happy, and then they would trust me. They'll see me as more than just another useless bureaucrat. I might have to get my hands dirty though. It might involve some rough stuff! The situation needs more thought.'

'Ah,' Frau Brinkmann said still in the dark. 'Won't you need the cooperation of the Minister of State himself, to do all that?'

Beresford smiled. 'Not a problem. I used to be his sister's on and off fiancé, and so we're practically related.'

'But does he trust your judgement?'

Beresford raised his eyebrows at this question. 'Indubitably.'

'What?'

'Not only does he trust me, he would probably be grateful if I took the burden off his shoulders,' Beresford said as he toyed with the idea. 'See, Whitehall hates a diplomatic crisis, it turns public opinion against its masters!'

***

Dr. Carson, the dapper pathologist at the Lincolnshire County Hospital, carefully studied the lab's blood sample report in front of him. Though its findings were interesting and unusual, in his view, they shouldn't necessarily have accounted for Fefferberg's death. For one thing, there was a high blood ethanol concentration in the deceased's blood, which of itself is not a cause of death in most cases. It was well below the 300-400 mg/dl levels which is known to cause respiratory depression.

But there was something else of interest. Bacterium Yersinia Enteroclitica and Trichinella with T. Spiralis were also present in the blood sample which Dr Dennings had submitted to the hospital. Trichinosis would therefore have been the explanation for some of the deceased's symptoms, although, the yellowing of his skin suggested something else entirely. However, trichinosis was usually associated with the eating of uncooked meat or uncured pork products, especially where Trichinella cysts were present. Of course, as soon as the body itself could be examined and autopsied properly, a final medical conclusion could be drawn. Death from uncured pork was not unknown and shouldn't be ruled out. In the absence of any other evidence, Dr Carson would have given trichinosis as a contributory factor.

Of course, if the eventual autopsy showed that other factors were present, a more common or garden diagnosis would be reached. If myocarditis was detected, which can be brought on by bacterial or viral infections, then the probable cause of death would be a heart attack. From experience, the Pathologist felt, even without seeing the body, that those were the probable causes of Dr Fefferberg's death. He tended, however, in the final analysis to favour food poisoning.

Dr Dennings in a brief lunchtime phone call to him also said, 'I forgot to mention that there was slight discolouration on the deceased's left temple. This is evidence that he had hit his head on a table when he fell off the bed.'

'So that might have rendered him unconscious,' the Pathologist suggested.

'It's possible, bearing in mind the man was drunk from all accounts,' Dennings answered.

'This is borne out by our lab test,' the Pathologist said. 'What's the situation regarding the transportation of the body? Is it coming in? It really needs to be kept in a cold environment.'

'Hmm,' Dennings replied. 'I think your admissions clerk might be getting a call from the Coroner and, or, the German Embassy on that issue.'

'Funny you should say that,' the Pathologist said. 'My secretary reported that a man with a thick German accent had phoned earlier. But she couldn't understand a bloody word he was saying!'

***

Tubby journalist Monty McCallister was quite disoriented when he staggered back to his desk in his art deco office at the Saturday London Herald. He had just been to the dentist and was hardly in the right frame of mind for the anonymous phone call he received. The caller's smooth erudite tones, however, suggested a man who might well have been qualified to make the call.

'Am I speaking with Mr McCallister?' the voice said. 'Loved your last piece on the U-boat peril.'

'That wasn't my piece,' McCallister replied. 'Who is this please?'

'Call me a potential 'source' if you like, surely you get those all the time?'

McCallister sighed. Most of the unnamed sources he had to deal with were often just in it for a few crisp pound notes! And then they were frequently unreliable. 'What do you want to tell me? I presume you have something to tell me?'

'Don't sound so enthusiastic, old boy,' the voice said. 'You never know, it might make the front page. There is evidence that a German diplomat may have been assassinated. It appears he was slain at the stately home of Lord Collendon of Lincolnshire in the early hours of Sunday 18th of September.'

McCallister found himself sitting upright with a surge of interest, despite the pain in his second premolar. 'And how would you know that?'

'Well, have you ever read a book called the _Historie of the Reign of King Henry VII_ written in 1626 by Sir Francis bacon?' the voice said almost mockingly.

'Of course, I haven't? What's your point?'

'Well, Bacon uses an interesting word, 'Mole',' the voice said. 'Meaning spy. So, if you like you can call me your 'mole'. See, I have firsthand knowledge of the incident. And I'd be very happy to keep you informed as the story develops.'

The journalists gasped. 'Is this a joke? Funnily enough, I've just been to the dentist and had my molar filled!'

There was a pregnant pause at the end of the line. 'I've got eyes and ears everywhere, old boy.'

' _Who are you_?' McCallister said completely taken aback. 'If you want to get paid for this information, you'll have to tell me who you are.'

'Money isn't my motive, old boy,' the voice said. 'But to be truthful, actually I didn't know that you've just been to the dentist. Rather an interesting coincidence, don't you think?'

But this explanation only fueled McCallister's paranoia. 'What's the name of this diplomat anyhow?'

'Deiter Fefferberg, very close to the 'Grey Wolf,' the voice said.

'Who the hell is the Grey Wolf?' the journalist asked.

'I thought you people were up to spec on all this stuff,' the voice said. 'Adolf Hitler, the Fuhrer of course! I mean, when they assassinated the Archduke Franz Ferdinand it practically started the First World War. This incident I think, has the same potential.'

'Well, I'll pass this on to my editor, but it will be up to him if he prints it.'

'That's all I ask old boy,' the voice said. 'also, personally, I hate the word 'assassinate' and prefer the word 'murder'. Tell your editor to print that _. As a headline it's got more punch!_ '

***

There was a rap on Michael O'Flaherty's kitchen window at just after eleven pm. This did not surprise him, as he was used to serving people at all hours of the day and night. Being a popular butcher in Horncastle was like being a doctor and was always on call and ever ready to serve a good customer. But eleven o'clock was later than usual. Still, he couldn't pretend he was in bed because whoever was rapping at this hour had probably seen him through the kitchen window.

The butcher peered through the stained glass of the kitchen's back door and could only make out a couple of vague shadows. They appeared to be men. It was probably the landlord and his son from the Goatherd inn. They often popped over to see him. Throwing back the bolts, the butcher opened the door. He was surprised to see Mr Jode from the Tennyson Hall farm and Fintan, one of his farmhands.

' _Come to give me that refund, have you?_ ' Michael said, his ire immediately rising. 'Because I swear to God, I'll not be dealing with you ever again unless you do.'

Jode pushed his way in, his attitude less subservient than it had been when they had last met at the Goatherd. Fintan, a powerfully built man, also squeezed himself into the tiny kitchen.

'No, I haven't come to pay you, Michael,' Jode said, the smell of liquor on his breath. 'I've come to settle a debt of another kind.'

The butcher smirked. 'Oh yes? And what would that be then?'

Without warning, Fintan produced a razor-sharp scythe which had been cut down from its normal size and held it to the butcher's throat.

'Huh! Got someone else to do your fighting for you then, Jode, have you?' the butcher said unperturbed.

' _Are you alright dear?_ ' a voice suddenly called from the top of the hallway stairs. 'Who's that at this time of night?' It was the butcher's wife.

'Go back to bed Kathleen,' the butcher shouted back still unconcerned. 'It's just a couple of drunken old fools.'

'What?' she said.

Jode walked over to the kitchen door and closed it, and in a low voice said, 'You did me a bit of a bad turn the other night, Michael. Shaming me in front of everyone in the Goatherd! Accusing me of selling you bad meat.'

'Well you did!' the butcher said pushing the weapon away. ' _And, now you need to go, before I really lose me temper!'_

Fintan and Jode exchanged amused glances.

'I don't think you're in a position to bark any orders at me at the moment,' Jode said, his face intense. 'See, I can't have things like that said against the Collendon farm or my employer.'

'If Lord Collendon had any sense he would sack you,' Michael said with defiance.

Jode slowly shook his head. 'You're just an oaf who didn't know a good thing when he had it. I always gave you a good discount, didn't I?'

'Well, I'd spit on it now!' the butcher replied cockily.

'Really? Then try spitting on this!' Jode said grabbing the scythe out of Fintan's hand and running the blade across the butcher's throat. Fintan was shocked at his manager's actions.

The look of surprise on Michael's face was almost comical. He staggered backwards against the kitchen table, his hands clutching his neck. He tried to speak as blood drenched his vocal chords and flowed down to his chest. All he could manage was a kind of garbled gasp, like a drowning man.

Jode gave his farmhand a satisfied nod. Fintan took back the scythe, his face white, and they quickly left the building. It was an ironic end to a man who had ripped open the carcasses of animals all his life.

***

Mr Kearns slapped the newspaper down on the kitchen table in front of Alice, who was just finishing her breakfast of milky porridge. The headlines were large and menacing:

'GERMAN DIPLOMAT FOUND DEAD IN STATELY HOME. MURDER SUSPECTED!'

'Now who on earth has been speaking to the press?' Kearns demanded in a peeved voice.

Alice looked at him. 'Well it wasn't me, Mr Kearns! But I did tell you the other day that Jode had been going around shouting his mouth off. Especially to that Reverend Cope!'

'Cope wouldn't have spoken to the newspapers, surely?' Kearns pondered. 'Well, I can tell you, his Lordship had a flying fit when he saw the paper. And if anyone in this household has spoken out of turn, they will definitely face dismissal, and will never work in domestic service again!'

Shirley the scullery maid looked over Alice's shoulder. 'Well, I never said anything, Mr Kearns.'

'I'm sure you haven't, Shirley,' Mr Kearns said his face pensive. 'And besides, the police have already ruled out any funny business. Now, they'll probably have to come and investigate.'

'What's his Lordship going to do?' Alice asked.

'Do?' Kearns said. 'Probably sue the newspaper for printing what could be construed as a libelous story, one that defames his Lordship's reputation.'

'Terrible,' Alice said.

'It is,' Kearns said picking up the paper. 'And it affects us all. We'll be famous down at the pub!'

'It's doubtful that any of us had anything to do with it,' Alice protested.

'Try telling that to Lord Montford's butler!' Kearns said. 'He always likes to have a dig at me. Now he'll have _plenty_ of ammunition!'

***

Inspector Eustace Haycock of the Lincoln Constabulary had known the Collendon family for decades. He immediately smelt a rat when stories of a murder at Tennyson House began to circulate. Not only were London newspapers printing the story, those in the provinces were too. It meant Haycock had little choice but to put in an official appearance. He politely made an appointment to see his Lordship and managed to fit him in early in the week, which suited his own busy timetable.

When he arrived at Tennyson House he could see that Lord Collendon was now at his wits end. He appeared rather pleased to see the Inspector.

'Glad you could come,' Collendon said giving the inspector a hard handshake. 'Let me at once say that the stories of murder are sheer journalistic exaggeration. The dead body is still upstairs, when it should be in the morgue. But the German Embassy are being extremely difficult. They want the body down in London, but the Coroner disagrees and I'm in the middle. I was rather hoping you could speed things up at this end.'

Inspector Haycock, a tall bald man in his forties with a handlebar moustache, nodded his head and respectfully removed his beige coloured hat. 'I'll be only too happy to help, my Lord. I just have to ask a few routine questions.'

'Fire away, 'Collendon said. 'And please have a seat. Kearns will bring in some tea in five minutes.'

'Thank you,' Haycock said sitting down. 'Now about this so-called murder. When I spoke to your butler, Kearns on the telephone, he explained that your guest, Mr Fefferberg, was drunk. I gather he was also unwell and then fell off his bed and then died. Is that a correct account?'

'Indeed,' Collendon said. 'He hit his head as well. But as for murder, that's ridiculous. Actually, this rumour seems to have been started by the representative from the German Embassy. He asked me whether Fefferberg might have been assassinated. That was his word, 'assassinated'. And he only asked because we had an official here from Poland, and as you know the Poles and the Germans don't really get on.'

'No, I didn't know that,' Haycock said raising his eyebrows. 'Is it possible to have this Polish gentleman's particulars so that I could have a brief word with him? Just so that we can say that we've officially looked into the matter.'

'Not a problem,' Collendon said. 'His name is Tanek Rozjenski, and I'll have my secretary give you more particulars when you leave. He's the treasurer at the Polish Resettlement Association.'

'And where was this gentleman at the time of Mr Fefferberg's death?'

'Tucked up in bed, I believe,' Collendon said. 'So were the rest of the guests. It was one o'clock in the morning.'

'I understand, thank you, your Lordship,' Haycock said. He took out a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket and quickly jotted down what Collendon had told him. 'I shall also make sure the body is collected from here today and taken to Lincoln. If the Embassy want to take it from there, then that will be a matter for _them_.'

'That would be marvelous,' Collendon said feeling a sense of relief. 'And on behalf of Lady Collendon and myself, we would like to invite you and your wife to our Christmas Firework party on the 20th of December.'

'That's very gracious of you, my Lord, thank you,' Haycock said with a smile.

Kearns' timing was impeccable. He opened the door and came in with the trolley just as the official business was concluded.

***

Haycock was as good as his word. By four o'clock that afternoon, an ambulance arrived from Lincoln County Hospital to pick up Dr Fefferberg's body. A two-man crew deftly rushed up the stairs to the guest room of Tennyson House with a stretcher, and a wilting but stiff body was quickly collected. Lord and Lady Collendon watched from an upstairs window, leaving it to their ever-capable butler, Mr Kearns to see them out.

***

Sitting at his desk at the Home Office, opposite the Cenotaph in London, William Greaves carefully studied the telegram. It had been sent to him from Dr Carson, the pathologist at Lincoln Hospital. It contained a summary of the lab's report detailing the analysis of Fefferberg's blood. It was quite clear the death was not a natural one. At least, this is what the Pathologist was suggesting, subject to an actual autopsy. Trichinosis and other unwanted proteins were clearly present in the blood sample. The Pathologist's view was that this might have also affected the heart.

If it was conclusive there was no foul play to speak of, then the Pathologist would go for the obvious diagnosis. In essence, this would be food poisoning exacerbated by the excessive consumption of alcohol, as the cause of death. In those days, the Home Office, Foreign Office, India Office and Colonial Office all shared the same building in London. It was a simple matter for Greaves to walk across the quadrangle from his office to the Foreign office to share his latest findings.

The Foreign Office had been trying vainly to calm the noise which had recently been erupting from the German Embassy. When Fefferberg's body was taken to Lincoln against their express wishes, German officials hit the roof. The straws which really broke the camel's back were the press releases declaring the diplomat had been murdered! Headlines all over Britain and Europe were screaming the news. However, it seemed that no attempt had been made to obtain any of the actual facts from the hospital.

British officials quickly imparted these to the German Embassy, accompanied by a sent copy of Dr Carson's blood analysis report. Clavvers and Aldinger at the German Embassy, still weren't happy. They were asking for a formal government statement and demanding that Fefferberg's body be retrieved from the Lincoln Hospital and brought to London.

' _I don't care what the proper procedure is_!' Clavvers began screaming down the phone. 'This is a diplomatic scandal in the making! I want that body transferred to London _now. Do you hear me?_ '

***

When news of Fefferberg's 'murder' reached the German authorities, they immediately considered suspending all diplomatic relations. The situation calmed down briefly when it became obvious that Fefferberg's behaviour may have contributed to his own death. It soon heated up again when food poisoning was determined as one of the culprits. A spokesman for the German government gave a small press conference in Munich in which he said, 'We are deeply upset at the passing of one of the sons of our soil, giving his life in the performance of his duty. Our deepest condolences go out to Dr Fefferberg's family. We hope the British Government will now do its duty and take action and rectify the situation to everyone's satisfaction!'

It was at this point that Under-Secretary Geoffrey Beresford reinserted himself into the situation, offering to get to the bottom of it all. He had been thoroughly briefed by Home Office dogsbody, William Greaves, and wanted to go forward with his plan. Beresford thought it would be a good ploy to declare that he would hold someone to account, if indeed it had been food poisoning. The question of a possible murder charge would fall under police jurisdiction.

In his usual charming and ultra-reasonable way, he expressed his sympathy at afternoon tea at the Ritz's Palm Court. As it happened, they were under the culinary auspices of Tea Sommelier, Franco Dequoix.

'We are very fortunate that Dequoix is presiding today,' Beresford said as he studied the menu at one of the tables under a large Rococo mirror.

His guest, Bertrand Clavvers from the German Embassy snorted. 'Wonderful!'

'Hmm,' Beresford said with a polite smile. 'The Fefferberg situation _is_ very unfortunate. What's the latest from Berlin? Obviously, they realise now that Fefferberg wasn't actually murdered?'

'Yes, but they are naturally very upset that such a thing as this could have happened to such a prominent individual,' Clavvers said. 'Furious in fact! Dr Fefferberg was an important man! The onus is now on the British Government to act responsibly and hold someone to account for his death. When a representative of our country comes to visit you, it is imperative that everything is done to safeguard their wellbeing.'

'I agree,' Beresford said. 'But to be fair, it does appear that he didn't help the situation very much. Apparently, Fefferberg was drinking like a fish, and he fell off the bed and hit his head. I think the issue of the food poisoning was more incidental than anything else.'

'And now you're being the Devil's advocate!' Clavvers replied lowering his voice. 'I know what your true affiliations are. You are like me. You want a German invasion, even a war. And it will come, one or the other, of that I am sure! But does Britain have the stomach for an armed conflict? Certainly, this affair has ratcheted up the tensions! For now, you have to translate your sympathies into some positive action. Berlin want nothing less than a life for a life! This is also Herr Aldinger's view.'

Beresford gazed at his guest with interest. 'Well, you're not going to get that. But I will personally go and see Lord Collendon and query him in depth. Our initial enquiries haven't quite been as comprehensive as I would have liked. Of course, now that it's all out in the public eye, justice must be _seen_ to be done. Or reparations at any rate. Someone will have to be the scapegoat, I accept that, but it won't be Lord Collendon, I promise you!'

'No matter. But your Government needs to publicly play the role of conciliator,' Clavvers said as the waiter approached. 'If war breaks out over this incident, Whitehall will be blamed. So, we demand nothing less than a token head on a platter to sooth Berlin's ruffled feathers!'

'And _that_ I shall deliver,' Beresford said. 'I shall also insist that the body is taken from Lincoln to a location of your choice. We'll even arrange an army escort if we have to!' He rubbed his hands together. 'Now, before we further get into the realms of mixed metaphors, let's order some cucumber sandwiches?'

Chapter Five

It was with some annoyance that Inspector Haycock found himself back at Tennyson House again, although this time on other business. It was clearly the month for murders, whether they were real or imagined. Whilst trying to contain the maelstrom which surrounded Fefferberg's demise, Haycock found himself investigating another. The butcher, Michael O'Flaherty had been found with fatal wounds to his throat. As he lay dying in his wife's arms in the kitchen, he had whispered the words, ' _Fintan had a scythe..._ '

This final utterance was accompanied by a sighting of the Tennyson House delivery van, which had been carelessly parked near the Goatherd Inn. This time, Haycock arrived at Tennyson without giving prior notice and slipped round the back of the house to Jode's shed.

Jode looked surprised to see him though retaining a casual air. 'Hello, Inspector. What can I do for you, sir?'

'I'm looking for a farmhand by the name of Fintan O'Brian,' the inspector said. 'I gather that he still works here?'

'Why do you want to know, if you don't mind my asking?' Jode asked in an innocent tone.

'He may have been involved in a local murder!' Haycock said smoothing his moustache and staring Jode in the eyes. 'Michael O'Flaherty, the butcher was attacked two nights ago, Thursday, and died. But before he did, he managed to say that 'a Fintan' was carrying a weapon, a scythe to be precise. I presume this is the Fintan who works for you.'

'Did Michael give Fintan's full name?' Jode asked with a crafty look in his eye. 'Did he say, Fintan O'Brian?'

'How many Fintans are there in the Lincoln area? Only one I'll wager!' the Inspector said. 'But your van was found near the scene of the crime. So, we presumed he meant Fintan O'Brian. And where were you two nights ago, Mr Jode?'

'I was here, having a kip,' Jode said with a frown. 'But funnily enough, I thought I _did_ hear the van being driven off that night, but I thought I was dreaming. And I haven't seen Fintan for a while. I don't think he's here at the moment. But I doubt that he had anything to with it, inspector. Poor Michael, he was a good customer!'

Haycock nodded. If Fintan O'Brian had gone on the run, it was only a matter of time before he would be caught. 'Do you know where O'Brian could be now?' he asked

'No, sir,' Jode replied. 'He's a bit of a dark horse he is. Got no family, sleeps under hedges when he's drunk. Comes and goes when the fancy takes him! He's Irish, you know. And he's got Republican sympathies, so I never fully trusted him.'

'He's a big man I gather?' the inspector said.

'Big Irish fellow with sort of reddish hair,' Jode said. 'And he's got a tattoo on his right upper arm. I think they're called Claddagh tattoos, so he told me, two hands holding a heart with a crown on top!'

'Alright, thank you, Mr Jode,' Haycock said making a note of this. 'If you happen to see him, don't say a solitary word about this. But do phone me straight away. I'll be back.'

'No sir, 'Jode said deferentially. 'I mean, yes sir.'

As soon as the inspector had gone, Fintan, who was still on the farm, sneaked up to Jode's shed. 'What did _he_ want then?'

'You better scarper,' Jode said in an urgent tone. 'It seems old Michael said you _did him in_ the other night! So, the police want words with you!' Jode took down a small metal tea caddy from a shelf and removed a five-pound note. 'Here, take this and get out of here and lie low for a while. Send me a card or phone me and let me know where you are, and _we'll figure out what to do next_!'

***

Geoffrey Beresford took a train to Horncastle by himself, and then a taxi to Tennyson House. He preferred to go without an entourage, who would effectively be witnesses to what he had to say to Lord Collendon. His Lordship had learnt that Jode had been interviewed by the police and so spent the morning walking around the farm with his employee. Jode convinced him that there was nothing to be concerned about, which Collendon accepted in part. He broke away from Jode as soon as Kearns informed him of Geoffrey Beresford's arrival, whom he was expecting.

Lord Collendon only had a vague notion of what the Under Secretary wanted, and actually would have preferred to have spoken to his boss, the Minister of State himself. Still, whatever they talked about would no doubt be passed on to the Minister in due course. Beresford was shown into his Lordship's personal office, a privilege which was reserved only for the most important of people. Mr Kearns ensured that teas and biscuits were provided, and spent the entire interview listening out of sight behind the hallway door.

After the usual pleasantries, Beresford, holding a thick dossier which he had removed from his briefcase, got to the point. 'It appears that the British government has been caught on the hop. The German authorities are upset that one of their own has died in unusual circumstances while acting as their representative abroad.'

'Well, he wasn't bloody assassinated, I can assure you of that!' Lord Collendon replied in an annoyed tone. 'What are you trying to suggest?'

Beresford shrugged and smiled. 'Nothing untoward I can assure you, my Lord. However, it is the German view that Fefferberg might still have been alive if he had not left London.'

Collendon shook his head. 'So, in other words, coming to Tennyson House was the cause of his death? Well, I dispute that. It's arrant rubbish. Fefferberg loved to tie one on and he really did it in style here. He simply drank too much, and it killed him! It could have happened anywhere. He could have gone home and died in his bed.'

'I agree,' Beresford said. 'But unfortunately, that is not how the German's see it. Also, a preliminary report from the Pathologist at the Lincoln County Hospital strongly suggests that food poisoning was a key factor. Bacteria associated with uncured pork was found in Fefferberg's blood. You keep pigs here, do you not, my Lord? Putting two and two together we must assume that at some point the deceased ate some pork or some meat which was not properly cooked. Have you been informed of the results of the analysis of the blood sample that was taken here by Dr Dennings?'

At this point in the conversation, Lord Collendon appeared uncomfortable. 'Yes, I confess I _have_ been informed of this. But I have ruled it out because none of my other guests fell ill, which would have been the case if poorly prepared food had been served.'

'Then how do you account for the presence of Trichinosis in Fefferberg's blood?' Beresford asked consulting the dossier. 'Trichinosis is the product of uncured pork among other things.'

Lord Collendon stood up and walked to the window. 'I don't know. I'm not a bloody doctor, am I? However, there is a possible explanation, but I hesitate to suggest it.'

'I am all ears, my Lord.' Beresford said in a serious voice. 'We cannot afford to put aside certain facts merely because they are inconvenient to us.'

Lord Collendon turned around to face Beresford. 'Fefferberg did ask my cook, Mrs Green to prepare him a favourite dish of his. Actually, it was some sausages. I can't remember the word, no, wait a minute, some wurst? I believe that's what it was. These were made from pork.'

'Now we are getting somewhere,' Beresford said in a satisfied tone of voice. 'And regarding the meat products of your farm. I was informed that there was a case of food poisoning that occurred recently in Horncastle? It was apparently as a result of products sold from your farm by a Mr Jode, your farm manager. Are you aware of this?'

'No, I'm not,' Collendon said his face reddening.

Beresford leaned forward. 'Apparently the postman's wife, Mrs Clyde fell ill and blamed the sausages she brought from Michael O'Flaherty, the butcher who is now dead! This is the same butcher who was being supplied by your farm. A further complication, we have just been informed, is that the butcher was murdered on Thursday. And apparently by a farmhand from this farm. Are you aware of these developments?'

'I know a few details concerning the murder. Mr Jode informed me today as a matter of fact,' Lord Collendon sat down on the chesterfield, a look of desolation in his eyes. 'Perhaps I should speak to my solicitor.'

Beresford lifted up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. 'Well, that is why I am here, my Lord, to save you embarrassment. Otherwise the police would be solely dealing with the matter. But it is not in this country's interest to drag our established families through the mud. It would reflect badly on all our other institutions. So, consider me an ally, not a foe. But you'll have to give us something in return. You need to make a gesture which will satisfy the Germans.'

'You're confusing me,' Collendon said. 'Can I presume you are here at the behest of the Minister of State?

'He is privy to everything which has transpired, and I have his complete confidence,' Beresford said.

'What do you want then? An explanation of Fefferberg's death?'

'Something more than that,' Beresford said. 'What we want is to hold someone accountable for his death! That's the issue. But, as I have said, we certainly can't blame you. Not directly or indirectly for that matter.'

Lord Collendon gaped for a long moment. 'Then whom?'

Beresford made a face as he considered this question. 'Who is in charge of the farm and handling the meat you produce?'

'My farm manager, Mr Jode.'

'Then perhaps we can lay the blame at his door. You see my Lord, the Germans are looking at this in a very...biblical way. They want an eye for an eye. No less.'

Collendon shook his head. 'But Mr Jode is virtually indispensable to me. He runs the family business as such and it enables me to pay the bills here.'

Beresford nodded. 'Well, I suggest him because I gather he is in charge of ensuring that all the meat products of the Tennyson Farm are hygienic and safely edible. Is that not correct?'

'Mr Jode is in charge of curing the pork, yes,' Collendon said.

'There we go then!' Beresford said.

'Are you saying that you want to prosecute him?' Collendon asked. 'Because that would be a major blow to me and probably my reputation. It would suggest that the Tennyson farm is not viable.'

Beresford considered this. 'Fair point. What about this idea then? Suppose we hold your cook responsible instead. We will say that she didn't wash her hands or something when she was preparing the special sausages for Dr Fefferberg.'

Lord Collendon stared at Beresford. 'Mrs Green is a domestic who came to us very highly recommended. She learnt her cooking skills in the best households. She is beyond reproach.'

'No one is beyond reproach,' Beresford said. 'They crucified Christ, didn't they?'

'If you're asking me to sacrifice her, then every bone in my body says no,' Collendon said. 'I am a Christian and I have morals. And I will not besmirch the reputation of a lady who has been very loyal and dedicated to us. Especially not for the Germans.'

Beresford puckered up his bottom lip. 'Then, let events take their natural course. The press will continue to have a field day. And if that doesn't destroy your reputation once and for all, the Palace of Westminster may even have you disbarred, and that will!'

'Nonsense, that's an outrageous suggestion!' Collendon said rising from the couch.

Beresford shrugged again. 'Obviously, I sympathise with your position, but you must understand that what I am proposing is a damage limitation exercise. Otherwise there is no telling what the outcome of this situation will be. Both the public and the German authorities are now waiting for us to make the next move. And that has to be some sort of responsible action on our part.'

'But you've already done it,' Collendon said. 'You've conducted an investigation and your findings are that food poisoning was a possible cause of Fefferberg's death. Food poisoning happens all the time, every day I wager, in probably every restaurant and home in the world. There is really no need to take someone to task over it. It is virtually an act of God. An accident, as it were.'

'I understand what you are saying,' Beresford said. 'But in the world of politics, when there are accidents, there are always human consequences. When a politician accidently says the wrong thing, he has to try and make it right. Either by retracting his statement or resigning or taking some other tangible action. Or someone else does it for them. In this case, we can't just leave the situation hanging in the air. We will need to prosecute someone, no more and no less.'

Collendon was aghast. 'But that's inhuman.'

'In this age of uncertainty with the prospect of war hanging over our heads, hard choices and decisions have to be made,' Beresford said. 'We don't want to upset the Germans any more than we have. And this is what they are demanding. Our hand is being forced.'

Lord Collendon stared into the middle distance. 'So, in effect you want to officially hold my cook responsible for Fefferberg's death? But what will it be? For murder? I think that will be hard to prove in court.'

'The jury will be handpicked, and the judge will direct them to arrive at a guilty verdict,' Beresford replied. 'But it will be either manslaughter or unlawful killing with mitigating circumstances.'

Collendon shook his head. 'I can't allow it!'

Beresford clasped his hands together. 'But it will only be a show trial, so to speak.'

'What do you mean?'

'Your cook _will_ be sent to prison, but we will arrange for her to be released within a matter of months, as a gesture to you,' Beresford said. 'The important thing is that it will be publicised, and it will pacify the German authorities. It will also clear your name. And then after that, we can do whatever we like. No one is going to check up. The world will have moved on to something else. But unfortunately, for Mrs Green, she won't be able to come back into service. Whatever she does after that has to be discreet without the Germans ever finding out.'

'Even so, the stress and humiliation are bound to be too much for the woman,' Collendon said. 'This is not medieval England and we are not the Tudors.'

'No, we're not,' Beresford agreed. 'But your cook will be treated well. She will be allowed special privileges in prison and will be protected. We will also help reallocate her, so that she is out of the line of public sight.'

Collendon stared down at the floor. 'When is this all going to happen?'

'Inspector Haycock in Lincoln has been informed of the situation,' Beresford said. 'And he has agreed to make the arrest, which could take place as early as tomorrow morning!'

'I can't agree to this,' Collendon murmured. 'My wife is going to be extremely upset. And it will mean that we will have to employ another cook immediately, which is most inconvenient!'

'I understand,' Beresford nodded his head. 'And to salve your conscience, perhaps you could put a sum of money in the bank for your cook? So, when she comes out of prison she won't be completely destitute. Obviously, I am counting on your discretion and you are advised not to tell your cook what is going to happen.'

Collendon stood up and went over to the window and looked out. 'I will have to think about this,' he said in a low voice. 'Mrs Green is a completely innocent of all wrong doing. I will need to discuss this with my wife. However, if there is no other way...'

'I'll await your decision then,' Beresford said rising. 'Perhaps you could call me at my office in the next day or two?'

***

When the meeting came to an end, Mr Kearns, who had been listening intently through the door, escorted Beresford out of the house. He then quickly rushed down the hall and backstairs to the kitchen where Alice was bent over a large copper pot. She had a long wooden spoon in her hand and had been stirring the stew which was being prepared for the staff's supper. She looked round with some amusement at Mr Kearns's noisy arrival.

'I want everybody out of the kitchen now!' he demanded.

Three members of staff looked at Kearns with surprise.

'I said, everybody out _now,_ except Mrs Green!' he repeated, literally pushing Paul, the footman out of the door. Kearns then shut it firmly. 'And no listening, that's an order.'

'What's got into you?' Alice said becoming perturbed.

'Alice, put down the spoon, take your apron off and follow me,' Kearns said grabbing her arm.

'Steady on, Mr Kearns, whatever is the matter?'

'We're going to your room,' he said. 'Don't say another word until we have got there.'

They took the stairs to Alice small room, where she had lived for the last ten years. The look of complete incomprehension was clear on her face.

Entering the room, Kearns firmly shut the door. 'Now, he said. 'You are going to pack your bags, put on your coat and go to the nearest post office and draw out your savings, if you have any. Then you are going to take a taxi or bus to Skegness, where my sister is the manager of the Combe Guesthouse. You'll stay there until I give you further instructions!'

'Mr Kearns what on earth are you talking about?' Alice asked with increasing alarm.

'Alice, I am sorry to say this, but possibly tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, probably in the morning, you are going to be arrested and charged with the death of Dr Fefferberg. A man from the Home Office was here today, and they want to hold someone responsible for Fefferberg's passing, and they have chosen you!'

Alice stared at him, her eyes dilating as his words sunk in. 'Me? What do you mean, Mr Kearns?'

'I am advising you to leave the country,' Kearns said. 'There are boats that go from Skegness to Holland. I would get on one and get the hell away from this place. It seems that everyone has gone mad!'

'But, Mr Kearns, I haven't _done_ anything wrong,' Alice said, her body suddenly feeling very weak. She collapsed on the bed.

'Do you have a passport?' Kearns asked as he took down a dusty suitcase from off the top of the wardrobe.

'No,' she replied, her thoughts in complete disarray. 'I can't believe this is happening. What will they do to me, Mr Kearns?'

'I think they want to put you in prison, I'm afraid to say!' Kearns replied lobbing the suitcase onto the bed. 'You'll need some warm clothes.'

Alice shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. 'No, I couldn't go to prison. I couldn't bear it.'

'If you take my advice and leave now, it won't happen,' Kearns said. 'I might even be able to help you settle in Holland.'

She shook her head. 'They'll find me.'

'No, they won't,' Kearns answered. 'They'll think you're still in this country. You could go to Holland and disappear. Then go to mainland Europe. Spain. My sister, Helen, will help you get some travel documents.'

'You seem to think I'm cleverer than I am,' she said looking about the room in a hopeless way. 'Oh, dear God!' She impulsively leaned down, opened the small bedside cabinet and took out a brown bottle of pills. _'I may as well end it now!_ ' She ripped off the lid and poured several tablets into the palm of her hand.

Mr Kearns quickly knocked the medicines onto the floor which scattered like a broken string of beads. ' _Get a grip on yourself, woman!_ ' he said with a fierce look in his eyes. 'Where did you get those? You're not a patient of Dr Dennings.'

'Never you mind, Mr Kearns.'

'Look, calm down, Alice. if we do this right, you'll be fine.'

'I can't, I can't,' she whimpered.

'Believe me, this situation is purely political. Anyone will serve their purpose. And if they can't find you straight away, they'll pick on someone else. Mr Jode, for instance. Now, _that_ rascal really has it coming to him! But we need to play for time.'

'It shouldn't happen to Mr Jode either,' she bleated. 'He's one for the drink, I know, but he's not a bad man.'

Kearns gave her a shrewd look. 'Tell me what you want to pack, and I'll do it for you. What about this cardigan?' He held up a pretty plain mauve garment which was on a hanger next to the door.

She shook her head. 'No, Mr Kearns, it's no good.'

Mr Kearns rounded on her, taking hold of her arms. 'Alice now don't make me swear at you. We've known each other for nearly ten years and you are almost like family to me. And I'll not have you be made a scapegoat. It is not proper. It's wrong and I shall have words with his Lordship about this!'

She looked him doubtfully in the eye. 'You'll have words with his Lordship?'

He nodded. 'In my way, I will, and he'll know it. Meantime, you _have_ to go. Now do as I tell you or I'll drag you down to the coast myself!'

She shook her head with a sad smile. 'You're a good man Mr Kearns. God bless your goodness.'

At these words, the butler became almost motionless as if lost in a momentary dream. 'I don't know about goodness. But in the end of time, goodness will prevail, however, we need to dodge evil when it comes our way.'

Alice slowly stood up and dabbed her eyes her sleeve. 'Alright. For you, I'll do it, Mr Kearns.'

'You'll do it for _yourself,_ ' he replied. 'I suggest you pack and leave as soon as you can. I'll say goodbye now, and I'll let my sister know you're coming. The Combe Guesthouse is in Algitha Road, you'll find it.'

'But what about tonight's dinner?' she said. 'Who will do the cooking? And what are you going to say to the master when they realise I've gone?'

'I'll think of something, and we'll cover for you, Alice,' he said with a wink. 'Like you've always covered for us over the years! Good luck!'

She looked away for a moment, and when she looked back he was gone, the door quietly closing behind him.

***

The afternoon weather was more temperamental than the morning, with the wind mischievously tugging at her small blue woolen hat as if taunting her. It only made the job of carrying the suitcase harder, as she had to hold her hat to stop it blowing away. She left Tennyson House by way of the herb garden passing Mr Jode's shed. She saw him through the little window staring into space, completely unaware that she had become a fugitive. She would have liked to have said goodbye or something. Her sudden departure was made all the more poignant by the fact that she would probably never come back to Tennyson House again.

As she approached the boundaries of the estate, she was surprised to see the cat again, and it made to follow her for a few yards. Alice put down her suitcase and patted the cat on the head when it approached her. 'Where have you been hiding then, eh?'

The cat rubbed its back along her ankles like a circus contortionist, and then, as if alerted by something, suddenly spurted off back into the bushes. Alice picked up her suitcase again and continued walking. She kept looking back at the grand old house, worried that someone had seen her. None had, and the house continued to wear its inscrutable rural face, as it had done so for three centuries. It seemed quietly proud of its ennobled role as the domicile of aristocracy. It cared little for the perils of Alice Green.

At the turnstile, she looked back one last time and thought she could see Mr Kearns staring out of one of the second-floor windows. It was too far away to be certain. She looked away again and continued walking.

There was a bus stop about an eighth of a mile down the road which was slightly up hill. It slowed her progress, and as she walked she prayed she wouldn't encounter anyone she knew. If the Reverend Cope had driven by, she was sure she would have died of embarrassment, however, the road was deserted and remained so.

Before long, bus 6a rolled up to the bus top, and a smiling bus conductor took her suitcase and put it in the luggage hold. She thanked him and made her way along the empty bus to a seat in the middle. For a second she couldn't remember where she was supposed to be going, and then her mind cleared. The conductor rang the bell and the bus pulled away with a jolly jolt.

***

It was only a matter of hours before the household realised that Alice was no longer in the building. The staff knew Mr Kearns was involved in her disappearance in some way. He had unceremoniously dismissed them from the kitchen earlier and had then taken Alice upstairs. That much was obvious, and everyone had just assumed she was being reprimanded for something, although for what, wasn't clear.

Mr Kearns ruled the roost with a firm hand, and no one dared question him. As the day rolled on, and cooking tasks were being allocated to other members of staff, the penny began to drop.

It was Shirley, the scullery maid who finally popped the question which was on everybody's lips. 'Mr Kearns, begging your pardon, sir, but is Alice alright?'

'Of course, she is,' he snapped. 'But she has had some bad news and so I have given her the afternoon off.'

'Really? Well, I saw her walking through the estate earlier,' Shirley said. 'It looked like she had this suitcase. Where is she now, sir?'

The butler gave her a sharp look. 'She was...just taking some old clothes to the rectory for the church bizarre.'

'Ah, so, she'll be back soon then?' she asked. 'Because I can't do these Yorkshire puddings to save my life.'

'Take them off tonight's menu then,' he abruptly replied. 'Don't worry yourself.'

Shirley raised her eyebrows quizzically. 'Alright, sir, sorry I asked.'

***

By six pm, Alice's absence was so conspicuous that several rumours were already being circulated among the staff. One of them was that Alice had been dismissed, though no one had the courage to bring the subject up. Even Mr Jode put his head round the kitchen door enquiring as to where she was and all he received were blank stares. It was becoming evident something quite unusual had taken place, although Mr Kearns remained mute on the subject.

When Paul, the footman politely asked whether, 'Mrs Green would be coming down for her tea', Mr Kearns replied, 'Don't disturb her. She's resting at the moment. I shall take a cup of tea up to her in a little while.'

At half past six he was as good as his word, taking up some tea and biscuits on a tray. This piece of pantomime convinced the staff that Alice was indeed still in the building. Mr Kearns even went to the trouble of going into her room, closing the door and talking in subdued tones. Paul watched all this going on from the top of the backstairs, and immediately relayed it to the rest of the staff.

'I could hear her sobbing,' he said. 'I think it must have been really bad news!'

'Poor thing,' Shirley replied. 'Well, all she needs now is a bit of peace and quiet, and she'll probably be as right as rain tomorrow. You know what she's like!'

Unobserved by the staff, Kearns removed the old-fashioned door key from the inside of Alice's room door, and carefully locked it from the outside. He pocketed the key, and then later hid it with the master key in the potting shed.

***

The Lyons Popular Café in Piccadilly always boasted resplendent menus. It was the haunt of anyone who had a little bit of money or wanted to take a lady friend out. The weekday and weekend fare was second to none. Geoffrey Beresford, who had a flat in Pimlico, had taken a couple of friends there for an evening meal. They ordered Whitstable Oysters and Loin of Veal Italienne, washed down with crisp white wine. Everyone tucked in hungrily.

Lyons was also famous for offering a second helping without extra charge, which was a great draw to native Londoner's and tourists alike. Patrons were also encouraged not to tip the waiters or staff, and any such tips would be appropriated by the company. Naturally this went down very well with customers who instinctively shied away from adding gratuities to the bill. Beresford, who was not a particularly generous tipper, found this policy suited him perfectly. Consequently, he did quite a bit of entertaining at the 'Popular'.

After the meal, Beresford went to the washroom, slightly inebriated. As he approached the door, he noticed a tall man in his forties exit and walk over to a table. However, there was something familiar about this man which gave Beresford pause for thought. The man was dressed in flannels, which differed considerably from his usual dress. It was for this reason Beresford didn't recognise the man straight away. After entering the washroom, washing his hands and combing his hair, it dawned on Beresford where he had seen the man before. At Tennyson House. The man was the butler, Kearns! Once Beresford realised who this was, he immediately did an about-turn and rushed out of the washroom and looked over to where Kearns had apparently walked. Beresford scanned the packed tables and noticed that Kearns was sitting with a woman, half hidden in shadow, and they were in deep conversation.

Beresford's eyes were not as strong as they used to be, so he had to squint. As he stared, he was amazed to note that the woman Kearns was sitting with, was none other than Beresford's German tutor, Frau Brinkmann! Beresford literally rubbed his eyes, astonished at this coincidence. He was quite sure it was Frau Brinkmann, though she was not typically dressed, and her hair was different. Beresford was tempted to go over to the couple to say hello, but he still had his own guests waiting for him at his table. And so, he quickly went back to it, to pay the bill and to walk his guests to the door of the restaurant.

One of his guests was a talkative retired businessman who annoyingly delayed his departure. After a long three minutes of irritating conversation at the restaurant door, he left. Beresford was then able to quickly go up to the table where Kearns and Brinkmann had been sitting. But he found Frau Brinkmann on her own scribbling something on a little writing pad. Beresford's appearance at her table, strangely, didn't seem to surprise her. She simply looked up and smiled.

'Frau Brinkmann!' Beresford said, his instincts telling him something was not right. 'How nice to see you. I didn't know you knew Lord Collendon's butler, Mr Kearns, I believe his name is.'

Frau Brinkmann gave Beresford an opaque look. 'Mr Kearns?'

'Yes, where is he?' Beresford asked.

'Oh, you mean that gentleman that was just here?'

'Yes,' Beresford said looking around.

'That was just a German friend of mine who is visiting London,' Frau Brinkmann said in a very matter of fact way. 'Does he remind you of someone?'

Beresford took a seat at the table without waiting to be asked. 'Well actually yes, obviously. He's a dead ringer for the butler at Tennyson House.'

Frau Brinkmann shrugged. 'How interesting. Your butler must have a doppelganger. No that was Fritz, Fritz...Hals, a Bavarian friend that I have had for years.'

Beresford's eyes were glazed with confusion. 'Ah, really. Well, fancy that. So, he had to leave presumably?'

Frau Brinkmann nodded. 'He's just left. He had to hurry.'

'Oh,' Beresford replied. 'Well, alright, nice to have seen you. I'll be seeing you in the week in any case.'

'Yes, we'll be doing some conjugations,' she said with a smile. 'Perhaps we can focus on the verb 'essen', seeing that we are here in an eating house.'

'Ja tatsachlich!' Beresford replied. 'See you then!'

Beresford slowly wandered back to the exit of the restaurant, his eyes suspiciously scrutinising the faces of people around him. He made a mental note of the name Brinkman had used – Fritz Hals, and then took a cab to his apartment in Pimlico.

He spent the rest of the evening, as bachelor's do, sitting with a drink in his hand staring into space. He then wrote down the name Fritz Hals on a notepad in case he forgot it.

He was a gregarious man who had a string of high-class girlfriends, though at the moment he was in no mood for company. What he had observed this evening was disquieting. Either he was losing his grip on reality, or Frau Brinkmann was lying to him.

He had only seen Kearns twice, but the man's features and personality had made quite an impression on him. Beresford wasn't stupid. In fact, Beresford's superior intelligence would have befitted him for any job which required a higher than average order of mind. He also had a photographic memory, especially for faces. Deep in his bones, he knew that the man he had seen was the butler.

Then, stranger things have happened, and it was quite feasible Frau Brinkmann did have a friend who was visiting from Germany.

Fortunately, Beresford was in a position to make enquiries. The first thing he was going to undertake when he got into the office, was a check. He wanted to see if any airline or ship passenger manifest would confirm that a Fritz Hals had actually entered the country recently. This shouldn't be too difficult to undertake.

But then, as he sat with his third glass of scotch, he suddenly felt he was becoming too cynical. Perhaps his life at the Home Office had made him so. Still, he would be seeing Frau Brinkmann on the following Wednesday anyway. It would give him another chance to question her further. Although, what precisely was worrying him, was unclear. His reaction was purely instinctive, and it had served him well over the years.

What was a priority at the moment, was shipping Dr Fefferberg's body down to London to appease the German Embassy. If Beresford couldn't even pull that off, Clavvers would think him incompetent.

***

Lord Collendon was rudely summoned to the telephone in the middle of the night by a very apologetic Mr Kearns. 'The caller wouldn't give his name, milord, but said it was urgent!'

Tying his dressing gown cords as he walked, Lord Collendon took the call in the library. 'Collendon here. Who's calling? You do realise that it is two o'clock in the morning?'

'Sorry to wake you up, old boy!' an urbane male voice said. 'I've just phoned to say that we're counting on you to do the right thing.'

'Who is this?' Collendon demanded.

'Everett!'

Collendon paused and then recognised the caller. 'Lord Everett Fenwicke?'

'Yes.'

'For God's sake, Everett! What do you want that it couldn't keep until morning?'

'Don't be so bad tempered,' Everett Fenwicke said. 'You know what this about – Mrs Green! I will make it worth your while to do the right thing. Our family will be deeply grateful to you if you gave the authorities what they want.'

'How do you know about all this?' Lord Collendon asked.

'Never you mind,' Everett replied. 'Mrs Green, your cook, as you know, has been a thorn in my family's side for years, and now we have a means of doing something about her.'

'What are you suggesting?'

'I know your farm is going to pot, and I'm prepared to make you an offer,' Everett said. 'I will give you two thousand pounds to tie you over, on condition that you give Geoffrey Beresford _what_ he wants.'

'If you mean let the authorities prosecute Mrs Green for something she hasn't done, you are out of your mind,' Collendon said. 'You're as bad as your father, Everett. Completely without scruples.'

'You can insult my family all you like,' Everett said. 'And I must confess I was never too fond of Pa myself. But you would be a fool to rub me up the wrong way on this issue Collendon! Three thousand and that's my last offer.'

Collendon took a breath. 'Four thousand and I'll think about it.'

'Now, you _are_ being greedy,' Everett said. 'I expect you to telephone Beresford later today to let him know that you agree to his requests. I will then authorise a banker's draft for four thousand five hundred pounds once Mrs Green has been arrested.'

'How do I know you will keep your word?'

'I think we will both have too much to lose if I don't!' Everett said hanging up with a dull click.

***

When dawn broke, heavy rainclouds hung over Lincolnshire from Laughterton to Hundleby and over the town of Lincoln itself. It was the beginning of a frustrating day for both the local Coroner and Pathologist. The body of Dr Fefferberg had been unofficially taken out of the hospital's mortuary the day before. It had been whisked down to London before an autopsy in Lincoln could be performed. Documentation of sorts had been produced, and so it was apparently all above board. There had also been an army escort with whom nobody could argue. The hospital registrar just stood at the hospital entrance with his mouth agape. The ice-cold body of Dr Fefferberg was slipped into the back of an army ambulance by two army privates and driven away.

But at five in the morning, the Coroner and Pathologist were, as yet, unaware of these developments. Inspector Haycock, who was always on top of his game, already knew the body was being taken to a morgue in Kensington. From there it would be taken to a local hospital of the German Embassy's choice for further examination.

Haycock also had a suspicion that the findings of the Pathologist in Lincoln were likely to be amended to suit current requirements. All very irregular, and Haycock knew that someone at the Home Office was pulling strings. He was right of course. However, Haycock had other business on his mind that morning. As he was being driven to Tennyson House, he quickly re-examined the arrest warrant which he had on his lap. It was for one Alice Lorraine Green, cook in residence at Tennyson House. The description of the alleged offence was a bit fudged in his view, though plain. She was under the primary charge of, _'suspicion of willfully preparing food with the intention of causing illness or death'_.

Haycock slowly raised his head and glanced out of the car window at the crisp early morning countryside of Lincolnshire. It bemused him that crimes were becoming ever more devious. In this case, a probable motive was clear, and it had been unintentionally supplied by Mr Kearns. In a telephone conversation, Kearns had told Haycock that Dr Fefferberg may well have made enemies among the other guests at the house. Especially with his ultra-rightwing views. Kearns had also related the way Fefferberg had quizzed Mrs Green about her relatives in Germany, which had plainly upset her. Now, as far as motives went, this was a gift to the authorities. They could cite the existence of a possible grievance on Mrs Green's part as a motive for her supposed actions.

As far as Lord Collendon's Polish guest was concerned, Haycock had been instructed not to bother questioning him. Apparently, his involvement with Fefferberg's death would have been harder to prove. Haycock accepted this without demur. But on another matter, Haycock had just found out that Mr Jode and the butcher Michael O'Flaherty had been involved in a serious altercation at the Goatherd Inn. It had happened just a week before the butcher's death. From all accounts, the butcher had assaulted Jode with a poker and there had been an exchange of words. So here was another motive on a platter.

Haycock felt it would be appropriate to subject Jode to further questioning and kill two birds with one stone. But Haycock didn't want to put too much pressure on Lord Collendon, who was clearly already struggling under a big personal burden as it was.

The police car came to halt in front of Tennyson House and Haycock got out straightening his coat. Then he marched up the steps to the entrance and rapped on the shiny black double front doors of the building. Mr Kearns opened them promptly, as if expecting him. Haycock was with two other detectives, and demanded to see Mrs Alice Green, producing the arrest warrant. Kearns showed them in and took them through the main part of the house to the outer corridor on the first floor. It was where the servant's quarters were, and where Alice's room was.

Haycock looked at his watch. 'Is Mrs Green likely to be up at this hour?' he asked.

'She is normally up with the birds,' Kearns said.

Haycock knocked on Alice's door. 'Mrs Green? This is Inspector Haycock of the Lincoln Constabulary. Will you open the door please?'

Everyone waited for some sign of life. They were greeted by complete silence. Haycock glanced at Kearns. 'Perhaps she is still asleep. Does she lock her door?'

'Mostly not,' Kearns said.

Haycock knocked again. 'Mrs Green, I am here on official business. If you do not open the door in the next few moments, I will have to enter. Can you hear me?'

Again, silence.

'I'm coming into your room,' Haycock said trying the handle and finding the door locked. He looked at Kearns. 'Do you have the master key?'

'Yes, sir, there is one,' the butler replied. 'But I will have to find it. It is downstairs.'

Haycock felt a wave of exasperation come over him. 'Well, would you mind going to get it?'

Kearns nodded and quickly walked away, across the main landing, almost colliding with an embarrassed Lord Collendon who was hovering out of sight. 'Ah, Kearns, I understand that the police have come to arrest Mrs Green. Are they alright?'

Mr Kearns gave his employer an unfriendly glance. 'Yes, sir. Apparently, Mrs Green has locked herself in her room, and I have been asked to retrieve the master key.'

'Good show,' Collendon replied. 'Let me know what happens.'

'Indeed sir,' Kearns answered, walking quickly away.

Of course, thanks to the canny Mr Kearns, the keys were never found, and Haycock found himself immersed in an unconscionable delay. Haycock pleaded for four long minutes with a silent Mrs Green, to open the door, with no response. Eventually permission had to be obtained from Lord Collendon to enter by force.

'Bear in mind that this door is antique, and if it's broken, I will expect to be compensated,' his Lordship said pompously.

'We have no choice in the matter,' Haycock replied getting the younger detectives to do the dirty work. After several firm shoves and kicks, the door gave way, and the police entered the room. Of course, it was empty.

Haycock noted that there was another doorway on the left, and he swiftly opened it, only to find it was a small empty washroom and toilet. 'Where the hell is she?' the Inspector demanded.

Kearns looked around the room as if surprised. 'Well that's odd,' he said. 'I gave her the afternoon off yesterday, as she was feeling a bit under the weather. And so, I'm surprised she isn't in her room!'

Haycock's face was a picture of polite annoyance. 'Do I really have to search this entire building to find her? Is she likely to be in the kitchen?'

The butler shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm afraid I couldn't say, sir. I haven't seen her for a while.'

'Is there a chance that she might have known I was coming,' asked Haycock.

'I doubt it, sir,' the butler answered. 'How would she know that?'

In the end, the police were forced to search Tennyson House itself, with its two dozen or so bedrooms, five bathrooms, endless corridors and spare rooms, guest rooms, reception rooms, parlours, libraries, ballrooms, of which there were two; three dining rooms, a pump room, a billiard room, endless cupboards, and stairs going in all directions. After an hour of going around and around in circles, guided skillfully by Mr Kearns, Haycock called off the effort.

'I will have no choice but to widen the search to encompass Horncastle itself and some of the nearer towns and coastal towns,' Haycock said, his face red with exertion. 'Obviously, she is not here. Could be on the grounds though. I think it might be a good idea later to offer a reward for Mrs Green's apprehension if she's gone!'

'Would you like me to question the staff?' one of the detectives asked.

'Good idea, and search the grounds while you are at it,' Haycock replied. 'Meanwhile, I'm going back to the station. I might be back to interview Mr Jode on another matter. Let me know if Mrs Green turns up!'

Chapter Six

In the end, it was the power of money which turned events around. It convinced one of the guests at the Combe Guesthouse in Skegness to inform the police of a mysterious fellow female guest. She apparently matched the description of a fugitive on the run given in the Lincolnshire Echo.

A £20 reward was being, _'offered for the identification and arrest of Mrs Alice Green also known as Lorraine Green.'_ A photograph and full description were given, which left little doubt as to who the woman in the guesthouse was. But when the police arrived two days later, they were informed that Alice had left the building to go and post a letter. She was finally picked up near the Clock Tower in Lumley Road, near the beach. She put up no resistance and was taken back to the guesthouse in Haycock's Humber, to collect up her belongings. When Haycock asked her why she had absconded, she replied, 'I just came here because I fancied some sea air,' and denied any foreknowledge of the police's action.

'Are you sure that your employer Lord Collendon didn't give you any warnings that we were coming?' Haycock asked.

'No sir, he didn't,' she replied.

Haycock didn't actually officially caution her until he had taken her back to Lincoln. Then she was briefly interviewed without legal representation by another officer. The basic details of the alleged offence were explained to her and she was asked some general questions. It seemed her guilt was assumed without question. Eventually she was charged, and marched off to a small dark cell, and offered a sandwich and a cup of tea which she accepted.

Special measures were being applied in her case, and she was summoned to appear at Lincoln Magistrates Court the very next morning. Charges were read out, which she heartily denied. Bail was refused by the magistrate, as she had attempted to abscond. She was taken under special escort to Holloway prison in Parkhurst Road, London. It had solely been taking female prisoners since 1903. It was here, on remand, that she would await her trial at a Crown Court, on a day to be decided, for the 'unlawful killing of Dr Dieter Fefferberg'.

***

Even though Fintan O'Brian had no formal education and could barely read a local newspaper, he was not a stupid or clumsy man. He was merely someone who didn't realise his own physical strength or ability to intimidate someone with just a glance. He was also better connected than Jode had given him credit for.

He had come from Romany horse trader stock, having friends in a Romany encampment in West Lindsey, better known locally as the 'old gypsy site'. Before coming to England, he had lived in Dublin. There, he had become involved with a group of small-time political agitators, calling themselves Patriots for Ireland. After a number of arrests by the Garda, Fintan had fled to Liverpool and then on to Lincolnshire.

For now, the Romany camp in West Lindsay would serve as a temporary bolt hole. As it happened the camp was somewhat off the beaten track. It was one of the reasons why the local authorities tended to leave the community to its own devices. Another reason was that it also had a reputation for being quite 'respectable'. It was therefore a relatively safe place to stay for a while. But the site holders managed to maintain their high standards because they had a canny way of recycling rubbish and turning it into cash. It was sold onto the 'giorgos', the locals, in a metamorphosed form. It reappeared as simple kitchen items and toys, made from wood waste, sawdust and old milk crates. It was often embellished with the embroidery skills of the Romany women. And while this was the public face of the camp, mostly the men had their own agenda and were usually out of sight.

'Kalo' Smythe, the community leader, was reputed to be 'richer than any Englishman'. It was to him the menfolk would go if they had any problems or fell afoul of the law. It was to him that Fintan O'Brian went for help.

Fintan turned up at the camp, late one evening and went straight to Kalo's sumptuous red and green caravan at the very end of the site. Kalo, was a thin, forty-something, straggly bearded man who always wore a small faded green trilby. He greeted Fintan like a long-lost brother, with a hug. Despite his meagre size, Kalo was renowned as a feared adversary in some quarters. He would invariably come out the victor in any altercation. Fintan knew to speak openly though respectfully and was aware that Kalo would move heaven and earth to help a fellow Roma.

'Come and have some Ruby with me, Fin,' Kalo said with his arm around Fintan's neck. 'And tell me why we haven't seen you for a while, as if I didn't know! Still got that job at the Tennyson farm?'

The two men then began a protracted conversation in Kalo's cosy caravan. As ever, Kalo was able to bring Fintan up to speed on a number of things. There was no local news that Kalo didn't know or didn't hear second or third hand.

'It was in the papers,' Kalo said. 'You can read it if you like. They're having your cook, Mrs Green up for murder I think. Or was it manslaughter?'

Fintan was shocked at this news as he had always liked Mrs Green, who often rebuked him for not calling her 'Alice'. Fintan shook his head. 'Well, I've just come from there and I didn't hear a dicky bird. Now that don't make no sense! Why is she up for murder then?'

'Because she was Jewish, and it's something to do with dirty cooking practices and old pig meat and whatnot,' Kalo replied.

'Old pig meat?'

'Come on, you lived there! Your boss was entertaining this nazzi and she poisoned him with some rotten meat,' Kalo said. 'Or at least they said she did. But I reckon they might have put her up to it.'

'Christ,' Fintan said. 'Was that all in the papers then?'

'No, but that's what I heard,' Kalo said. 'And how's that old rascal, Mr Jode? I heard you and him did the butcher over.'

Fintan couldn't believe his ears. 'How did you know that then?'

Kalo smiled. 'Let's just say nothing gets passed me. And I also know the police are looking for you too. Because the butcher reckoned it was you who done him in. Though it's not in the papers, yet, I don't think.'

'Jesus!'

'Well, you wouldn't be coming here for no reason,' Kalo said with a shrug. 'You're like a right bunch of criminals up at that Tennyson House, aren't you? And don't pretend you never done it, because I know you did.'

Fintan looked down into the glass of brew that Kalo had shoved into his hand. 'But the thing is, it was all Jode's idea and he did it. Not me! This butcher, Michael O'Flaherty, had hit him with a fire iron in the pub and mouthed off about his sausages. So Jode said we should kill the bastard, and he did. Slit his throat like a chicken. And I reckon it was Jode who didn't cure the pork properly that was the cause of that nazzi's death. I'd put, money on it. Why they're blaming Mrs Green, Lord knows.'

'It's obvious isn't it?' Kalo said with the wisdom of a man who knew human nature inside out. 'Jode's too useful to your Lord Collendon, and it's all about keeping the nazzi's sweet, so they had to give 'em something.'

'Yeah,' Fintan frowned as he took this information in. 'Well, I'm in a bind, anyways.'

'Too true brother,' Kalo said. 'And if they catch you, you'll hang and Jode will get away with it.'

'Not if I can help it, 'Fintan said with a dour expression. 'He'll be dead before me, _I tell you that_!'

'Now now!' Kalo said with a crooked grin. 'Not in front of the brew please!'

***

When Inspector Haycock and his men had departed from Tennyson House on that fateful day, pandemonium had ensued. There was a full-scale eruption in the form of a screaming fit from Lady Collendon who doted on Alice and couldn't conceive of a suitable replacement. Her mood was further compounded later by the newspaper reports of Alice's subsequent arrest. His Lordship had never seen his wife so overcome with emotion in all their thirty years of marriage. She unraveled before his eyes in the privacy of the downstairs library and was overheard by every single soul in the household.

Even Sootsac, the cat, could hear her Ladyship from as far away as the hedgerow, and retreated warily back into his den of twigs and withered leaves.

' _But it was all Jode's doing. He's in charge of the meat!'_ her Ladyship was shouting. 'What kind of a twisted mentality do you have? _Mrs Green had absolutely nothing to do with it!'_

'Keep your voice down for heaven's sake before Jode hears you!' Lord Collendon begged.

Lady Collendon gave her husband a withering look. 'That's right protect him. Because he's the only true friend you've got. Everyone else despises you for being such a moral coward!'

'Now steady on there,' Lord Collendon said going to the door and checking that it was properly closed. 'You depend on Jode as much as I do. But I promise, I will start looking for a replacement for Mrs Green today. Shirley will cook for now. What worries me, is that it seems that Jode could well be in the frame as an accessory for the assault and murder of the butcher Michael O'Flaherty.'

'What?' she said in a shocked voice. 'And you still want to keep that evil man on these premises?'

Collendon shrugged and then wearily sat down on a chair by the door. 'It's a case of having to for now.'

Lady Collendon recovered momentarily from her excesses and leaned against the mantelpiece. 'If he gets arrested that will be just perfect.'

'I'm not sure that he will,' Collendon said. 'Geoffrey Beresford and Inspector Haycock both told me that Jode's too close to me for comfort, and it could be reputationally damaging. So, they're going after Fintan O'Brian, who has apparently run off! Fintan was identified by the dead man as his attacker before he died. So that should get Jode off the hook.'

'Our Fintan on the run?' Lady Collendon said. 'Well I hope they never catch him! Felix, sometimes you disgust me! Call yourself a peer of the realm? You need to be demoted!' She tossed her head and left the library.

Lord Collendon tiredly stood up from his chair and went to the desk where there was a telephone. He dialed a London Mayfair number and got straight through to his London solicitor, Toby Jenkins. 'Toby? Ah, glad I caught you. Look, I want you to handle a brief for me. My cook, Mrs Alice Green has been arrested for the unlawful killing of one of my guests and I want you to find the worse barrister you can for her. Because she needs to be convicted at all costs!'

There was a pause. 'I beg your pardon, my Lord?' Jenkins said on the other end of the line.

'Look, I know it sounds like a strange request,' Collendon said. 'But I have a lot riding on this. I'll tell you more when I see you. I might be coming to London soon and taking a break from the country air. At the moment it's not too good for my nerves!'

In another adjacent room, Kearns put down the telephone receiver that he was covering with a handkerchief. The phone was internally connected to the library phone which Lord Collendon had just spoken on. Kearns had heard every word his master had said.

***

The police had already interviewed Mrs Green without the benefit of any legal representation. Toby Jenkins rectified this when he sent one of the juniors from his firm to interview her at Holloway where she was being held. They met in the interview room. Despite his relative youth, David Fields was an astute articulate bookish man. He had receding hair and glasses and a strong sense of right and wrong, always siding with the rule of law. He also had a profound curiosity. He found it odd that someone as motherly and innocent-looking as Mrs Green was facing so serious a charge.

The first thing Alice said was, 'I don't understand it, Mr Fields. _I haven't done anything wrong!'_

Fields nodded and looked through his voluminous notes which he had removed from his brown leather briefcase. 'Really? Then what about your confession?'

'Confession?' she said with a blank look. 'What confession?'

'Apparently Paul Murton, the footman at Tennyson House, is reported as saying that you were cooking some special sausages for Dr Fefferberg and made a remark. You apparently said that you, ' _hoped they would choke him'_. That's very close to an admission, or an indication of intent, don't you think? You were indicating your intentions, were you not, when you said that?'

'Police have already asked me that,' Alice sighed. 'True I did say those words, but it's just a way of talking, I didn't mean anything by it.'

'Oh really?' Fields replied. 'In the police interview you said that Dr Fefferberg had upset you when he asked you if you had any Jewish relatives in Germany.'

'That's not what he asked,' she replied. 'He asked me if I had any _relatives_ in Germany. He didn't say Jewish relatives, he said relatives.'

'Even so, you didn't like being questioned in this way, did you Mrs Green?' Fields said.

'No one would,' she replied. 'He wasn't a very polite man. Usually the guests at Tennyson House are really nice and posh. Fefferberg was rude to me.'

'And so, on that basis you decided to give him a dose of colic for his trouble,' Fields said.

'You deliberately chose some uncured meat for the sausage mixture hoping that it would make him suffer.'

'No!' she said. 'Who have you been speaking to Mr Fields?'

Fields shook his head. 'I think your motives are quite clear, Mrs Green. But you have been _found out_. And I would suggest that if you want to curry some favour with the court, then you should plead guilty. If you show honesty and contrition it will reflect favourably in your sentence. Your barrister, Mr Kippen when you meet him, will give you similar advice,'

Mrs Green looked the young man in the eyes. 'I _am_ being honest. I'm not guilty. Don't they have to find me guilty first?'

Fields returned her stare. _'_ You are being charged with, _'suspicion of willfully preparing food with the intention of causing illness or death.'_ I think your remarks to Paul the footman speak volumes. You need to prepare yourself, Mrs Green. A guilty verdict is certain. Also, the fact that you tried to abscond will be noted. Innocent people don't try and run away from justice. You are going to prison for a very long time at the very least, Mrs Green. At the very worst, they could _hang_ you!'

***

It proved more difficult to arrange Mrs Green's trial at short notice than had been anticipated. The majority of criminal courts in the London area were flooded with cases. Then luckily, the dismissal of a case at Blackfriars created an opening for Mrs Green. She was fortunate that she didn't have to wait unduly and in suspense for more than three weeks before she was summoned to appear. Her counsel was Robert Kippen, retained by the Collendon family at no great expense. He merely scanned the notes made by solicitor David Fields and seemed annoyed that Mrs Green wanted to plead 'Not Guilty.'

'You are only going to rub the judge up the wrong way,' Kippen said in a cold voice. 'The facts are quite plain and undeniable.'

But Alice stuck to her guns. 'Whose side are you on?' she asked.

Despite the best efforts of her barrister to persuade her otherwise, the plea of 'Not Guilty' was finally entered to the two charges of, _'suspicion of willfully preparing food with the intention of causing illness or death,'_ and, _'behaving in an unlawful way which would bring disrepute to her employer and Great Britain.'_

When Alice was lead into the courtroom at Blackfriars, she was overwhelmed by the solemnity of the scene before her. All eyes swiveled to look at her as she was lead into the dock. Justice Avery Mellwood's gaze was particularly cold. His voice vibrated like a church bell at a funeral as he parted from convention and personally read out the charges. Alice had to be prompted by the usher to respond, managing a barely audible, 'Not guilty, sir,' to each charge.

This took place on a Wednesday and the trial before jury got under way a week later.

The Prosecutor, Edward Longate, KC, had been exceptionally well briefed by all the parties who had an interest in the case. He was also not above giving press briefings on a daily basis. This publicity attracted huge interest.

The packed trial ran for seven days in its entirety. The Judge lamented the expense which had been incurred on the public purse for so 'disgraceful and heinous a crime.' And if there was any doubt that the Prosecutor himself would make an impression on the case, it was put to bed. His four other bewigged colleagues were there ready to do battle.

A representative from the German Embassy had also been present. Every development would immediately be communicated to the German authorities. Beresford and his colleagues at the Home Office were kept abreast of events on virtually a minute by minute basis. For the most part, the press pitched the trial entirely from the government's viewpoint. They were even suggesting that Alice had been paid by the Polish underground to carry out the crime.

Journalists from several major newspapers and four provincial ones were also present in the public gallery. But there was one newspaper reporter from the Delhi Herald who 'smelled a rat,' and was intent on presenting some balanced journalism. It made little difference to the outcome.

The Prosecutor lapped up the media attention like a rich woman's spoilt poodle. He had even mooted to his colleagues that his 'knighthood' would 'now be a certainty.' There was general agreement on this point.

As for Alice, despite beginning her ordeal in a weak and resigned spirit, found herself becoming more outspoken. It had a slightly undermining effect on the legal system, in a way which was unthinkable in the late 1930s. It had the effect of making the Prosecution more determined to 'shove the dagger of blame deep into Mrs Alice Green's soul,' as Safri Brahmbhatt wrote. He was the Delhi based Kashmiri journalist for the Delhi Herald. Following some likeminded sympathetic press reports, a ground swell of public opinion in favour of Mrs Green began to develop.

The hearings ran from nine till four, with the Prosecutor doing his utmost to discredit Alice's position, which he clearly viewed with the uttermost contempt. The only witness called to the trail was Paul Murton, the footman at Tennyson House. He repeated the oft quoted witness statement, that Alice had said, 'she hoped the sausages would choke' the deceased, Dr Fefferberg. Both the Judge and Prosecution were apparently gratified by this testimony.

During the questioning, the footman was barely able to glance in Alice's direction. He obviously knew it was a major blow against the Defense's case. On the fourth day of the trial, judicial patience was wearing thin.

'Mrs Green,' the thin, scholarly, impressive-looking Prosecutor said. 'Will you please spare this court any more of your irrelevant ramblings. Pleased admit, what is patently obvious to anyone who has an inkling of intelligence, that you literally had it in for Dr Fefferberg, because he offended you and you take exception to German people.'

'No, sir,' Alice replied from the witness box, still wearing her clothes of two days ago. 'That's not true. I didn't have it in for Dr Fefferberg. _He had it in for me!_ '

There was laughter from the public gallery.

'Order, order,' the Judge said. 'will you kindly refrain from making sensationalistic comments, Mrs Green! This is a court of law, not a drinking establishment. Please answer honestly and succinctly, if that is possible.'

The Prosecutor grasped his hands behind his back and slowly approached the now quite emboldened defendant. 'Mrs Green, do you or do you not have relatives in Germany?'

'It is possible sir, but I don't know of them,' she replied.

'And do you admit that in all probability, if you had, you would have naturally been inclined to look out for them,' the Prosecutor said.

'My relatives? Well, yes sir, probably,' she said. 'If I knew of them, personally like.'

The Prosecutor nodded. 'And so, Dr Fefferberg was right to suppose, because of your Jewish background, that you may well have had relatives in Germany. And that your instinct would have been to protect them?'

'If they were family, yes, I would say so,' she answered.

'Protect them to the extent of murdering a good man, just because he was a German?' the Prosecutor said.

'Objection!' Mr Kippen said standing up. 'If Mrs Green had German relatives she would surely not take exception to German people, per se.'

'Overruled!' the Judge said in a heavy voice. 'Mr Longate is clearly making a distinction between people of purely Hebrew extraction and non-Hebrew German people!'

The Prosecutor smiled. 'Thank you, Your Honour. Mrs Green, were you aware that some members of the Jewish population in Germany had been arrested because of their political activities?'

'I did hear something about it, sir,' she said. 'But women and children have been arrested as well. They couldn't all have been spies and stuff.'

There was a reaction from the gallery.

'Mrs Green please answer questions without adding comment,' the Judge said.

'Yes, Your Lordship.'

The Prosecutor stood in the center of the court and pointedly looked at the jury. 'Mrs Green, did the Polish underground network sponsor you in the commission of your crime?'

'I object your honour,' Kippen said standing up again. 'This is purely newspaper speculation which does not relate to the charge. It presupposes that the defendant has committed a crime which is yet to be proven.'

'Overruled!' the Judge said. 'Mr Longate is merely trying to ascertain a motive other than pure vindictiveness on the part of your client!'

'Thank you, Your Honour,' the Prosecutor said with a smug smile. 'Mrs Green do you have or have you had any connection with the Polish resistance movement?'

'I've never heard of them until a couple of days ago,' she replied. 'No, I haven't. We had a Polish guest at the hall, but I never met him.'

'Then you deny any involvement or interest in politics?'

'I don't even vote, sir,' she said staring at the Judge.

'That is entirely irrelevant,' the Prosecutor said. 'Let us now turn again to the matter of your declaration of intent. Yesterday you said that you didn't mean the words, ' _and I hope they choke him,_ ' referring to the sausages that you had prepared for Dr Fefferberg. If you didn't mean those words, then why did you utter them to your footman, Paul Murton?'

Alice shrugged. She was beginning to look quite tired. 'I was just a bit aggravated at the time. One of the other staff was annoying me.'

'And who would this be?'

'Mr Jode, because he wouldn't help me out,' she answered.

'And so, you decided to take your frustrations out on one of your employer's guests?'

'No, not true, sir.'

'What is your opinion of your employer, Lord Collendon?' the Prosecutor asked. 'You can't have much respect for him, if you wanted to harm one of his guests.'

'Lord and Lady Collendon are decent sort,' she replied. 'He even paid for my solicitor, that's how nice he is. I'd do anything for them. Salt of the earth I say.'

The Prosecutor gave the Judge a wry look and the Judge raised an eyebrow. 'We will adjourn now and pick up at nine o'clock tomorrow morning!'

***

Sitting in her cell in Holloway later that day, Alice looked up as a prison officer unlocked her door and came in with a cup of cocoa which he put on her table. 'You alright, Mrs Green?'

'Oh, thanks, love,' she said shrugging her shoulders tiredly. 'No, I don't feel a hundred percent to be honest.'

'I don't suppose you want to speak to any reporters now, do you?' he asked.

'Reporters? Them buggers, not really,' she replied. 'Why?'

'There's an Indian bloke in the reception area who wants to have a word. We told him to come back at visiting time, but he was very insistent. Says he's behind the ' _Did the Cook really do it_?' campaign. He's got a deadline to meet or something.'

Mrs Green frowned. 'Oh, alright! Sounds interesting. Yeah. _If it will help_.'

***

Safri Brahmbhatt, a young painfully thin dark Indian with overly large spectacles grasped her hand. 'Mrs Green, my name is Safri, and this is a great honour to meet you.'

'No touching please,' the prison officer said standing in the corner of the small interview room.

Alice faced the journalist across a small wooden table. 'You a reporter?' she asked.

'The Delhi Herald,' he said. 'An Indian newspaper.'

Alice laughed. 'Sounds a bit like the Daily Herald!'

He reached down into a bag and pulled out a newspaper. 'I bought this one for you to read. Can I give it to Mrs Green?'

The prison officer came over and carefully checked it. 'Yes, alright. And you've only got ten minutes.'

'Thank you,' the reporter said. 'Mrs Green I am a great supporter of yours. I have flown all the way from Delhi to attend the trial. It is quite clear to me that you are being made a scapegoat for an issue which is fundamentally systemic. I have carefully read the reports of your supposed crime and it is obvious that nothing really happened. The late Dr Fefferberg was an alcoholic and he died because his liver couldn't take the strain of his drinking anymore. But the imperialist elite are feeding you to the lions because it suits their present political agenda of appeasing the Germans. It's an attempt to avoid war, which is very much on the cards. This is a laudable objective, but they are going about it in a most hideous way. This is an injustice of the highest proportions, and it shows the contempt that the ruling classes have for the working class. In the last war, it was common practice to shoot ordinary tommies or soldiers for cowardice. But they spared the officers who committed the same offence. This attitude prevails today. The working class are regarded as dirt. It is appalling.'

Alice was listening intently. 'I see.'

'And I feel strongly about this because my father was in the Indian volunteers in Ypres, and he saw good men shot for cowardice. I have been campaigning ever since. In the same way I am campaigning for _you._ We are running the ' _Did the cook really do it_ ,' campaign and the circulation of our newspaper has peaked. You are a very popular lady, Mrs Green.'

'I'm very grateful, I'm sure,' she replied taken aback. 'But what's it got to do with India?'

'Well, we are a conscientious nation,' the reporter said glancing at the prison officer. 'But we don't have much time, and I have an article which has to meet an editorial deadline for tomorrow. I just have one question. Will you confirm that you didn't deliberately try to kill Dr Fefferberg; tell what really happened, and why did you attempt to run away?'

Despite her fatigue she leaned forward. 'That's three questions, isn't it? No, I _didn't_ deliberately try and kill him, no!' She then explained all the events surrounding her first conversation with Dr Fefferberg in the guest room and her eventual arrest.

'But why did you run away?' the reporter asked. 'That act unfortunately makes you look guilty.'

Alice studied her hands. 'I didn't really want to run away. I didn't even know the police were coming to arrest me. See, I had to do some cooking that day and well, I was... persuaded to.'

'Persuaded to? By who?'

Alice glanced guiltily at the prison officer. 'I can't really say.'

The Indian journalist smiled. 'I understand perfectly. You are trying to protect your employer, aren't you? I have read that Lady Clara Collendon described you as a 'good cook'. So, I bet it was her. She tipped you off, didn't she?''

Alice was about to reply when the prison officer said. 'Times up!'

***

The staff at the prison were kind enough to lend Alice some fresh clothes which were slightly baggy, though they made her feel better. She went to court in a sombre mood, fearing the worst and feeling that the odds were stacked against her. Even in her mind, there was a sense that from the way the trial had been conducted so far, it only one outcome in its sights. And that was to find her guilty. It was also peculiar to be in environments among strangers who cared little for her wellbeing, and who endorsed the general attitude of the court.

It was the first time she had really felt utterly lonely, without a friend, without anyone to really talk to in the hours between court appearances. It gave her enough time to quietly analyse what was happening to her, and a sense of injustice was beginning to rankle her soul. She debated whether to tell the court about Jode's role on the farm. Particularly, the likelihood that it was his carelessness which had resulted in unfit meat being given to Dr Fefferberg. However, it wasn't in her nature to deliberately get people into trouble.

If Fefferberg had died from food poisoning, she thought, then it was surely 'stupid' to think that it was her fault. Some of the blame should be laid at Lord Collendon's door, after all it was his pigs which had been butchered. It was also Mr Jode's responsibility to ensure that the meat was cured and in a fit state to eat. These were the thoughts which went around and around in her mind as she sat on her lonely prison bed. Even this was small comfort, being little more than a coarse mattress covered with a cheap calico cotton sheet and a thin woolen blanket. The nights were cold, but the prospect of facing the 'rope' was even more chilling.

The prison van picked her up at seven in the morning and she was taken to the Blackfriars' Court house. She was mainly kept in a poorly lit basement cell awaiting her appearance upstairs. The walls of the cell here were damp, and she fancied she could feel a chill slowly penetrating her bones.

It was a mercy when she was taken upstairs to the courtroom, which was bright and warm by comparison. The comfort of the Judge and barristers was clearly more important than hers. During the entire process of transfer from prison to court, she had been handcuffed, and the inhumanity of it struck her quite forcibly.

She was immediately called to the witness box; the Judge staring at her with a scowl.

'Mrs. Green,' he said. 'I am hoping that today we can make some headway, as there are other more important cases pending. It is not well for this court to waste valuable time pandering to a matter which is ostensibly cut and dried. So please answer questions succinctly, otherwise I may be obliged to cite you for contempt.'

'Yes, sir, your lordship,' she replied improperly, not really understanding what the Judge had said.

'Mr Kippen, do you wish to question the accused?' the Judge asked.

'Yes, your honour,' her barrister said rising to his feet. 'Mrs Green, how long have you been in service to Lord and lady Collendon?'

'Ten years,' she said.

'And have you found the work agreeable?' Kippen asked.

'I have, sir, Lord and Lady Collendon are lovely people to work for.'

'And have you ever felt upset with them or angry with them in the past?'

The Prosecutor rose to his feet. 'Objection Your Honour. The issue is surely not whether Mrs Green felt annoyed with her employers, but whether she had vindictive feelings towards one of their guests. It goes without saying that Lord and Lady Collendon are admirable people, people of the highest order. So, the answer to Mr Kippen's question is surely self-evident.'

'I agree,' the Judge said. 'Mr Kippen, what is the purpose of your question?'

'I am trying to ascertain whether Mrs Green's record of employment with Lord and Lady Collendon was without incident,' Kippen said.

'And where would that lead?' the Judge asked. 'Clearly there _was_ an incident, and the past is no guide to the future, and her record is neither here or there. I would suggest that it might be in your interest, as well as the Courts' to fashion your questions along lines which are conducive to truthful testimony.'

Alice's barrister nodded. 'Yes, Your Honour. Mrs Green, when preparing sausages, what normally would be the ingredients that you would use?'

'Objection!' the Prosecutor said. 'We already know what the normal ingredients in sausages are, pork and seasoning. But it was the abnormal ingredients, and manner in which the sausages were prepared and the method of selection of the said ingredients which is the core issue here.'

'I agree, Mr Longate,' the Judge said. 'Mr Kippen, please, indulge us, might I suggest you ask Mrs Green _how_ she selected her ingredients?'

'Yes m'lud.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I mean, yes, Your Honour,' Mr Kippen said, showing signs of agitation. 'Mrs Green, how did you go about selecting the ingredients for the sausages that you made for Dr Fefferberg?'

'Mr Kippen,' the Judge said again. 'Are you determined to spend the next five minutes annoying me? It is just as well that British courts do not use gavels, otherwise I would have been tempted to knock some sense into you! I could quite easily recommend to the Bar Council that your name be removed from their list! When I make a suggestion, I expect you to follow it in the context of your own brief, not to slavishly repeat what I have just said!'

'No, Your Honour,' the hapless barrister said. 'Mrs Green, when you selected the ingredients for the sausages, did you do so with the intention of harming Dr Fefferberg?'

'No, sir,' she replied. 'I just got a cutlet of pork from the shed, minced it, and mixed it up in a bowl with some parsley, breadcrumbs, mace...'

'No doubt you did, Mrs Green,' the Judge said interrupting her. 'But did you add anything untoward?'

'I don't know what you mean, sir?'

The prosecutor nodded at the judge. 'Thank you, Your Honour, let me pursue this, if I may. Mrs Green, when you were preparing the sausages, did you add something to the mix which you shouldn't have? Like, I don't know, mouse droppings?'

There was a murmur of disgust from the public gallery, though the Judge nodded his head with approval and waited for Alice to answer the question.

'Certainly not, sir, what kind of a person do you think I am?' she answered.

'This is what we are trying to ascertain,' the Prosecutor said.

Mr Kippen stood up at this point. 'I object Your Honour. The good character of my client has been confirmed by her employer, Lady Collendon, who described her as a 'good cook'. Also, the fact that Mrs Green has been with Lord and Lady Collendon for ten years is testament to her good character. Otherwise I'm sure she would have been replaced.'

'Overruled,' the Judge said. 'I think you are confusing character with work ethic. I'm sure Mrs Green has a good work ethic, but that doesn't mean she has a good character.'

'Thank you, Your Honour,' the Prosecutor said. 'Now, Mrs Green, how do you suppose Dr Fefferberg became ill, when all the other guests were apparently fine?'

'I don't know sir,' she replied. 'I heard that he liked to have a drink.'

'But as we discovered on day one of this trial, the Pathologist's report showed the presence of a parasitical bacteria in the deceased's blood. This is consistent with meat which hasn't been properly cooked. Is it possible that you did not cook the sausages properly? And as a result, this gave rise to a form of enteritis in the deceased, which in this case was fatal?'

Alice shrugged. 'I am not a doctor, sir. I do not know.'

'But you were aware of the dangers of uncooked pork?' the Prosecutor asked.

'I know about _uncured_ pork,' she replied. 'I know _that_ can be dangerous.'

'But it is not uncured pork that we are discussing,' the Prosecutor said. 'There is no doubt that the pork products of the Tennyson House farm meet all the necessary regulations and standards of hygiene. No, the problem is how the meat was subsequently prepared by yourself. I would suggest that you willfully, not negligently, but willfully undercooked the meat in order to teach Dr Fefferberg a lesson. And that was for presuming to question you about your Jewish background. And that you also perceived his questioning as a threat against your relatives in Germany. And so, you decided to act in the only way you were able, and that was to strike him down by serving deliberately undercooked food!'

There was a murmur of disapproval from the public gallery.

'I object, Your Honour,' Mr Kippen said standing up. 'The Prosecution are dismissing factors which are equally relevant. The main one being the possibility that Dr Fefferberg was given uncured pork. Uncured pork, as we learnt on day one of this trial, also gives rise to bacteria of a certain sort. The subsequent infection is known as trichinosis, as we know. This was already established by us here. It is not for the Prosecution to ignore it in favour of an argument which deliberately attempts to undermine the defendant's good name and practices.'

'Overruled!' the Judge said. 'Mr Kippen, we have already established that the meat produce of the Tennyson Farm is of the highest standards. Otherwise Lord Collendon would not give his name to them. Therefore, the chances of uncured pork being served to guests is unlikely, if not impossible. I'm sure his Lordship takes every care that his guests, some of whom are quite important, are safe. And also, are safe in the knowledge that the cuisine they consume at Tennyson House, in the main, is perfectly fresh and not spoiled in any way. Mrs Green will doubtless confirm this as a fact. Therefore, the only other scenario is the question of preparation in this individual case. Something was amiss at this important stage, and I don't think you can argue with that, Mr Kippen.'

'My Lord, if I may, I would like to take issue with your statement that the meat produce of Tennyson House is of the highest standards,' Mr Kippen said. 'I don't believe that we have produced any evidence which shows this unequivocally.'

'Mr Kippen,' the Judge said, his face darkened with a frown, 'Are you presuming to question my knowledge on this issue? I have been advised by experts in the field of food hygiene that the Tennyson Farm brand of produce is excellent and beyond reproach.'

'With respect, my Lord,' Kippen said. 'It would be helpful if they could make similar statements at this hearing. If they could be summoned as witnesses, then I think it will mitigate against any unintentional bias which may creep into proceedings.'

'Well I disagree, Mr Kippen,' the Judge said. 'As the senior officer of this court, my word on this matter is sufficient. It should be noted by the jury as being satisfactory as far as testimony is concerned.'

'But Your Honour, I understand that even the original Pathologist in Lincoln expressed the view that uncured pork might have been a factor in this case,' Kippen said.

'Then you should have called him as a witness when you had the opportunity,' the Judge said. 'Frankly, Mr Kippen, the way you have prepared your client's case is lamentable. However, the German Embassy, as we established on day one, conducted their own medical investigation when they took possession of Dr Fefferberg's body. It was their conclusion that uncooked meat was the causative factor in this case. I presume this registered with you?'

'Yes, Your Honour,' Mr Kippen said reluctantly sitting down.

The Prosecutor shook his head and again approached Alice. 'There we have it, in case anyone has forgotten, the issue is uncooked meat, not uncured pork. And we are grateful to the learned Justice Mellwood for this reminder and clarification. And in view of this, how can you possibly deny your culpability, Mrs Green?'

'Begging your pardon, sir?'

'How can you deny your guilt?' the Prosecutor said in a louder voice. 'A guilt clearly underlined by the indisputable fact that you tried to abscond from justice.'

'I do deny it, sir,' she replied. 'And it's wrong of you to say it's my fault!'

The eyes of the Prosecutor widened, and the Judge took a deep breath and refrained from battering the defendant with any further pi-jaw. He merely called an adjournment.

***

Biding his time was not something Geoffrey Beresford regarded as a fruitful exercise, though there was very little more he could do in respect of the Green trial. It was quite clear that everyone was onboard, and so no unforeseen difficulties were likely to crop up. The Judge and Prosecutor had been handpicked, although it appeared that the defense barrister, Mr Kippen, was working a little too hard. He had apparently forgotten that he was supposed to lose the case! As for the jurors, they had no inkling that a miscarriage of justice was in the process of being manufactured. A guilty verdict was the only highly probable outcome, which would please the Germans considerably.

On other fronts, things seemed to be under control. A well-known shipping line confirmed that Frau Brinkmann's 'friend', Fritz Hals, had indeed travelled to the British mainland recently. Subsequent meetings that Beresford had with his German tutor only served to settle his anxieties regarding the possible contact she may have had with Kearns.

It was inconvenient that there were no photographs which would prove or confirm whether or not Fritz Hals was Kearns' doppelganger. Frau Brinkmann kept to her story in a calm and unruffled way, which put Beresford at ease, somewhat.

The only existing photograph of Hals known to British authorities was in the man's passport which he had taken with him back to Germany. Brinkmann's story proved mostly credible, though there were still the shadows of nagging doubt in Beresford's mind. He would have to speak to his German contacts to see whether he could get a photograph to surface.

***

Staff at Holloway were starting to warm to Alice and allowed her small privileges. These included an extra slice of mutton, or one or two extra potatoes with her evening meals. They also allowed her some writing paper, envelopes and a pen, so that she could write some letters. She knew that Shirley, the scullery maid would be concerned about her progress, and so she dashed off a quick letter to her. She then scribbled an even quicker one to Mr Kearns, thanking him for his help without mentioning in what way he had specifically helped her. She also asked him to express her deepest gratitude to Lord and Lady Collendon for providing her with a barrister. She swore she would pay them back one day.

And then there was a letter to 'her friend in Ireland', though she left out the worst of the details. The prison officers promised to put the appropriate stamps on the mail and post them as soon as they could.

Mr Kippen, her barrister, seemed to be deliberately keeping her at a distance, and so she was constantly unsure what was going to happen next. The thought of being sentenced to death began to loom in her mind as a real possibility. She managed to keep her anxieties hidden under an exterior of outer calm. As she sat on the prison bed, she began to properly take stock of her predicament in a way she hadn't done previously. So far, she hadn't quite descended into the pit of real despair and had been hovering at the periphery of it. She was clinging to some vestige of hope that all would turn out in her favour, and then a new understanding dawned on her.

It was the realization that the world, apparently, with very little justification, could be very cruel. Almost on a whim, it could cast a person down like a used garment to suit its own agenda. Everything that she had stood for apparently meant very little. Her honesty, the years of purposeful work that she had to her credit and her good name, all counted for absolutely nothing. She was, as the Indian journalist suggested, just dirt on the shoe of society. Perhaps, in truth, she was a menace, and didn't realise it herself. Perhaps the world would be best rid of the likes of herself and her class of drudges. In a utopia, a perfect world, the working class would have no place, of that she was now certain. But then who would serve the elites, the masters and the ones in charge? Who would launder the Judge's beautiful court robes? Or make the Prosecutor's breakfast? It would surely have to be a race of automata!

The prison lights went off at eight o'clock. As she stared into the darkness, the thought came to her that perhaps death was a preferred option. If she could just think of a way where she could beat the executioner, that would be better. If she took her own life, then perhaps she could spare the public purse, and preserve at least some dignity for herself.

Falling eventually into a sleepy reverie, she managed to doze until the light of dawn flooded her cell with its optimistic pink rays. They slightly lifted her spirits. She knew the trial was coming to an end; whether it was going to be today or the next day, mattered not. Soon, she would know the outcome of all the deliberations which seemed to vex the minds of the people in charge of her fate.

Chapter Seven

Kalo Smythe proved to be a good host, and he put Fintan O'Brian up in his caravan for the best part of a week before he made a suggestion. 'Fin, look, I have a house on a bit of land in Cornwall, why don't you look after it for me?' he said.

Fintan smiled at this suggestion, as he looked up from his breakfast of eggs on toast. 'Kalo, that sounds like a notion I might consider. I'll take anything at the moment.'

'It would get you out of the way,' Kalo said. 'And we could be partners. See a small watercourse goes through my land which is worth its weight in gold.'

Fintan nodded. He knew what Kalo meant. A water supply could be the basis of a farm. 'You are thinking of farming the land then?'

'Not farming exactly,' Kalo said with a mysterious smile. 'More like brewing my own ale from the stream's water. See, I heard it shouldn't be too difficult to get a license or official permission to do that. Especially if you've got your own land. It is just a question of greasing a few palms. So, what do you know about brewing ale?'

Fintan sniggered. 'I know how to drink it. And I could spot a good brew from a hundred yards away.'

Kalo clapped his hand on Fintan's broad back. 'That's all I needed to know. We'll have our own business. I mean, I've got to do something with all the money I've taken from the giorgos. What better business than your own brewery?'

'And what would you call the beer?'

'It's obvious isn't it,' Kalo said. 'Old Gyp! Doesn't that have a ring to it?'

'Oh yeah! And we'll make Mr Jode a partner,' Fintan said with a wink.

'Most definitely,' Kalo said. 'Even if we have to drag him down there and dunk his head in a barrel of yeast. Now that would be a fine spectacle, wouldn't it!'

'It would add to the flavour,' Fintan said. 'I'm going to phone him tomorrow and find out what's going on.'

'Well,' Kalo said with a doubtful look. 'Don't get your hopes up. He's probably coated you off something rotten to the police!'

***

Dr Fefferberg's body was flown to Berlin where his family hastily made some funeral arrangements. Tributes from Germany's great and good were made and a special pension was allocated to the widow, who had three grown up children. The authoritarian German press made the most of the event. It gave scant credit to the British government for its role in bringing the perpetrator of the 'murder' to justice. In fact, the papers had used the words 'die tater', which implied more than one perpetrator. This subtly put some of the blame on Lord Collendon himself, although he was shielded from this suggestion in the domestic press.

However, there was a reaction from Inspector Haycock, who was by nature a very moral man. He had come to the conclusion that the case against Mrs Green really was as half-baked as it was lacking in credibility. He had expressed his doubts to his wife and superiors. Then, unexpectedly, he decided to take early retirement rather than continue to be a party to, what he saw as, an injustice. He expressed his views in a letter to Lord Collendon, who read it aloud to his wife.

'Can you believe the nerve of this man!' Collendon said holding the letter as he stood in the bedroom looking at his wife who was lying on the bed with a magazine.

'You invite it,' she replied. 'If you had a shred of moral fiber in your bones, Jode would be the one in court today.'

'Oh, do be quiet!' he said. 'Anyone would think you had an obsession with the man!'

Lady Collendon snorted. 'So, what does Mr Haycock say, then?'

Lord Collendon read from the letter. 'Haycock says that he can't understand how a person in my position can allow himself to take part in such a sham. And that even though he was the arresting officer, he deeply regrets any involvement. But he had no choice in the matter, as it was an order from high up. How high up it is hard for him to say. But he is now convinced that politics is a dirty business, and the upper classes have a lot to answer for! Bloody cheek. I have a good mind to write to the Chief Constable.'

'Oh, shut up, Felix,' Lady Collendon said. 'What else does he have to say?'

'Well apparently, Haycock's taking early retirement. And get this, there's one more thing he is going to do before he severs all links with his employer. He is going to properly investigate Jode's role in the butcher O'Flaherty's murder, which up till now everyone was turning a blind eye to...'

Lady Collendon slid her legs off the bed and onto the floor. 'A man of integrity, clearly,' she said. 'You really need to take a few pages out of his book of conduct.'

'And where would that leave us?' Collendon said. 'In the dog house. Tell me, my dear, why are women so damned impractical?'

Lady Collendon snatched the letter out of his hand. 'It's not that we're impractical, we just know the difference between right and wrong. Something you men haven't quite got the hang of yet! Well bravo, Inspector Haycock, good for you.'

'You won't be saying that when they close the farm down, or when our names are dragged through the gutter press,' Collendon said turning and leaving the room.

***

Geoffrey Beresford was as chuffed as any ambitious politician could be under the circumstances. The trial was now going swimmingly, and Mrs Green was beginning to lose support in the press. Berlin had been sending him warm though rather premature congratulatory messages. These included an invitation to attend a gala event which was coming up in December. And even Clavvers from the German Embassy was cracking jokes down the phone, albeit stilted ones. It was almost as if it was a 'fait accompli' and the guilty verdict was purely academic. From the way the Judge was steering the trial, such a verdict was a certainty.

The only minor thorn in the side of Beresford's machinations was the fact that Inspector Haycock had thrown a wobbly. Lord Collendon had been on the phone that very morning complaining about him, though Beresford regarded this as an irrelevant matter. Whether Mr Jode ended up in court as an accomplice to Michael O'Flaherty's murder would make little difference to the outcome of Mrs Green's trial. It would just be a side note of no great consequence. No, Beresford was content that the proverbial cat was in the bag. Also, Haycock had already given notice of his intention to retire early, and so the matter was somewhat self-adjusting.

***

After another morning of legal cut and thrust and pernickety point making, the trial found itself moving towards a conclusion. The closing arguments were made in the afternoon, which largely repeated the main points raised during the four previous days of the trial.

The Prosecutor seemed supremely confident that a guilty verdict would be inevitable. 'Mrs Green may strike you as someone you might know personally,' he said, his hands holding the lapels of his gown. 'Someone like your mother or aunt. And there is no doubt that Mrs Green is a character. Someone whom we might get to like. But I warn you. Do not allow these personable traits of character to cloud your judgement. Mrs Green has demonstrated that she is not as humble as she might appear. No, she has demonstrated the very opposite. That she has a calculating mind. A mind which is without mercy, and one which will quite happily engage in curmudgeonly and evil thoughts. It is a mind which does not see anything wrong in taking a life, if a justification can be found. And it is apparent, from the evidence, that this is what she did. It was done in the hope that it would be disguised as a natural occurrence, an act of nature, or God, a 'force majeure' so to speak. And if it wasn't for the foresight of Dr Dennings, outcomes might be different. Dr Dennings, whom you will remember is Lord Collendon's doctor, took a blood sample from the deceased Dr Fefferberg. Had he not done this, we would never know for sure what may have killed poor victim. Mrs Green might have got away with it and gone on _to kill_ others in the same way!'

The judge thanked him and called Mr Kippen to make his closing remarks. The barrister stood up, nervously looked around and was obliged to consult his notes. 'Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury. Despite the character assassination of the defendant which has just occurred, you really must focus your mind on the facts as we know them. The facts are, that Mrs Alice Green prepared some Sausages in good faith and these were consumed by Dr Fefferberg. Dr Fefferberg had been drinking heavily all evening and he then died. A sample of his blood was taken which showed Trichinosis in the blood. These are the facts. But he could have been infected before he visited Tennyson House. This we do not know. There is little evidence which shows without doubt that Mrs Green's method of preparing the sausages was linked to the doctor's death. I would say in all honesty there is very little evidence indeed. Further, the fact that Dr Fefferberg was unpleasant to her, says more about him than her. But Mr Longate has presented this the other way around. Mrs Green worked for the Collendons for the best part of ten years. There is no record of her ever misbehaving or being a difficult employee at all. If that were the case, she would have been dismissed long ago. And so, the likelihood that she conceived of harming the deceased because he was unpleasant to her, doesn't fit with what we know about her. If there had been episodes in the past, then perhaps the Prosecutor would have a point. But there were none. People normally do not become deranged overnight. Usually there are signs which you can point to which demonstrate it. In this case there are none. In addition to this, Mrs Alice Green was only part of a chain in the events which occurred. The Prosecutor has conveniently ignored the part played by the status of the meat which was used to create those German sausages. When I say status, I am talking about whether the meat was fit for consumption or not. That can't be ignored, even if this court wishes to do so...'

'Mr Kippen, if I might interrupt you there,' the Judge said. 'I wish to direct the jury to ignore your last sentence, because it blatantly goes against the findings of this court. For the record, we can safely assume that the meat _was_ fit for human consumption, thank you. You may continue.'

Mr Kippen took a deep breath. 'Well, even if it has been struck from the record, I would like to impress upon the jury here today a valuable point. That notwithstanding the condition that the meat was in, it is surely highly unlikely that a normal woman like Mrs Green would have adulterated it. To have deliberately taken any underhanded steps in order to harm the deceased, would go against what we know about her. Her behaviour and conduct in service has been exemplary. We did want to call Mr Kearns the butler as a witness, but Lord Collendon was unable to allow him to attend the hearing, but in a written statement...'

'Mr Kippen, where is this supposed statement?' the Judge enquired.

'It is still with our solicitor, my Lord. However, it can be obtained if required. There was a delay in getting it, but it generally supports Mrs Green's character.'

'A bit late in the day, Mr Kippen,' the Judge snapped. 'This document should have been available days ago.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'I therefore will not allow it,' the judge said. 'But you may continue.'

Mr Kippen blinked and sighed heavily. 'As I was saying, evidence is the key factor here. Not supposition. Not theory in the absence of concrete pointers to a deed, which I believe to be fictional. As the notion of uncured pork has been deemed unfactual by the court, then Dr Fefferberg must have died in all probability from natural causes. I think that is plain to anyone who looks at the facts in their totality. Thank you.'

Justice Melrose frowned at Kippen and then began his own summing up which was an artful rehash of what the prosecutor had said. The jurors were then impressed with the idea that a majority verdict would be in everyone's best interests. Or as nearest to it as was possible. The jury was then sent off to weigh up the facts of the case while Alice was led downstairs to the cells to await their verdict.

After three hours, with no verdict, Alice was taken back to Holloway and the jury dismissed for the day, to continue their deliberations in the morning. Despite herself, Alice was quite impressed by her barrister's performance. The journalist from the Delhi Herald, sent her a cheerful telegram whose transcript was presented to her just before lights out. It said, 'All is not lost Mrs Green. I think half the world are rooting for you! Best wishes, Safri.'

But when she looked out of the window, all she could see was a dark sky. If she could have stood on a chair and looked out, she would have just seen a solitary prison officer walking across the exercise yard. Whoever her supporters were, they were not visible to her.

***

Fintan O'Brian was not a great reader of newspapers. He managed to keep abreast of what was happening during the trial by listening to the Home Service on the radio. The bulletins were very scant, and it was hard to assess how Alice was bearing up. Fintan resolved to go and visit her in prison, if that was where she ended up, though he wasn't too optimistic about that outcome. The use of the rope was quite common where cases of murder or manslaughter were being considered. He hoped it wasn't going to be a hanging. For someone as pleasant as Alice Green, that would have been too horrible to contemplate.

Like most people following the story, there was a sense that there was more to the story than was being presented. This was not helped by the less than complimentary images of Alice which appeared in the papers, done by courtroom artists. In fact, when Fintan studied one actual photograph of her in a local paper, it looked like someone else entirely. But what was happening to her, was also having an unpleasantly profound effect on him, as a man on the run. He was beginning to feel events were closing in on him too. Even though Kalo had provided him with a safe arbour for the time being, it wasn't entirely foolproof. He could still be discovered there by the police at any time.

It was useful that the Romanies were canny enough to keep their living space clean and inoffensive, giving it a look of respectability. There were no mounds of rubbish, stray dogs or ragged children on display. This seemed to satisfy the local enforcement agencies and so they kept their distance. Fintan's instincts though, were to move on. Kalo's offer of a fresh start in Cornwall sounded wonderfully appealing to him. Frankly he would have kissed Kalo's feet out of sheer gratitude for the opportunity. The one thing Fintan knew about the 'community' was that it did take care of its own.

However, before Fintan took leave of the site, he did want to make a phone call to Jode to find out what the developments were. Unfortunately, there were no phones on the camp site, and so he had to walk half a mile to a telephone box to make the call. It wouldn't expose him too much, as all he had to do was wear a hat and scarf and keep his head down. But the remoteness of the district made it unlikely he would be spotted. To keep on the safe side, he walked most of the way through the fields. When he approached the road, he would keep close to the bordering hedges. Except for a cyclist, the road remained empty.

It would be at the phone box where he would be most vulnerable, and Fintan knew to keep the phone call brief. There wasn't much he wanted to know anyway. He found the phonebox, entered and made a call to Tennyson House directly, asking to speak to Mr Jode. He pretended to be one of the local butchers. The call was rerouted by Kearns to the kitchen, where Jode reluctantly took the call, being summoned from his shed.

'Don't say my name,' Fintan said. 'But it's me.'

'What the hell are you doing phoning here?' Jode said looking askance at the scullery maid, Shirley, who was hovering in the other room.

'You said to keep in touch, didn't you?' Fintan said keeping his eyes on the road for any vehicles through the telephone box window.

'I said send me a postcard,' Jode said. 'Look, people are listening. And I don't trust that bastard Kearns. He's probably overhearing us as we speak.'

'Hmm,' Fintan said.

'Where are you now?' Jode asked.

'Best not say,' Fintan replied. 'So, what's been happening? Are the police definitely looking for me?'

Keeping his voice very low Jode said, 'Possibly. But I doubt if that Haycock police fellow will be coming back. It's not what his Lordship would want.'

'Well _you_ might be in the clear, Mr Jode, but what about me?' Fintan bleated. 'Obviously I can't come back.'

'If you did, you'd be looking over your shoulder all the time. No, I'd stay put.'

'But what about me wages?' Fintan asked. 'You gave me a few quid the other day, but I'm owed about two months.'

'That was _it,_ ' Jode said. 'What I gave you was it! No, I don't owe you anymore.'

'But what about my split of the gin money we made?' Fintan said, his voice aggrieved.

'The gin _I_ made, you mean,' Jode said. 'Look, my advice to you is start another life. Change your name. Farm hands are always in demand. I could give you a reference if you want. Bert Gull's farm over at Cherry Willingham could do with another hand or two.'

'Bert Gull!' Fintan said with a derisive snort. 'That's too close to home. Anyway, he'd probably only try and do me like _you're doing me!_ '

'That's no way to speak to someone who's looking out for you,' Jode said. 'Look, just disappear and don't come back. And I'll do me bit for you and say I haven't a clue where you are, which I haven't.'

'Some friend you turned out to be,' Fintan replied. The bitterness in his voice was plain.

'Friend?' Jode said. 'Who said we were friends. You're just a farmhand I gave a job to, and you're lucky I managed to give you the few bob I did. Now don't phone here again!'

Fintan stared at the receiver in his hand in disbelief and then banged it down heavily on its cradle. As he did so, he turned around to spot the Reverend Cope coming down the road in his car. If the reverend spoke to him, he was likely to inform the police of his whereabouts.

Keeping his head down and concealed under his cloth cap, Fintan exited the phone box, ignoring the priest. He then crossed the road and walked in the opposite direction to which he had come.

The last thing he wanted Cope to realise was that he had come from the Romani site. The priest wasn't a fool, and if he recognised Fintan, he was sure to put two and two together, especially if pressed by the police. Fortunately, Cope drove on without incident.

Fintan hid behind some convenient oak trees which ran along the border of a large open field and waited for the priest's car to disappear. Then he doubled back and made his way to the campsite. By that time, he had made up his mind about what to do next. Jode wasn't going to help him, that much was obvious, and so the way ahead was clear. Cornwall! And perhaps a change of name. He could also cultivate a beard and even affect different voice mannerisms if necessary.

But Jode wasn't going to get entirely away with this. After all, Jode did do the murder. Fintan was determined he wasn't going to pay for another man's crimes.

***

When the Secretary of State himself came back from a short leave, he was not amused. He was particularly unhappy about the pile of correspondence which had built up on his Whitehall desk in his absence. There were a number of communiques from the Foreign Office regarding the situation in India which was being exacerbated by the Green trial. There was a concern that there was the potential for unnecessary destabilization in India, especially in light of the pressure for Partition which was growing. Somehow Mrs Green had become a symbol of colonial victimisation.

The Secretary of State summoned his Under-secretary to try and address the situation before it got completely out of hand. Although, it was really a matter for the Foreign Office to address, but sometimes, departmental overlaps did occur. When Geoffrey Beresford humbly presented himself at his superior's office, it was with a dossier, in case awkward questions were asked.

The Secretary himself, Sir Hugh Kingston, sat back in his chair and surveyed Beresford and said, 'I thought you had the situation under control? It's not the British Press that worries me at the moment. It's that damned provincial Indian newspaper, the Delhi Herald. Stirring the story up for all it's worth!'

Beresford nodded. 'I'm aware that the pro-Partition lobby will seize on anything which takes political potshots at the government. If Home Rule is the issue, then there's virtually mileage in _any_ story. Apparently, some Indians are keen on Jews, and are saying Mrs Green is being persecuted on the basis of her race! This implies bias, perhaps even against Moslems as well!'

Sir Hugh pulled a face. 'Jews and Indians. Strange bedfellows, eh what? Who is this damned Indian journalist anyway?'

Beresford consulted his file. 'A man called Safri Brahmbhatt. Very anti-British and a strong advocate of partition on religious grounds. Basically, going against Gandhi's rhetoric on that issue. Brahmbhatt is just trying to use the situation to draw attention to his own cause. In essence he is saying that if a humble woman like Mrs Green can be used as a political pawn, then the British can't be trusted to continue to rule India. Some sort of an argument like that.'

'Well it's an argument that has more holes in it than a bloody colander,' Kingston said. 'What are we going to do about it?'

'Well it won't affect the German situation,' Beresford said. 'They're as pleased as punch that we've actually put someone on trial.'

'Yes, but it's potentially weakening our position in India,' Sir Hugh said. 'I mean, they tell me that the circulation of the Delhi Herald has quadrupled. So, they're running with this story for all it's worth.'

'Yes, Secretary,' Beresford said. 'And you might be interested to know that Safri Brahmbhatt just happens to be the nephew of the proprietor. So, there's virtually no editorial control. This young man is potentially dangerous.'

'The Foreign Office seem to think so as well,' Kingston said. 'But fair play to the British Press. At least they are doing the right thing.'

'Apart from that socialist paper,' Beresford replied. 'But I've also found out something. That the Delhi Herald may have links with the All India Home Rule League. As you probably know, it was set up by that militant, Bal Tilak and the theosophist Annie Besant. The paper's ideological roots couldn't be more radical. I think we should consider some decapitation strategies.'

'Good luck with that, Beresford,' the Secretary said. 'From here, where I'm sitting, there's actually very little we can do.'

'I disagree Secretary, with respect,' Beresford said with a smile. 'If something can't be done legally, it doesn't mean that it can't be done at all, and if it is, it should be done quickly.'

'Quoting Shakespeare again are we?'

'Oh, you mean, _if it were done when 'tis done_ , referring to the killing of Duncan in Macbeth?' Beresford replied. 'Yes, if complications could be minimized in as timely a fashion a possible, that would be ideal. Just leave it to me, sir. There's more than one way to skin a cat or get a newspaper to fold.'

Sir Hugh allowed himself to smile briefly. 'Well, going on past performance, I think I can safely leave the matter in your hands then!'

***

As good as his word, Inspector Haycock turned up at Jode's shed without giving Lord Collendon any notice he was coming. He barged right in, while Jode was having a nap. Jode looked round in consternation at the appearance of the policeman for the second time in as many weeks. 'Inspector Haycock, what a pleasant surprise,' he said in a sleepy manner. 'And how is his Lordship today?'

Haycock understood that Jode was suggesting he should have checked with Lord Collendon first before turning up. He didn't take the bait. 'I have no idea how his Lordship is, how are _you_? Or more to the point, tell me about that argument you had with the butcher, Michael O'Flaherty?'

'That argument was one I should have reported,' Jode said quickly coming to his senses. 'The man attacked me. Did you know that?'

'Yes, I know all the particulars,' Haycock said studying the objects littered about the shed. 'What's that?' He pointed to a strange shiny broad ceramic vase with a lid sitting on a shelf.

'Funny you should ask me,' Jode said getting up and bringing the vase down. 'That is a couple of litres of the best gin you'll ever taste. And you can have an exclusive sample, if you'd like.'

'I don't drink out of foreign objects,' Haycock replied. 'Especially objects that resemble chamber pots.'

Jode smirked. 'You certainly have a way with words, sir.'

'As you _do_ Mr Jode,' Haycock said sitting on the makeshift desk by the window. 'Now, I've been a bit busy and I had a word with Mr O'Flaherty's wife. And she said that on the night of her husband's murder, she heard a voice which uncannily was very like yours, in her kitchen.'

Jode shook his head. 'I dare say, but Fintan O'Brian can affect a voice that is very similar to mine. He has a gift for accents. Apparently, he can do that actor's, what's his name, Mr Cary Grant's, - _insanity runs in my family_ etc!'

'That wasn't a bad attempt by _yourself,_ Mr Jode,' Haycock said. 'And does it, run in your family? Insanity, I mean?'

Jode shrugged his shoulders. 'Is there anything else I can do for you, Inspector?'

'Well I'd like an explanation as to how it was Mrs O'Flaherty was inclined to think you were there in the kitchen the night her husband died.'

'The woman is plainly upset at Michael's passing,' Jode said. 'I can sympathise with that. But as for being there. No. Not at all. If you remember, I told you that I was asleep. And I awoke on the night of the murder thinking I heard someone driving my van away. And you've confirmed it. Clearly Fintan O'Brian had it in his mind to go and see Michael O'Flaherty. I think money might have been owed over a game of cards. I mean, I think the butcher owed Fintan a few bob and he had gone to collect it. Probably a fight broke out because O'Flaherty is the meanest bastard you could hope to meet. And unfortunately, Michael got the worst of it. I mean, you know he's a violent man, don't you?'

Haycock shook his head. 'I would suggest it was the other way around. O'Brian went to _borrow_ some money, or rob him perhaps, and then a fight broke out.'

'I am only surmising inspector,' Jode replied. 'See I know Fintan hung around various people and they might have put him up to it.'

'People like you, Mr Jode. Did you put him up to it?'

Jode shook his head vehemently. 'You're definitely barking up the wrong tree there, Inspector. But, I will say that Fintan didn't know his own strength. And I do remember him saying that he thought O'Flaherty was a rascal.'

'A rascal?' Haycock repeated. 'Frankly, Mr Jode, I think your making this all up as you go along. I think you were annoyed when O'Flaherty attacked you in the Goatherd and you swore revenge, and then you took it. And Fintan O'Brian was your henchman. And I can think of another motive too. You didn't like what the butcher was saying about Tennyson Farm produce. Yes, I've done my homework and I heard how he coated off you and the farm. Now, that would be a reason to get revenge, wouldn't it?'

Jode shrugged his shoulders again. 'I wouldn't know. But O'Flaherty was a good customer of mine. So, I'm hardly likely to kill him, am I? No inspector, you need to do a bit more investigation before you go laying the blame for this on any tom dick or harry.'

'I'm laying the blame precisely where the evidence seems to be pointing, Mr Jode, at the two most likely suspects. You and Fintan O'Brian!' He rose from the desk and went to the door of the shed. 'Where do you sleep, by the way?'

'Sleep?' Jode asked. 'Well, here there and everywhere. I like to have a kip in this shed, but I've got a caravan on the edge of the estate where I have a lie down.'

Inspector Haycock nodded. 'Then I might well come back with a search warrant.'

'As you please Inspector.'

Haycock nodded. 'Good bye for now Mr Jode, and I wouldn't count your chickens if I were you or leave the district!'

Jode nodded politely and watched the policeman go. He returned to the pewter of ale he had been quaffing earlier and took a swig. Then he went into the main house to make a phone call. He used the phone in the main hall and dialed a local number. 'Hello?' he said when it was answered. 'Yes, it's me. Look, get Kalo to phone me as soon as possible, something has come up. No, I'll tell him when I speak to him. Thanks, bye!'

***

The prison officer had to shake Alice several times before she awoke, and she looked around in a confused manner. Her eyes settled on the pleasant face of the officer who had a mug of tea and some bread and dripping on a plate. He set it down on her table. 'I hear talk that the jury are going to deliver your verdict today, Mrs Green.'

She sat up, unused to such official intimacy. 'Thank you,' she said gazing at the mug steaming on the table. 'What time is it?'

'Six o'clock,' he said. 'And it's a beautiful morning.'

'For some,' Alice replied.

As the officer left the cell, he said,' We'll be leaving for the court in an hour. You'll need to look your best, Mrs Green.'

She nodded, her stomach already turning over with nerves as she tried to anticipate the day's events. Today she would hear the verdict, though it was unlikely she would be sentenced on the same day, so she was informed. She would still have some time to cheat the hangman! Not that she had anything like a plan. It was just a vain and silly hope that she was entertaining, and in a way, it was a comfort. However, if it actually came to cutting her own wrists, she was unlikely to make the attempt. The hour sped by, and she was taken to court and swiftly brought before the judge, as the jury filed back in to deliver their verdict. The public gallery was filled to overflowing with members of the public, who also cluttered up the doorway.

The foreman was asked if the jury had arrived at a verdict, which he confirmed. He was then asked to pass the verdict on a piece of paper to the Justice Mellwood, who studied it for a few moments. Then he nodded his head and the paper was passed back to the foreman.

'There are two counts to consider,' the Judge said. 'Count one, ' _Willfully preparing food with the intention of causing illness and death._ ' How do you find the accused, Mr Foreman? Guilty or not guilty?'

'Guilty!' the foreman replied. There was hissing from the public gallery.

'I would request silence, please! And on the second count,' the Judge said. ' _Behaving in a way which would deliberately bring disrepute to her employer and Great Britain.'_

'Guilty!' the foreman said with a nod of his head.

The Judge then dismissed the jury and turned to Mrs Green, who was quivering in the dock. 'Mrs Green, you have been found guilty of two very serious crimes. The first crime alone carries the severest of the two penalties. But I will take _that,_ and the fact that you have hitherto been a person of good character, into consideration. I will pass sentence on you this coming Monday at ten am in the morning. Remove the prisoner!'

***

Kalo stood by the window of the caravan staring at the sunset, a cigarette in his hand. He turned to look at Fintan, who was lying on the makeshift bed that Kalo had created for him in the corner of the small lounge.

'So tomorrow you're off to Cornwall then?' Kalo said.

Fintan sat up. 'Yup.'

Kalo nodded. 'But the thing is, it is rather basic. I mean, I haven't been down there for a year, so anything could have happened in that time.'

Fintan shot him a concerned look. 'A year? A house could go to rack and ruin in a year.'

'I know. It's bad of me,' Kalo replied. 'But I had business up here, so I left it. Anyway, I've got the deeds if you need to prove anything to anyone.'

'Ah,' Fintan said perplexed. 'So, you basically want me to sweep away the cobwebs and get the place up and running again.'

Kalo smiled. 'That was the idea. I mean, you can live down there forever if you want. It wouldn't bother me. But there's a bit of a traipse to the nearest shop. I mean you'd need a van.'

'That's what I was going to ask,' Fintan said. 'Do you have a motor I could borrow?'

'Not a problem,' Kalo said. 'And then we can set up business down there. I'll give you all the details after you arrive. There's just one other thing.'

Fintan nodded. 'Oh, yes?'

'Well, when I bought the property, I was told that at one time an old miser lived on the farm, and that he never spent any money. So, there's supposed to be a hoard of cash somewhere hidden on the grounds. I never found it though. And the people who owned the house before me before me never found it either.'

Fintan's face brightened up. 'Oh, fancy that. So, I'll have a good look around then.'

'If you wouldn't mind,' Kalo replied with a smile. 'I'll give you the documents before you go. Then if you could keep in touch that would be good. As we don't have a phone just drop me a line. Or you can phone a lady friend of mine on another site. I'll give you her number. And I'll tell you my plan. See, I've worked it out in detail. We'll make a bomb. And there's one other thing. The water in the stream on the property is quite pure. So, it should make lovely beer.'

Fintan nodded. 'Sounds perfect!' He idly picked up the morning paper on the chair next to him and saw the headline – ' _GREEN GUILTY'_. He blinked in shock. It was then that he made up his mind to try and see Alice as soon as he could.

***

Safri Brahmbhatt wasn't entirely displeased that Alice Green had been found guilty. If she had been released, it would have been the end of his paper's editorial. For now, the story could continue to be spun out, at least, for another few months. In his own estimation, Safri calculated that if she wasn't hanged, she would receive at least ten years in prison. It would be a sentence commensurate with her crime. To celebrate Mrs Green's incarceration, he went to the nearest public house from his Kensington hotel for a drink as the bar in his hotel was having repairs done to it. This obliged him to amble down the road to find the nearest drinking establishment or club, anything would do.

Not being a man of any particular religion, he was ambivalent about drinking. Even if he did support the Muslim cause on the whole, he had adopted western values. Drinking was also the curse which accompanied his profession of journalism, and a stiff drink, preferably three times a day was not unusual for him. His swarthy appearance seemed to attract some notice at the bar, although the landlord of the public house was polite enough. Safri ordered three brandies in total which he consumed at a little table in the saloon. He then took out his notebook and looked over some of the things he had jotted down during the trial.

Mrs Green's sentencing was probably more important than her arrest. The circulation of his uncle's newspaper was bound to hit the roof. People were agog to know the fate of the woman Safri had managed to elevate to sainthood with the silvery language he had used in his articles. If Mrs Green had been imprisoned in India, there would have been riots, no doubt. However, the British were far less demonstrative on the whole than Indians. They tended not to question official edicts when they were handed down from the courts or the Archbishop of Canterbury or whoever. Britain didn't have a Gandhi. If they had a Gandhi, politics would no doubt be completely different in England.

Now that the story had taken this dramatic turn for the worse, Safri's articles would have to keep abreast of the new developments. So, he would have to stay in England for a while longer and squeeze out of the story every bit of juice he could. Or, he could go back to Delhi and make monthly trips to England, at considerable expense. Alternatively, he could just write to Mrs Green, and weave whatever she said in reply into fodder for the Delhi Herald's hungry readership. Of course, if Safri was completely honest with himself, the main usefulness of the story was that it was keeping his newspaper alive. The trick was not to bore readers with the Mrs Green story ad infinitum. It was advisable to find other cause celebres, which may have a connection, no matter how tenuous, with the situation Mrs Green now found herself in. Perhaps he could dig a bit deeper into the secretive world of the British aristocrat. He might find another juicy tidbit or angle which would keep the readers of the Delhi Herald reading

The more he could get the Indian public to side with the 'voice of the people', the better. This was how the Delhi Herald generally presented itself. A useful offshoot of this stance would be a greater increase in pressure for Partition. This is ultimately what the newspaper's private sponsors were hoping to achieve anyway. Several rich benefactors had made substantial contributions into the Delhi Herald's coffers on condition the paper adopted an editorial line which favoured this. Safri lit up a cigarette as he considered his next article. He was rather interested in reviewing, what he regarded as the rather spurious charge of, ' _Intentionally bringing Great Britain into disrepute'_. This seemed like something the authorities had tacked onto the main charge out of sheer malice.

It was a legally doubtful proposition which had been largely unproven or even much discussed during the trial. It had somehow been conflated with the main charge and had been lost in the rough and tumble of the courtroom. Safri felt that this had been deliberate, to save time and to come to a swift conclusion. Perhaps the British didn't want to remind the public that Britain might have been brought into disrepute. Safri thought Mrs Green's barrister was rather poor and didn't deal with this issue as he should have done and was obviously unprepared. He was quite unlike the Prosecutor, who had attacked the accused on a number of fronts and did so with vociferous, though flawed arguments.

As he considered this, Safri felt that his next article should be a critique. It would primarily be of the legal process as it had been applied to Mrs Green and spin it out over several weeks. Studiously reading his notes, he sat, lighting up several cigarettes and relaxing under the influence of the brandies. He then inadvertently become aware of two men in dark nondescript clothing watching him from the far end of the bar.

Unconcerned, he checked his watch and then packed his notebook away in his pocket and exited the public house. Unknown to him, the two men followed him from a distance. Some instinct must have alerted Safri to unseen danger. He suddenly stopped walking and looked behind him as he approached the brightly lit main entrance of the hotel. The street was empty save for some straggling late-night traffic. Seeing nothing untoward, Safri bowled contentedly into the hotel and doubled checked the bar but it was still closed. He then took the stairs to his room and entered it and went to the bathroom where he relieved himself. Returning to the main living area, he removed a bottle of liquor from his suitcase. He grabbed one of the hotel glasses from a cabinet and poured himself another stiff drink.

Tiredly, he threw himself into one of the comfortable easy chairs with his drink and undid his tie. He was feeling quite drowsy and would have dropped off in his chair if the light rap on the hotel door didn't bring him to his senses. He didn't answer the door straight away, but reluctantly got to his feet after the second round of raps. He opened the door thinking it was hotel staff and found the two men from the bar standing there.

'Yes?' Safri said with a blink.

'Mr Brahmbhatt, could we have a word with you?' the first muscular-looking man said. 'I'm from the London News and this is my colleague, Martin, and we would like to compare notes with you about the trial.'

'At this hour?' Safri said in an annoyed tone of voice. 'Can you come back in the morning?'

'Unfortunately, we can't, we're covering another trial up North, but would appreciate your advice.'

'Advice?' Safri repeated. 'What do you want to know?'

'Could we come in for just a moment, as we don't want to broadcast this all over the hotel.'

'Come in then and be quick,' Safri replied with a frown. 'I have to get up early tomorrow.'

'Thank you,' the man said removing his hat and entering the room. The other man mimicked his actions. Then he did something which immediately caused Safri alarm. He slid the bolt on the hotel door from the inside. They were now locked in.

' _What the hell are you doing_?' Safri said.

' _Sit down and shut up_!' the first man said in a hard voice. 'as you've guessed we're not from the press. We've come to deliver a message.'

'What are you talking about?' Safri said, his body tensing. 'Get out of my room now before I call the manager!'

The second man walked over to where the phone was on the table next to the bed and pulled the wires out of the socket on the wall. Safri had seen this done in the movies.

'Sit down Mr Brahmbhatt and just listen. We won't be long,' the first man said.

'I will _not_ sit down,' Safri said in a louder voice, emboldened by the brandies. The man reacted by shoving him hard in the chest and forcing him into the chair.

'As I say, this won't take long,' the first man said taking a light wooden chair from the desk, turning it around and straddling it. 'You've been upsetting some pretty important people. People with power and influence. People in Government. They don't like what you have to say about the British and the way you're stirring up the Indians. They see you as a cheap rabble rouser who is trying to exploit Mrs Green for the benefit of your tuppeny ha'penny newspaper. What's it called? The Delhi Herald?'

' _Who are you_?' Safri asked staring hard at the man's face. 'I think I saw you in the pub tonight. You know I'm not going to just take this lying down. If you're from the government and you're trying to stop me writing about the trial, you are wasting your time! There is such a thing as freedom of speech and I have the right to exercise it, and there's nothing you can do about it!'

'That's where you're wrong Mr Brahmbhatt. There's _a lot_ we can do about it.'

'So, you're obviously from the British government then?'

'Let's just say that we work for the safety and security of this great country and its interests, and we don't like trouble makers like you,' the man said. 'Now, you have two options. You either write articles in favour of official British policy, especially as it applies to India, or you don't write at all!'

Safri kept staring at the man, with unblinking eyes and then he laughed. 'You're a funny man, you know that? You think you can just walk in here and tell me how to conduct the business of journalism? You think you can stop the Delhi Herald printing what it likes? Well, you're wrong! _Now get out of my room now! Get out! Our lawyers will be informed of this!_ '

The second man shook his head and made a subtle downward movement with his eyes. The first man responded to this with a nod, and then removed a large flick-knife from his jacket. He opened the lethal-looking blade and held it towards the journalist. 'Clearly words aren't going to persuade you,' he said. 'I think stronger measures are needed, don't you, Martin?'

The other man nodded. 'It seems so.'

Safri's eyes locked fearfully onto the knife for a second, and then he leapt out of the chair. He tried to make a run for the door, but the second man grabbed him by the shoulders from behind and dragged him backwards. Safri shouted for help, lost his balance, and fell across the armchair. His natural reaction speed had been slowed down considerably by alcohol.

He was found dead the next morning by one of the hotel staff, face down on the ground just below his bathroom window. Blood oozed from his head, and it was clear that he was either the victim of an unfortunate accident or it was suicide.

Chapter Eight

Lady Collendon was well known at Tennyson Hall for giving into her emotions. Today she was worse than usual. She had refused to get out of bed after reading that Mrs Green had been found guilty. The national newspapers all proclaimed variations of the same headline, 'GREEN GUILTY', and it was almost more than Lady Collendon could bear. She shouted at the maid when she drew back the bedroom curtains and knocked over the lamp on the table next to her bed with a crash.

Lord Collendon had to spend the next hour trying to console his wife. 'But darling,' he was saying. 'She was a dangerous woman. It really is for the best.' He was sitting on the bed next to his wife who was dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

'This is your doing,' she cried. 'She was a lovely lady. I just didn't believe that they would find her guilty. What are they going to do? Hang her?'

'No, I've already told you,' Collendon said testily. 'It's been arranged. She'll just go to prison.'

'At least that's one small mercy,' she replied. 'Anyway, I don't care much for that temporary cook you've found.'

'She was the only woman the agency had available,' Lord Collendon said patting her arm. 'Look, Mrs Green is gone now. You need to get used to that fact.'

Lady Collendon shook her head. 'Ten years she was with us. How could you do this to her and to us?'

'Darling, it's not the end of the world,' he replied. 'If the new one isn't any good, we'll get a replacement. Domestics are a dime a dozen!'

'Not ones like Mrs Green,' Lady Collendon said with a snivel.

As usual, Kearns was lurking where voices carried, and there was not much that he had missed lately. But he knew that his own days at Tennyson Hall were also numbered. His work there was coming to a conclusion and it was time he moved on. However, he found himself wholeheartedly agreeing with Lady Collendon's sentiments, that domestics like Mrs Green were not commonplace.

***

Monday morning was as cold as the courthouse was inhospitable. Alice was once again spared the inconvenience of having to wait too long in the Blackfriar's cells. She was taken into the courtroom just a little after ten am to hear the result of Justice Mellwood's deliberations. There was a hushed atmosphere in the courtroom as all eyes fell on her as she arrived, and then onto the Judge. Justice Mellwood unceremoniously got to the point. 'Mrs Green, I would like to spare the court its valuable time and proceed with the sentencing. I would therefore now like to pronounce sentence for the crimes of, 'Willfully preparing food with the intention of causing harm or death,' and 'Bringing disrepute to your employer and Great Britain.'

In the dock, Mrs Green stiffened and looked down at the knuckles of her hands which were clenched and sickly white. She could feel very real sensations of stark fear, even terror rising up from her bowels and flooding her mind. She was certain that there was only one conceivable outcome, and that was death by hanging. She just hoped that if that was the case, it would be carried out quickly. She couldn't stand the thought of having to wait days or even weeks for such an event to happen. The quicker the better in her view. She tried to prepare herself for the Judge's words.

'Is there anything you would like to say before sentence is pronounced,' Justice Mellwood said, showing for the first time a smidgeon of compassion.

Alice hesitated for a moment and cleared her throat. 'Yes, your Lordship. I think what you've done to me is wrong. I worked for Lord and Lady Collendon for ten years, ten happy years and I wouldn't hurt a fly. The thought that I might deliberately harm one of their guests is just silly. I'm not that sort of a person. If I had known those sausages were rotten, I would have thrown them away.'

The Judge nodded his head and then put on his spectacles and proceeded to read from the paper in front of him. 'Thank you, Mrs Green. You will doubtless be relieved to know that in this case, the sentence of death has been waived!'

Alice gasped, and the public gallery reacted with loud sighs and murmuring.

The Judge cast a reproachful eye over them and continued. 'The Home Office has asked that your good record with the Collendons, be taken into consideration, and that clemency be applied in this case. I do not personally agree, but will nevertheless comply with this request. Therefore, for the first count, I sentence you to serve no less than ten years at a prison recommended by the Home Office, and twenty months for the second count, to run concurrently. Remove the prisoner!'

When Alice's fearful expectations had not been realised, relief fell on her ice-cold brow like warm rain. The sheer terror that Alice had been feeling seconds before was now completely gone. In fact, the sensations of relief were so overpowering that she almost swooned in the dock.

The kindly court officer gently took her arm and led her below. 'Had a lucky escape there, Mrs Green,' he said with a smile. 'Now if you behave yourself, you'll get time off. Just keep a stiff upper lip.'

Alice blinked away a tear and touched the man's arm, 'Thank you dear,' she said. 'And there I was thinking that I was a gonna!'

'I bet you could murder a cup of tea now!' the officer said. 'Sorry, bad joke.'

'You bet,' she replied. 'And it will be the only crime I would have committed!'

She was taken back to Holloway, while the powers-that-be decided where to eventually put her. Her stay at Holloway was only temporary, and there seemed to be some administrative confusion as to where she was going to end up. She wasn't worried. In fact, she was already wondering if the prison that eventually took her in, would be willing to allow her to work in the kitchens. Her credentials as the cook to one of the landed gentry was sure to carry some weight. Her arrival back at Holloway was greeted with supportive smiles from the prison officers. They had prepared her a special supper as a sort of celebration at the trial's outcome, 'Toad in the hole,' washed down with a jug of cocoa. Already things were turning around for the better.

***

Fintan thought it a bit odd that the deeds to the house in Cornwall, which Kalo had given to him, were written out in a long-handed scrawl. They didn't look like official documents at all. Not being a man of letters, he supposed that these were acceptable. After hugging Kalo and promising to keep in touch, he took the small van which Kalo had lent him and began the long drive down to Cornwall. Kalo had given him precise directions, and Fintan had an idea it was quite a few hundred miles away. Kalo assured him it wouldn't take more than a day to get there. He then gave him some money for petrol, a container with beer in it and some chicken drumsticks wrapped in newspaper. He also gave him the keys to the house.

As he drove, Fintan began to wonder what life in Cornwall would be like. It genuinely did seem to be a new start, and the idea of being in business greatly appealed to him. The journey took him the whole of the rest of the day and late into the night as the small van broke down once on the way. Luckily Fintan was handy with an engine and soon got it going again. By the time he arrived at the house, the vehicle did look the worse for wear.

The house was quite easy to find, being off a main road. It was about two am when Fintan finally drove onto the property under the glare of the moon. To his eyes, it looked like a farm, and he was surprised to see the house was quite substantial, although clearly unlived in. Grass and weeds and other growth presented a picture of years of neglect. Fintan thought the challenge of turning it around would be quite interesting.

As he stood at the threshold of the building, he took the keys to the property out of his pocket. Oddly, when he tried them in the street door, the keys wouldn't turn. There were four keys on the bunch in all and he tried them all and even in the back door as well without success. The only thing he could do under the circumstances was to try and find a way in without causing any unnecessary damage. He walked around the beautiful old building, which was mock Tudor in design, and noticed a little upstairs window which was slightly ajar.

Fintan was surprised the property didn't show more evidence of any break-ins or signs of trespass. It was curious, like Kalo's suspicious glance when he had seen Fintan off several hours earlier. Fintan began to wonder if anything was wrong. Looking up at the open window, he decided to try and climb up via the old drainpipe and enter the property at that point. This he accomplished quite easily. The upstairs window swung open to reveal a small box room. Odds and ends were neatly stacked, and the carpet looked clean. For a long-neglected property, this also raised questions.

Fintan tried the light switch and to his amazement, a naked bulb came on. He then went into the hallway and turned those lights on too. To his mind, this was very unlikely for a long-neglected house. Fintan began to wonder if the house was being used without Kalo's knowledge, despite its run-down outer appearance. A quick tour of the quaint building from the inside confirmed to Fintan the property was definitely being utilised in some way. Although there no made beds, there was plenty of presentable furniture which looked quite clean. Perhaps Kalo had a domestic of some sort who came in from time to time? Bemused, Fintan went out and collected the house deeds and some belongings from the van. The clammy coolness in the air prompted him to get the fire going in the lounge.

There were already some small partly burnt logs of wood in the fireplace. Using his lighter, and some paper, it didn't take long to stoke up a roaring fire. Fintan sat down in an armchair in front of it and began eating his drumsticks and drinking the beer Kalo had so kindly given him. Yet, things didn't quite add up in his mind.

For instance, he did not see any sign of the stream which Kalo said would be the source of their brewery enterprise. And, although the property was clearly a farm of sorts, clearly nothing had been harvested on it for quite a while. He had also noticed a couple of dilapidated vehicles scattered about, which made him wonder what the property was really being used for. Fintan shrugged it all off. Best not to worry. At least he was now here, in a safe environment hundreds of miles away from the Lincolnshire police. It could be quite a good hideout, perhaps even in the long term. He would just have to do a few things like alter his own appearance and obviously change his name and no one would be any the wiser.

He eventually fell asleep in front of the fire only to awaken with a start a few hours later. Though the fire in the grate had died out, something had alerted him, like a subdued noise. He sat up and stayed perfectly still for a moment. Then he heard them, men whispering and the sound of slow footsteps, apparently going up the creaky stairs in the hall.

Fintan had a finely tuned sense of survival, an instinct which was as honed as any animal's. He just knew that danger had come into the house through the front door. He got up and crept over to the window, and keeping his head low, noticed there was a black car parked at the entrance of the farm. He sneaked out into the dark hall and could hear the voices of two men talking in a subdued tones upstairs. Fintan assumed they had gone into the bedroom to surprise him and had come away empty handed. They were now making their way back towards the staircase. Whoever they were, they had the keys to the house. So, if anyone was trespassing it was probably Fintan, and not the men who had come into the house. Strangely, they seemed to be expecting him.

Fintan prepared himself to either fight or flee. At this moment, it was all unclear. Had Kalo sent these people? Fintan crept into the kitchen, held his breath and waited for the men to come downstairs. He hid on the other side of the kitchen doorway where he could see a reflection of the staircase in the old mirror in the hallway. What he saw convinced him that he was indeed in danger. Two rough-looking men with switchblades were coming down the stairs, and it was obvious they were here to do him harm!

Fintan took a deep breath and hung back. A part of him was hoping the men would just go. It did appear that their intentions were clear. They knew he was in the house and they had come to, 'have a talk'. The question as to, 'what about', was something Fintan would find out.

Suddenly one of the men said in a strong Irish Brogue, 'His van is outside, so he must be in the damned house somewhere.'

The other man said, ' _Keep your voice down_!'

Luckily, Fintan had the element of surprise on his side, and he had been in these situations before. Despite himself, his brain was feeling somewhat addled and unable to focus properly. And then it came to him. Kalo had put something in the beer! Kalo was behind this. But why? He had been so friendly and open and encouraging. It didn't add up.

The men were now in the passage, making their way to the lounge. 'There's been a fire here,' one said. 'And there's a bag!'

' _Shh_!' the other man told him.

Fintan almost smiled to himself; for a couple of would-be assassins, they were pretty clumsy. But he knew that they would soon be turning their attention to the rear of the house where he was in the kitchen. He began quietly looking around for a weapon to defend himself. Foolishly he had left his own knife in the bag in the lounge. His brain just wasn't functioning normally. He quietly opened a kitchen cupboard and found a broom. Hardly the best weapon, although, with an artful aim, it could certainly crown an attacker. He took this, and then quickly rummaged through a drawer under the draining board. Knives! Lots of them. He drew out a large carving knife. It could doubtlessly inflict a nasty injury if required. He was all set.

He positioned himself to the left of the kitchen doorway and waited. The shadow of the first man suddenly fell across the threshold, and then his head appeared. Fintan immediately pounced, whacking the man's knife with the broom handle and kicking him hard in the stomach! The flick knife went flying and the man fell with a groan. Fintan then swung round like an oversized ballerina and kicked the second man in the groin, who cried out in pain and staggered backwards dropping his own knife. Fintan quickly stamped on with a heavy boot and in one foul swoop he had subdued his two attackers. They looked up at him, bewildered.

' _What do you want with me?_ ' Fintan said in his most menacing voice. He was still holding the broom in one hand and the carving knife in the other.

The first man suddenly made a movement and tried to grab Fintan's carving knife. Fintan's reactions were as quick as lightening and he threw a well-aimed foot at the man's chest and followed this up with a broom poke to the stomach and another kick. Winded and moaning, the man slid down the wall. The other assailant had remained where he was, sitting on the bare floorboards of the hallway, apparently with few other options.

'Who sent you?' Fintan said again. 'Was it Kalo?'

Neither men responded. Fintan then dropped the broom, grabbed the collar of the first man, dragged him to his feet and held the carving knife to his throat. 'Who sent you? You either tell me, or you'll end up as _dog meat!'_

As he asked this question the second man suddenly got to his feet, scurried to the street door, opened it and ran off.

Fintan, unperturbed turned his attention back to the man he was holding. 'He was in a hurry! No matter. Are you going to be reasonable or what? I can tell you're a Romani like me and people like us should stick together, don't you think? Tell me who sent you and I'll let you go.'

'Kalo,' the man said, his resolve weakened now that he was on his own. 'He sent us. Kalo said you're a police informer and no good.'

Fintan raised his eyebrows and eased the pressure on the man's collar. 'Me a police informer? Now that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. No, that's not right, and you need to believe me. Do you believe me?'

The man, his eyes wide, nodded. 'Yes.'

'No, you don't,' Fintan said letting go of the man's collar.

The man fell backwards.

'Go on, get out!' Fintan said. 'And don't bother coming back, because I won't be here!'

The man scrambled out the front door without closing it.

Fintan slowly walked into the lounge and looked out of the window. He watched the two men get into their black car at the farm entrance and quickly drive off. Fintan knew it was only a matter of time before more of Kalo's thugs would be coming out of the woodwork. It was best to leave the farmhouse as soon as possible, which was a pity.

But first he was going to look around, and see what he could use, and then he would drive south and lick his wounds and decide what to do next. It was a major blow that Kalo had turned on him, and apparently for no good reason.

***

It was late, and Geoffrey Beresford was sitting chatting amiably to the attractive young German actress, Lilly Vandorf. They were in a private reception room of the extravagant Das Stern Hotel in Drake Strasse, Berlin. They were not alone, as they were attending a special party being given in Beresford's honour, hosted by Colonel Hermann Schrepps. No expense had been spared, as the Fuhrer liked to treat useful friendly foreigners well. The main cause for celebration was Mrs Green's guilty verdict.

One of Schrepp's orderlies whispered something in Beresford's ear and he nodded, pleased. The actress looked at him curiously. 'What is it?' she said in German.

'Some more good news,' he replied. 'One of our other enemies has just passed away. And now we are all safer as a result.'

The actress nodded her head. 'That is very good to hear.'

Beresford raised his glass of champagne. 'To the Fuhrer!'

The actress smiled and chinked his glass with her own. 'To the Fuhrer!'

The other good news, as it turned out, was the fact that journalist Safri Brahmbhatt had been found dead at the back of his London hotel. As far as Beresford was concerned, this was no surprise. It also meant that there was one less needle in the sides of the Home and Foreign Office and less pressure on him. From this, it was hoped the Delhi Herald would now sit up and take notice and put the Mrs Green story on hold!

Colonel Schrepps, who was talking to one of his orderlies, beckoned Beresford to come over to the cocktail bar where he was sitting. 'Geoffrey, I have been informed that there are new British initiatives afoot,' the Colonel said keeping his voice low.

Beresford raised an enquiring eyebrow. 'Anything I should know about?'

'Might be important,' the Colonel replied. 'The Abwehr have become aware of a pilot scheme that has been set up by your Secret Intelligence Service, SIS. Have you heard of the AIU?'

Beresford shook his head. 'AIU? No, I can't say I have, Hermann. What's it's function?'

'The AIU stands for the 'Anti Infiltration Unit, apparently,' the Colonel said. 'It's also known as Department J. It operates to undermine any attempts by foreign powers to infiltrate influential British societies, clubs or persons.'

Beresford blinked as he absorbed this information. 'I see. Presumably they have active agents?'

'Most certainly,' the Colonel replied. 'How many we don't know. There's bound to be several agents in London and possibly others in other major towns. Just keep your eyes open. We haven't detected any direct threat to you personally. But we mustn't take things for granted.'

'Thank you, Colonel,' Beresford said. 'I shall make some quiet enquiries myself and let you know what I find out. However, I do have a couple of names which may be of interest to you. Helga Brinkmann and Fritz Hals. They could be agents. One is actually my German tutor. I have already run a check but it's inconclusive.'

'Write these names down and I'll see what I can find out about them,' the Colonel said with a nod. He raised his glass of champagne. 'And may the war come soon!'

'I've been drinking to that for months,' Beresford said clicking the Colonel's glass with his own.

***

After spending a week at Holloway, Alice was suddenly woken at five in the morning and whisked away to a remote prison in Gloucestershire. The name of it was enough to send shivers down the spine of any squeamish mortal – Coldvale, HMP. It commanded three grey fortress-like buildings and several acres of sparse grounds, all surrounded by impenetrably high walls. It had been built in the mid-Victorian times, when the word penitentiary meant just that, a place where punishment and reform was the main order of the day. It treated its female inmates to a diet of enforced Christianity, skimpy food, lukewarm shared weekly baths and sewing work. It was all thought good for the soul.

The Reverend Damon Rung was the Governor, and he ran the place very strictly with an eagle eye for anyone who stepped out of line. He did it out of the goodness of his antiquarian Christian heart. The prison was mainly filled with convicted prostitutes, thieves and very few murderesses. Alice Green was the most notorious one in recent times. It was a status which attracted an instant interview with the Governor himself.

Alice was presented to the Reverend Rung on the second day and was made to stand before his desk with her arms behind her back. The Governor, a thin, pious-looking man with glittery eyes, surveyed her solemnly.

'Mrs green, I'm the Governor of Coldvale, The Very Reverend Damon Rung. I am concerned that you have been sent here into our care, rather than to a London-based establishment. But these are unusual times and I have been informed that you are to receive special treatment. Basically, this means you'll be entitled to privileges which are not normally given to inmates in their first few months.'

'Yes, sir,' Alice replied.

The Governor frowned. 'As it happens, I have the right to take privileges away as much as I am empowered to grant them. And after reading the transcript of your trial, Mrs Green, I have decided that you won't be entitled to the following. One, you won't be entitled to receive any food gifts during visiting times. And, two, you will only be able to receive visits twice a month. Also, any wages earned sewing mail bags for the General Post Office will be deducted to pay for your food as normal. The Home Office had specifically asked that you receive extra food privileges, but I disagree. You will also only be entitled to one set of clean blankets and bed sheets a month. You will also be obliged to share a cell with three other women. And everyone has been instructed to report the others for any misdemeanor they commit. By this I mean, if rules are broken, there will be punishment. Stealing is severely frowned on here. And there is always solitary confinement for repeat offenders. It's known as the cupboard. You will also have to attend chapel every Sunday morning. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You may go, and may God guide and protect you during your stay here!'

Alice was sent with her bedding and prison clothing to the main wing. Here, she was shown into a cell with a normal bed and a bunk bed for two. A curtain hanging across a third of the small room provided some dignity for the privy, and an old stained metal bucket was visible for use. No sooner had the prison officer locked the cell and walked away, when one of the two women occupying it approached her.

'I'm Jessie, and I'm the boss here!' The first woman said. She was a painfully thin, dark eyed, imposing person in her late thirties with greying hair. There was also an old scar running parallel to her jaw line. 'We know what you did, and we don't like your sort. Working in posh houses and 'all. You will have to sleep on the bottom bunk. Also, I get a share of your food!'

Alice put down her bedding and prison smock on the table stared at the woman. 'Really? Well, you can go to hell!'

The woman appeared surprised at this response. 'Do what?' She approached Alice menacingly. 'I've got a knife, and when you're sound asleep, _I'll cut your ears off_!'

'You dare touch me,' Alice said her eyes blazing. 'And you'll be sorry. I'll report you to the Governor!'

The woman sniggered contemptuously at this and suddenly grabbed Alice round the throat. Alice quickly shoved in the stomach, and then twisted her around. 'Do you think, because I'm an older woman I can't take care of myself?'

The younger woman struggled vainly for several moments, though it was useless against Alice's powerful arms, strengthened by years of working in kitchens.

' _Let go of me, you fat hag!_ ' Jessie screamed. ' _Big Jean Mullins is going to hear about this, you wait!'_

'Big Jean Mullins?' Alice said with a laugh. 'Who the hell is Big Jean Mullins?' She suddenly released the younger woman from her grip and pushed her away.

It was at this point that Alice had a better look at the woman sleeping on the top of the bunk bed. Her head had been covered with a blanket which she pulled this down and stared at Alice fearfully. She was quite pretty and apparently in her late twenties.

'I take it, you're not Big Jean Mullins then?' Alice said breathing heavily from her unexpected exertions.

'Not me!' the girl said, burying her head under the blanket again.

Alice turned to stare at Jessie, her new adversary, who was now sitting on the normal bed. 'Now, you listen to me, Jessie, or whatever your stupid name is, I don't know who this Mullins person is supposed to be. But I'm a desperate woman. I've been sent to prison for something I haven't done. So, I don't care a damn about you or your silly Big Jean. If Jean wants to pick a bone with me, she can try. Because I'm not taking any nonsense from no one. And that includes _you_! Try anything again or when I'm asleep, and you'll regret it!'

Jessie's eyes seemed to glow with scorn. 'Well, you're still sleeping on the bottom bunk!'

'That's alright,' Alice replied. 'I don't care where I sleep _!'_

Jessie continued staring at Alice for a long few moments and then she turned away.

The bottom of the bunk bed, on the other side of the small cell, was unmade. Alice picked up her bedding and quickly made her bed. Unfortunately, the striped feather pillow itself was quite unsavoury and smelly, although the starched pillow case disguised this to a certain extent. The bed was a welcoming sight for someone who was exhausted from the day's travelling.

Alice undressed and put on her grey prison smock, which she presumed was her day to day wear. It was a relief when she finally climbed into bed and closed her eyes. The lights in the cell were still on, though it didn't bother her. She was already drifting into the sleep of sheer exhaustion. She didn't even give a thought to what the next day would bring.

***

Chief Constable Biggins clasped his hands together and nodded as Inspector Haycock came into his office at the Lincolnshire Police Headquarters. This was at a different location to the Constabulary where Haycock was based. Haycock gave his chief a brief smile and waited to be asked to sit down.

The stocky Chief waved him into the chair opposite his desk. 'Ah, Haycock, sorry to be a pain in the old proverbial. But I really must insist that you move on to the next big thing, before this current thing explodes in our faces!'

Haycock took a chair and closed one eye, as he tried to decipher what his boss had just said. 'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'I've had Lord Collendon on the phone, not to mention her Ladyship as well, the other day. She's been complaining about the Green trial. Apparently, they've struck a deal to release Mrs Green early. But she can't go back into service which has upset her ladyship! And his Lordship has been complaining about _you_!'

'I know what you're going to say, sir,' Haycock said. 'That I shouldn't have gone to interview Robert Jode, or written that letter...'

'No, you _damn well shouldn't have_!' the chief said. 'No more nasty letters to the local gentry please! And we already have a perfectly good suspect for the O'Flaherty murder, and Jode isn't even in the frame. So, I would appreciate it if you left well alone, and delegate the case to a junior. It's all just routine stuff now. I have you in mind for something else.'

Haycock readjusted his position in the chair. 'Well, sir, as you know, I _am_ planning to take early retirement.'

'Nonsense,' Biggins said. 'You're only fifty-eight for heaven's sake. Lincoln needs a man of your skill and experience on the front line.'

Haycock shook his head. 'I've already promised my wife. And we're moving to Wales.'

'Wales?' Biggins said slightly raising his voice. 'Haycock, am I missing something? What's the problem? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in retirement, essentially doing nothing useful?'

'I won't be doing nothing, sir,' Haycock said. 'We're going to run a bed and breakfast, or I'll be a security advisor or something like that, or both!'

Chief Biggins sank back into his chair. 'You'll get bored. But promise me you won't bother Mr Jode anymore. Just find and arrest Fintan O'Brian, and we'll be contented with that.'

'But Jode is as guilty as sin, I just know it,' Haycock replied. 'Every bone in my body tells me that he was behind the O'Flaherty killing. It was revenge for what the butcher did to him in public; basically, humiliated him.'

The chief shook his head and drummed his fingers on the desk. 'But it can't be absolutely proven.'

'Well, O'Brian's involvement can't be absolutely proven either, not conclusively,' Haycock said. 'All we have is a reported van sighting. And, the butcher's wife saying the dying man supposedly said Fintan had a scythe, which is pretty damning, I agree. But Jode needs to carry his share of the can as well!'

'It's not happening,' Biggins said. 'Besides, I have been instructed by the powers-that-be to leave Jode out of this. Also, if you look at the circumstances, Jode didn't defend himself when he was attacked by O'Flaherty at the Goatherd. So, it's unlikely that he carried out the murder. Also, O'Brian is the stronger man, and he has some previous I believe.'

'Okay, then, what's O'Brian's motive? Alright he's definitely an accessory,' Haycock said, his face getting flushed. 'But Jode had the motive.'

The Chief Constable grunted. 'It's out of our hands. Forget Jode, concentrate on O'Brian, and get someone else to follow it up. I want you to consider moving offices. I'm considering you for a promotion, at least I've already recommended you. I want you here, with me.'

Haycock smiled. 'That's very complimentary of you, sir. I must admit it is rather cramped at the Constabulary. But no, I've made up my mind. I've already put in the paperwork. After what has happened to Mrs Green, I don't feel as motivated as I used to be. Somehow it seems wrong to me that this poor woman has been blamed for the death of a strutting insensitive Nazi, who had it coming anyway. It doesn't smell right to me.'

Biggins remained silent and then said with a sigh, 'Well, at the end of the day, we all have to follow the voice of conscience, I suppose.'

'Exactly, sir,' Haycock replied. 'And that is what I plan to do!'

***

The sound of loud knocking on the shed door didn't immediately rouse Mr Jode from his afternoon slumber. In sleep he was completely impervious to the world. His caller, the Reverend Cope, took the liberty of peering into the shed. He found the farm manager slumped over his desk with a jug of liquor next to him. The air also reeked of some unholy odour.

For a minute, the priest thought Jode had died, then he suddenly twitched and turned around to look at his visitor. 'Ah, father.'

'Did you cut me that piece of loin?' Cope asked, getting straight to the point of his visit. 'I was expecting Fintan to bring it down to me, but I gather he's in trouble now?'

'He's run off,' Jode replied. 'But the loin is wrapped up in the Frigidaire unit in the house. Shirley will get it for you.'

'Oh, right,' Cope said. 'What do I owe you, Mr Jode?'

'As if I have ever asked you for money,' Jode replied. 'But you can put in a prayer for me if you like.'

Cope stared at him and closed the shed door. 'What is it, my son? What's troubling you?'

Jode met the other man's gaze. 'Well, nothing ... much.'

'If there is anything you want to tell me, that's why I'm here. To help man with the travails of life. What is it?'

Jode pulled a peculiar face and took another swig of his lukewarm ale. 'Hell is a very real place, isn't it, father?' Jode said. 'I feel I'm in hell now.'

'Is it a confession you want to make?' Cope said coming closer. 'You can make it here and now, if you want. God is everywhere. Not just within the confines of a church building.'

Jode was moved by the compassion in the priest's voice. 'Well there is something...'

'Is it the murder of Michael O'Flaherty you want to confess to?'

'What? No, no,' Jode replied in a surprised voice. 'No, it's about Mrs Green. It wasn't her fault. I mean the death of that German fellow. It wasn't her fault. I have been feeling bad about it. See, she took a cutlet from the wrong carcass.'

'What are you saying, my son?'

Jode sniffed loudly. 'What I'm saying is that Mrs Green wasn't to blame. It had nothing to do with her. The joints of pork hadn't been cured properly. It was my fault. I'd hung them in the shed and I stupidly told her to take the wrong one.'

The Reverend Cope put his hand on Jode's shoulder. 'Then it was all just an accident?'

'That's definitely one way of looking at it father,' Jode replied. 'But to be honest, I didn't organise the shed properly. I've mixed up the joints, putting cured with uncured. Thing is, I know which is which. But Alice didn't. That's _my_ job.'

'I see,' the priest said, considering this. 'Then the best thing we can do is pray. Pray for Mrs Green's soul and hope that she'll be able to bear the burden that's been thrust on her shoulders.'

'Amen to that, father,' Jode said closing his eyes.

Reverend Cope then said a very brief prayer and finally turned to Jode and said, 'Well, I'll have to be off now. So, I'll pick up my cutlet from the house then.'

'Yes, father,' Jode said, his voice quiet and repentant. 'And don't worry. The meat will be fine! And thank you.'

Whenever a person makes a confession to a priest, particularly about a crime or criminal activity, the priest is duty bound to inform the authorities. The Reverend Cope had taken a confession of sorts from Jode, though it wasn't exactly a confession of a crime as such. It was more the description of an error, a human error. Still, the priest knew that he was obliged to tell somebody. If it wasn't the police, then it would have to be Lord Collendon himself.

Reverend Cope cut across to the main house and went in through the kitchen. He was always a welcome visitor, and he could more or less come and go as he pleased. On occasion he would even drop in and have a meal in the servant's quarters, such was his familiarity. But this time, he went straight to Lord Collendon's study on the first floor of Tennyson House and knocked on the gold inlaid door. Lord Collendon bade the priest to enter.

'Ah, Reverend, just the man,' Collendon said enthusiastically. 'How are you?' He rose from his chair to greet the priest who returned his warm handshake.

'Well, the Lord never ceases to surprise me with his miraculous ways,' the priest replied. 'And I take it that things are settling down now that Mrs Green is safely in custody?'

Lord Collendon nodded. 'Couldn't be better! Although it's a wonder that we're _still all alive_!'

The priest's face was dubious. 'To be sure.'

'Indeed!' Collendon replied. 'Well, is there anything I can do for you, Reverend? Have a seat please!'

'Thank you. Actually, I've come to report something to _you_ ,' Reverend Cope said sitting down on the comfortable cream coloured sofa by the fire. 'I have just taken a confession from your Mr Jode.'

Collendon frowned. 'Did you now?'

'Something was troubling him, and so I felt it was my duty to encourage him to speak.'

'Of course,' Collendon said walking up to the crackling fireplace and standing with his back to it.

'Mr Jode seems to think that Mrs Green is innocent of the crime she has been convicted of,' the priest said. 'He says that he instructed Mrs Green to retrieve the wrong piece of meat from the shed for your German guest. Not deliberately though. And apparently it was an uncured pork cutlet. I have obviously read the newspaper reports about the case. I understand that the meat which was served to Dr Fefferberg was unfit for human consumption. But they said that Mrs Green somehow made it so. But not according to Mr Jode.'

Lord Collendon nodded. 'I understand. Well, Mr Jode is a fine fellow with a conscience, and he obviously feels for Mrs Green. After all, they've known each other for the best part of ten years. His sentiments clearly reflect that. Thank you for telling me, Reverend.'

'It was my duty to do so,' the priest said. 'Do you think this information will make

any difference to Mrs Green's fate?'

Lord Collendon shook his head and smiled. 'Oh, no, no. It's really a bit too late in the game for any reversals of fortune. We've got a new cook here anyway, a Mrs Thule, from Mid Lothian. So, we don't really need to concern ourselves with Mrs Green, any more.'

'I see,' the priest replied. 'Well, it does seem to be quite important information. Perhaps the police ought to be informed.'

'I wouldn't bother yourself,' Collendon replied. 'They've got their main suspect behind bars and the case has been closed.'

Reverend Cope rubbed his chin. 'Right. Okay, well, there it is then,' he said clearly nonplussed.

'There it is, indeed,' Lord Collendon replied. 'Now, changing the subject. I thought we might have a charity event in the main gardens nearer to Christmas. What do you think? It's always good for the church, and it reminds the locals that our farm is still on the map.'

The priest nodded vaguely. 'Indeed, your Lordship. Yes, that would be wonderful. These occasions always have a consolidating effect on the parish, and the local Women's Society always relish organising these events.'

'Consider it done then!' Collendon said. 'We'll talk more on this closer to the time.'

'I would appreciate that very much,' the priest said with a smile. 'But I can't help feeling for Mrs Green, though. She'll have a cheerless Christmas this year.'

'And so she should,' Collendon responded. 'I think she was lucky to escape a hanging!'

Reverend Cope smiled weakly. On the way back to the Rectory, he couldn't help thinking that the worries of the last few months had definitely affected Lord Collendon for the worst. He had become somewhat hardened. The priest thenceforth made a point of including his Lordship in his daily roster of prayers.

***

Alice was fortunate that the prison was able to put her in the kitchens straight away. It was like home from home as far as she was concerned. It was an environment that suited her perfectly, as it involved cooking on an industrial scale which she was used to. There were also several other cooks saddled with the task of feeding five hundred prisoners. Overall, standards were low. Alice was put off by the outdated ovens and worn utensils that were being used. She resolved to have a word with the Governor about them. The other cooks thought she was having ideas above her station. When they realised who she was and where she had come from, they began to treat her suggestions with less mockery.

Up till now, Alice hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Big Jean, although she had seen Jessie talk to a large middle-aged woman several times on the landing. The women had given Alice baleful stares, which she completely ignored. However, after several days, the middle-aged woman approached Alice after she had completed a shift in the kitchens. They were standing in the laundry queue waiting to collect some fresh bedding.

'I'm Jean, and I've been hearing stories about you,' the woman said grabbing her arm.

Alice shook herself loose and looked the woman hard in the eyes. 'Oh yes? And you've got a friend called Jessie, haven't you?'

'Hey, don't come the big 'un with me, or I'll scratch your eyes out!' Big Jean said with convincing menace.

'You and whose army?' Alice said.

Big Jean's eyes narrowed to a squint. 'You think you're better than me, don't you? Well maybe on the outside you were, but in here, I'm the boss.'

'That's funny,' Alice said. 'That's what Jessie said to me. But I soon put a stop to her nonsense.'

'I've seen your sort before,' Big jean said. 'You think they can live by your own rules. But not in here, you can't. There are two sets of rules, the Governor's rules, which we try to ignore and my rules. On this wing we live by my rules.'

Alice shook her head. 'Listen. You don't know me from Adam, or should I say, Eve. So why start on the wrong foot? I haven't done you any harm. Why don't we try and get along?'

'Get along? With a murderer like you?' Big Jean said with a snigger. 'I'd rather get along with the screws.'

'Screws?' Alice repeated.

'For a gentry's cook you don't know very much do you?' Big Jean said. 'Screws, prison officers. You're not going to last two minutes in here, ducks. Anyway, I've come to tell you that you're working for _me_ now. You're in the kitchens which is handy. Next time you come off your shift, I'll be expecting you to bring me some bread and eggs. I'll let you know what I want from day to day.'

'You're asking me to steal, from the kitchens?' Alice said with a shake of her head. 'Well you can forget it. And if you try any rough stuff, I'll report you!'

Big Jean laughed. 'You can report as much as you like. No one's going to take any notice of you. They'll just tell you to stick up for yourself.'

It was Alice's turn in the queue to receive new bedding, two sheets, a pillowcase and a fresh smock. She passed over her old bedding and collected a neat pile of fresh linen which was handed to her by the laundry girl.

Alice shot Big Jean a hard look. 'Don't ever talk to me again!'

'I'll talk to you whenever I damn well like,' Big Jean said in a low snarling voice. 'Don't forget. I want two eggs. No four, and half a loaf of bread. And if I don't get it they'll be trouble! _Do you hear me?_ '

Alice walked off without replying and went back to her cell. Jessie was absent, and the girl who seemed to spend her life on the top bunk, called Franny Morris, gave her a smile.

'Don't you ever get bored sitting in bed all day?' Alice asked putting down her fresh bedding.

'I do clean the landings, you know!' Franny said. 'But I'd rather be asleep than have to put up with this every day.'

'How long have you got? 'Alice asked.

'Only another five months,' Franny said with a sigh. 'The judge gave me eight months in total for stealing a coat. I think he liked me.'

Alice pulled a face. 'He must have done.'

'Oh, and there are two letters for you,' Franny said. 'I've hid them in case that slag Jessie put her mitts on them. Just under your mattress.'

'Oh, thank you,' Alice said. 'Tell you what, I'll see if I can't bring you something back from the kitchen tomorrow. But I'll ask first.'

'Lovely,' Franny said, 'But don't say it's for me though.'

'No, don't worry,' Alice said reaching under her mattress and drawing out the two hidden letters. One was from Ireland and the other Lincolnshire. The letters had already been opened.

She scanned the letter with the Lincoln franking, seeing that it had been forwarded from Holloway. She assumed it was probably from Mr Kearns or even her Ladyship herself. She was half right, as it was from Tennyson House, though not from who she thought. It was a letter from Paul, the Footman.

As Alice looked over the letter quickly before reading it, she noticed that chunks of writing had been blacked out. She held the letter up to the window and tried to make out what had been censored. It was unreadable. The rest of the letter was quite chatty, saying how everyone had missed her, though there seemed to be a special reason why Paul had written it. Whatever it was had been blanked out. Normally she and Paul would just say hello and very little else in the course of a day. They didn't have a real friendship as such, and so for Paul to send her a letter was unusual. Annoyingly, he had written a sentence which had begun:

'...you're not going to believe this, but as Christ is my judge it's true...' and the rest had been blacked out. Alice pondered this for a few moments and turned to Franny. 'Hey Fran, my letter has been interfered with,' she said. 'Is this normal?'

'Let me see!' Franny said glancing at the letter which Alice held up to her. 'Oh, the blacking out. Yeah, they do that if they think you shouldn't read something.'

'That's nice of them,' Alice said. 'But suppose it's important? I'll have to have a word with the Governor.'

'You're always saying that,' Franny said with a laugh. 'You'll get around to it one day,'

'I might,' Alice agreed. 'And then they might let us _all_ go, and pig's will fly if they had fairy wings!'

Chapter Nine

Breaking codes was not something Beresford did in the course of his everyday work at the Home Office. To help him, he utilised a little book of decrypting cyphers to decode the messages he received from Berlin by encrypted private telex. It was a variation of the Baudot code using International Telegraph Alphabet, Number 2. It was more complicated than Beresford cared to bother with, and so he invariably got an office junior to do the deciphering. Germany's highly secret messages sent to Beresford in the strictest confidence had become the lunchtime talk of office juniors.

If the German's had discovered how slack Beresford was being with their highly confidential communications, they would have been horrified. Beresford's own maverick overconfidence was no doubt the reason for this bad character flaw. He was also relying on the Official Secrets Act to keep the mouths of the juniors firmly shut. How effective this was remained to be seen. However, Colonel Hermann Schrepps insisted on encrypting everything, and this message was no different, although the content caused Beresford some alarm. The message was brief.

' _Our records show that Helga Brinkmann has never lived in Germany, is not a German citizen, but is possibly of Spanish extraction and may be connected to the left-wing Spanish group, Federacion Nacional Del Trabajo, the CNT. They are a labour movement.'_

Await response. G.H.B.'

The significance of this communication from the Colonel was profound and meant that Frau Brinkmann could not be trusted. Probably everything Beresford had discussed with her had been shared with others and so she was a major security threat! It again raised the question of whether Brinkmann was in some sort of contact with Kearns and whether he was an agent too? But what was their agenda? Beresford's mind was reeling with all the possibilities. Was Brinkmann a Spanish spy of some description? If this was so, why did she speak German and claim to come from Germany? On the last occasion that Beresford saw her for a 'lesson', Frau Brinkmann appeared quite relaxed and unconcerned. This could be just skillful acting. Beresford thought he might take the afternoon off and pay his 'tutor' a visit. He also decided to take along some extra 'hands' if things went wrong, appropriated from a special Whitehall based military unit.

At around two that afternoon, Beresford and two soldiers turned up at Brinkmann's impressive office. From the outside everything appeared normal and it was even possible to look into the office from the street, though there was no sign of any life. Beresford rang the doorbell, and when there was no response, ordered his men to use force to access the premises. As it turned out, there was a basement door providing easy access, and from there they went up to the main office. Beresford was shocked to find the place had been ransacked. Brinkmann had obviously left in a hurry, taking important documents and leaving the tidying up to the cleaners. Drawers and filing cabinets had been emptied, and the items which were normally on the desk, had also been taken. A search of the desk also revealed nothing. Frau Brinkmann, whoever she was had flown. Beresford was shocked, more than he had been for quite a while.

The two military men looked at Beresford for further orders. He shrugged and dismissed them and then went home in a depressed spirit. He needed to think of a counter strategy, although it was hard to know what to do when the nature of the threat was not clearly defined.

Beresford poured himself a drink and slipped off his work clothing. He found himself coming to the inevitable conclusion that Brinkman had definitely been squeezing him for information. Information which he had freely given, foolishly. Going over the conversations he'd had with her, he noted that she had always taken the lead in conversation. She also angled her responses to him in such a way that it encouraged him to talk about matters of a confidential nature. What she was doing with this information was anyone's guess. If she was a Spanish agent, then she may have links with the Francoists. If Kearns was also an agent of some sort, then they may have been part of the same 'cell'. Or then again, Kearns might have been her unintentional 'patsy'.

Certainly, it was hard also to think of Kearns as a spy as he appeared to be just like any impeccably British servant. He had all the airs and graces of a well-trained gentleman's gentleman. Lord Collendon had employed him as a butler for well over a decade. That was long before Germany was even conceived of as a revived threat by the British.

So, Frau Brinkmann must have been using him in some way. The geographical gap between them was very wide. How would a supposed German tutor in London get to meet the butler of an aristocrat in Lincolnshire? Beresford's next step now became clear. He would try and have an interview with Kearns at the earliest opportunity. But in the world of unknowns anything could happen and perhaps Kearns himself might disappear. Beresford needed to talk to Lord Collendon and find out a bit of background information. He needed to either eliminate Kearns as a potential menace, or firmly profile him as an active threat. Beresford would make the phone call later on.

For the moment, Beresford felt exhausted and needed to have a nap. The strain of the last three weeks was literally getting under his skin. He had begun to notice a subtle though very definite enlargement of the bags under his eyes. In the last year he had aged, that was for sure. He needed a break. As it happened, he had some leave coming up and decided he would go to Bavaria for a week of recuperation. There was a chalet there, where he and his former wife had stayed several years ago. It would be ideal for a brief respite.

***

Word of where Alice had gone had not reached Fintan O'Brian's ears. This was hardly surprising as he had been on the road driving through Cornwall and ending up in Falmouth. All he knew for sure, was that Alice had been tried at Blackfriar's Courthouse, found guilty and taken back to prison. It was widely publicised that she was in Holloway. Fintan longed to see her and offer some moral support. He had a sense that they were somehow in the same boat and should 'stick together'. It was troubling him so much, that he abruptly turned the van completely around in the middle of the road with a violent squeal of the wheels. He decided to head back northwards towards London to try and see her. It would also be easier to melt into the population up there. Down south, he felt he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was now wearing quite a good disguise. It comprised of black hat, a natural bushy moustache and a matching second-hand suit, which he had stolen from a street market. He looked quite respectable. After an interminable drive, he eventually reached London and located Holloway Prison and bravely bowled up to it, to see if he could visit Alice. To his annoyance, he was informed that she had been shipped out. The prison refused officially to tell him where. A kindly prison guard gave him a clue when he said, 'How many women's prisons do you think there are in England? Not many, I can tell you that! Your local library should be able to give you a list!'

Taking the man's advice, Fintan eventually found himself with a short list of prisons where Alice could have gone. It would mean more travelling on his part, and with limited money, this would be difficult. The cash Kalo had given him had run out. He had been sleeping in the van, trying to save petrol, and pilfering to get by. He would need to get his hands on some hard cash, and the only thing he could think of doing was some pick-pocketing. He had done it years ago in County Tyrone, and also supplemented his income with burglary and some petty crime. It was not difficult to do. He would just need to go where there were hordes of people, and preferably on a market day.

At the back of his mind was the constant awareness that he was wanted by the police for the murder of the butcher in Lincoln. He had to proceed carefully. A mistake could cost him his liberty. Despite his size, which he couldn't do anything about, his appearance was quite malleable. With his gift for mimicry, he was able to pass himself off as an American, going by the name of Hugh Edwards from Baltimore!

***

Within days, it was reported to Haycock that a 'large man' had attempted to see Mrs Green at Holloway Prison. The description sounded like Fintan O'Brian. Word travels fast in the enclosed world of the criminal justice system, and Haycock was at a loss as to what to do next.

O'Brian was evidently miles away from his normal stamping ground. It was difficult to be sure that the visitor to Holloway had indeed been O'Brian, especially when he was described as having an American accent. Interestingly, Jode had disclosed to Haycock that O'Brian was a man with a vocal talent. Haycock assumed that the American accent might well have been a ruse. Also, O'Brian's physical build was something which was hard to disguise. To describe him as a very large muscular man with a thick bull-like neck would have been quite accurate. This was how the staff at Holloway had described the mysterious visitor.

When Haycock received this information, he was in the process of clearing out his desk. He knew that because Mrs Green was now notorious, virtually anyone might want to visit her. She was still a fairly current news item, although the papers were now turning to other stories. ' _Last Polish Troops defeated by Germans_ ,' was a headline pushing Mrs Green off of page two.

Haycock was also aware that Mrs Green's circle of friends was rather limited. Because of where she was, the chances that someone from Tennyson House might visit her were low. The distance Holloway was away from Lincoln was both impractical and expensive for the ordinary traveler. Haycock drew what conclusions he could. If it was assumed that the visitor had been O'Brian, then it was clear that he had a mode of transport and was in possession of money. Or, if not money, was finding a way to subsist. Haycock passed all this information over to a junior detective, accompanied by an encouraging pat on the back.

'We don't have a photograph of this man, O'Brian,' Haycock had said. 'But he is big. Bigger than average. So, any reports of a big man getting up to mischief should be paid heed to.'

'There _was_ a report, actually,' the junior detective, Jamie Croft said. 'Apparently a big man in a van pulled into a garage in Yoevil, filled it up with petrol and drove away without paying. He did it without waiting for the attendant to do it for him.'

'Did you get a description of the vehicle?' Haycock asked.

'A brown Austin,' Croft said.

'Yoevil, eh?' Haycock said. 'A bit off the beaten track for O'Brian. If it is O'Brian, what's he doing driving round the country?'

The young detective licked his lips. 'He's on the run. Who knows.'

'Alright, well it's all in your hands now,' Haycock said walking back to his office. 'I've got a train to catch in an hour. I'll keep in touch by phone and give you whatever guidance I can. And then I'll be washing my hands of the whole damn thing.'

'We'll get him, sir,' the young detective said. 'The next prison he walks into, we'll make sure he's detained. I'll send out a bulletin to all prisons with female inmates. That should crack it!'

***

Lady Clara Collendon's face couldn't disguise the shock she felt at Kearns' decision to leave the Household. It was yet another blow for her. His Lordship was equally at sea, though was determined to get to the bottom of it.

'This is about Mrs Green, isn't it?' Lord Felix Collendon said after Kearns had handed him his resignation.

'No, Your Lordship,' Kearns replied. 'It concerns a private family matter.'

'A private family matter?' Collendon repeated. 'But you don't have any family, do you?'

'I have a sister in Skegness,' Kearns replied. 'As you know I do go there on my days off. And it is usually to visit _her_. She's not well.'

'What's the matter with her, then?' Collendon demanded. They were in Lord Collendon's study.

'Gout complicated by chronic rheumatism,' Kearns said.

'Well, that doesn't sound too serious?' Collendon said heartlessly. It was clear that he was quite put out. 'I tell you, it's a damn inconvenience, Kearns. You should at least stay around while we break a new man in. Show him the ropes, eh what?'

'I intend to,' Kearns replied. 'I can even recommend one. Ronald Gatters from Bond Street. A very reliable man. First class gentleman's gentleman. Based in London mostly, but wanting a change of scenery.'

'Is he really any good?'

'I wouldn't suggest him if he wasn't,' Kearns said. 'I'm handing in my notice on health grounds, my sister's health, actually, as she doesn't have anyone to assist her. But I do understand that I can't just leave you in the lurch, my Lord.'

Lord Collendon appeared partly mollified. 'Well, good, but damn it to hell, Kearns. It's not the British way to hang your employer out to dry like this.'

'I understand, sir,' Kearns replied. 'It is with a very heavy heart that I have placed you in this predicament.'

'When can this new man come up then?' Collendon asked with a shake of his head.

'This weekend, sir,' Kearns said. 'I have already tentatively arranged it!'

***

Fintan O'Brian wasn't the only person trying to locate Mrs Green. Paul Murton, the footman, was also anxiously trying to do the same thing. He was disturbed that his witness statement had carried such weight at the trial. He knew in his heart that Mrs Green hadn't really wanted Dr Fefferberg to choke on his sausages. It was just a figure of speech and people said that sort of thing all the time. But Paul was certain that it was this remark which had sealed her fate. As a result, he had become riddled with guilt. There was also another matter which was pressing heavily on his mind. It was something which Alice might need to know. It might, Paul thought, even help her in some way. He had sent off two letters to her and was unsure if they had been received. It was a matter he considered putting before the police, though it would again involve an awkward disclosure.

The problem weighed so heavily on his mind that it interfered with his work at Tennyson House. He had even begun drinking, pinching bottles of spirits from the wine cellar and then sneaking off to his small room to drink them. The other staff began to be aware of the constant smell of alcohol which lingered around him. Kearns was the first to pull him up about it.

'Paul, what's become of you?' Kearns said one morning as the footman was helping one of the chambermaids clear the old ashes out of a fireplace.

According to the chambermaid later, Paul had frozen on the spot and then had responded as if he was absolutely terrified of the butler. 'Nothing, Mr Kearns, sir,' Paul had replied in a nervous voice.

The butler looked at him suspiciously. 'Everyone knows that you're hitting the bottle. And if I suspect that your stealing from the wine cellar as well, you will be dismissed at once.'

'Yes, Mr Kearns,' Paul had replied. 'No, I wouldn't do that. I bought some wine from the pub.'

'So, what's the problem, then?' Kearns asked again.

'There isn't one,' Paul had replied. 'I'm doing my work, aren't I?'

'Yes, but you're also stinking like a brewery,' Kearns told him. 'What you do in your private moments is your own affair. But I will not tolerate drinking during the day. That privilege is reserved for the master of this household. Do I make myself clear?'

'You do indeed, sir,' Paul said.

But despite this threat, Paul continued to have secret binges. He was also behaving oddly around Mr Kearns. Everyone had noticed a change in the footman, and it was generally believed that it was something to do with Alice. Of course, they were right. The staff also suspected that there was something else going on which Paul was keeping to himself. Eventually Shirley, the scullery maid, took him to one side.

'Tell me to mind my own business,' she had said. 'But there's been talk about you, Paul. You're not yourself anymore.'

Paul had nodded. 'Well, we're all upset about poor Alice, aren't we? And me with my big mouth really put her in it. I shouldn't have said anything.'

'You had to tell the truth,' Shirley said touching his arm sympathetically. 'You were asked questions by the police and you had to tell the truth. The police are only doing their job.'

'Yeah, that's why I told them,' Paul said. 'But I could have got poor Alice hanged. The thing is, I believe _she really is_ innocent.'

Shirley sighed and looked him in the eyes. 'Lovie, we were all fond of Alice, but whether she was innocent or not is not something we can know for sure. That sort of thing is best left to the higher-ups, like the judges and whatnot.'

'Yeah, I understand all that,' Paul said. 'But I know for a fact that she is innocent.'

'How can you know for sure?' Shirley asked.

'Because I believe my own eyes,' Paul said dropping his voice. 'I saw something, and it isn't good.'

'Well, do you want to tell me what it is?' Shirley said. 'Because I can't stand around all day chatting to _you_.'

'Trouble is you'll tell everyone,' Paul said. 'And it might get me into a spot of bother.'

'You're not making much sense,' Shirley said becoming impatient.

'It's to do with Mr Kearns,' Paul said his expression strained. 'Please don't say anything. But I don't think Mr Kearns is really a butler!'

'What? Don't talk daft!' the scullery maid said with a laugh. 'Really, Paul, you need to stop all that drinking and concentrate more on your work.'

Paul shrugged. 'I knew you wouldn't believe me. But I'm telling you, there's something not right about Mr Kearns. I saw him do something, and it was very wrong. He had this little morse code machine in the attic. I think it's called a telegraph key or something. Anyway, he was sending someone a message from a piece of paper. He screwed it up afterwards and chucked it in the old stove up there. I sneaked in after he left and read it. It was something about Alice, but I couldn't read all the words, it was scribble. But who was he sending the message to, that's what I want to know? I reckon he's a German spy who got Alice into trouble to help out the Germans when Fefferberg died. It looked very wrong to me, very wrong!'

***

Staying at a luxurious Bavarian chalet and indulging in all the little extras which the landlord had laid on was very pleasant. It still didn't sweep away the worries which were plaguing Geoffrey Beresford. What it did achieve, was to hone his mind into a point of concentration which enabled him to come to some firm conclusions. For one, he had to reluctantly accept that Frau Brinkmann was very possibly some sort of an agent who had kept him under surveillance. He also believed Mr Kearns was somehow connected. If Kearns was something other than what he appeared, then perhaps he had contacts with an enemy cell in London, where he had been seen. Brinkmann might even be a part of it. Then again, Kearns might have his own agenda, or perhaps was even acting in an official capacity on his own. And if the latter was true, then who, in what Government did he represent? British Intelligence?

Beresford rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered this. Why would any British governmental agency want to surveille him anyway? Were his pro-Nazi sympathies the reason? He recalled Colonel Schrepps telling him about that new governmental department which had been set up to counteract unwanted foreign influence on the British mainland. Schrepps said it was called the AIU or Department J. Were Kearns and Brinkmann departmental operatives? Surely not. And what a waste of resources if that were true! And even if they were, what would they find out? That he, Geoffrey Beresford had been working tirelessly to improve British German relations? That was in everyone's interests surely? And technically Germany was not even an enemy, at the moment.

Beresford stood at the large chalet window watching an attractive blonde woman walking a dog. They were strolling down to the beautiful sparkling lake which was just at the bottom of the hill. Life in these verdant hilly Bavarian climes looked so serene. A perfect place to retire. Perhaps more so, Beresford thought, now that Hitler had purged it of it's unwanted 'indigents'. Beresford felt no remorse that he approved of a man whose race hatred knew no bounds. Beresford was seeing the same seeds of xenophobia taking root in Britain and no doubt, it was quite an unsettling development. He personally knew Jewish bankers who were quite nervous of the prospect of Britain becoming a vassal of Germany. Beresford did his best to assure them that they were safe, for now, at any rate.

However, in a time when great things were afoot, when the fate of nations hung in the balance, the question of morals was an academic one. Beresford's own morality was questionable. He justified this by reminding himself that the bigger picture was the thing that mattered. He believed that if there was a war, it could alter world history forever. If Germany succeeded in becoming the dominant force in Europe and the world, it would be the dawning of a Eutopia. Of course, Beresford also believed that there were certain groups who had no place in this new world. They would either have to be removed or given a subordinate role in the running of things. In his view the world overall would benefit.

The Fuhrer's plans, he believed, essentially had the good of the world at heart. Even if it meant acting against insurgency and taking steps to remove the thorns in the side of the Christian community. To Beresford, this all made perfect sense and he was determined to do his bit and have a place in this new world. However, he wasn't really against British interests as such as he could see the benefits of an amalgamation between the two great European powers. And when that occurred, when Britain succumbed, there would be treasures to be had beyond measure. It would be pickings for the elite and crumbs for the rest, and that was to be expected.

The investment of time and energy that Beresford had put into the Fefferberg affair would be rewarded, of that he was sure. And it was these thoughts which motivated him and made him excited and glad to be alive at such a time of change and destiny. Beresford smiled to himself as he slipped on his jacket to go for a walk. It occurred to him that he might go and introduce himself to the solitary lady by the lake with her dog. He had been cooped up in the chalet on his own for two days and he wanted to practice his German with a native. There was also another reason for his self-satisfied smile. When he got back to London, he was going to make life for Frau Brinkmann a little more difficult, wherever she was. She was now obviously in hiding, and he would use what means he had to flush her out.

There were sleuths at the Home Office who could track down the invisible man from a mile away. Beresford would engage their services to try to find her because there were urgent questions she needed to answer. He would also see what he could do about Kearns. Of course, there was nothing concrete to really go on, nothing he could accuse him of, no charges could be brought at the moment. However, that had never stopped Beresford in the past. The journalist from the Delhi Herald knew this to his cost.

As one of the future masters of the new world, Beresford could virtually do anything he wanted. He felt invincible. If that meant removing a questionable butler from service, then surely that was in everyone's best interests. At the end of the day only good could come from it all. Beresford smiled again as he left the chalet. It was all good.

***

Despite the brilliant sunshine outside, little of it shone through the windows of the Reverend Damon Rung's office. This was due to a tall wall blocking most of it off. Generally, Coldvale Prison faced south, although in terms of daylight, this had very little benefit for the inmates. They were generally only afforded small barred windows which were too high up in their cell to look out of. Alice was aware of the sunshine when she caught glimpses of it on her way to the Governor's office under escort. Her spirits sank when she entered his office, as there was a gloom and the smell of harsh polish hanging heavily in the air. Paradoxically, the reach God, so it seemed, stopped outside the doors of this office and offered no comfort.

'Ah, Mrs Green,' Governor Rung said standing up at his desk. 'I understand you wanted to see me. Normally I do not agree to such interviews. But I will grant you this one, if only because I know the Reverend Cope in your former diocese. Also, I have something important to tell you.'

Alice looked at the chair in front of the Governor's desk, hoping that he would invite her to sit down. Instead, the Reverend Rung walked out from behind his desk and folded his arms. There was also a prison officer standing in the room by the door.

'Why did you black out my letter?' Alice asked.

'Wait till the Governor gives you permission to speak, and address the Governor as sir,' the prison officer said.

The Reverend waived his hand. 'No that's alright. Obviously, you are new here and are not familiar with our practices. But we have the right to censor any letter which is questionable. I did, however, make a note of the contents of that letter from a Mr Paul Murton, and I did not think it was suitable for you to read. It's as simple as that.'

'What did it say, sir?' Alice asked.

'Mrs Green, I have just told you that the subject matter was off limits. It also raised questions which should be taken up by the proper authorities.'

'Really?' Alice said. 'From what I read, Paul did seem worried about something.'

The governor nodded. 'And he was also making accusations.'

'Against who, sir?' she asked.

'That is a matter which I can't discuss with you,' the Governor said. 'However, I would like to suggest that you write to him, this Mr Paul Murton. Ask him not to write on such...controversial matters again. Or discuss the law. This is not a suitable subject. Things about ordinary and everyday life is fine. But matters which should be taken up by the police are not matters which should be openly written about. Certainly not in letters to this prison.'

Alice nodded as she tried to fathom what the governor was referring to. 'I see, sir.'

'Also, I have been informed that in the next thirty days you will be removed to another facility. This is the main reason I have granted you this interview, to tell you that.'

Alice widened her eyes. 'Oh, why is that, sir?'

The Reverend Rung shook his head. 'You've got a bad habit of asking too many questions, Mrs Green. I would suggest that you accept your fate and knuckle down to whatever is in store for you. Undoubtedly it will be for the good of your soul.'

Alice stared at him. 'Yes, sir. I really hope so!'

None particularly the wiser, Alice returned to the kitchens to complete her day's shift and made a point of getting Franny some hard-boiled eggs. It was an easy matter to slip them into her pinafore, and nobody was searched when leaving the area.

Back in the cell, Franny was delighted to receive her presents and immediately began to peel one of the eggs which she hastily stuffed into her mouth.

'These have been laid by prison chickens,' Alice said amused by Franny's haste. 'Nice and fresh.'

Franny smiled as she hungrily chewed her egg.

Although Jessie was not in the cell, she was standing on the other side of the wing in full view. She saw Alice giving the eggs to Franny, and immediately stormed off up the wing.

'I'll try and get you some bread next time,' Alice said quite oblivious to this.

Franny's face had changed. 'Oh Gawd. Jessie has just seen you giving me the eggs!'

'Really?' Alice said.

They went to the door of the cell and looked across the wing. They could see Jessie and Big Jean hobnobbing at Big Jean's cell door.

'Looks like I'm in for some stick, then,' Alice said.

'Oh blimey!' Franny replied.

'Don't worry,' Alice exclaimed. 'I've handled bigger fish than the likes of Big Jean. All she's got going for her is a big mouth!'

'I'm not so sure,' Franny said handing the other eggs back to Alice. 'You better give these to her.'

'No, you keep them,' Alice said. 'Don't worry. I'll look after you. But if you give her the eggs, I won't be very happy.'

Franny nodded and sighed. 'Alright. Just don't blame me if Jean tries to push you down the stairs. She has done _that sort of thing before.'_

Alice smiled. ' _Let her just try it!_ '

***

Paul Murton was adjusting his smart black bowtie in the mirror in his room, when there was a tap on the door. Paul glanced at the clock. It was still only six in the morning. He was puzzled as to who the caller could be at this hour. He hesitantly opened the door and found Mr Kearns standing there wearing a dark scowl on his face.

'Oh, Mr Kearns,' Paul said nervously.

'Paul!' Kearns said coming into the room and closing the door. 'I've been told that you've been spreading stories about me,' he said.

'Stories? No,' Paul replied backing away towards the dresser. 'Who told you that?'

'You know damn well who!' Kearns said gruffly. 'Shirley. Apparently, you said you saw me do something untoward.'

Paul's eyes were wide. 'No, I didn't,' he stuttered.

'Paul, you're a good footman, but you're a very bad liar. What did you tell her exactly?'

Paul shook his head. 'Nothing, Mr Kearns, honest. I mean, yeah, I remember I did mention something, but I didn't say too much about it.'

Kearns slowly advanced on him. 'What do you think you saw me do, Paul?'

'I'm not sure, Mr Kearns.'

'Come on Paul,' Kearns said advancing with some menace. 'You know what you saw, and you need to tell me, now!'

Paul eyes were scared. 'If you touch me, Mr Kearns, I swear I'll go straight to his Lordship!'

'Just tell me what you think you saw, Paul?'

'I might have seen you using a Morse code thingy in the attic, like one of those spies in the films,' Paul said his voice rising. 'But I might have been wrong.'

Kearns stood perfectly still as he surveyed the younger man. 'Whatever you think you saw, I want you to forget. And I promise you this. If you so much as bring this matter up again, with anyone, I'll come looking for you.'

Paul returned Kearns' stare. 'Yes, alright!'

'Do you understand me?' Kearns said stabbing Paul in the chest with his finger. 'You're a good man Paul, and I don't want to sack you. But there are things going on in this household which you won't understand, and you need to keep your trap shut. Just forget what you think you saw!'

'Alright, alright,' Paul said.

Kearns lowered his fists. 'As long as we understand each other.'

Paul nodded quickly. 'We do, Mr Kearns, we do!'

***

Armed with his list of prison addresses from the library in Yoevil, Fintan drove up to the dark forbidding-looking building. He then parked his van some way down the road for want of a more convenient spot. The building reminded Fintan of a castle and seemed every bit the kind of prison determined to keep its inmates behind high walls. The sign outside said: ' _Keelside Detention Center for Women'_. With any luck, he would find Mrs Green here. He was so distracted by the general environs that he didn't notice the police car parked out of sight down a side road next to the prison. He got out of the van and adjusted the hat on his head, getting into character as Hugh Edwards, the American who had come to visit his aunt. He knew it was a disguise unlikely to fool the authorities for very long.

The two policemen in their car immediately took note of the large man approaching the prison. They were in possession of the bulletin that had been issued from the Lincoln constabulary. It had a full description of Fintan and the crime he was wanted for. The policemen therefore knew straight away they might be dealing with a fugitive. So, they got out of their car and determinedly walked towards the big man, who had only just apparently noticed them. At the sight of them, Fintan's whole body tensed as they seemed to be making their way towards him specifically. If he was going to run back to his van, he would have to race back well over sixty yards. He might not make it. Fintan's eyes locked onto the two uniformed men and clenched his fists.

'Hey, excuse me!' one of the policemen called. 'Can we have a word?'

Fintan paused indecisively. He didn't want to have a physical confrontation with two burley policemen, as he could easily be overwhelmed. His only recourse was to make a run for it. After another second's reflection, he turned and ran back towards his van while fumbling in his pocket for the ignition keys.

He grabbed them from his right-hand trouser pocket and then to his horror, dropped them. He quickly bent down to pick them up and saw that the two policemen were gaining on him.

' _Oi you stop!_ ' one shouted.

Fintan had lost precious seconds. He continued his dash towards the van, quickly inserting the keys into the driver's door, and pulling it open. One of the policemen made a dive towards him from several feet away and managed to grab Fintan's foot.

The other policeman was slower but was gradually catching up. Fintan violently kicked the first man away, then he slammed the van door, locked it and quickly started up the engine. The two dogged policemen tried to halt his progress by grabbing onto the door handle and climbing astride the bonnet, but they had lost their chance.

Fintan drove the van forward at high speed, then abruptly braked and reversed, shaking the policeman off. The officer on the bonnet rolled painfully onto the floor. Fintan then put his foot on the accelerator and drove like a madman out of the cul-de-sac where the prison was. The policemen picked themselves up off the floor and raced back to their own vehicle. Clearly there was going to be a car chase. Aware of what their intentions were, Fintan drove his van to the main road and then sped off in front of an approaching lorry. It almost caused a collision, though it put some space behind him and the police car which would doubtlessly be pursuing him. Fortunately, there was a junction coming up which offered three avenues of escape. Fintan instinctively chose the least busy one and drove at full speed down a hill and then through a small town. He could hear the police car's klaxon ringing behind him.

He kept driving at speed, turning several times down convenient roads, eventually slowing down after fifteen minutes. All the while he had been constantly checking his rear-view mirror for signs of his pursuers. There was now none. It seemed that he had lost them. He had no idea where he was going. His instinct kept him driving while he tried to think of the next step. He didn't know what to make of the arrival of the two policemen. Were they at the prison coincidentally, or were they were specifically looking for him? Had there been a tip off? It just made his mission of finding Alice harder.

After an hour of driving, he found himself in a country lane which led to a field. Here, he parked up for a rest and a re-evaluation of the situation. He noticed his petrol gauge was down significantly. He felt like a man lost, without a place to go and without any contacts. What he hoped to achieve by finding Mrs Green wasn't clear in his own mind. He had always liked her and trusted her, though frankly, he didn't really know what the point of this exercise was. He had been entertaining the wild notion that they could team up somehow. Clearly this was impractical as she had been sentenced to ten years in jail! It had also exposed him to the danger of being captured. Any future attempt to locate her was going to be fraught for him. He grabbed a bottle of cider from the back of the van and sat drinking as he weighed up the situation.

His body was aching from spending days in the van, sleeping in the back and taking his chances in the localities where he found himself. This couldn't go on indefinitely. A wanted man had few options. He was vaguely aware that there might be a war with Germany, and so it occurred to him he could take a chance and join the army. A crazy idea, but that would be a novel way of hiding from the law! The police would be looking for him in civvy street while he would be in the forces as Hugh Edwards or some other name. What a joke, eh? At least he would be fed and have a place to sleep.

He climbed over the front seats of the van and laid down on the crude little bed in the back. He needed a few hours of shut-eye. The weather was beginning to worsen with spots of rain appearing on the windscreen. He was sure it would be safe to have a short rest, and then perhaps he could do a bit of night driving. What he badly needed was petrol. He had spotted a garage two miles back. He would revisit it in the early hours and see whether he could break in and get some urgent supplies. Some basic food would be ideal. With this in mind, he closed his eyes and drifted off, listening to the reassuring pitter patter of rain on the metal roof of the van.

***

For an overconfident man like Geoffrey Beresford, approaching perfectly strange women wasn't difficult. He had a theory that some women actively sought contact with men, though unable, through convention, to make the first move themselves. They had to signal their availability in subtle ways. Beresford felt he was doing such women a service by being as forward as he was. Of course, they always had the option of refusing him, as quite a number did. Every so often he would strike gold and have an affair with a woman who apparently indulged in that sort of thing on a regular basis.

The body language of the attractive blonde woman at the lake seemed to suggest that she was open to contact. He could tell even though she was wearing dark glasses. She had glanced around twice as he ambled along the edge of the lake, looking at him in a pleasantly curious manner. Beresford smiled at her, though was still too far away to be sure whether she was potentially available to him. What he did notice, was that the dog was a German short haired Pointer with brown spots and seemed friendly enough. It was obviously a well-trained pet and unlikely to be a problem. Beresford continued to slowly stroll towards the woman who was now stationary and staring out at the picturesque lake. It was indeed a beautiful scene against a backdrop of glistening Bavarian mountains.

The sun was high in the sky, and its warmth made Beresford undo his tie slightly. He didn't want to appear disheveled. As he got closer to the woman, he had the feeling that he had seen her before. Perhaps in the bar of the local beerhouse. There was one within half a mile of the chalet where he was staying. When he was within ten feet of the woman he said in German, 'It's a wonderful view isn't it?' He was facing the woman's profile which seemed more than oddly familiar to him now. She appeared to be staring transfixed at the landscape.

The woman suddenly turned, holding the dog on a short lease, and clasping a dull black object in her other hand. Beresford glanced down at the thing she was holding and realised that it was a gun! A Mauser, a weapon favoured by German officers. The weapon was pointing squarely at his chest.

'The view is indeed wonderful,' the woman replied in German with a wry smile removing her dark glasses and putting them awkwardly in her pocket.

It was Frau Brinkmann, without the severe hairdo, only this time in a blonde wig! It was surprising how the simple rearrangement of hair could make such a profound difference to a person's appearance. She no longer looked like the dowdy academic.

' _Brinkmann! What the hell do you think you're doing?_ ' Beresford demanded. He didn't believe for one moment that she was actually going to fire the gun.

'I'm going to do what I should have done in London,' she replied. ' _Kill you!_ '

Beresford laughed. 'Really? Well I wouldn't advise you to do it here. Far too public a place. And who are you really anyway? Who do you work for?'

Frau Brinkmann slowly shook her head. 'You can't talk yourself out of this one, Beresford,' she said. 'Let's say that what you've been doing in London and elsewhere hasn't gone unnoticed.'

'Oh?' he said. 'You're a Spanish agent, aren't you?'

This question made her flinch. She quickly recovered. 'So, you've been doing your homework?'

Beresford made a gesture with his hands. 'Yup! Look, let's talk about this. If it's about money, I could help you there.'

'Money is not the issue,' Frau Brinkmann said almost laughing and lifting up the gun slightly.

'Then let's make it the issue,' Beresford said starting to feel nervous. 'Perhaps I could be of some assistance to you. I do have powerful and influential friends, as you know. Can I assume that you are working against the fascists?'

Frau Brinkmann stared at him and then nodded. 'You want to talk? Ok, let's talk. No, my allegiances lie with British interests, although who I actually work for is none of your concern.'

'Just tell me this, do you work for British Intelligence or not?'

'I think, Geoffrey, this conversation is over,' she replied. She lifted the gun.

'Wait!' he said quickly. 'Is Kearns a part of this?'

'You were right,' she said. 'He and I did have a meeting at that Piccadilly restaurant. But what were the odds that you were going to be there too?'

There seemed no more to be said. Beresford made a sudden move, thinking he could disarm her. It was a miscalculation and the weapon went off with a loud bang. It frightened the dog which tried to pull away, and Beresford felt the severe impact of a bullet striking his chest.

He staggered backwards under the force of the missile, when Frau Brinkmann let loose another noisy round at point blank range. It was unusual for a professional killer not to use a silencer, or perhaps this was deliberate to scare others off.

Beresford fell heavily to the ground, pain spreading upwards towards his neck. Then he noticed three cyclists coming over the brow of the hill. They appeared to be German soldiers.

Brinkman's eagle eyes also caught sight of the men, and she quickly walked off towards some nearby woodland, dragging the dog with her.

Beresford called to the soldiers who paused, and then cycled downhill at speed towards him.

' _She's got a gun_! I have been shot!' he tried shouting in German. He didn't know the German word for 'gun,' and so he used the word 'waffe' instead, which meant weapon. Being downwind, his words didn't fully carry to the soldiers.

They were about three hundred yards away, and by the time they reached Beresford, Brinkmann had disappeared into the woods. Beresford thought that they surely must have heard the gun's report.

' _I have been shot!_ ' he shouted again with great agitation, sitting up and pointing to the woodland and checking his chest for the injury. 'I am a colleague of Colonel Hermann Schrepps, and I order you to arrest the woman who has just shot me. She went into the woods, _quick before she gets away_!' He jabbed his finger towards the trees. By now there was no trace of her, save for the sound of a vehicle revving up behind the trees and driving off at speed.

Two of the soldiers threw down their bicycles and ran into the woodlands to no avail. The third tended to Beresford's injuries which turned out to be negligible. He ripped open Beresford's jacket and shirt and found the bullet had penetrated Beresford's wallet and was lodged in his left brass trouser brace clip.

The other bullet had punched a hole in his jacket and was found several yards away on the grass. He'd had a lucky escape. Nevertheless, the impact on his chest had been quite painful. Bruising was beginning to develop around Beresford's left pectoral muscle just below the clavicle. It quickly became very tender.

'Gluck!' the young handsome soldier said with a smile, meaning lucky.

'Would you recognise that woman again?' Beresford asked the soldiers, as they helped him to his feet.

They pulled doubtful faces. 'But we will report this to the police, sir,' one of them said respectfully.

Beresford nodded. 'Thank you!' He was elated that he hadn't been severely harmed. It was a confirmation in his mind of the rightness of his mission. He had been spared for greater things.

Although he hadn't been shot, his body was reacting as if it had. The soldiers helped him up the hill to his chalet, advising him to go to hospital. He agreed to this and said he would go later. He had more important things on his mind. Even though he was in pain, he needed to phone London straight away and order Kearns' arrest, or at least detention for questioning.

Now that Frau Brinkmann had confirmed the situation, Kearns could legitimately also be regarded as a potentially dangerous enemy. It was now imperative that he should be apprehended for questioning at the soonest opportunity, and an arrest warrant issued straight away.

Chapter Ten

Despite only being forty-six years old, time had not been kind to Big Jean. Her face showed the wear and tear of a life spent burning the candle at both ends. Experience had made her haggard. A closer look could still show the traces of her former good looks and it was these which had made her a popular gangster's moll in her day. As she grabbed Franny's arm on the landing and thrust her face into hers, Franny could vaguely see the remnants of her former beauty. But these quickly disappeared when Big Jean adopted an aggressive expression. Her face expanded and looked distinctly ugly, and it was this which served to intimidate the younger women in the prison.

'Who's been eating my eggs then?' Big Jean said with a menacing sneer.

Terrified, Franny looked around for some help. Nearby inmates turned away. 'Alice gave them to me, _don't hurt me, please Jean_.'

'I know she did, that cow!' Big Jean said. She sadistically twisted the younger woman's arm behind her back making her squeal with pain.

'Don't! That hurts!' Franny pleaded.

'It's supposed to hurt,' the older woman said. 'Where are my eggs then?'

'I'll get you some more, I promise,' Franny said with a stutter. She desperately scanned the wing. There wasn't a prison officer in sight.

'You better do, girl, and you'll also owe me the ones you ate,' Big Jean said. 'And when I see that stuck-up Green, I'm going to have a very firm few words.'

' _You can have them now, if you want!_ ' a voice said from behind her.

Big Jean let go of Franny's arm. The younger woman fled back to her cell.

'Well, well, look who's here,' Jean said turning around.

'You leave her alone!' Alice said advancing towards the bigger woman. 'If you touch her again, we'll have it out.'

'Ooh, I'm so scared! Why wait till then?' Big Jean said making a grab for Alice's neck.

Alice quickly reacted by placing her foot behind Big Jean's left heel and pushing her. Jean staggered backwards, tripping on Alice's foot, but quickly recovered by grabbing the rail which ran around the inner part of the landing.

' _Fight, fight_!' other prisoners began shouting, and within seconds a crowd of prisoners had gathered around.

' _Give her what for Jean!_ ' someone called.

Jean clenched her fists and took a swing at Alice's jaw like a seasoned boxer. She was unprepared for Alice's swiftness. She easily sidestepped this failed punch and kicked Jean in the shins.

'Blast you to hell!' Jean cursed as she hopped backwards in pain.

'Any time!' Alice taunted.

' _Right!_ ' Big Jean said, her temper up. 'I'm going _to kill you_ for that!' She leapt on Alice and began scratching her like a mad cat.

Alice tried to keep her head away from the other woman's spiteful nails and managed to land a headbutt right between Big Jean's eyes. The force was such, that a dazed Jean swooned backwards into Jessie's waiting arms. Astonished, they both looked back at Alice who appeared untarnished.

'We don't have to continue this,' Alice said.

' _The hell with you!_ ' Big Jean replied bounding forwards and grabbing Alice by the neck and applying all her strength.

With her windpipe being squeezed, Alice desperately grabbed the woman's ears and dug her nails into the orifices which made Jean scream.

Moments later, three prison officers roughly intervened and dragged the two women away from each other. Slightly out of breath, Alice stared over at Big Jean who was cursing and waving her fist. She was also panting. It was apparently a while since somebody had given her a run for her money.

'Mrs Green, you've got a visitor!' One of the prison officers said. 'And I'm also reporting this to the Governor. You'll be losing privileges over this!'

Alice shrugged. She was pleased that she was able to test her own metal. The last fist fight she'd had, was over twenty years ago, and that was with Stuart Clawe.

Alice went back to her cell and got tidied up. In the mirror, she noticed a couple of stinging scratches on her cheek and neck. Overall, she was relatively unscathed. Franny helped her straighten her clothing.

'Thanks love,' Alice said patting Franny on the arm.

'You did alright, Alice,' Franny said. 'I'm proud of you!'

Alice smiled. 'See you in a minute, I've got a visitor.'

Alice was taken down to the visitor's hall to wait for her mysterious caller. There were about twenty other prisoners talking to their visitors at the tables. When she asked who had come to see her, the prison officer simply shrugged. Alice sat down at a plain wooden table near the window and waited to see who was going to walk through the door. She was astonished to see Mr Kearns, wearing a black overcoat and gloves, making his way to her table with a big smile.

'No touching!' the prison officer nearby said.

Mr Kearns sat down, the picture of immaculate elegance in a cold graceless room.

'Mr Kearns how lovely to see you!' Alice said beaming. 'How did you find me?'

'Let's say I know people who know things!' Kearns said removing his black leather gloves and placing them on the table. 'So, how are you Alice? I'm sorry that I didn't write.'

'Oh, that's alright,' Alice said still smiling. 'Did you catch a train, then?'

'I drove,' Kearns said. 'Trains have a habit of not being on time.'

'Well, at least you're here!" Alice replied.

'What's that scratch on the side of your cheek?' he asked.

'Oh, it's nothing,' she replied rubbing it, with a smirk

Kearns nodded and covertly removed a small brown paper package from his pocket. 'I managed to sneak this in. A quart of gin!'

'Gawd blimey, Mr Kearns,' Alice said looking over at the prison staff. 'You'll get us shot!'

'Hide it under your bed or something,' Kearns said sliding the package across the table. Alice took it and slipped it into the big front pocket of her pinafore which was proving a useful hiding place.

'So, how's his Lord and Ladyship?' she asked. 'It was so very kind of them to get me that...barrister. He was a bit funny though. But he did stand up and speak for me.'

'I know,' Kearns said giving her a penetrating look. 'It was all in the papers. Actually, you are quite famous.'

Alice shrugged. 'Huh! So, how is everyone then? I thought Shirley might write. Instead, Paul did.'

'Oh, did he now?' Kearns said, concerned. 'And what did he have to say?'

'I wish I knew, the prison Governor blocked half of it out!'

Kearns nodded and sat back in his chair. 'Well, he's having a bit of a tough time at the moment. Best to ignore him.'

Alice nodded. 'Well, we were never really that friendly anyway.'

Kearns glanced around at the prison officers standing talking by the door. 'Actually, the reason why I have come, is to tell you something. But it's not very pleasant I'm afraid.'

'Oh?' Alice said. 'Something wrong at the house? I expect her Ladyship was put out a bit when they took me away. So, who's doing the cooking then?'

'We've got a replacement for you, but she's not a patch on _you_ , Alice.'

'Oh,' Alice said. 'I bet her roly-poly isn't as good as mine.'

Kearns smiled. 'We'll have to wait and see.'

Alice nodded and looked down into her hands. 'So, what's the news then? Did her Ladyship have another screaming fit?'

'Oh, she did that, Alice,' he said. 'But I'm afraid Lord Collendon has rather shown his true colours.'

'What do you mean?'

Kearns adjusted his position in the uncomfortable prison chair. 'Well, let me put it this way. I believe you have a right to know the truth. That's partly why I'm here. But firstly, I'm leaving Tennyson House.'

'Oh? Why's that?' Alice said leaning forward. 'It's not over me, is it?'

'I've been planning to leave for a while. I've been offered better elsewhere. But the main reason, is the disgust I feel for his Lordship. He is not the man he used to be.'

Alice frowned. 'Stop beating around the bush, Mr Kearns. What are you trying to tell me?'

Kearns took a deep breath. 'You've been used as a scapegoat. I'm sorry to use that term, that is _what you are_. And I don't mean to be rude. But we have to be blunt here. You've been blamed for something which is not of your doing.'

'I know _that_ ,' she replied. 'But at the same time, I reckon his Lordship is going to step in soon and do something to help me. I couldn't wish for a better master, really.'

Kearns stared at her. 'Alice, I'm afraid it is _because_ of Lord Collendon, not in spite of him, that you are here. I am privy to everything which goes on in Tennyson House. I can tell you that the position you are in now, is mostly of Lord Collendon's doing. You see, the government didn't want a potentially diplomatic scandal being blown into something they couldn't handle, like war. The Germans were understandably upset that one of their own died in unusual circumstances on foreign soil, and they were baying for blood. I am referring, of course, to Dr Fefferberg. So, to appease them, make them happy, the Home Office thought it a good idea to present them with a human sacrifice.'

Alice frowned. 'You're not making any sense, Mr Kearns.'

'Alice, you _were_ that human sacrifice. The Germans wanted someone to be held accountable for Dr Fefferberg's death. Originally, they suggested putting the blame on Mr Jode. Apparently, Jode had been selling putrid meat to the locals and there was a fight over it. A man got killed. To put a long story short, Jode seemed like a likely candidate to the Home Office. But Lord Collendon said no. Jode was too invaluable to him. As you know Jode runs the farm, sells the produce. The income from the farm literally keeps Tennyson House going. Pays our wages etc. You get the picture. If his Lordship lost Jode, he would be in a bit of a pickle. So, he agreed to your arrest and conviction. His Lordship also deliberately arranged for you to see an inadequate barrister to ensure that you went to prison! Jode even confessed to the Reverend Cope saying that it was _his_ fault that you ended up making sausages out of uncured pork.'

'Really?' Alice said her eyes glazing over. 'So, it was _his_ fault then?'

Kearns took another deep breath. 'Actually, if the truth is to be told, it was neither your fault or Jode's fault that Dr Fefferberg died.'

Alice blinked. 'It wasn't? There you go confusing me again, Mr Kearns. So, who's fault was it then?'

'It was really just heart failure, natural causes,' Kearns told her. 'But the facts were twisted to suit a certain man's evil ambitions. Take it from me that you have been the victim of a terrible legal injustice. But in the eyes of the government it is all justified. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the one for the benefit of the many. That's the philosophy anyway. But a miscarriage is what it is, and the mastermind behind it, is a man called Geoffrey Beresford!'

Alice let his words sink in for a moment. 'I see. I wonder if that was what Paul was trying to tell me in his letter.'

'Perhaps.'

Alice sighed. 'It's a shame the Governor had it blacked out. But the Governor himself did tell me that Paul had written about the law and stuff, and this wasn't allowed.'

Kearns face was serious. 'And that was all?'

'Yes, Mr Kearns. Why? Are you worried about something?'

'No, no,' he replied. 'But changing the subject, what I _can_ tell you, is that you're not going to be here for another ten years.'

Alice smiled. 'I know, I'm being moved to another prison. Lord knows why.'

'I believe they might be moving you to a sort of half-way house or detention center and then they should be letting you go!'

'Really? You seem to know a lot about it!' she said. 'Where do you get your information from, Mr Kearns?'

Kearns smiled and then lowered his voice. 'I'm an agent working for the British Secret Services, didn't you guess? Paul may have found out and it made him worried. He might have seen me sending messages in Morse Code on my special telegraphic transmitter! But don't say a word!'

Alice frowned and then laughed. 'Be off with you, Mr Kearns! An agent, indeed!'

He smiled mysteriously.

'Oh, hush now,' she said shaking her head. 'I know I need cheering up, but seriously that's not funny, Mr Kearns!'

Kearns licked his bottom lip. 'I agree, Alice. In love and war, nothing is funny!'

***

The very next Friday, The London Times announced to its excited readers, the marriage of author and Theosophist, Marcia Ingrich, to socialist publisher, Lord Claude Petrie. They had met at Tennyson House and had begun a passionate love affair which culminated in an official engagement which lasted all of six months. The slightly bohemian couple finally exchanged their marriage vows at St Pancras Registry Office. They planned to have a full-blown wedding with all the stops pulled out, later on in the summer.

Unbeknown to Alice, this was to represent a good omen as far as her own life prospects were concerned. She had an ally in Marcia Ingrich, who had crossed swords with Dr Fefferberg at that fateful evening dinner at Tennyson House. It deeply rankled her that Alice had been imprisoned over his death on what appeared to be spurious charges. Marcia, now Lady Petrie, did not for one moment believe Alice had connived to murder the German diplomat. While she had not yet taken part in any of the public gestures of support for Alice, she resolved to do something for her in the future. Her handsome, moustached husband, Lord Claude Petrie, just happened to run a publishing house. It could be put to work remonstrating with the powers-that-be which had so cruelly brought Mrs Green down. Lord Petrie was aware of the pulse of support for Mrs Green, though he had not so far tried to harness it. His mind had been focused elsewhere, mainly on the situation in Europe.

As war seemingly approached, he was beginning to feel that gestures of appeasement or compliance towards Germany should be critiqued and damned. To be anti-German was becoming more popular among ordinary people as the thirties drew to a close. Petrie felt it was time to tap into that. First, he wanted to run a series of articles about life below stairs in aristocratic households from a war angle. His wife, Lady Petrie wanted to do them, as it was her idea originally. The articles would be about servants who now faced possible recruitment into the army in the event of war. There was a blatant contradiction here, as Lady Petrie was keen on pointing out. Male servants would be signed up to fight an enemy who had the moral support of some sectors of their British aristocratic employers!

Lord Petrie certainly thought it was weak of members of his class to be sympathetic to Nazism. It was plainly a political aberration on a par with the most barbaric excesses. Petrie suspected that anti-Semitism was at the heart of most British pro-Nazi feeling. Petrie's own publications were mainly conservative in nature, but he was also the proprietor of a loss leading Socialist 'sheet' called The Socialist Calendar. It marked him out, somewhat, as a class traitor. In fact, he had become the black sheep of his own snobby family because of it. This didn't deter him, as he personally found his relatives a tedious bunch overly concerned with life's comforts and other trivial things.

He much preferred the company of firebrands, writers and rabble rousers. He had a passion for Welsh speakers in particular. He gladly organised local benefits and small rallies in order to give the budding socialist a soapbox on which to express his views. These events were then covered by The Socialist Calendar. He also gave little mentions of these events in his other two newspapers, presenting the news without making comment. The cause of socialism, as far as he was concerned, was at the heart of nut and bolts England. Since the country was run by the working classes, it was his view the country morally belonged to them. Those that do the work should be able to benefit from the sweat of their labour, and this had become his credo. It was real communism in essence with a truly moral compass to guide it. He also felt that somehow, Mrs Green could become a motherly symbol of those values. And being a cook was as nuts and bolts as it was possible to get.

He had no doubt Mrs Green had been used as a scapegoat, although, Lord Petrie did not have all the facts at his disposal. It was another reason to make her his editorial femme fatale. This is what the Delhi Herald had done, and Petrie felt the batten had been passed to him. He happened to have an ex-private detective on his editorial team, whom he put in charge of finding out all the facts about the Green case. He particularly wanted to get hold of the elusive court transcript of the trial. Petrie thought his middle-class readers might want to see the world from Mrs Green's point of view, the view of the down trodden.

Lord Petrie could smell an injustice from a mile away and wanted to present a full exposé and become the people's champion. His wife expressed such enthusiasm for this idea that he was obliged to follow through. Whether it would rescue a flagging newspaper like The Socialist Calendar from declining sales was another matter. He was also proposing to let his wife, Marcia, write a regular column on the plight of the working classes and poor in general. Despite its dubious money-making potential, it was something Petrie had always wanted to do for a series of complex reasons. One of which was to get his own back against his snobbish relatives! Their habit of pouring scorn on anything they didn't understand, like socialism or Theosophy, irritated him.

However, Theosophy was proving to be a recruiting ground in its own right for bored aristocrats and ladies of means. It was one of the reasons why his wife Marcia had drifted into it. She had inherited a fortune from her father and now had time on her hands. Both Theosophy and writing had been the saving of her. More so from the black hole of the polite ladies' societies which had sprung up everywhere in their many guises. Theosophy was a polite ladies' society with a difference. It had an avatar at its center and attempted to lift the lid on the inner workings of the greater universe. To bored heiresses like Marcia Ingrich, it truly did put meaning back into life. It became a force for good behind some of Lord Petrie's editorials.

However, as the tide of opinion turned against the Germans, Marcia thought she should venture to take some actual humanitarian steps towards Mrs Green. She began by corresponding with Lady Collendon on the subject and received full support. They both agreed to visit Alice in prison. Through her husband's network of contacts, Lady Marcia learned that she was incarcerated at Coldvale. She promptly made a phone call to the Governor, asking for a visit which was readily agreed. But at the last moment, Lady Collendon pulled out citing an abscess on her leg as an excuse. Marcia suspected it was probably due to pressure from her husband. Despite this, a date was set for the visit for the following Wednesday. This was communicated to Alice, who was still trying to deal with the devastating information Mr Kearns had given her about the Collendons. Alice had not personally met Lady Marcia, despite seeing her and having cooked for her on at least four occasions at Tennyson House. The reason for Marcia's visit, therefore, was somewhat obscure to her.

On the day of the visit, Lady Marcia had her own cook prepare a veritable picnic basket of foods she was sure would not be served up in prison. This was not the only reason for her intended visit. She wanted Alice to know that both herself and her husband were going to throw their weight behind a legal challenge to her conviction. Lady Marcia couldn't wait to begin what she felt was going to be a fruitful exercise in practical socialism. Lord Petrie couldn't have agreed more, especially if it helped his newspaper's ailing circulation!

***

Fintan O'Brien frequently had ideas which stirred his imagination. Often, they came crashing down around his ears when he realised how impractical they were. To be a fugitive hiding in the British Army, though, greatly appealed to his sense of irony and adventure. Being on the run and living in a van was a drab repetitive existence which had little to commend it. Enduring a continuously impecunious state had more disadvantages than advantages, and so there was no adventure to be found there. The army might be the answer, at least for a while.

What Fintan did realise, was that the rumours of a possible war with Germany were everywhere. Men were already being conscripted as volunteers, and it was bound to become mandatory if things did go politically pear-shaped. Fintan felt it would be easy to join up. Perhaps he could use his age, he was thirty-eight, as an excuse to avoid an overseas posting, if it came to that. He knew that Mr Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, was doing his best to keep Britain out of a war. Though, in some quarters of England there was a positive appetite for it. Fintan could see it with his own eyes.

Young men bored with their peaceful existence at home seemed to be clamouring for some action. To Fintan this seemed naïve. Then again, his own Republican roots, as faint as they were, did flare up occasionally. The focus of these, though, had always been on the British Empire and not the Nazis!

He wondered if the army would even consider accepting him under his real name. For the ploy to work, he would have to become the American Hugh Edwards. It would also help to disguise his own natural brogue as much as possible. Yet the main problem, would be his lack of any papers or documents proving who he was. Of course, there were always Kalo's handwritten set of deeds for his property in Cornwall. After musing over this, it occurred to Fintan he might be able to get a printer to print them up in his own name. He might even be able to persuade the man to create some false identification in the name of Hugh Edwards, no doubt for a sum.

However, as Britain was starting to get into something resembling a war footing, Fintan didn't think the army would be too fussy. Surely, they would take anybody over the age of sixteen and under fifty. As he sat in his van thinking this over, he decided to try and locate a printer's workshop to see what he could cook up. On his drive, he had not noticed any in particular, then again, he hadn't really been looking out for one. This would thus be his very next port of call. There were probably half a dozen printers in every small town. He started up the van and drove west, which meant going over old ground again. At least he knew where he would eventually end up with any new documents he could procure – the nearest army barracks, wherever that was.

***

When Geoffrey Beresford returned home to London, he found a personal letter in his letterbox from his boss, Sir Hugh Kingston. He was requesting him to call as soon as he had got back from Germany. This was clearly in response to Beresford's own earlier communication to him from Bavaria. After having a quick shower and a drink, Beresford immediately made a call to his chief in Whitehall.

'Ah, Geoffrey, terrible business, eh what?' Sir Hugh said in a concerned voice. 'How are you? Frightful, the whole thing, being shot and what have you!'

'Indeed, sir,' Beresford said. 'But the Bavarian air was quite agreeable.'

'Not like the smoggy air in Whitehall, eh?' Sir Hugh replied. 'So, what did the hospital say?'

'I haven't even checked into a hospital yet,' Beresford explained. 'It wasn't even a flesh wound, sir. But it's bloody sore though.'

'I should imagine it is. But really, Geoffrey, have it checked out at the hospital, for heaven's sake. At any rate, I don't want you taking any more trips to Germany. Because, one, it's obviously too dangerous, and two, it's being picked up in the press. Thirdly, what's all this about wanting to have Lord Collendon's butler detained for questioning? His Lordship was complaining quite bitterly about it. I mean, what with the other shebang, his Lordship seemed quite put out! I sympathise with him. If my cook was arrested and sent to prison, I'd be upset, I can tell you!'

Beresford blinked. This was typical of his boss, agreeing to an action initially, and then distancing himself from the consequences. 'The imprisonment of Mrs Green was crucial, sir, for the sake of British German relations.'

'Yes, yes, I know,' Sir Hugh said in a tired voice. 'But to start tormenting the butler as well, that really is taking the biscuit. What has he supposed to have done?'

'He may be collaborating with a known Spanish agent,' Beresford replied referring to Frau Brinkmann. 'I didn't tell you that it was my German tutor, Frau Brinkman who took a shot at me! She must have followed me to my chalet, or had a collaborator keep me under surveillance.'

'Good grief!' Sir Hugh said. 'For this reason, I now forbid you to go back to Germany. So, what's the gen on this Brinkmann then? She was your German tutor? Now why on earth would you need a German tutor?'

Beresford sighed. 'It's the spirit of cooperation that I was trying to foster. I have been having German lessons for some time now. But apparently the person giving me the lessons had another agenda.'

'And how does this tie in with the butler?'

'I saw them both together in London. I think they are part of a cell.'

'Do you now?' Sir Hugh said in a sceptical voice. 'Well, to be frank, I think that's highly unlikely, don't you? This Kearns has been in service to Lord Collendon for ten years plus, I gather. I would say this marks him out as being the least likely person to be involved in anything shady. The man's character is impeccable.'

'Still, I think some questions need to be asked,' Beresford insisted. 'I could have been killed. If Kearns isn't a politico, he is at least an accomplice to an attempted murder!'

Sir Hugh paused. 'By all means call for the arrest of this Frau Brinkmann but leave Kearns out of it. Unless you can produce something really concrete which connects him with what has happened to you, then I think you should leave the man alone. What I will do is write to Lord Collendon and express your doubts about his butler, and then see what his reaction is. Other than that. Drop it for now!'

'Yes, Sir Hugh.'

'And one more thing,' his boss said finally. 'I want you to have some rest and get better. I am giving you three weeks extra leave starting from today, and that's an order!'

Beresford, not wanting to argue with his superior agreed. He would just do some more digging in his own time and see what he could uncover. Discretion would be the by-word. Clearly Lord Collendon's sensibilities were the issue here, and this apparently took precedence over matters of state.

***

The Governor at Coldvale was beginning to view Mrs Green as a bit of a nuisance as her status as a cause celebre was upsetting the routine of the prison. Normally, impromptu visits were not allowed. There was a procedure. Although, when high flying individuals chose to turn up out of the blue, there was little the prison could do other than fall in line. This time it was Lady Marcia Petrie! Governor Rung had reluctantly agreed to her visit. He decided that in future, the prison timetable would have to be followed. Visits were normally only allowed on set days, and they certainly did not occur on a Sunday.

Lady Marcia Petrie arrived lugging a huge picnic basket that the staff were instructed not to search for fear of offending their esteemed visitor. Alice had been organising the Sunday lunch in the kitchens, when the call came through for her to come down to the visitor's suite. She arrived and was directed to a table where she sat and waited. Marcia swept into the large room, the very picture of aristocratic sartorial sophistication in pink satin and lace. She broke even more rules by grabbing Alice by the arm and kissing her on the cheek, which Alice was not used to. They sat down at the small table, the only two people in the visitor's area, apart from a number of disgruntled prison officers.

'Mrs Green, or Alice, if I may, do you remember me?' Marcia said putting the heavy hamper down on the table.

Alice smiled self-consciously. 'Of course I do, milady,' she replied politely.

'I used to be called Marcia Ingrich! Now I'm Lady Petrie.'

Alice nodded. 'Yes milady, I know.'

'I've taken the liberty of bringing you a few things. I hope that's alright.'

'It is I'm sure, thank you very much,' Alice replied.

'Did they tell you I was coming?'

'Yes, milady,' Alice said. 'I was told a few days ago. May I ask, is everything alright?'

'Oh yes, and I've got some good news for you,' Lady Marcia said. 'My husband and I are going to try and overturn your most unfair conviction!'

'Oh really? That's very kind of you milady,' Alice answered after a pause. 'I wouldn't want you to go to any expense oin my behalf.'

'Well, actually, no expense will be spared,' Lady Petrie said. 'You see, my husband, Lord Petrie owns a newspaper or two. He wants to do a series of articles about the plight of the domestic servant, and he wants to focus on you in particular. We are also going to consult with Lord Kresper, my husband's legal representative, to see what grounds there are to overturn your conviction.'

'So, you believe I didn't do it then?' Alice asked.

'We _know_ you didn't do it! It's preposterous!' Lady Petrie said. 'It's an outrage, and all to please the damn German authorities. It simply will not do!'

'I don't know what to say, milady,' Alice replied.

Lady Petrie smiled. 'Want to see what's in the hamper? Look!' She undid the straps of the basket and threw open the lid.

Alice stared down into its contents, which consisted of tins of corned beef and ham, fresh prosciutto, cheeses, bread, wine, biscuits, figs and other good things. The delicious aroma which arose was intoxicating. Alice doubted the prison would allow her to keep the wine. Luckily, she had managed to sneak Mr Kearns' small bottle of gin into her cell. The large bottle of wine on the other hand would be hard to conceal.

'It's wonderful,' Alice said her eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure. She thought Franny would be thrilled. 'It's wonderfully kind of you, milady.'

'Well, this is only the first gesture,' Lady Marcia said. 'I have to confess that Lady Collendon herself had originally agreed to come today, but she is unwell at present.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,' Alice answered. 'I hope she gets better.'

'Yes, I'm sure she will,' Lady Marcia said. She leaned forward. 'Between me and you, I don't think Lord and Lady Collendon are seeing eye to eye at the moment.'

Alice nodded. 'I think I know what you mean, ma'am. Mr Kearns, Lord Collendon's butler very kindly came to see me recently. He told me that the reason why I am here, is because it was all planned. I think Lady Collendon was against it, but I understand his Lordship agreed to it, which has upset me quite a bit. Anyway, Mr Kearns reckons they might let me go.'

'That's what I heard, but Lord Collendon's actions would upset anyone!' Lady Marcia said with great sympathy. She patted Alice's hand. 'You poor soul. You probably didn't know what hit you. Well, aunty Marcia is here now. We're jolly well going to do what we _can_ to turn the tables on the horrid people who did this to you!'

Despite herself, Alice's eyes suddenly filled with tears. It was the first time anyone, apart from Mr Kearns had expressed any real sympathy for her. Lady Marcia, aware of the woman's emotions impulsively grabbed Alice's hand. 'Don't you worry about a thing now. We'll get you out of this awful place in the shake of a dog's tail, or very soon after that!'

'I think they're moving me, anyway,' Alice said.

'Oh really? Where?'

'Mr Kearns, our butler, seemed to know all about it,' Alice said. 'To a...detention...center, he thinks, or something like that.'

Marcia frowned. 'I'll make some enquiries.'

Alice smiled through her tears. There was no doubt in her mind that Lady Marcia meant well. But Alice felt it was not a good to have any expectations, and to take things as they came. It was the only way to keep sane in the situation.

***

Kearns was packing his bags in his room at Tennyson House, when Lord Collendon stopped by. He seemed perturbed. 'Are you sure you won't change your mind about leaving?' he asked. 'I mean, damn it all man, you're the only one who knows the ropes round here, apart from Jode. The thought of breaking in another butler is just too much.'

'I intend to stay for at least another couple of weeks to assist with that, your Lordship,' Kearns replied.

'Well, thank you,' Collendon said. 'But from the look of things, it seems as if you're moving on today.'

'No, your Lordship, I'm just getting ready,' Kearns said.

'I see, well, look, the thing is, we've got another dinner party coming up next weekend,' Collendon said. 'Couldn't you at least hang around for that? There might be some people from the German embassy in attendance.'

Kearns looked at his employer. 'I suppose I could, sir,' he replied. 'May I make a suggestion, your Lordship?'

'Fire away Kearns.'

'I think playing up to the Germans isn't a good strategy. Not anymore. At least not now. If we go to war, the papers will start asking awkward questions.'

Lord Collendon's face became indignant. 'Are you actually criticising me, Kearns?'

'I wouldn't be so forward as to do that, sir,' Kearns said. 'But there's talk. Talk down the local.'

'Do you think I give a damn what they are saying in the pub?' his Lordship snapped.

Kearns shrugged. 'I am only repeating what I have heard.'

'Well keep your opinion and the opinions of others out of it,' Collendon said. 'My reasons for entertaining high-level German officials is to fall in line with what the Government is trying to achieve. And that is to get through the next ten years without another war. You of all people should realise that! We had enough bloodshed in the last war, and some of our nearest and dearest died in that. No doubt you had friends and relatives who passed away.'

'I actually fought in that war, your Lordship,' Kearns said.

Lord Collendon nodded and then softened and patted Kearns on the arm. 'I know, I know. Look, you're a good man. Let's not part on bad terms.'

'No sir,' Kearns said as his employer turned to leave the little room.

Collendon paused at the doorway. 'Let me know if you can stay at least until the end of the month preferably?'

'Yes, your Lordship,' Kearns replied. 'I can't see that it will be a problem.'

'Good. And, oh by the way Kearns,' Collendon said finally. 'You owe me a favour. Apparently, the police wanted to interrogate you over the matter of the shooting of the Geoffrey Beresford undersecretary of state! Apparently, he was shot whilst on holiday in Germany. But I pulled a few strings and persuaded the police not to bother you. Know anything about it?'

Kearns frowned. 'No sir.'

'I didn't think you did,' Collendon said and then walked off.

Chapter Eleven

For a normally active man like Geoffrey Beresford, enforced rest was worse than having no rest at all. Sir Hugh's command that he was to recuperate, was a nice gesture, though an annoying one. Beresford would still continue with his investigations and oversight from home, regardless. He had a telephone which is basically all he needed to have dealings with the greater world. Dressed in a loosely fitting shirt, slacks and moccasins, Beresford sat behind his desk in his small Pimlico study making notes. There were things he intended to follow up when he got back to Whitehall. It was while he was deep in thought, that the phone rang on his desk. He picked it up expecting it to be one of his casual girlfriends. Instead it was William Greaves, the office's field operative. 'Mr Beresford, it's me, Will, how are you, sir?'

'I'm fine,' Beresford said glad that he hadn't been forgotten. 'What's the problem?'

'Funny you should say that, sir. But I thought I'd let you know that the Governor of Coldvale Prison gave us a tinkle yesterday to let us know that Mrs Green has had yet another visitor.'

Beresford frowned. 'Another visitor? Are you going to keep me in suspense?'

'It was Lady Marcia Petrie,' Greaves said. 'She recently married Lord Petrie, the proprietor of The London News Chronicle.'

'Ah yes, that's the pro-Churchill rag isn't it!' Beresford replied with evident distaste. 'I don't read it myself. Did the Governor say anything else?'

'Well, he's annoyed that people think they can just turn up out of hours to visit Mrs Green.'

Beresford tapped his index finger on the desk. 'I wonder what Marcia Petrie wanted then? I have a feeling that her husband has put her up to this. Wants to write an editorial about injustice or some claptrap, no doubt! Following in the Delhi Herald's footsteps.'

'What would you like me to do?' Greaves asked.

'I think it's time we had Mrs Green transferred, don't you?' Beresford said with a heavy sigh. 'Although thinking about it, she's probably more dangerous in prison than out, so I think her release is imminent now. We don't want Lady Marcia Petrie coming back for another visit, do we?'

'I'll put it into the pipeline, sir,' Greaves said. 'As it happens, we've been considering MOD Drewstaignton as a possible placement for her in the interim. They do mind control there.'

'Do they really?' Beresford replied thoughtfully. 'Interesting. Well, we need to make sure Mrs Green gets the message – no more newspaper interviews, no more working for the landed gentry and no more Lady Marcia! That will be part of our conditions for her release.'

'I understand,' Greaves said. 'As it happens, at Drewstaignton they are looking for candidates to take part in a mind control trial being run by a Dr Rimsky of the Brain Research Institute of East Anglia. It was in Popular Science. HPMMT it's called. Hypnosis and Pulse Modulated Microwave therapy or some such.'

'You don't say?' Beresford replied. 'Well, it might prove very useful in this situation. Put her name down for it if you can, but on our terms! If this so-called therapy can make her more compliant and cooperative, then it would be ideal, especially when she's out in the community.'

'I'll do my best, sir,' Greaves replied.

Beresford sniffed. 'Thank you. I mean, a little bit of mind control might help to keep her in line, _don't you think_?'

***

Without particularly meaning too, Fintan found himself in the Exeter area and pulled his van over to the side of the road with a jolt. He had spotted a printing shop just off the high street of a little village near Exeter itself. The name above the door said, 'Morgan Farley Print Works'. It seemed to Fintan to be a good starting point for his plan. But if he wanted the printer to produce some 'replacement' documents, there might be some awkward questions to answer. Fintan had already begun devising a story with some, hopefully, believable details about himself. He was going to be Hugh Edwards from Baltimore, an American with Polish immigrant parents who changed their name. He was anxious to bury any suggestion he might be Irish. He had come over to England on a business trip and his documents had gone missing at the hotel where he was staying.

Fintan nodded to himself. It seemed like a passable if unimaginative story. He thought that he could also pose as a businessman hoping to set something up in England and was looking for a suitable opportunity. As he sat staring down the quiet high street, he noticed a large banner hanging across the gates of the church on the other side of the road which read:

'A GOOD FIGHT IS A RIGHTEOUS FIGHT!'

Fintan surveyed the sign with interest and thought that his plan fitted in with the mood of the country at the moment. He got out of his van, locked the door and strode over to the Printer's shop. A little bell above the door rang as he entered, and he was immediately greeted by a bald man wearing a brown leather apron. 'Yes Sir?'

'Good afternoon to you,' Fintan said affecting quite a good American accent. 'I was wondering if you could do a small print jobbie for me?'

The man shook his head. 'I'm sorry, we don't do small print runs. What sort of thing were you after?'

'I need some replacement documents,' Fintan replied.

The man gave him a shrewd look and shook his head again. 'It's not the sort of thing we do here, I'm afraid. But I do know a man who might be able to help you. He works from his own little cottage. Got a printing press in his shed. His name is Sid.'

'Sounds perfect,' Fintan said with a smile.

'It's about a mile from here. I'll draw a little map for you.'

'Thank you!' Fintan replied as the man scribbled down the address and did a quick sketch. Fintan thanked him again, took some directions and drove off.

He found the quaint little cottage near a stream off the main road, and bounded up to the front door, rapping loudly. An elderly woman answered and directed him around to the back of the building via a footpath. Fintan found himself standing in front of a ramshackle shed with its door half open. The loud whirring of a machine could clearly be heard coming from inside. A white bearded man greeted him from the shadows. 'You're the American fellow!'

Fintan was surprised. 'How did you know that?'

'Don just phoned me and told me you were coming. Something about documents needing to be replaced?'

Fintan nodded, feeling that his cover had been exposed. 'That was the general idea,' he said.

The man beckoned him into the shed and closed the door. A print machine was noisily chugging away like a steam engine. The smell of oil, ink and spirit hung in the air.

'Look, I wasn't born yesterday,' the bearded printer said. 'I know what you're looking for.'

Fintan was taken aback by the man's directness. 'You do?'

'You want me to forge something for you, don't you?' the man said with a smile. 'But don't worry. I'm asked to do it all the time. I can even knock out some bank notes for you. Quite good ones too, for a price.'

Fintan was at a loss for words, and then said. 'How do you know I'm not a copper?'

The printer laughed. 'Well it's obvious you're not. And as for your American accent, it's as fake as the documents you want me to produce for you! A pound to a penny you're Irish and you're trying to blend into the local landscape.'

Fintan didn't know how to receive this. If this printer could so easily unmask him, the army would be able to do it in an instant. 'Look, I think I've made a mistake,' Fintan said turning to leave.

'Wait a minute,' the printer said grabbing his arm. 'Don't be so hasty. As I said, I can produce anything for you for a price, and I'll keep my gob shut. I've got a lot of clients like you. They come down from London for my services all the time!'

Fintan nodded with caution. 'When you say price, what do you mean?'

'Twenty-five pounds,' the printer said. 'For that I'll set you up for life.'

'That's a lot of money,' Fintan replied. 'I don't have it.'

'I thought not,' the printer said. 'But I can tell you where to get it. There's a post office not so far away that regularly deposits its takings with a local bank. It wouldn't be a problem to relieve them of some of that cash, if you know what I mean.'

Fintan rubbed his chin. 'Interesting.'

'So, I'll do the job and I'll trust you to pay me,' the printer said again with a grin. 'What do you think?'

'As I say,' Fintan said with a smile, 'Interesting!'

***

Alice had not quite got used to sleeping in the prison, especially in a cramped cell with two others. Her bed was barely comfortable at best, causing her to sleep very lightly and restlessly. She also had a great deal to think about too, which was keeping her awake until the wee small hours. The realisation that Lord Collendon had condoned her arrest and imprisonment was particularly galling to her. She had always thought of his Lordship as an exemplary man, a noble man. This clearly was an illusion on her part. When push came to shove, it was obvious that Lord Collendon's own interests took precedence over those of a mere cook.

She was annoyed with herself for having so much trust in him. Her Ladyship, on the other hand, was clearly there rooting for her, even if she didn't come to visit. Alice had always thought of her Ladyship as being in some ways, more of a stronger character than her husband. Why she was so weak kneed about visiting the prison was unclear. As Alice lay there in the semi darkness staring up at the ceiling, there was a rattle of keys in the cell door and the light being turned on. Alice didn't precisely know what the time was. It was surely getting on for three in the morning. Two prison officers noisily entered the cell waking up the other two women, who blinked in the harsh cell light.

'Green, get your things, we're going for a ride!' the taller of the men said.

Alice sat upright. 'What's happening?'

'You'll find out,' the officer said. 'Get all your belongings. Do you have a bag?'

'Yes,' she replied rubbing her eyes.

'Pack everything then. You're not coming back here!'

At these words, Franny, sat up in bed. 'Oh, no,' she cried.

Alice climbed out of bed and squeezed Franny's hand, who was on the top bunk. 'I'll keep in contact,' Alice said. 'And there are a couple of hard boiled eggs at the back of the cupboard under a pillowcase.'

'Ok, thank you,' Franny replied.

Alice bent forward and quickly whispered, 'No, d _on't eat them whatever you do! Give them to Big Jean.'_

' _Hey, what's that?_ ' the prison officer demanded in a gruff manner. 'You've got five minutes, Green, and what you can't take will be left behind!'

At these words Alice scampered around organising her few belongings. Some had been kept downstairs in the reception area and included a coat and some outdoor shoes. She stuffed as much as she could into the two small bags she had.

'What shall I do with this?' she said referring to Lady Marcia Petrie's hamper.

'You can't take that,' the officer said with a sneer. 'You'll have to leave it here.'

'Alright, so I'm giving it to Franny,' Alice said. 'You can have what's left in it, Fran, and don't share with anyone.'

Franny nodded. 'Thank you, Alice. I'm going to miss you,'

'I'm going to miss you too,' Alice said giving Franny a smile. 'But I'm not going to forget you. You and me, we're friends for life.'

Franny dabbed at her tears as the two officers escorted Alice out of the cell and banged the iron door shut.

'Good riddance!' Jessie said under her breath.

Alice was almost frog marched off the wing and through several locked connecting doors to the reception area. There she was given her other belongings and was signed out at the desk by an unsmiling lady prison officer. Alice felt rushed. 'Where am I going?' she endeavored to ask.

'You'll find out!' the shorter of the two female officers said. 'We'll be glad to see the back of you!'

Holding her bags and belongings and struggling to put on a coat was a challenge in the windy night. She was ushered, unhandcuffed, to a waiting black van in the rear sector of the prison. The back doors of the van were opened, and she was unceremoniously helped in. She sat down on the wooden bench which ran along the inside. She just caught a glimpse of the Governor looking out of a window on the first floor of the prison, as they banged the van doors shut.

All her belongings had been tossed in with her and they slid about the floor as the van drove off. There was a small window just about level with Alice's eyes, and she could see they were driving away from the prison at speed. Being a diesel, the smell of the engine's fumes was quite strong in the back. Alice squeezed herself up in the corner of the van as it bumped and swerved on its journey. Dawn was beginning to peep above the houses, from what she could see. She had the impression she was being driven away from the town, and it was clear they were heading out into the country. A road sign suddenly flashed by the window. It went by so quickly it was unreadable. Where she was, or where she was going was hard to tell. The fact that they had not handcuffed her was a cause for some thought.

When she had been arrested and taken to court and then back and forth to Holloway, she had always been handcuffed. Now, for some reason she wasn't, and she wondered if this was a good thing. The van rocked and bumped along the road and made her feel sleepy. She closed her eyes and found herself dozing despite the discomfort. After what seemed like quite a while, she looked out of the window again. By her calculation, going by the light outside, it was pretty certain that a couple of hours had elapsed. They appeared to be coming to the end of their journey. Through the window she could see what looked like some sort of a military establishment. There were soldiers standing about with rifles and military vehicles in front of low-level huts.

Once again, she was unable to read any of the signs from her viewpoint, except one, which said, 'Turn Left Only!' The van finally jolted to a halt.

After a couple of minutes, there was the sound of marching footsteps approaching. There was the rattling of keys, and then the back doors were thrown open with a thud. Two soldiers, one with a peak cap, and another with a cloth hat and two stripes on his arm stared at her. The one with the peak cap was holding a board.

'Alice Green?' the soldier said reading from his list.

'Yes?' Alice said still sitting where she was.

'Come with us,' the Corporal said producing some handcuffs which he slipped onto Alice's wrist, much to her chagrin. 'And don't look so depressed. It's a holiday camp here!'

The more senior soldier gave the corporal and dirty look, and then they matched her into a small building.

***

The little village of Aughrim in County Wicklow, Ireland, was once the scene of a battle in 1691. Since then, nothing quite so exciting had happened. Succeeding generations of the local young folk would grow up and move away in search of a life for themselves. This was certainly true of Marjorie Accling's generation, which had grown up in Aughrim in the twenties and thirties. They now hankered for some independence and mostly went and found it in Dublin. In Marjorie's case, her mother's lung condition, had made it difficult for her to take that step. Marjorie felt duty bound to stay around and help her mother. This was all the more pressing since her father had died four years earlier from cancer.

A small income from his pension enabled them to survive quite well. Marjorie had done her little bit too, after a brief education, by going to work as a cleaner in a shop. It was an existence with many limitations but at least there was food on the table and a moderately nice roof over their heads. Her father had been a docker and had commanded a good wage. Then there were the little extras, items he was able to procure from the docks, which kept body and soul together. Unfortunately, when he died, these dried up. Fortunately, he had left some savings, and so the Accling household could stay afloat.

Nevertheless, a certain amount of frustration was building up inside Marjorie, who wasn't entirely happy with her prospects. At the age of nineteen, she had already received one proposal of marriage from a poor neighbour who worked as a clerk in a credit house. Although she liked the young man, Aiden, all he was offering her was a life boarding at his parent's house in the town. She may as well just stay at home looking after her mother. However, it was a fateful day when the landlord suddenly turned up and gave them thirty days to move out. It wasn't that they were in arrears or anything like that. The landlord had received an offer for the property from a chain of grocers. They wanted to knock down the house and the ones next to it and build a large shop and so it was incumbent on the landlord to sell the house without tenants. The Acclings took this in their stride and prepared to move out. And in the disorganisation of getting ready to move to another abode, Marjorie found the letters which would change her life.

***

Despite Sir Hugh's admonition to rest, Geoffrey Beresford decided to go to Drewstaignton where Alice Green was being held at an army experimental unit. Perversely, she was being viewed as an enemy of state, despite being convicted of poisoning a German diplomat. This all seemed quite logical to Beresford, although he didn't quite have the confidence to leave the matter to its own devices. He felt it still required his oversight. The prosecution of Alice Green had been his project, and his reputation with the Germans rested on the next phase going well. German High Command were under the impression Mrs Green was going to spend the rest of her life in prison. It was the expected penalty for harming one of their 'sons of the soil.' From what Beresford could see, keeping her in custody was likely to attract more attention and cause more problems than not.

The prospect of influential people coming to visit her, threatened to undermine what he had been trying to achieve. He was also bound to the promise he had made to Lord Collendon to have her freed within a few months. Beresford was annoyed he had allowed himself to accede to that condition. In an ideal world she would have been hanged, and that would have been the end of the matter. As things stood, there was still a bit of a mess to clear up. Beresford had spent days trying to fathom what to do to tidily extract this thorn in his side. Simply freeing her could backfire badly and hadn't been properly thought through.

He was entertaining these very thoughts as he journeyed up to Drewstaignton with a driver in a black Daimler. The bumpy journey adversely affected the bruising on his chest from Brinkmann's bullet. A big black bruise had already spread to his neck and mid torso which was quite tender. He was taking regular doses of Nyalgesic for the pain. As he sat uncomfortably in the back of the car, thumbing through the dossier on his lap, he suddenly raised his head. Some sixth sense prompted him to look up at the driver's rear-view mirror. The driver glanced back at him in the mirror in turn and as he did so, he twitched in a slightly nervous way which Beresford found off-putting.

Beresford's normal driver had not been available, and so this man was entirely new to him. Beresford immediately began to feel even more uncomfortable. He also didn't like the look of this particular man, who had eyebrows which joined just above his eyes. His skin had a strange unnaturally whitish hue to it underneath a severe haircut. To make matters worse, he wasn't driving the car with any great care. He tended to speed along, which made for an unpleasant ride.

When they were driving through Rutland, Beresford spotted a little tea shop and tapped the driver on the shoulder. 'Pull over here, driver. Sorry, I didn't get your name.'

The driver gave him a dark look. 'John. If we stop now, we won't make it on time,' the driver replied.

Beresford checked his watch. What was the man talking about? They had plenty of time. 'We're fine. Look, I'm in pain and I need to have some tea and take some medicine.'

The man nodded in an unpleasant way and abruptly brought the car over to the side of the road. Beresford looked back down the street at the tea shop. 'You'll have to reverse up a bit,' Beresford said feeling his blood pressure slowly rising.

The driver seemed irritated by this request, and he put the car into reverse and quickly commandeered it to a spot nearer the teashop. The driver's whole attitude was beginning to annoy Beresford enormously.

'You wait for me here!' Beresford snapped, getting out of the vehicle and strolling down to the little teashop. He entered the shop and placed his order for tea and some salmon sandwiches and took a seat in the window within sight of the Daimler. As he did so, he was astonished to see the driver leaving the motor and going over to a telephone box and making a call.

In terms of normal protocol, this was strictly forbidden, especially in view of the seniority of the passenger. It was effectively the desertion of a post during duty. Beresford began to get very angry indeed. As soon as he returned to London he would have the man dismissed at once. Checking his watch again, Beresford had his snack, took his pain killers and within forty minutes was walking back to the car again. Only this time, the driver was nowhere to be seen.

Beresford looked up and down the moderately busy road looking for him, and then spotted a public house nearby. Perhaps the driver had gone in there to use the latrine. Still, this wouldn't normally have been allowed without express permission from Beresford. As far as he was concerned the driver had gone too far. However, it had the effect of putting Beresford's suspicions on alert. Apart from the obvious liberty, something about the driver and his attitude wasn't quite right and went beyond mere rudeness.

Bemused, Beresford slowly open the back door of the car. He was about to step in when he caught sight of the driver reflected in the shiny rear panels of the vehicle. The driver, oddly, was hovering at the end of the street with something in his hand. Before Beresford could compute all this sensory information with his logical mind, his survival instinct suddenly kicked in. Some impulse made him throw himself away from the car. It was just as well he did, because in the next millisecond the Daimler exploded into flames with a deafening boom.

Smoking car fragments were sent in all directions, narrowly missing a shocked elderly lady who was crossing the road. Beresford himself went flying through a shop window with a violent resounding splintering crash. He landed on a stack of books and broken glass pieces, which cushioned his fall. The heat from the vehicle was considerable and the car continued to burn fiercely for fifteen minutes before the fire services came to the rescue. Before Beresford passed out, his last thought was, ' _Heads will roll for this!_ '

***

Eustace Haycock, formally Inspector Haycock had insisted that he was going to take early retirement, which he did. He christened the event by purchasing a small run-down bed and breakfast in Colwyn Bay, in Wales. He soon found that old habits die hard. He couldn't help phoning the Lincoln Constabulary from time to time to get an update on the Fintan O'Brian situation.

Apparently, a man of Fintan's description had been seen approaching another prison, although he had escaped when challenged by the police. Haycock was certain this was Fintan. What he was doing visiting another prison wasn't clear, although it surely had to be something to do with Alice Green. But this was no longer Haycock's problem. Besides, he was enjoying his new life too much, renovating a sizeable three-story building which hadn't seen a lick of fresh paint for decades. He was also encouraged by the reaction he'd had from local people, who openly asked him what he was doing and showed enthusiasm for the project.

Of course, guesthouses were a dime a dozen in Colwyn Bay, although there was always room for another one. Especially if it was near the bay itself and Haycock really liked the locality and wanted to embrace his new role. But being a dyed-in-the-wool ex-policeman, Haycock knew that he would always continue to keep his eyes and ears open. In the long run it invariably seemed to pay off, even when not on duty. His wife seemed unsure he was going to be able to settle down to this new life. He assured her that he would. Though it was a new business, it would be a way of relaxing after thirty odd years of working for the constabulary. She couldn't have agreed more. But a phone from detective Jamie Croft of the Lincoln Constabulary, made Haycock have brief second thoughts about the new life he was now leading. It was only a blip in his consciousness, and sanity resumed after five minutes.

'Hello Jamie, what's up?' Haycock asked putting down the trowel he had been using to scrape a wall.

'Nothing urgent. I was emptying out a filing cabinet and I came across some bumf about Mrs Alice Green which wasn't in the normal cabinet.'

'It's probably stuff I read and then stashed away under 'M' for miscellaneous,' Haycock answered.

'Exactly right,' Jamie said. 'I gather Mrs Green used to be Lord Fenwicke's cook.'

'Yes, I believe she was,' Haycock said. 'You can throw all that stuff away if you like. It has been duplicated in the main file.'

'Ok, sir,' Jamie said. 'Just one thing though. Did you know that she had an affair with Fenwicke's butler, a man called Stuart Clawe?'

'No, I didn't know, how did you find that out then?' Haycock asked intrigued.

'I phoned the Fenwicke residence and they obliged me with some background information.'

'I was meaning to do that myself actually,' Haycock said.

'Well, apparently Mrs Green had a kid by him!' Jamie said.

Haycock gasped in surprise. 'Well, that is interesting. What happened to the kid?

'It was a girl and she went into foster care,' Jamie said. 'Ireland, I believe, so Fenwicke's son's secretary told me.'

'Now that is sad, or good, whichever way you want to look at it,' Haycock answered. 'Anything to prevent a scandal!'

'Times haven't changed much,' the junior detective said. 'But guess what? Clawe, the butler that Alice Green had an affair with, died under unusual circumstances!'

This remark literally stopped Haycock in his tracks. 'Tell me more.'

'Well according to the secretary, Clawe's death wasn't properly explained,' Jamie said. 'The household just accepted it and moved on.'

'Wasn't there an enquiry?'

'Not that I can tell,' Jamie said. 'Not much of one at any rate.'

'Write it up and put in the main file,' Haycock suggested. 'Just in case there are questions later.'

'Okeydokey, sir,' Jamie said.

'And thanks for ringing,' Haycock said smiling to himself. 'There's nothing like food for thought to keep one's retirement interesting!'

***

For the first time in three months, Alice was beginning to feel more upbeat about her future prospects. The army were treating her nicely, bringing her cups of tea and chatting with her in a friendly conversational way. She had always liked the army and had a cousin who had joined the forces years ago. This autobiographical point proved to be a good conversational gambit and gave her the chance to ask some pertinent questions about her situation. The answers she received though tended to be unhelpful. She had been put into a small room with quite a big window overlooking an army vehicle parking area. A small single bed had been brought in and there was a toilet and shower and sink unit in the corner. It was better than the prison conditions she had been used to, despite being very makeshift. She had the impression the room used to be an office which had been converted. There were alsp locked filing cabinets in the corner, and a map of Europe on the wall.

Not being a bookish person, she hadn't had the opportunity to see maps very often, and it interested her how odd the shape of Great Britain was. In fact, it looked to her as if it had broken off from the mainland of Europe. She was particularly interested in Ireland and ran her fingers over it as she studied it intently. Then, as she was staring at the map, the door of her room suddenly opened, and two soldiers came in and removed it from the wall. This made Alice think she was being watched, even though there were no other windows in the room or door. The feeling was disquieting.

One morning several days after her incarceration, the young corporal who had escorted her from the prison van came in with her breakfast and offered her a cigarette. She declined it at first and then agreed to have it.

'I don't normally smoke now,' she said allowing the corporal to light it up for her and then taking a few doubtful puffs.

'How are things then, Alice?' the corporal asked with a smile.

'Alright, I suppose,' Alice replied. 'I just wish I knew what was going on.'

'You'll be free soon,' the corporal said with a cheeky grin. 'They just want to have a little talk with you, this afternoon.'

'Who do?' she asked.

The corporal dropped his voice. 'Well, don't say I said so, but I think it's people from the Home Office.'

Alice gave the soldier a blank look. 'Home Office?'

'Yeah, you know, in London, near the cenotaph, Whitehall,' the corporal said.

Alice nodded and had another puff of the cigarette. 'I wonder what they want then?'

'Just say yes to everything,' the corporal advised. 'I would. You don't want to stay here longer than you have to.'

'Where am I, anyway?' she asked.

'Drewstaignton Research Center, near Exeter,' the corporal said. 'We test new weapons and what-have-you. Don't know why they brought you here.'

Alice frowned and then relaxed. She was tired of feeling uncertain and fearful. Being in an army barracks made her feel safer. From what the corporal said, there was nothing to be worried about anyway.

'Well, better go,' the corporal said. 'Eat your breakfast up. The sausages are alright actually.'

Alice looked down at the plate of eggs, sausages and beans, and a slice of toast that had been left on the table with a cup of tea. It didn't half look bad.

***

The Governor of Coldvale prison was used to virtually any eventuality. It neither surprised or unduly concerned him that Big Jean Mullins had fallen ill and had been taken to the sick bay vomiting. It was common knowledge that some of the inmates feigned illness to get out of routine chores, though Jean Mullin's funny turn had seemed genuine enough. The woman claimed she had been given some eggs by Franny James, who had in turn, allegedly, been given them by Mrs Alice Green. Big Jean began ranting that Mrs Green had tried to poison her. Yet the matter could not be proven. Governor Rung's only concern was that Mrs Green had been smuggling food onto the wing from the kitchen. If she ever came back to Coldvale, she would have to answer for it.

***

It was while she was packing a tea case with books, that Marjorie Accling found some rather interesting letters. They were stuffed into a locked and battered-looking old suitcase at the bottom of a bedroom cupboard. She found the key in her mother's dressing table, and when she opened the case, found a treasure trove of old correspondence.

It seemed her mother had been receiving mail from a woman called Alice Green for well over two decades. The letters were bound together with thin blue ribbon in little blocks of twenty or so. All were postmarked from England with a return address. Virtually in every letter there was a reference to some enclosed money. This mysterious Alice had been sending money regularly, and it was apparently all for Marjorie's benefit. The few letters Marjorie had looked through did not contain any clarification as to what the relationship was or explained why money was being sent. Nor did it answer the question as to why Alice should be so interested in Marjorie's welfare.

From what Marjorie could glean, Alice worked in a country manor in England as a cook. The letters were full of references to the various people she had day to day contact with and so it would not be hard to trace Alice's whereabouts. Despite accessing her mother's private letters, Marjorie decided to ask her mother who this person was. Marjorie had heard stories of a mysterious aunt who came to visit once when Marjorie was a very small baby. Of course, she had no recollection of the event.

Marjorie and her mother were due to move out of their house at the end of the week and the deposit for the new accommodation had been raised from savings. A removal van was scheduled to pick everything up the following Friday and they had a couple of days of respite before the actual removal itself. It seemed like a good time to speak to her mother. Marjorie planned to ask about the letters over supper. Marjorie had been secretly reading them for the past two days, though didn't see why she should be so secretive. It was not as if her mother could chastise her particularly. Marjorie was a healthy auburn haired twenty-two-year-old whom her ill mother was dependent upon. It was really Marjorie who was now making the decisions and generally running the household.

Over a supper of tasty fish and boiled potatoes, Marjorie casually blurted out her question. 'So, who's Alice then?'

They were sitting in their customary positions at the kitchen table, tidily laid out with the best china and cutlery.

Her mother looked up from her meal and shrugged. 'Alice? Alice who?'

'The lady who's been writing all those letters to you,' Marjorie said. 'I found them in a suitcase at the bottom of your wardrobe.'

Her mother paused and them resumed the cutting of a piece of gammon on her plate. Calmly she said, 'What's in that suitcase is private. You had no right to open it. Did you break it open?'

'No,' Marjorie replied. 'I found the key in the jewelry box in your dressing table.'

'You had no right!' her mother said her hackles slowly rising.

'The letters seemed to be all about me!' Marjorie protested. 'So, I think I had every right. And you've been keeping secrets from me, mother!'

Her mother was silent. The only sound was from the knife and fork squeaking on her plate.

'Well?' Marjorie demanded. 'Who is she?'

'An aunt, an aunt!' her mother replied abruptly.

'An aunt?' Marjorie said. 'But you don't have a sister and neither did daddy. So how can she be an aunt?'

'It doesn't matter who she is,' her mother answered giving her a stare. 'It's all in the past now.'

'What's in the past?' Marjorie asked. 'Look mother, I can easily find out. It's all in the letters...'

'I should have burned them!'

'Why? Mother, you need to tell me what they're all about,' Marjorie insisted.

'You won't like the answer.'

'Really?' Marjorie said. 'Well, I won't like it if I have to find out for myself, and I _will_ if you don't tell me what I want to know!'

'Are we having some fruitcake?' her mother said as she pushed her plate away.

Marjorie stared at her mother, exhaled heavily and stood up and began to collect the plates which she took to the kitchen sink. She scraped off the scraps which she normally put out in the garden for the hedgehog and birds. Then she put the plates and cutlery into the washing bowl. She glanced back at her mother at the table. She was sitting rigidly and staring out of the window.

Marjorie cut two pieces of the homemade raisin cake and put it on two little plates with silver forks and brought them over to the table. She carefully put a plate in front of her mother, who suddenly glanced up. There were tears in her eyes. 'I have _always_ loved you!' she said grabbing a hanky from inside her sleeve and dabbing her eyes.

'Mother, what are you talking about?' Marjorie said in a shocked voice. She went around the table and cuddled her mother. 'Why are you crying? I am only asking because the letters are about me. I think I have a right to know.'

'Sit down then.' her mother replied. 'I have warned you. And I must be mad to be telling you the truth. But Alice...Alice is your true...mother! You are a foster child! You see, I was barren. I couldn't have any children and so we fostered one – you! But the authorities made an administrative error, so called. They sent a letter to your birth mother, Alice, by mistake, a letter that was meant for me. And so, your true mother found out where you were and started writing to me!'

Marjorie stared at her mother for several seconds and then went and sat down at the other end of the table. 'Ah,' she said simply. A few awkward moments passed. Marjorie's face was emotionless.

Her mother shrugged. 'We were advised not to ever tell you. You see it confuses the child.'

Marjorie nodded and looked down at the fruitcake on her plate. 'So, I was fostered when I was a baby, then, obviously?'

Her mother nodded. 'Yes, so you would never have known the difference. Your father and I did our best to give you a good life...'

Marjorie held up her hand. 'I know, I know. My life has been a happy one. And I don't blame you for anything.'

There were several seconds of silence as the two women just stared at each other.

'I know this must be a terrible shock to you...' her mother said.

'Well, yes, it's a shock,' Marjorie replied in a matter of fact manner. 'But I have never felt unloved by you. I mean, whoever this Alice is, it won't make any difference to the way I feel about _you_. You are still my mother. And you've always treated me like I was _your_ child,'

Her mother nodded. 'And that is how I see you. As my child, and you will always be my child. And I'm sorry...'

Marjorie held up her hand again. 'It's alright, mother. I understand. My roots are here with you.'

'That's right,' her mother agreed. 'So, it shouldn't matter. It is all in the past now. You are here with me, and we're going to move into a nice house. And we're not exactly poor, and...'

'And I'll find a husband, and I'll raise my own kids, and try and have a good life,' Marjorie said with a smile. 'But I would still like...to...meet her!'

Her mother nodded. 'I understand, and I won't try and stop you. If I were in your shoes, I would want to do the same thing. It's natural. Maybe you could write to her.'

Marjorie looked up. 'Do you think?'

'Well, what do _you_ think then?' her mother's face was serious. 'Or, you can get passed this. Don't do anything, just continue as you are.'

Marjorie nodded and then with a sigh, stood up. 'I don't think I could do that. The suspense would kill me.'

'I know what you mean,' her mother said. 'But, I think something might have happened to her.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, in her last letter to me, she said she had to leave her place of employment, though she didn't say why.'

'Oh really?' Marjorie replied.

Her mother gave her an odd look. 'I don't have too many details. But I don't think it's very pretty.'

'Well, I don't care, whatever it is.'

'Fine.'

'You know, mother, I'm a bit tempted to go to England and try and see her in person,' Marjorie said. 'I mean, if I write she might try and put me off. I could ask Brenda Clough to come with me. She's always said she wanted to go to England. She's got a cousin there.'

Her mother placed her hands on the table. 'Do you really think that's a good idea?'

'Why not? Marjorie said. 'If I don't do it now, I'll never get around to it.'

Her mother nodded. 'You're a big lass now, so it's up to you. I wouldn't want to be accused of standing in your way. Just be prepared for the unexpected.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's just that life can be like that,' he mother stated. 'When do you think you will go?'

'After we move,' Marjorie said. 'It would only be for a few days. I'd arrange for someone to come in to make sure you're alright.'

'And what will you tell Brenda Clough?'

Marjorie shrugged. 'That we're just visiting a...long-lost aunt!'

'Fine and then maybe Brenda's cousin could put you up for the duration,' her mother suggested. ' _I mean, the cost of hotels and stuff in England would be astronomical_!'

Chapter Twelve

Following Sid's advice, Fintan found himself sitting in his van a few mornings later, watching the front entrance of a post office in a sleepy little village. He was waiting for the proprietor to come out with a bag full of cash and receipts. According to Sid, the post office's proprietor would personally take the shop's takings to the bank, as regularly as clockwork every Monday morning. The takings had apparently sat over the weekend in a safe in the post office. According to Sid, it would be a relatively easy matter to simply snatch the money bag out of the proprietor's hand and make off with it. Certainly, it would be easier than breaking into the post office itself, especially as the proprietor and his wife lived in the small flat over the shop.

Fintan had a set of morals which respected people by and large, and he did not want to harm a law-abiding citizen just for a few pounds. Fintan thought it might be a good idea just to take what he needed. Snatch the money bag, and then return the majority of it back to the proprietor. The trouble with the plan was that his own description would doubtless be given to the police, which would queer the pitch. He was still a man on the run. That had not changed, and this additional felony would only make things worse for him if he were caught.

Fintan drummed his fingers on the cold metal steering wheel, undecided as to what to do. He had planned to do the snatch and grab as soon as he could. Then, as the proprietor, a little old man with a walking stick, left the post office with the money bag, Fintan decided to abort the mission. He was going to have to wait another few days, wait for the takings to build up again, and rob the post office at night. Then there would be a good chance he would get away with it. The intended day light robbery was simply too fraught with danger of exposure. The old man might even fight back!

Fintan drove back to Sid's house and explained his new plan. Sid shook his head, and then took him into a little office in the shed. The printer had been preparing some documents for him, based on information he had supplied. One was a document on thick parchment containing the details of 'Title' of the property down in Cornwall belonging to Kalo. According to the forged document, Hugh Edwards was now the official owner. This made Fintan smile. Kalo would have a fit if he saw it, but Fintan needed to prove he lived somewhere.

The other documents were a passport, which still needed a photograph of Fintan, a birth certificate, and some bills addressed to a fictitious address in Baltimore, USA. Anyone seeing these documents would be convinced that Fintan was indeed an American who had previously lived in Baltimore. To top everything off, Sid had printed a thick wad of white five-pound notes complete with the Bank of England stamp on them. Fintan took one to examine. It looked very real to him.

'I could pay you with five of these,' he said to the printer.

'You could,' Sid said with a laugh. 'But that would spoil the fun of it. I want real currency for these. Tell you what. Everything for twenty quid. Now surely, you can get your hands on that?'

'I'll break into the post office in a couple of days' time,' Fintan replied with a sigh. 'I wouldn't want to hurt the old man.'

'Really?' Sid said with a smirk. 'You obviously don't know the old man like _I do_! He's a horrible old German man!'

***

If a cat has nine lives, Geoffrey Beresford had at least eleven, and that wasn't even counting the accidents he miraculously survived as a child. It did appear that providence was keeping him alive for a reason, if only to satisfy his own political ambitions. After his near-death encounter in Rutland, he was taken to the London Hospital in Whitechapel Road. They put in a private wing and he was treated by his own doctor, who grumbled at having to travel up from his Harley Street surgery. The London Hospital was sufficiently off the beaten track to effectively hide Beresford from view and protect him from any further threats. A policeman was posted outside his door for security. In fact, the police had already mounted an investigation, although were unable to find the bogus driver. Beresford was told that his normal driver had been abducted and tied up and an imposter had taken his place for the drive to Exeter. It appeared that this attempt on his life had been carefully planned, but by whom was the question which dogged Beresford's mind. The case was placed on the police files under 'pending' though little progress was made.

With Beresford's innate good luck, the only thing he sustained were cuts to the back of his neck and some superficial burns on his face. Fortunately, they blended in with his own natural tan. For now, he was prescribed analgesics for the pain, on top of the ones he was already taking.

Communications with Sir Hugh Kingston confirmed in his own mind that he was beginning to be regarded as a liability. The icing on the cake was when his friend Colonel Hermann Schrepps took a trip over to England to visit him in Hospital. In view of the growing tensions with Germany, this really did raise eyebrows. Schrepps arrived wearing civilian dress, though his satanic face and Germanic accent had an abrasive effect on all who came into contact with him. His Nazification was total and it showed in his demeanour. His official excuse for being here, was that the German Embassy in London was likely to be closed down soon. He had come over to England to assist with the safe transfer of important documents.

The Colonel sat on the chair facing Beresford, who was propped up in his hospital bed. He was staring down at an unpalatable midday meal on the portable table in front of him.

'Here, I have brought you some sachertorte, the Fuhrer's favourite chocolate cake!' the Colonel said putting a white cardboard box on the bedside table.

'I'm so very grateful to you,' Beresford replied. 'Hospital food is literally killing me!'

The Colonel smiled, revealing a row of slightly tobacco stained teeth. 'I bet!'

'So, you're here on embassy business?' Beresford said with a wink.

'Yes, but I suspect all Embassy business per se will be terminated in London in September,' Schrepps said in English. 'Between you and me and that disgusting piece of fish on your plate, the Fuhrer really wants to incorporate Britain into his territorial framework. So, I think invasion is definitely on the cards.'

'But Chamberlain is determined to be friends,' Beresford replied.

'Chamberlain is like the school runt who doesn't want to be bullied by the big boy. But at the end of the day it's the big boy's 'call' as the Americans say! And on that note, do you think the Americans will stay on the side-lines?'

'I believe Mr Churchill has been making private overtures to them,' Beresford said. 'But I can assure you, from what I have heard, that Congress has no appetite for another war. The Neutrality Acts of '35, '36 and '37 have sealed America's fate as far as that is concerned.'

'But I have heard that Roosevelt was really keen for America to enter the 1914 fight,' Schrepps said. 'So, I think he might try and tinker with the legislature.'

Beresford shook his head, 'Take it from me. America will _never_ enter any future war.'

Schrepps nodded. 'I hope you're right. If the yanks do, then I think the Fuhrer will have taken on more than he could chew! Even Hesse and Goering are dead against a fight on too many fronts!'

***

Life at Drewstaignton Research Unit was proving rather humdrum. The attack on Geoffrey Beresford seemed to have put a spanner in the spokes and slowed down the way Alice was being 'processed'. The first interview she was due to have with officials had been cancelled. Then suddenly a day later, she was taken to an interview room and quizzed about Beresford. A commissioned officer conducted the interview in the small room with a bright light overhead. Alice had seen something similar in a film she had seen at the cinema. There were also two plain clothed men present. They seemed less friendly than the younger soldier conducting the interview.

'I'm Captain Marsh, and if you don't mind I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, Mrs Green.'

Alice stared back at the soldier with a degree of annoyance. 'Well, I've got some questions to ask _you,_ ' she replied.

The men in the room looked at each other.

'There will be plenty of time at the end for your questions,' the Captain said. 'Just be patient.'

'That's all I ever get told,' Alice said. 'And then when I ask my questions, they don't get answered. Just tell me, what am I doing here? At this army...place?'

'You are here at the specific request of the Home Office,' the Captain said. 'But you are due for supervised release after you agree to certain conditions. But it is all up to you.'

'You are not making any sense,' Alice said leaning forward in her chair. 'You don't know what it's been like for me. Being shunted about from pillar to post. Not knowing what's going to happen next. Not knowing what to expect. I'm telling you, I _didn't_ do it. I didn't poison that stupid...German...git! Why would I want to do that?'

'Mrs Green, there's no point in raising your voice,' the captain said in a smooth manner. 'I understand that you have been under some strain...'

'Strain?' she said standing up at the table. 'Strain? I'll give you strain. You don't know the meaning of the word. You need to have your bleeding heads knocked together. The whole bloody lot of you. Home Office! What have they got to do with me? Nothing. I'm a human being you know, with rights. Like you...'

'Mrs Green, please calm down...'

' _Don't Mrs Green me_!' Alice said her temper rising. 'Just leave me be.'

'Mrs Green, unfortunately, we can't do that,' the Captain said glancing at one of his colleagues. 'Alright, just answer this one question for now. I can see you're upset. Did you collaborate with anyone regarding the attack on Geoffrey Beresford, the Under Secretary of State at the Home Office? Or did you know there was going to be one?'

Alice blinked. 'Are you mad? I've been in prison. How did you expect me to know anything about that? Who? Geoffrey who?'

'Mrs Green you were a cook at the home of Lord Collendon, who was visited by Mr Beresford earlier this year,' the captain said. 'Perhaps you were aware of this?'

Alice's eyes swivelled upwards. 'Lord and ladies and toffs come and go all the time at Tennyson House,' she answered. 'I was just the cook there, and it isn't my business who his Lordship entertains.'

Captain Marsh glanced around at his colleagues. 'Alright. Do you want to ask me anything?'

A tall man with a black trilby stepped forward. 'Mrs Green, would you swear on the Bible you knew nothing about this incident?'

'Incident?' Alice said confused. 'What incident?'

'Geoffrey Beresford was the victim of a car explosion which was deliberately detonated,' the man said. His eyes were steely. 'We are quite confident you were responsible for Dr Fefferberg's death. And it is possible you may have links with organised political agents based in Germany.'

Alice shook her head. 'Are you having a laugh? Look, all _that_ was brought up in court, but there was no real proof was there? Just show me some proof, that's all I ask!'

'You were convicted in court,' the man in the hat said. 'As far as we are concerned, that was sufficient.'

'Alright then,' Alice said. 'If I'm so guilty of whatever it is you think I'm guilty of, then why are you going to let me go then? You _are_ letting me go soon, aren't you?'

The men looked at each other.

'Your release will be subject to conditions,' the man in the black hat said. 'If you don't agree with them, you will go back to prison.'

'What conditions?' Alice replied, her forehead creased with emotion. 'When are you people going to start making some sense?'

'In the next week we will be having a meeting with you to discuss what we expect of you,' the man said. 'But be warned, if you agree and then breach any of the conditions, you _will_ definitely go back to jail.'

'Alright, good,' Alice said. 'To be honest, I am so sick and tired of all this nonsense that I couldn't care less what you do. Honestly, you people really need to get a proper job instead of picking on the likes of me. I haven't done anything. Don't you understand that?'

'Your attitude is not helpful, Mrs Green,' the Captain said.

' _What do you know about it_?' Alice replied. 'You're still wet behind the ears. When you were still in short trousers, sonny, I was doing fourteen-hour shifts at Lord Fenwick's mansion. Polishing the bannisters, doing all the stairs, cleaning the miles of floors. Then going out and getting all the shopping for a household of twenty odd people, and then doing all the cooking...'

'Mrs Green, I'm sure you were a very hard-working employee,' the captain said. 'But that has absolutely nothing to do with what we're talking about.'

Alice nodded and then sank back into her chair. 'I can't win, can I?'

The captain gathered together some papers which were in front of him. 'I think we're finished here for the moment. Next week we'll get into more of the detail!'

Alice smoothed her hair. 'And about bloody time too!'

***

Even best friends sometimes refuse a request. Brenda Clough, who had known Marjorie since she was a child, was quite taken aback when asked to accompany her to England. Brenda was a packer at a cutlery factory, and the two of them would regularly meet up after work. They would often go for a drink in any public house that would allow them in. Marjorie was more sedate of the two, but Brenda was a young restless spirit who had already been engaged to a man. There was even a rumour she could be quite loose with men in general, and Marjorie had seen some evidence of this. Surprisingly, the offer to go to England seemed to throw her.

Brenda appeared to be game for anything and was always complaining about her 'boring' life, and so Marjorie thought she would be up for an adventure. Brenda, a ruddy faced strawberry blond with freckles, seemed less than keen.

'But you said you had a cousin in England,' Marjorie reminded her as they sat in the secluded snug of the Belle Arms with their jar of porter. 'Don't you think it would be fun to go? See a bit of the world?'

'I've got a job, haven't I?' Brenda replied. 'I can't just take days off when I want to. They'll soon give me the sack.'

'But don't you have any holidays coming up?' Marjorie asked.

'Two days in June,' Brenda answered. 'And I'm spending those with Barry.'

'Barry?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure you mean Barry or is it Harry or Larry?' Marjorie said with a smirk.

'Don't be funny,' Brenda replied. 'It doesn't suit you.'

'So that's your last word on it then?' Marjorie pressed. 'You're not coming. So, I will have to go on my own, on a boat with all those strange people. Anything could happen to me, and you don't care?'

'Oh, shut up,' Brenda said giving her a look out of the side of her eyes. 'I'll think about it! And it depends on who is paying for it.'

'My mother is. She said she'll be able to manage without me for a week!'

'And why do you want to go exactly?' Brenda asked. 'To see this lady who is your aunt that you haven't seen since you were a baby?'

'Something like that,' Marjorie said. 'I'll tell you all about it on the way there.'

Brenda batted her eyelids disdainfully. 'Well, I'll let you know on Friday then.'

'Why Friday?'

'Because I was thinking of giving in my notice anyway,' Brenda answered. 'And I suppose we could stay with my cousins in London. I've got tons of them.'

'How many cousins do you have, then?'

'Well,' Brenda said pulling a thoughtful face. 'I think at last count, fourteen, and they're all in Fulham!'

***

Fintan had no doubt the post office in the village had never been burgled. This probably meant that no real precautions were in place to prevent it, apart from a locked door or two. Crime of that nature just wasn't expected in this area. For this reason, breaking into the little post office would be a piece of cake as far as he was concerned. He had resumed his mission and was sitting patiently in his van near the post office watching. It was late evening and he was waiting for the lights of the flat above the post office to go out. When they finally did just after ten o'clock, it was his cue for action. The proprietor and his wife were plainly early risers.

Fintan carefully drove round to the back of the building and found some flat grassland where he could park up out of sight. The only real illumination at that time of night was from the moon and it was covered with cloud. The sky was utterly black, and the woodland nearby was even darker. There also appeared to be a sort of dirt road going through it, which Fintan wanted to investigate. He tentatively drove into the woodland for a few yards, then realised the dirt track was probably for horse riders and walkers rather than vehicles. Fortunately, there was sufficient foliage where he had stopped to completely conceal his van.

He waited a bit longer before creeping over to the rear of the post office which was in a line of small shops backing onto a service alley. All the lights of the nearby flats were also now out. Everyone had apparently gone to bed. As he quietly crept over to the buildings, he was suddenly startled by a shaggy brown Alsatian dog which appeared out of the darkness. To his relief, it didn't bark. It watched Fintan quizzically for a few moments and he wondered what it was going to do. He returned the animal's gaze and then realised there was no danger. He went back to the work of examining the back window of the post office.

It was boarded up from the inside and was securely locked, as was the door. It would require force to open and Fintan had wisely brought along a small crowbar which happened to be in Kalo's van. It would be ideal as a means of pulling open any stubborn obstructions. But when he tried to quietly force the back door open with the tool, it refused to budge. He managed to make quite a mess of the door frame which was splintering away in long shreds. The door itself was being stubborn.

By this time the dog had come closer and was sitting watching what Fintan was doing. Fintan smiled and then went over and patted the dog on the head, which responded in a friendly way. If it was a guard dog, it wasn't earning its keep that evening.

Fintan looked back up towards the building at what appeared to be a frosted toilet window on the first floor. Even though it was closed, it apparently wasn't jammed shut. It could be a way in. If he climbed up, he would have to be careful and very quiet. It would be harder than the climb he did at Kalo's house. There was also a convenient ledge and a downpipe which would enable him to climb halfway up the wall. He would then have to reach up and force open the small toilet window and then haul himself in. It would be an effort, but he had little choice. Fintan raised his eyebrows at the dog which half wagged its tail and then shoved the crowbar into his leather belt and began to climb the drainpipe.

He was surprised at how lithe he was and realised that sleeping in the back of the van had toughened him up. His muscle tone seemed to have improved, not that he had much flab to speak of. The business of being on the run had apparently honed his survival abilities. As he climbed, he noticed there wasn't much to hold onto. After climbing twelve feet or so, he felt quite precarious. He looked down at the dog, which was now looking away and wagging its tail again. An elderly man wearing glasses was slowly approaching, having turned into the alley from the street! Fintan froze on the wall and held his breath and watched as the man, idling along, came closer. He was holding a bag with bottles in which clinked together, his focus on the dog. Luckily, Fintan was partly concealed by the shadow of a tree, otherwise the moon would have doubtless revealed him to the pedestrian below.

The man, apparently slightly drunk, sidled up to the dog, patted it on the head and mumbled inaudibly to it _._ The dog clearly recognised him and turned around and followed the man along the alleyway. As they walked off, they passed Fintan just above them with only a few feet to spare. He slowly and quietly let out his breath as they passed. Fintan was immensely relieved he hadn't been spotted and could only think the man's apparent drunkenness had saved the evening. If Fintan had been challenged, he would have to have used force. He watched the two disappear down the alley. Then he turned his attention back to the toilet window which was just within reach of his fingertips. As he looked up, the light in the toilet suddenly came on! Fintan stopped breathing again, his legs and arms beginning to ache from the strain of pressing himself against the wall.

After a couple of minutes, the toilet user's shadow suddenly reared up at the small frosted window and then it was noisily pushed open to let in some air. This action startled Fintan who almost lost his footing. He clung on for dear life. The light went out again and the shadow disappeared, but access was now easier. He waited for another several seconds before grabbing up for the window sill. Then he painfully hauled himself up to its height, scraping the wall with his knees. Throwing a leg over the window ledge and pulling himself level, he let out a relieved sigh. He sat there for a few seconds, one leg in and one leg out, regaining his strength. He was surprised at how big the 'little' room was, which housed a toilet and basic metal bathtub. Cocking his ear, he listened out as he tried to assess if there was any more activity in the house. There was, the sound of muted talking coming from down the hallway out of sight of the open bathroom door. Fintan carefully and silently climbed fully in and crept out of the bathroom and paused outside a door on the dark landing. It was from here that the sound of talking could be heard. As he did this, the floor creaked under him and the conversation in the room stopped.

Fintan held his breath again and placed his hand on the top of the cold metal crowbar in his belt in readiness. Then the conversation in the room resumed. It sounded like an elderly man talking to his wife who was complaining about something. Fintan smiled to himself and then crept down the slightly creaking stairs, inaudible to the postmaster and his wife. Once on the ground floor, Fintan looked around as best he could in the dark not having brought a torch. His eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the gloom as the moon's dim light filtered in through the windows. He deftly walked through into the post office's shop area and found himself behind the counter and he located the cash till straight away. When he opened it with a subdued ring, he saw that it held the next morning's float. It didn't look like twenty pounds though, which is what he needed!

***

After spending several days in Whitechapel hospital, Geoffrey Beresford returned home to Pimlico. He was hoping to tackle the work which had been piling up in his absence. However, Sir Hugh Kingston had forbade him from returning to the office for health reasons which was intensely irritating to him. Despite this, he still maintained a telephone link with his Home Office colleagues under Sir Hugh's very nose. Whilst he couldn't go in to work, Beresford's restlessness drove him out to clubs and bars in search of relief from the boredom of being a lonely bachelor.

Marriage had never really appealed to him, though he could definitely see the advantages. At least there would be someone to come home to at night to talk to! He did however, meet up with a couple of old flames who treated him with more detachment than usual, which puzzled him. One old flame had worked as a personal assistant at the Treasury and seemed more than interested in meeting him when he rung her. They met at the Sphinx Club in Wardour Street, which was usually the hang-out of the town's more 'colourful community'. It also attracted a broadminded set who came for the 'view' as well as the food and drink.

Bunny Thompson was a statuesque, artificially blonde married woman in her forties, who regularly cheated behind her rich Indian husband's back. Another business trip had come up and she had managed to squeeze Beresford into her busy social diary. She made her way to the club by herself, although Beresford did offer to pick her up in his red Alvis sportscar, which he hardly used.

'Darling, how nice to see you!' Beresford said when they met outside the venue. He pecked her on the cheek.

'My God, that's a terrible bruise on your face,' she exclaimed at first sight of him.

'That's a burn not a bruise,' Beresford said with a brave smile. 'Come I've booked a table.'

They were shown to their table with a small electric lamp on it and ordered some drinks. The club was in full swing with a group of musicians playing ragtime on the stage. There were also several male couples dancing together, which in this venue, did not raise eyebrows. It was Beresford's idea to take her for a meal afterwards to somewhere more sedate.

They chatted as best they could above the noise of the music and the waiter brought their drinks over. Bunny suddenly became quite serious and leaned forward in her chair. 'Well, I'm glad you're getting better Geof, even though you don't look as if you are.'

'Always the honest one,' Beresford said gazing at the lamp on the table.

'I'm glad you rung up actually, because there is something I wanted to tell you,' she said.

'Oh,' Beresford nodded. 'You're not divorcing Samar, are you?'

'In his culture I'm not allowed to divorce him,' she replied taking a sip of her cocktail. 'The onus is on him to divorce me. It's called the triple talaq. But we're a long way away from that at the moment! No, it's rumours I've been hearing.'

Beresford frowned. He knew Bunny still had friends at the Treasury in Whitehall, which was a small world if you were employed within its labyrinthine structure. 'Pray tell, what have you heard?'

'Well,' Bunny replied. 'The Treasury office itself will be moving in the next year or two. The address of which will henceforth be GOGGS, referring to George Street!'

'Well I knew that,' Beresford said. He gave her a hard look. Surely this wasn't what she wanted to tell him?

'The other thing isn't quite so...nice,' her voice was ominous. 'It seems people are ...turning against you.'

Beresford blinked and sat up straight. 'What do you mean?'

'Has Sir Hugh Kingston been behaving oddly lately?' she asked.

Beresford looked at her. 'Oddly? Well, come to think about it, he _has_ been putting the block on things lately. He has also sort of sent me to Coventry in a sense. He said I can't come into work for a while. I just assumed it was because I was convalescing.'

Bunny nodded. 'Hmm, so it's true.'

'What is?'

'They are saying that you and a couple of other officials in Whitehall are in the pockets of the Germans,' Bunny said. 'They are not saying that you are a spy exactly. But there may be an investigation!'

' _An investigation of me_?' Beresford said, shocked. 'Who told you this?'

'Freddy Wexford at the MOD,' she answered staring at him.

'I didn't know you knew Freddy. What else did he say?'

'Well, he was hearing all this third hand,' Bunny said. 'But I believe the origin of these rumours was your boss, Hugh Kingston.'

Beresford was thoughtful. They didn't speak for a moment, then he said. 'Well, I'm not going to worry about it,'

'That's the spirit.'

'I mean, there's nothing to worry about,' he said. 'Apart from the fact that people have been trying to kill me!'

'Oh, is that all?' Bunny said with an amused look. She patted his hand. 'Well I wouldn't worry about Sir Hugh then. A man in your position can always pull a few strings to get off the hook.'

'Indeed, in theory,' Beresford said with a frown. ' _I just hope they are still there to pull!_ '

***

Despite the authorities' best efforts, Alice still managed to receive letters, even though they had been rerouted and opened several times. There were a couple of letters from Shirley and a post card from Lady Marcia Petrie advising her not to worry as ' _everything was in hand_!'

The authorities were more than aware that she was 'friends' with the Petries, which was advantageous in one way and not in another. Unhelpfully, this connection had a worrying effect on the people in charge of Alice's case. It was creating consternation all the way up to Geoffrey Beresford and beyond. He was still in charge for the moment and was informed of all correspondence that Alice received. He felt obliged to allow mail through to her, especially from Lady Marcia as she was an important and influential person. On the other hand, mail from Mrs Green to the outside world was strictly controlled. He didn't want her blabbing about the next controversial phase of her custody.

To be used as a guinea pig in a series of 'harmless' mind-control experiments was clearly morally questionable. But Beresford thought the exercise was fully justified and would help keep Mrs Green under control when she was released. This was primarily why she was at Drewstaignton. He had nicknamed this approach, 'the method', and he had been hoping to sit in on the sessions, which is why they had been delayed. Alice was naturally blissfully unaware of what was going on behind the scenes, until Captain Marsh came to visit her. He had some papers with him, and he was accompanied by a man in a suit. Instinctively, Alice had grown to be distrustful of these men in their expensive looking suits. She felt they were a strong threat to her very existence. Alice had just come in from a chaperoned walk around a restricted area on the grounds. She found Captain Marsh and the other man standing outside her room when she came back.

'Got something for you to sign,' Marsh said following her into the room.

She sat down on the hard chair under the window. 'What is it?'

'Do you remember that we said that before you could be released there would have to be some conditions?'

Alice nodded her head in a suspicious manner. 'Yes, well what are they?'

'May I sit down?' the captain said.

'You'll have to sit on the bed,' Alice replied.

Captain Marsh took a seat while his colleague hovered at the door. Marsh waved a board with papers on it. 'It's all here and you can have a copy,' he said. 'You have to agree basically to five things. One, when you are released you can't go back into domestic service, you'll have to find employment elsewhere. Two, you should not attempt to contact Lord or Lady Collendon at any time. We also do not approve of your contact with Lady Petrie. Three, you will not be allowed to talk to any newspaper journalists or other unauthorised persons about your stay here. Four, once a week you will have to sign on at a local police station. And five, you will have to live at approved premises. There is one other thing.'

Alice waited for him to speak. 'Yes?'

'We would like you to take part in a trial of an experimental therapy,' Marsh said looking at her directly.

'I don't know what you mean,' Alice said.

'The Drewstaignton Experimental Unit is at the forefront of developmental military technology and biochemical research,' Marsh said. 'And we are always on the lookout for human volunteers for our programmes. It occurred to us that you might agree to take part.'

Alice rubbed her arm nervously. 'To do what?'

'We would like to inject you with a harmless chemical and then study your reactions to it? But you will not be allowed to discuss it afterwards!'

Alice pulled a doubtful face. 'I don't know about that. You mean with a needle?'

'It's quite painless,' Marsh said giving his colleague a glance. 'If you agreed we would be willing to make some concessions to you.'

'Sir, sorry. What did you say your name was again?' Alice asked.

'Captain Marsh.'

'Captain Marsh,' Alice said. 'I never had much of an education, so you will have to explain yourself in simple words if you don't mind...'

'If you agree to take part, we will find you some accommodation when you leave, help you get work and will even give you some cash,' Marsh said with a smile. 'Now that doesn't sound bad does it?'

Alice nodded and then frowned. 'What sort of work?'

'We might be able to find you some work as a cook at a local factory in their canteen,' Marsh said. 'Pay would be quite good. More than what you used to earn in Lord Collendon's household!'

She frowned. 'Thing is Captain Marsh, I've never lived on my own before. I mean at Tennyson House it was all found, and there were always people to talk to, like Shirley the scullery maid.'

Captain Marsh sighed heavily. 'You'll soon make friends, of that I am sure. Someone as outgoing as you. Also, near the factory we have in mind for you, there are some lodgings for the workers. They share the privy and kitchen, so you'll always be able to have a chat with someone. We are also considering putting you in a hostel.'

'I see,' Alice replied.

Captain Marsh stared at her. 'How does that sound?'

Alice was thoughtful for a moment. 'What kind of a life would that be? I mean, I wouldn't be used to it. It would probably get me down.'

The man in the suit came forward and whispered something in the Captain's ear. The captain looked at Alice. 'We are prepared to up our offer to help you settle in. We'll open a bank account for you and put some regular deposits in it. However, you will have to sign the NDA here.'

'The what?' Alice asked.

'A non-disclosure agreement,' the Captain said. 'If you reveal at any time that you had taken part in experimental trials, you will immediately be sent back to prison! And that includes telling Lady Marcia Petrie!'

Alice shook her head. 'I'm not a big mouth like some. I suppose anything is better than being cooped up in here.'

'That's what we like to hear,' the Captain said.

'You'll be alright,' the Captain's associate said.

Alice shot the man a suspicious glance. 'Sorry, who are you?'

The man's face tightened. 'I'm a representative from the government. I have the authority to refuse your release if you do not agree to these conditions.'

' _Alright, keep your shirt on!_ ' Alice responded tartly. 'I was only asking. Alright. I'll do it, and then how long afterwards will it be before you let me go?'

'Within thirty days,' Captain Marsh said.

'Thirty days!' Alice replied in a disappointed voice.

'It could be a fortnight if we're happy that you are going to cooperate,' the man in the suit said.

'Let's get it over and done with then,' Alice said.

'Sign these papers and we'll set the ball in motion,' Marsh said handing her the board with some forms on it. He passed her his fountain pen.

Alice took the pen with interest. 'Mr Kearns had one of these. He's the butler at Tennyson House.'

The two men looked at each other. 'We know!'

***

Marjorie and her mother were ensconced in their new home before they knew it. The removal company did the whole move in under three hours and not a single item was damaged. Tea boxes and furniture littered the hallway of the new house, which would gradually get organised. The rent here was cheaper here and was a reflection of the slightly rundown neighbourhood. People who knew the Acclings felt they had moved down in class. The new house was in a row of dull terraces which had seen better days. However, it was slightly larger than the old one, and there was a pleasant natural hominess about it, which Marjorie liked.

The rooms were just the right size. The kitchen in particular was a pleasant room. It had large windows which opened onto a nice sized garden with an oak tree and swing attached to it. The landlord informed them that the previous occupants had a large family and had moved to England. Marjorie took this as a sign she was meant to go there herself. It took them another three days to get completely organised, and even Brenda Clough herself had come down to lend a hand. She admitted that part of the reason why she had come to help was to avoid a certain young man who had been pestering her.

'Probably for this reason, I'll go to England with you,' she told Marjorie. 'Then he might forget me.'

'Who is this character? Mrs Accling asked.

'Oh, just some boy, Mrs Accling,' Brenda replied tossing her hair. 'If I go to England he might give up.'

'I doubt it,' Mrs Accling said. 'He'll be waiting for you to come back.'

'Then perhaps I won't come back!'

'What would your ma say if you didn't?' Mrs Accling asked.

'Probably good riddance,' Brenda said with a laugh.

They were standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms which had been designated as Marjorie's room. Marjorie was putting some clothes in the chest of drawers next to the window. 'So, when shall we set sail?'

'I will have to write to my cousin in Fulham first,' Brenda said. 'They wouldn't like it if we just turned up.'

'Bear in mind there might be a war on,' Mrs Accling said. 'And if it broke out while you were over there, you might not be able to come back.'

Marjorie gazed out of the window. It was a sunny day. 'We won't be over there for long, maybe two weeks at most.'

Her mother's face was worried. 'I think you should leave it until things sort themselves out.'

'What things?'

'The war.'

'Oh, to hell with the war,' Marjorie replied opening the window. 'Oh look, there's a cat!'

Brenda came to the window and looked down. 'How _sweet._ You can tell it's only young _. Here kitty_!'

'Why don't you go in the summer?' Mrs Accling suggested.

Marjorie turned to look at her. 'Maybe.'

'I don't think I could wait that long,' Brenda said, 'I need to leave Aughrim now or I'm going to end up married before I'm twenty.'

'Then you'd better get going!' Mrs Accling said. 'Just be careful over there.'

'Mother, don't worry,' Marjorie said coming over and giving her mother a hug. 'We'll be alright. I'll phone you.'

'From England? You'll do no such thing. Just a postcard will do.'

Brenda sat down on Marjorie's bed. 'This is comfy!'

'You'll be wanting to move in next,' Marjorie taunted.

'Now, that wouldn't be a bad idea,' Brenda replied with a crooked smirk. 'And then we could be real sisters.'

'Perish the thought!' Mrs Accling said leaving the room. 'I'll make us some tea. You like scones do you Brenda?'

'That would be lovely Mrs Accling,' Brenda answered as the older woman closed the door behind her.

'You don't sound as if you like living at home,' Marjorie said joining her friend on the bed.

'Nor would _you_ in my shoes,' Brenda replied. 'My dad's drinking is the ruination of everything. And it doesn't help that he works in a brewery.'

Marjorie laughed. 'Then it's just as well I don't work in a bakery.'

Brenda yawned and stretched her arms. 'Me too, or the chemist. I'd be trying out the makeup all the time!'

Marjorie smiled. 'So, we're definitely going then? Before war breaks out?'

'It wouldn't affect us even if it did,' Brenda replied. 'We won't have to do the fighting. And it wouldn't be a bad thing actually. It might get rid of some of my annoying ex-boyfriends! That is, _if_ they get called up to fight for England.'

Marjorie rubbed her arm. 'Now that's a point. I don't know if they'll call up Irish men.'

'My dad said he'd refuse to go if they called _him_ up,' Brenda commented. 'Anyway, are you going to tell me about this mysterious aunt of yours or not?'

Marjorie made a pensive face and stood up again. She walked over to the window and then turned to face her friend. 'I haven't really told you everything. See, she's not really my aunt, she's my...mother! Now don't tell my mother I told you!'

Brenda's eyes widened. 'What? You having a joke?'

'Don't say a word,' Marjorie warned her. 'The embarrassment would kill her.'

'Hail Mary Mother of God,' Brenda exclaimed. 'Now I've heard everything. And there was I thinking my family were the odd ones out! Since when?'

'Since I was born, obviously,' Marjorie replied.

'No, I mean when did you find out?'

'About a week ago, Brenda.'

'You seem very calm about it.'

Marjorie dipped her head reflectively. 'To be honest, I don't know what to think. It doesn't seem real. She's a cook at a manor house so I gather.'

'And you still want to go?' Brenda asked. 'To England, I mean?'

'Yes, I do, and I want you to come for company. We'll pay for everything.'

Brenda nodded. 'Ok, let's say next week. I'll hand in my notice. Then I'll write to my cousin Gail in Fulham and see what she says and let you know.'

'Lovely, right,' Marjorie answered.

At that moment Mrs Accling called them down for tea. As she descended the stairs, Marjorie began to feel nervous.

Chapter Thirteen

The raid on the post office had been a complete success. Contrary to what he had thought, Fintan found a total of twenty-two pounds in all. He made up the total by adding a bag of coins and some notes from under the counter to the money he had found in the till. Happy with his haul, he crept out of the building by way of the back door, which he simply unbolted. It had three bolts and explained why it had been hard to break in. Out of respect, Fintan made sure to close the door firmly in case other intruders were tempted to enter. He then raced back to his van, drove to the printer's house, climbed in the back and waited for morning. He dozed quite heavily and awoke early, as he was inclined to do in the back of the chilly van. Stretching, he climbed out and went and knocked loudly on the cottage door.

Sid himself opened the door, his face disagreeable. 'You're an early bird, aren't you? Have you got the money then?'

'Twenty-two quid,' Fintan said.

'Well done!'

Fintan shrugged, 'I didn't want to be greedy.'

'Ok, give it here then,' Sid said taking the money. 'We still need a photo for your passport.'

'Where would I get that then?'

Sid laughed. 'You're like a little lost lamb you are. But no worries. I can do that for you.'

'Fine.'

Sid took him around the back of the cottage to the printing shed. He got Fintan to stand against a grey piece of muslin opposite a large Leica camera on a tripod. Sid quickly organised the mounted tungsten photoflood lamps standing nearby and glared at Fintan for a moment. 'You're not supposed to smile,' he said.

Fintan's face became serious.

'Perfect,' Sid said quickly taking a couple of shots. 'Right, I'll develop these and then stick them in your passport, but it will take me a couple of hours. Come back at five and everything will be ready.'

'Thanks a lot,' Fintan said. He glanced over to the table where his documents still lay from the other day. 'Are all those banknotes for _me_? Careless to leave them around like that!'

Sid nodded as he fiddled with the camera. 'No, they're perfectly safe here. No robber within fifty miles would dare steal from me! But try and break the notes down into real money. Go to a couple of shops and buy some stuff and get some real change back.'

'Can I have a couple now?' Fintan asked as he drifted over to the table.

'Take them all and let me know how you get on,' Sid replied. 'They're my latest print run with improvements. I'm using a better calfskin.'

Fintan nodded and picked up the wad of counterfeit money. It felt good in his hands. 'Christ there's a lot here. Oh, and I have one more question, where's the nearest army barracks, I'd like to join up.'

Sid gave Fintan a peculiar look. 'Join up? A Fenian like you? Are you mad?'

'I'm supposed to be Hugh Edwards, remember? I just need to bide my time for a while.'

Sid frowned. 'Any particular reason?'

'Yes,' Fintan said and gave Sid a wink. 'But at my age they are not going to send me to war, are they?'

'That depends on how desperate they are,' Sid answered. 'But a big lad like you is bound to land on his feet in the army. You'll be marching the squaddies around the parade ground before you know it. That is, if they don't cotton on to who you really are. Just try not to talk in your sleep!'

'Well, if they plan to send me overseas I'll go AWOL.'

Sid laughed. 'You can always come back here. I'll put you up. I reckon you and me could be partners. In my game, I hear a lot of things I do. I could put you on to some regular capers.'

Fintan nodded. 'Thanks, that's nice to know. So, any idea where I could sign up, for the army I mean?'

Sid scratched his neck. 'Well I do know of an army base. It's a bit...I don't know how to describe it. Drewstaignton Barracks it's called, not far away. I'll show you on a map. I've heard that all the boffins go there to conduct weird and wonderful experiments. Used to be a regular barracks, I've heard. Not anymore though.'

Fintan nodded with approval. 'Sounds right up my street.'

'Hmm, and keep that money well hidden,' Sid cautioned him. 'And if your questioned, you've never heard of me!'

'That goes without saying!' Fintan replied.

***

Sitting at home, Geoffrey Beresford opened a new packet of Rothmans Deluxe Pall Mall cigarettes and stuck one carelessly in his mouth. The aroma of fresh tobacco filled him with pleasant anticipation as he lit it up. He was a man who liked his creature comforts, which were a mainstay of his day to day existence. This included good food and wine, attractive available women, elegant suits and shoes from Saville Row. He also had a taste for fine art and expensive motor cars. These were the preoccupations and chattels which seem to give his life meaning. Literature and music were also among the things he indulged in, but these were mainly used as social props to impress others.

It seemed though, that even all these things were beginning to pall for him at the moment. Especially in the face of the breath-taking agendas of the German hierarchy, which were giving feudalism a new lease of life. London with its pricey gaiety was no longer sufficient to keep him engaged. He wanted a taste of conquest, perhaps even global conquest, perhaps even a taste of blood itself! It was his desire to be a 'player' and a major landowner and live in more palatial circumstances and have servants, or serfs preferably! It would be pleasurable for him, he fancied, to tread a common man's miserable head down into the dirt!

His flat in Pimlico was opulent enough, though it was still only a reflection of his relatively minor role in government. He regarded it as unworthy of a man of his value. He had no real say in the running of the country which is what he craved. Certainly, he could throw his weight around at the Home Office and bully soldiers and hire and fire drivers! Apart from that, he was nothing more than a well-paid factotum in his eyes.

He had briefly held a parliamentary seat ten years ago and lost it in a by-election, a defeat he had never recovered from. Power is what he really wanted, the kind of power and privileges the Nazis were handing out to their most trusted lieutenants. Their practice of 'disenfranchising and appropriating' people and property was something he heartily approved of. Somebody like Sir Hugh Kingston, who possibly had a Jewish background, would certainly be thrown out of his Mayfair house. It would then, very likely be handed over to someone more 'worthy'. Perhaps someone like himself.

As he sat smoking his third cigarette, Beresford could easily visualise drastic changes taking place in Britain. These would abolish socialist liberalism and ordinary freedoms in favour of more elitism and control. The monarchy would still have its place in the new Britain. However, the realm would elevate a new class of citizen who were equally entitled to drink at the golden trough. When the time came, Beresford would have his plans in place for the removal of certain establishment figures like Sir Hugh. He was presently among the favourites and part of the British 'inner circle'. It was haloed ground, and the place where Beresford so desperately wanted to be. In fact, as soon as the Germans landed on British soil, he would personally supervise the arrest and detention of his boss. This would be easy as Sir Hugh was an outspoken enemy of the Reich. Beresford twitched with a kind of inner glee as he contemplated all this and was greatly encouraged by press reports of German victories in Europe.

Though not a fan of Prime Minister Chamberlain, Beresford approved of his 'namby-pampy' dealings with Germany. They slowed down Britain's own rearmament program. The last thing Beresford wanted was a Britain which could actually defend itself against German aggression. If he, himself was still in parliament, he would be arguing for more rapprochement.

The phone rang as he was about to light up his fifth cigarette. It was Major Alderton phoning from the Drewstaignton Barracks.

'Sir, just a brief call if I may,' Alderton said. 'Will you be coming up on the Monday as arranged? Dr Rimsky has consented to conduct the sessions with Mrs Alice Green right away, and we were wondering if you'll be present. I realise you've had difficulties. How's the wound getting along, sir?'

'It's healing Major,' Beresford replied. 'And how's Mrs Green doing? Still denying culpability?'

'We'll soon knock that nonsense out of her, Mr Beresford. We've already been testing the method on some volunteer squaddies. Got them even to forget their own names in some cases. I can see this program being used in all sorts of scenarios!'

Beresford nodded at this. 'Now that is precisely where I'm coming from. Might be a way of getting the ordinary man in the street to be a bit more compliant. Could the stuff be put in the water supply?'

There was an amused guffaw at the end of the phone. 'Not in its present form, sir. But the induction script could certainly be broadcast, of that I am sure. We will also be using a trial version of Sodium Thiopental, so I understand. Dr Rimsky calls it Sodium T3. It's related to Sodium Pentothal, the truth serum. But it can induce medical comas, so we need to be careful.'

'Might be embarrassing if Mrs Green snuffs it in captivity,' Beresford commented.

'I'm pretty sure Dr Rimsky knows what he's doing,' the Major said. 'After all, it's his scientific baby.'

'Good. Listen, I actually doubt that I'll be able to make it,' Beresford explained. 'I'm not travelling well at the moment. The slightest pothole causes agony. Could you arrange to have the sessions recorded?'

'That will be taking place anyway, sir.'

'Fine. And get Rimsky to dig into the woman's past,' Beresford suggested. 'There's a grey area just before she entered service with the Collendons. I want to know where she was born, who her parents were, biographical stuff like that. What makes her tick! I have just been informed that she previously had a husband who died under mysterious circumstances! Makes me wonder whether she was involved in some way. I will be sending up a short report of these new findings for Rimsky to look at. Hopefully, he already has my other notes regarding Green's adopted child. That could be a good emotional lever, don't you think? Get him to explore as much as possible, and then see if it can be used to suit out agenda. But the main thing is to make sure she tows the line when she's out!'

'Righty ho, sir,' the Major in a cheerful voice. 'Ok, so we'll proceed as soon as Rimsky is ready.'

'ASAP,' Beresford said. 'Obviously don't release her into the wild yet until I give the go-ahead. I want to make sure this isn't going to backfire on us. And just between you and me, I am particularly keen to keep Lady Marcia Petrie and her bleeding hearted husband out of the picture. Bloody nuisances, the pair of them. Just because they own a couple of newspapers, they seem to think the government is fair game!'

'Martial law will be in full force, sir.'

'Good show Major,' Beresford said with satisfaction. 'Go to it!'

***

Dr Rimsky was a tall very thin man with a grey moustache in his fifties wearing a white overall. Without introducing himself, he took Alice's hand and said, 'Ah Alice. Nice to see you!' He led her to a comfortable chair with straps on the arms and asked her to sit while he fiddled with some glass phials on a nearby table.

Alice looked around the room. There were four other men and a female nurse. Of the men, two were soldiers and two were men in suits. They were all watching Alice in an interested way. In front of her was a large white screen, and just to her left on a small table was a projector. There were also some headphones lying next to it, and a microphone on a stand connected to a tape recorder.

Dr Rimsky smiled as he came around to face her and in an accented voice said, 'My name is Dr Rimsky and I want to thank you for taking part in our little experiment. Don't worry, nothing will hurt. We just want to test your responses to certain stimuli. You are doing your country proud by taking part, and I want to thank you again. After our sessions, which will probably take three days in all, you will be free to leave, subject to certain conditions of course. I understand you are familiar with these conditions?'

Alice nodded. She was feeling slightly nervous. 'What are you going to do to me?'

'We're not going to _do anything_ to you as such,' Rimsky answered with a chuckle. 'We are simply going to gently relax you and then ask you some questions. But we might need to use a relaxant to help you along.'

'A relaxant?'

'Yes, like a sedative,' Rimsky assured her. 'It will relax your nerves. But I will have to inject it. Don't worry, the hypodermic we will be using is of the latest design and has a very fine needle. Now as you can see the chair has straps, but we won't be using them, unless of course it is for your own safety. If you struggle or get distressed or anything like that, we might have to use them.'

Alice's eyes widened slightly as she looked at the leather straps hanging off the arms of the chair. 'Alright.'

'Now,' Rimsky said. 'Do you like music?'

'I don't mind it,' she replied. 'Depends what kind.'

'Well, for this session we will be playing only soothing music. So, we have chosen Peer Gynt for you to listen to. And at the same time, we are going to project some nice colourful photographs on the screen in front of you with the projector. And so, we will be turning the lights down slightly. Shall we begin?'

Alice shrugged. 'If you want.'

Rimsky smiled and signalled for the overhead lights to be turned down. The room went quiet save for the whirring of the projector and the faint sound of music being piped to the head phones. The screen in front of her was illuminated though still blank.

'If you don't mind, the nurse will put the headphones on you in a moment, so that you can hear the music a bit better. I will also be speaking to you through a microphone over here behind you. You can answer via your own little microphone which is attached to the headphones. Is that all right?'

Alice sighed heavily. 'And you're going to give me a needle first?'

'Yes, straight away if you don't mind,' Rimsky explained. 'But you will hardly feel it. Now please sit back and make yourself comfortable. Think of this as a little pleasant adventure with nothing to be concerned about or afraid of.'

Alice placed her neck against the head rest and was surprised at how comfortable the chair was. She also found the room to be quite warm. On the face of things, there didn't appear to be anything to worry about.

Rimsky inserted a small hypodermic into a phial to make an extraction. He filled the hypodermic up to the top with a colourless liquid. Then he went over and stood next to Alice's right arm. 'Now, we will just give you the sedative first and then we'll put the headphones on you and you can watch the show,'

Alice warily stared at the needle. The nurse came over and prepared Alice's arm for the shot. The smell of ether rose from the cotton that the nurse was holding. Rimsky then passed her the needle and without pausing, the nurse expelled some of the trapped air and immediately injected Alice's arm. Alice winced involuntarily. The doctor was right. It didn't hurt at all.

Rimsky smiled at her as he gently placed the headphones on her head. The pleasant sound of classical music filled her ears. Alice stared at the screen in front of her which now showed mountains and a river in full colour.

Rimsky went back to the main table behind Alice's head, waited for half a minute and then spoke into the microphone. 'If you can hear my voice raise your right finger.'

Alice raised her right index finger as she concentrated on the scene in front of her. Within seconds she began to feel quite wonderfully relaxed. The sensation deepened, and she was inclined to close her eyes.

'Alice,' Rimsky said. 'You will now feel more and more relaxed, but you will resist the temptation to fall asleep. You will feel very at ease, but your head will be clear. And lots of things that you might have forgotten in the past will now be easy to remember. Also, when you are released you will forget you were ever here. You will also be good and keep to your conditions and tell no one about any of this. You can reply to me now if you wish, and the microphone on the headset will pick up your voice. How do you feel?'

'I feel sleepy,' she answered.

'Sleepy, yes,' Rimsky said into his microphone. 'But your eyes will remain open as you look at the screen. How old are you Alice?'

'Thirty-eight,' she replied.

Rimsky glanced at his colleagues. 'Well that's strange because we have your age on our records as forty-three.'

'Yes, I meant forty-three,' she corrected herself. She blinked as a momentary confusion came over her.

'You seem unsure, Alice?'

'No.'

'Ok. Alice, now, can you tell us a little bit about yourself?'

Alice was staring at the images on the screen, her eyes tired and unable to close. She was finding it hard to articulate her words. 'What do you want to know?'

'Do you have any relatives in Germany?'

Alice mumbled something inaudibly and then said, 'Yes.'

'Do you keep in contact with them?'

'No.'

'But there is someone that you _do_ keep in contact with, isn't there?' Rimsky said in a sly voice.

Alice tried to sit up. A wooziness made her feel disorientated. 'I might be.'

'Who is it?' Rimsky asked. 'Who is it that you keep writing to in Ireland?'

Alice was silent for a moment and then said in a low voice, 'My daughter's foster mother.'

'What was that, Alice? Could you speak up?'

' _My daughter, Marjie_ 's foster mother.'

'That's right. Because Marjie, your daughter, was fostered out when she was a child,' Rimsky said almost in a sing song voice. 'Did you think that we would never find out about that? That we wouldn't read your letters when you were in prison?'

'I don't know,' Alice answered. The room around her appeared to be changing shape, getting bigger. She squinted as she tried to focus on the screen.

'Now, I would like you to tell us your _real_ name,' Rimsky said. 'We all know what it really is.'

'My real name? It's Alice.'

'Alice what? It isn't really Green is it?'

'I was born Alice Green.'

'But then your name changed didn't it?' Rimsky said. 'We made some enquiries and we discovered something interesting about you. About your daughter's father.'

'Oh,' she answered, her voice a monotone. She could no longer resist the pull of Dr Rimsky's voice. 'I married him...in secret. My name is really...Alice Clawe.'

'Yes, that's right. And Lord and Lady Collendon never knew that, did they?'

'No, I married Stuart when I worked for Lord Fenwicke.'

'And sadly, your husband, Stuart Clawe died, didn't he?

Alice wanted to resist but couldn't. 'Yes.'

'What did he die of?'

She became restless. 'Sickness, I think.'

'And how did that come about?' Rimsky asked.

Alice clenched her fists. 'I'm not sure.'

' _I think you know more than what you're telling_ ,' Rimsky said.

'No.'

'You do!'

' _I don't, I don't_!' Alice said becoming agitated and abruptly pulling the headphones off her head and jumping out of the chair. She quickly lost balance and fell towards the projector screen. The nurse rushed over and grabbed her arm, and then Alice's legs collapsed under her.

Rimsky smiled. 'I think that will be all for today,' he said to his colleagues.

The nurse took her out of the room.

One of the men observing said, 'Bit of resistance there!'

'This is quite normal for a subject like her,' Rimsky said. 'Actually, I think we've made some progress!' He licked his lips. 'She submitted to me even without full induction. She is very suggestible. I think when she is released you will have no fear of her reneging on her conditions. After a couple more sessions, she will in effect, _belong to you! I guarantee it!'_

***

There were two loud raps on the front door and Marjorie Accling wondered who on earth it could be. When she opened it, she found a high-spirited Brenda Clough holding a letter.

'Me cousin wrote back straight away,' she said.

Marjorie let her in. 'So, it's on then?'

'Oh yeah, my cousin Gail is so excited. Says we can go whenever.'

'That's good,' Marjorie said her stomach turning over nervously. 'We can't back out now then!'

They went into the kitchen where Mrs Accling was sitting by the fire with some knitting. 'Hello, Brenda!' she said with a smile.

'Looks like we're going,' Marjorie said. The girls sat down around the kitchen table.

'Did your cousin write back then?' Mrs Accling asked. 'That was quick!'

'I got it by return of post,' Brenda said. 'Seems really keen to see us. But she was also wondering if we could lend her a few pounds! Sorry to ask you.'

Mrs Accling's face became suspicious. 'A few pounds? That explains why she wrote back so quickly. How much would she be wanting?'

'Five would do nicely!' Brenda said.

'Five pounds!' Mrs Accling replied in a shocked voice. 'I could give her two, seeing that she's putting you up!'

'Thank you, Mrs Accling!' Brenda said. 'So, I'll pack my bag then. My dad seems happy that I'm going.'

'Does he now?' Mrs Accling replied with a smile.

'Yes, and he also said a funny thing,' Brenda said. 'When I told him where we were going to see Marjorie's long-lost aunt who's a cook, he said he read something. It was in the papers about a cook at a manor house in England who poisoned somebody.'

Mrs Accling nodded. 'You don't think Marjorie's aunt is the same women, do you?'

'Of course not,' Brenda replied.

'Well, I've not heard the story, have you Marjorie?' Mrs Accling said. 'We don't read the papers.'

'No,' Marjorie said. 'What was the women's name?'

'I haven't a clue,' Brenda said. 'But suppose she was the same women. Would you still want to go?'

'Of course not,' Marjorie said. 'She would be the last person I would want to visit!'

'Perhaps you can find out what her name is?' Mrs Accling suggested.

'I'll ask my da' again,' Brenda said. ' _He's got a wonderful memory for names_!'

***

Fintan knew that he hadn't thought it through properly, though he couldn't see any other way forward. Joining the army seemed the only way out of his immediate predicament. He might have abandoned England altogether and crossed the channel if only there wasn't the threat of war. He had also heard stories back at Tennyson House of how Jews and gypsies had been interned in camps by the Nazis. The news coverage of this was sparse, though enough to convince him that smuggling himself across to France might be unwise.

He could of course continue to get by, now that he had a wad of forged money. Perhaps he could rent a house somewhere off the beaten track, though, he knew his own nature. He would grow restless and the money would soon run out. And as tempting as Sid's offer was of a 'partnership', he knew that eventually it would get him into more hot water. It seemed, after going over it for the twentieth time, that the army would be the perfect place to go and hide. The police would be looking for him in civvy street. Surely, they would never think to look for him as a volunteer soldier. He would be hidden in plain sight! As he sat in his van counting the wad of five-pound notes Sid had given him, he smiled to himself. He was convinced the idea was quite a brilliant one. It would only backfire if he was actually expected to take up arms and do some fighting. If that were the case, he would go absent without leave.

Sid had drawn a crude map of Exeter circling the location of Drewstaignton Barracks. He also gave Fintan some worldly advice. 'Just stick to your story,' Sid had said. 'But I know why you're going. It's to hide out isn't it? Well, that's none of my business. The army loves a recruit. At first, at any rate. So, behave yourself, don't give them any back chat and you'll be fine. And don't forget. _No talking in your sleep_!'

Fintan carefully packed his money away in a small leather bag and then set out for Drewstaignton in his van. He was there within the hour and pulled boldly up at the barrier to the barracks. A large sign merely said:

'MOD DREWSTAIGNTON.'

The young helmeted soldier on guard duty, holding a rifle, came out of the hut and approached him. ' _Can I help you mate?'_

Fintan took a deep breath, got into character as Hugh Edwards from Baltimore and rolled down the window. 'I'm looking for a job,' he said in his best American accent.

The soldier looked back at him blankly. 'Job? Do you mean you want to sign up?'

'I guess so,' Fintan answered.

'Well, you've come to the wrong place,' the soldier said. 'This isn't a regular barracks.'

'Oh,' Fintan replied. 'Well, anything will do. I could work as a mechanic.'

The soldier frowned. 'What's your name?'

'Fintan...'

'What?'

'I mean, Hugh Edwards,' Fintan replied quickly correcting himself. 'I'm from Baltimore, USA.'

'A yank, eh? Right. Pull your van over there and I'll get the sergeant!'

Fintan reversed the van under a tree next to the main barracks' entrance. The sentry went back to his hut and dialled through to the main office. After a brief conversation he came back out and walked up to the van again. 'A sergeant is coming out to see you, wait there!'

Fintan bit his bottom lip as he considered what he had done. He could still drive off and be none the worse for it. Then, where would he go? After a long five minutes, his thoughts were interrupted. A tough-looking sergeant in his forties with arm bands, white socks and a peak cap was staring at him.

'Did you say that you're looking for a job as a mechanic?' the sergeant said in a gruff voice.

'If there's one to spare,' Fintan answered.

'What's in the van?' the sergeant asked.

'Nothing much.'

'Could you open up the back and show me? You can't be too careful nowadays.'

Fintan hopped out of his seat and obliged the soldier. There was very little in the van apart from a few belongings, some blankets and tools.

The sergeant nodded his head. 'Alright. As it happens there are a few jobs going.'

'Thank you, sir,' Fintan answered.

'And there's one in particular,' the sergeant said studying Fintan carefully. 'Bring your van through to the parking area and then we'll have a little chat. We might be able to sign you up even, if you're interested!'

'That sounds good,' Fintan said starting up the van again.

The barrier of the barracks swung open with a thud. Fintan followed the sergeant's directions and pulled his van into an area where other civilian vehicles were parked. The sergeant then beckoned him over to the main building. He was shown into a small office where several other men sat bent over untidy desks. Everyone looked up as Fintan came in.

The sergeant smiled at his colleagues as he sat behind a desk. 'Got a new recruit here. A nice big lad from America. Have a seat, Mr?'

' _Hugh Edwards_ ,' Fintan said with a self-conscious smile. He took a chair opposite the sergeant who removed his cap and put it on the desk. 'So, you're American then?'

'Yes, from Baltimore.'

'And what are you doing over here, then?'

'Well, looking for opportunity,' Fintan said improvising on the spot. 'I was hoping to start my own garage, but I haven't got the funds.'

The sergeant nodded. 'I see.'

Fintan's face was blank. 'But I need something in the meantime to tie me over.'

'Good with cars then, are you?'

'I would say, yes,' Fintan replied.

'Thing is,' the sergeant said leaning back in his chair. 'We don't normally just hand out jobs. When you work for the army, you have to be sworn to secrecy and so we need to sign you up! And that means a commitment of at least a few years. You can't just leave when you want like an ordinary job. That's not how it's done.'

Fintan nodded.

'Now in the Army, we appreciate natural fitness,' the sergeant said. 'And it's obvious to me that you're quite a strong lad. Funnily enough, General Walters _is_ actually looking for a new batman, and you might just be the person for the job.'

'I'm sorry sir, did you say batman?'

'That's right, it's an orderly. You'd be like the general's personal...well dogsbody really. How does that sound? He's also keen on chaps who can handle themselves. How old are you?'

'Thirty-five,' Fintan answered. 'So, I would have to sign up for a couple of years then?'

'I'm afraid so, three at least, and if you really like it we can extend it for you. The pay's okay, you get housed, fed and clothed and you'll learn a lot. Plus, when you leave we'll even give you a small pension. You'll also have some savings to start your business. Now that's quite good going if you ask me.'

Fintan pulled a thoughtful face as he considered what the sergeant was saying. 'Well, alright. Three years will go by in a flash!'

'There's one drawback though,' the sergeant said. 'You may look like a fit lad, but you'll still have to have a medical, to check your eyesight and what have you.'

'No problem, sir.'

'Good lad, I can book you in for this afternoon if you like, and we'll find out if you're up to the mark! And if you are, then we'll do the rest of the paperwork!'

***

Convalescing was not something Beresford enjoyed doing. In fact, it was beginning to get on his nerves so much that he began pestering his doctor to give him a clean bill of health. He was literally itching to return to work. Reluctantly his doctor agreed, and Beresford turned up at the office two days later to an awkward reception. The security man on the door of the Home Office building was less friendly than usual which Beresford found odd. Thoughtfully, he jogged up the stairs and entered his department's main door. He was alarmed to see three men standing in his office at the end of the corridor, going through his files.

He walked smartly up to his office door. ' _What the hell are you doing?_ ' he demanded in a loud angry voice. ' _Put those files down and get out now!_ Who gave you the authority to go snooping around my things?'

The men looked around unconcerned. 'You need to speak to Sir Hugh,' one calmly replied.

' _I bloody well will_!' Beresford answered, striding back down the corridor and up the stairs to his boss's office. Sir Hugh was dictating something to his secretary when Beresford burst into his plush booklined office.

'Ah, Geoffrey, just the man!' Sir Hugh said in his usual urbane manner ignoring Beresford's rude entrance.

Beresford found Sir Hugh's pleasantness bewildering. 'Sir, with respect, I understand you've authorised a raid on my private files?'

'Hardly a raid, Geoffrey, sit down, have some tea!' Sir Hugh looked up at his departing secretary. 'Bring Geoffrey a cup of tea, would you?'

Beresford sat down in the chair opposite Sir Hugh's desk feeling quite angry. 'Would you mind telling me what's going on? Am I fired?'

'Fired? Don't be ridiculous,' Sir Hugh said in the warmest possible voice. 'No, the problem was you were off sick, and I needed to be brought up to speed on the Green case.'

'Well, the memos I've sent you should have done, sir!' Beresford replied. 'Is there a problem?'

Sir Hugh scratched his prominent nose and clasped his hands together. 'There are always pressures. And the infernal arm of the press barons is reaching further and further into territory which really is none of their concern. But what's happened to Mrs Green is still creating flack. Two articles in the Socialist Calendar were picked up by the mainstream press, calling our bureaucracy to account for brutish Nazi-like thuggery! Can you believe that! I have a copy of the paper here.'

'The Socialist Calendar is a joke, sir!' Beresford said with a chortle. 'Lord Petrie's rag is just a rabble-rousing rumour sheet! And _Lord Petrie is a traitor_!'

'Well that's what he's calling _you_ , old boy,' Sir Hugh said picking up the Socialist Calendar on his desk. 'I quote, ' _Hanging out with the Nazis, Mr Beresford, isn't really the thing to do when we could be on a war footing_!'

'Let me see that,' Beresford said grabbing the paper. 'Who's hanging out with the Nazis? In my capacity, I naturally have contacts from a broad spectrum of organisations and nations. And we're not quite at war with Germany yet and it may still be averted!'

'Yes, yes, but it isn't good to be so openly friendly with potential adversaries,' Sir Hugh said. 'I think Petrie has got it in for you and will keep reminding everyone who your foreign friends are. At some point you will probably have to make a statement.'

'A statement?' Beresford's face reddened. 'That's tantamount to justifying one's actions. It's almost like making an apology.'

Sir Hugh shrugged. 'Then be more discreet. I heard that some German colonel popped in to see you at the Whitechapel hospital the other day.'

'Yes, he was here on embassy business,' Beresford replied.

'He's not an official at the consulate, is he? What did he want?'

'The Germans tend to have their own special way of dealing with domestic and foreign admin,' Beresford said as the office door suddenly opened. He looked up at the secretary as she came in again with the tea and biscuits on a silver tray. She set them on the desk and left the room.

Beresford turned to Sir Hugh. 'Tell me please, am I under some sort of investigation? I heard a rumour to that effect.'

Sir Hugh's face remained impassive. 'Surely you know by now that Whitehall is always full of such rumours.'

'This one came from the MOD.'

'Well, there _are_ concerns,' Sir Hugh said. 'But at some time or other everyone falls under a certain amount of scrutiny. My advice to you is, be less accessible to the Germans. Don't go on any more Berlin junkets and stop trying to learn the bloody language.'

Beresford nodded and took a sip of his hot tea. 'I won't be doing _that_ for a while. Not since my German tutor tried to shoot me! So, what you're saying, sir, is that as far as you're concerned, I'm not under investigation?'

'Frankly I can't say because I don't know,' Sir Hugh said. 'I'm not investigating you. But it's a bit like the tide and it's starting to lap at my office door. I can't have that. Also, I gather you're subjecting Mrs Green to some sort of experimental therapy?'

'It's perfectly harmless.'

'Geoffrey, if it's Frankensteinian in any way, and if Petrie picks up on it, he _will_ run it for all it's worth!'

'We have a psychologist called Rimsky who knows what he's doing,' Beresford explained.

Sir Hugh laughed. 'A psychologist called Rimsky? Petrie will love that.'

'He won't find out.'

Sir Hugh leaned forward and looked Beresford in the eyes. 'Good! Just keep it under wraps! If word of what you are doing gets out, _we'll all be up for some experimental therapy!'_

***

'Session two, conducted by me, Dr Evgeni Rimsky, with the subject, Mrs Alice Green at MOD Drewstaignton, 14th of October, ten am,' Rimsky said into his microphone. Alice was again seated in the leather chair with the headphones on her head, her eyes were slightly out of focus. There was also a nurse and a couple of male observers in the room.

The projector noisily flashed a series of bright images of family life on the screen in front of her. Alice gazed at it without blinking.

'So, Alice, how are you today? Are you well?' Rimsky asked in a friendly way into his microphone.

'Yes, I suppose.'

'We'll be giving you another injection in a moment.'

'Ok,' Alice said.

'Just keep your eyes focused on the screen in front of you,' Rimsky said in a pleasant voice. 'Now remember the last time? We talked about your family life? The fact that you were married and that you had a daughter? Remember?'

'Yes.'

'Have you ever been in direct contact with her?'

'No.'

'Never written to her directly or spoken to her on the phone?'

'Never.'

'What do you think she would say if she knew that you had been convicted of poisoning a man?'

Alice's eyes closed and then opened again. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

'I know this is an unpleasant subject,' Rimsky said. 'But I think she would be a bit upset about it, don't you?'

There was a long pause. 'Probably,' she replied.

'What do you know about poisonous substances?' Rimsky asked.

'I don't.'

'Look, you can admit it to me. The court was right to convict you of poisoning Dr Fefferberg, wasn't it?'

'No.'

'If you did, then where did you get your knowledge about poisons from?'

'I didn't!'

'There's a herb garden in the grounds of Tennyson House, isn't there?' Rimsky said altering the tone of his voice. 'Did anything noxious grow in it?'

'I don't know what you mean,' Alice replied. She was beginning to get restless.

'Okay,' Rimsky said signalling the nurse. 'Alice, we're now going to give you another injection. But don't worry, this one won't make you feel as tired as before.'

Alice sighed heavily. The official observers in the room looked at each other. The nurse quickly rolled up Alice's sleeve and administered the hypodermic. Alice remained still.

'Alright, Alice?' Rimsky said.

Alice shrugged.

'We're going to wait thirty seconds,' Rimsky told her.

'What have you given me?' Alice asked.

'It helps people tell the truth,' Rimsky said. 'Sometimes they don't even want to admit the truth to themselves. It's very fast acting.'

Alice shivered and sunk back in the chair.

'Now, Alice, keep your eyes open,' Rimsky said in a monotonous voice. _'Keep your eyes open!_ '

Alice's eyes remained glazed as she stared at the projector screen.

'Was there anything in the herb garden at Tennyson House that you used to poison Dr Fefferberg?' Rimsky asked.

Alice's body seemed to tighten.

'Alice, please answer me?' Rimsky said. 'We know you did it. And it is well known that certain flowers are poisonous if eaten. And so are certain herbs. But you knew that.'

'No, Alice said.

'Come come Alice. You're a cook, surely you know that there are things in the garden which can be quite deadly. It's common knowledge.'

'I suppose so,' she said her eyes blinking.

'So, you admit that you do know?' Rimsky said with persistence.

'I may have heard something about it,' she answered.

'Good,' Rimsky said glancing at his colleagues. 'So, now please tell me, did you also poison your former husband, Stuart Clawe? He died under unusual circumstances, didn't he?'

Alice began to work her mouth as if struggling to suppress something.

'You're among friends now,' Rimsky said. 'You can tell us. Nothing will happen to you. We won't report you to the police or anything like that. Did you poison your ex-husband?'

'No!' Alice finally managed to say. Her eyes closed for a moment. 'No, no.'

'I don't think you're being entirely honest with us, Alice,' Rimsky said. 'We need to know. We are simply trying to understand what happened to get to know you better.'

Alice began to shake her head, her mouth remaining tightly closed. 'Please...please I...'

'You what? What are you trying to tell us Alice?'

Alice shook her head and then ripped off the headphones. 'Please stop! I want to go back to my room now. Please, my head hurts!'

Rimsky nodded to the nurse. 'Alright, that will be all for today. We'll pick it up tomorrow. Nurse would you be good enough to take Mrs Green back to her quarters?'

The nurse gently helped Alice get off the chair and walked her out of the room.

The two male observers from the Home Office seemed concerned. 'She's a bit of a tough nut, isn't she?' one of the seated men said.

'Tomorrow we will increase the dosage,' Rimsky said. 'Clearly, we are dealing with an issue which is quite traumatic for her, and so resistance is normal.'

'Beresford won't be too pleased,' one of the men said.

'We are only just beginning,' Rimsky said in a reassuring voice. 'We have to take things gradually. Eventually we will reach a point where the subject tells all. In fact, it will even be hard to get them to stop talking. Once we get control of her mind, she'll be easier to control in the community. Just be patient, I promise!'

***

'You _will_ be alright, won't you?' Mrs Accling said for the third time as she hugged her daughter.

Marjorie and Brenda were all packed and waiting at the front door for a taxi to take them to Aughrim railway station. They had to ask the landlord at the pub to order the taxi for them. There was a bit of a wind blowing which made the girls shiver as they waited on the doorstep.

'I hope it's warmer in England,' Brenda said as she pulled down her coat sleeves.

'Hmm,' Mrs Accling replied. 'Now getting there shouldn't be a problem. Train to Dublin and then ferry to Liverpool, and then Lime Street Station to London Bridge. Just don't talk to any strangers.'

'Mother you need to have a bit more faith in me,' Marjorie said. 'I _do_ go drinking in pubs, you know.'

Her mother shook her head. 'As if I approve of that!'

'It's not like I'm going on my own,' Marjorie said. 'And Brenda knows where to kick a man if she has to.'

Brenda laughed. 'I won't take any nonsense, Mrs Accling!'

Mrs Accling sighed and swivelled her eyes towards the grey sky. 'Well, just sit with the other women, and you'll be alright. So, you're just staying a couple of weeks at most, then?'

'Yes, mother,' Marjorie replied with a sigh.

'My cousin won't mind, as long as we muck in!' Brenda replied.

Mrs Accling nodded and then glanced up towards the street. 'Oh, your taxi's here. Now have you got enough money?'

' _Yes, mother, yes!_ ' Marjorie said picking up her small suitcase.

'Drop me a letter to let me know you arrived safely.'

'I'll phone our neighbour and she'll let you know,' Marjorie said.

Suddenly Mrs Accling became tearful as she gave her daughter one more hug. She quickly kissed Brenda on the cheek. 'Now look after her won't you Brenda?'

'We'll look after each other, Mrs Accling!'

The black taxi rolled up in front of the house and the driver, wearing a flat cap, got out and put the cases in the taxi hold. The two girls climbed on board and Marjorie wound down the window and waved to her mother. 'Don't worry, ma', we'll be alright!' She had to suppress a sob herself.

Mrs Accling removed a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. 'I must have been mad to agree to this.'

Marjorie shook her head. 'W _e'll be back before you know it_!'

Chapter Fourteen

General Walters had a perfectly erect back. It was rumoured that this was the reason he had been so quickly promoted through the ranks of the army. He was standing now, his back as straight as a rod, thoughtfully stroking his small neat grey moustache. He was carefully surveying the almost gorilla-like figure of Fintan O'Brian, dressed in temporary army uniform, towering over him.

'Ever done any boxing?' the General asked in his ultra-cultured voice. 'And you'll have to speak up, I am a bit hard of hearing.'

'No sir,' Fintan replied in his false America accent.

'So, you're from Baltimore, eh?' the General said as he slowly walked up to Fintan. 'It's a fine city. I know it fairly well. There are quite a few military bases in the area and I once had a posting there.'

Fintan nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'And that famous bridge, what _is_ the name, I've quite forgotten it?'

Fintan took a gulp. 'You mean...the Baltimore Bridge, sir?'

'Yes, crossing the...erm Papsico, no the Patapsco,' the General said with a frown.

'It's...a fine bridge to see, sir.'

'Yes, that's it, _The Key_ ,' the General said with a broad smile. 'The Key Bridge, that's the name, well done! So, what brings you to old Blighty?'

'I was looking for an opportunity.'

'Well, you'll certainly find it in the army, Edwards,' the General said. 'Actually, I don't know if the sergeant mentioned it to you, but I am looking for an assistant. I already have an aide-de-camp who does my paperwork and general correspondence. But I also need a batman, just like in the olden days. My last helper unfortunately was transferred for personal reasons. He was also a big lad like you. How does that sound to you? And between you and me, it's probably the safest job in the army. You wouldn't be expected to do any fighting if war breaks out! You'll be looking after _me!_ '

'It sounds perfect, sir.'

'Good, good,' the General said patting Fintan on the shoulder. 'Not that I approve of shirkers and cowards mind you. But it's pretty obvious to me that _you_ wouldn't be shy if push came to shove.'

'No sir, I've been in a few fights in my time.'

'I gathered as much,' General said going behind his desk. 'Have you seen your accommodation yet?'

'No sir,' Fintan replied. 'I've just had a medical and the sergeant then did all the paperwork, checked my ID and what-have-you, and then we had lunch.'

'Well, you won't be going into the normal barracks. You'll have a room close to my private quarters. I understand you don't have anywhere to live in civvy street?'

'I have a house in Cornwall,' Fintan said, almost believing it himself. 'But I've...let it out.'

The General nodded approvingly. 'Now that's what I call being enterprising. I think you and I are going to get on marvellously. The sergeant will brief you on your duties and you'll also get extra food rations. You'll be eating what I'll be eating basically. But army food is plentiful anyway, and you can always have seconds.'

'So I noticed, sir,' Fintan replied. 'I had two helpings of treacle pudding earlier.'

General Walters laughed. 'Good! Well, that will be all then, Edwards. I'll get a private to take you back to the office for your briefing.'

Fintan saluted awkwardly, 'Thank you, sir.'

The General nodded with a frown. 'And we'll be teaching you how to salute properly as well!'

A private took Fintan across the parade ground back to the main office at a smart walk. Fintan observed the natural way the private had broken into a march. Fintan tried to keep up with him.

As he was studying the soldier's gait, he thought he heard a sound as if someone was tapping on a window. He looked around without locating the source of the noise as he continued to follow the private. His thoughts were focussed on making a good impression and settling in. He just hoped he wasn't going to be found out.

***

Alice's face was all aglow. She had just seen Fintan from her window, wearing a uniform and marching across the parade ground with another soldier. She had banged excitedly on the glass to get his attention. To her chagrin, he appeared not to have heard her, though turning his head and looking in the wrong direction.

But what was he doing here? And why was he wearing an army uniform? Had he been called up? Perhaps he had sneaked into the army to see her? Alice's spirits rose at the thought that somebody from Tennyson House might have ventured to find her. Her reverie was dashed when two soldiers came to her room to take her for another session with Dr Rimsky.

***

Geoffrey Beresford was not normally a man easily given to paranoia, though his mind was now riddled with suspicions. His gut feeling told him in unequivocal terms that Sir Hugh Kingston was not being entirely honest with him. There was something going on behind the scenes and Sir Hugh was definitely involved. Beresford could tell from the way Sir Hugh had dealt with him when he complained about his files being riffled.

Beresford knew Sir Hugh prided himself on his natural skill at Whitehall gamesmanship. So, there was no doubt Sir Hugh was toying with him now and keeping him close to his chest. The old adage of keeping 'one's enemies' as close as possible was a universal principle in the world Sir Hugh circulated in. And this was one of the reasons why Beresford loathed him. Being taken for a fool by one's boss was one thing and being sold down the river was another. Beresford also knew Sir Hugh had very close personal ties with one of the heads of British Intelligence, Rupert Radcliffe, OBE. If there was a secret service involvement, Sir Hugh would know about it.

Beresford had been in his own office checking to see if any files had gone missing, then he sat down at his desk and buzzed his secretary. 'Any messages from Drewstaignton?'

'Yes, sir, came in fifteen minutes ago.'

'What is it then?' Beresford said with rude impatience.

'They want you to phone back as soon as possible.'

'Who does?'

'Major Alderton, sir.'

'Then why didn't you say so? Get him for me, would you?'

'Yes, sir,' she replied immediately dialling the army base.

Alderton's voice was guarded. 'Bad news I'm afraid. Mrs Green is apparently as tough as an old boot. She won't give in, and that's despite pumping her with enough solvent to kill three men.'

'I thought you said Rimsky was an expert at this sort of thing?' Beresford replied.

'He wrote the manual, sir,' Alderton said. 'And he is the acknowledged expert in soft interrogation tactics. But it doesn't seem to be working at the moment. Mrs Green just won't admit to certain key facts. She clams up when you mention Dr Fefferberg. It's almost as if she has been trained to resist interrogation overtures.'

Beresford almost fell off his chair. 'Did you say, _trained_?'

'Yes, sir.' Alderton said. 'This was a point brought up at her court hearing, I believe. It was being mooted she might have been a member of a resistance movement.'

'Yes, but that was just a load of old poppycock to get her convicted!' Beresford replied. 'Don't get carried away now, Major, she _is_ only a cook.'

'We don't think so.'

'And who is we?'

'Dr Rimsky and your Home Office observers.'

'Oh, for God sake, don't take any notice of _them_!' Beresford said taking an annoyed deep breath. 'She has been in domestic service all her life and it's quite well documented. And she's never been to Germany.'

'But she has German relatives, and she is Jewish,' Alderton said.

'Look, Major, the woman simply has a very thick skin, and it is just a question of time before she'll give in. And don't lose track of what we are trying to achieve here. The Germans put us in an awkward position. They wanted us to lock someone up and throw away the key for Fefferberg's death. But we also had to make concessions to Mrs Green's employer, Lord Collendon as well. So, when we release her, she needs to be _strictly_ controlled. If Rimsky can get her under his spell, then that will be ideal. If the Germans ever found out that we are going to let her go, it would throw a serious spanner in the diplomatic works. And my name will be mud!'

'Yes, sir,' Alderton said. 'There's also something else.'

'I'm all ears.'

'We had a visit from Lady Marcia Petrie.'

'What? You're joking? How did she find out that Mrs Green was there?'

'I haven't a clue, sir,' Alderton replied. 'She just turned up at the gate in her chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. It created quite a stir, I can tell you.'

'Did you let her in then?' Beresford asked almost not believing his own ears.

'Well, yes and she was seen by General Walters. He basically told her that she needed to get clearance from the Home Office before she could actually see Mrs Green.'

'Good, good,' Beresford answered. 'Well, I'm not going to grant it to her. It's as simple as that! What else did she say?'

'According to the General, she kept going on about Mrs Green's human rights.'

'Human rights?' Beresford said. 'What sort of modern new-fangled nonsense is that?'

Alderton was beginning to sound weary. 'I don't know, sir. I mean, we're all growing quite attached to Mrs Green, so she's not being mistreated.'

'Alright,' Beresford said in a down beat tone. 'Tell Rimsky we're counting on him, and I'll see what I can do about the pesky Petries. They're like a pair of unwanted...bloody mosquitos! I'll see if I can't slap a Defence Notice on her husband. A D-notice should keep him quiet even if it isn't presently legally enforceable! We'll put the squeeze on the Press Association too if we have to.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And let me know if you have any breakthroughs.'

'I certainly will, sir. I will be sending you some reports.'

***

Dr Rimsky was wearing, what the nurse once described, as his 'dog face'. This was a look the doctor wore when he was getting slightly out of his depth. He was beginning to feel subtle pressure from his colleagues, and especially from the Home Office men. Unless he delivered the 'goods' and got Mrs Green to become more pliable, he could lose his grant. Although he was employed on a part-time basis by the Ministry of Defence, he was also pursuing other projects on the side. As one of the chief scientists at the Brain Research Institute of East Anglia, he was involved in 'microwave pulse' mind control research. An ancillary to this involved a study of the effects of amnesia, and ways to induce it. On this occasion, however, microwave pulses would not be used on Alice as Rimsky was hoping for results with less sophisticated methods.

If he failed, there was a risk his funding would be withdrawn. It was therefore paramount that Alice succumbed to the 'therapy'. Most subjects responded and so it was a cause for concern that she didn't.

'Are you comfortable, Alive?' Rimsky asked at the start of a new session. The nurse and some observers were in attendance, and the projector had been turned on again in the slightly darkened room.

Alice nodded. She was sitting in the chair with her headphones on staring at the screen at some images of animals in the wild. It made her think of Fintan. 'Dr Rimsky can I ask you a question? Do I have any visitors?'

Rimsky was unprepared for the question. 'Visitors? Why do you ask?'

Alice frowned. 'I thought I saw someone I knew from my window.'

'I doubt that very much Alice,' Rimsky said. 'Just please concentrate on what we're doing. Now, you really must try a bit harder and tell us what we want to know. Today we are going to increase the dosage of the sedative that we are giving you. So, you will feel more relaxed than previously, but don't be alarmed.'

'Alright,' she answered.

The nurse brought over the hypodermic and rolled up Alice's sleeve.

'I'm starting to get bored with this,' Alice said.

'It will all be over soon,' the nurse said with a cold smile as she administered the needle.

Alice sat back in the leather chair and sighed heavily.

Rimsky nodded to the official observers sitting by the wall. 'Now, Alice in about a minute's time you will feel more relaxed than ever before, and I want you to start thinking about your dead husband, Stuart Clawe.'

'Must I?' she said.

'If you don't mind,' Rimsky replied. 'And we also want to talk to you about politics.'

'Politics?' she said. 'I don't know anything about it.'

'We'll see,' Rimsky said looking at his wrist watch. The room was silent except for the tiny sound of classical music being piped to Alice's headphones to accompany Rimsky's voice. After another thirty seconds or so, Dr Rimsky began speaking again. 'Alice are you still with us?'

Alice appeared to be drifting off to sleep. 'Yes.'

'Don't fall asleep, just keep your eyes open. What can you see on the screen?'

'A lion, I think,' her voice sounded slurred.

'It's a tiger actually. And this particular tiger is a man-eater from East Africa,' Rimsky said. 'It would be terrible if this tiger jumped out of the screen, wouldn't it, Alice?'

'Of course, it would,' she said sleepily.

'Now let me tell you a secret. I can really and truly make this tiger jump out of the screen,' Rimsky said with another nod at his colleagues. 'I have the power to do that. Do you believe me?'

Alice was silent and then said. 'No. I don't know.'

'I assure you that I can,' Rimsky said. 'All I have to say is jump, and the tiger will jump out of the screen.'

'Don't say it then,' Alice mumbled.

'I might be tempted to, if you don't answer my questions!'

Alice was silent.

'Alice, did you hear me?'

'Don't say it then,' she repeated, her eyes blinking.

'See how big the tiger's paws are,' Rimsky said. 'They can rip a man's head off. Did you know that the weight of a tiger would easily hold a man flat on the ground?'

Alice didn't answer.

'Did you know that, Alice?'

'No, I didn't,' she said in a heavy voice. 'Stop talking about it.'

'Does the thought frighten you then?'

'It might do,' she said.

'It might do? I think it does. It does frighten you, doesn't it, Alice?'

'Yes,' she replied after some effort.

'Now, we're going to put the arm straps on to keep you safe,' Rimsky said. 'Safe from the tiger. Is that alright?'

'Yes,' Alice said, her voice almost a whisper.

The nurse secured Alice's arms with the straps. Alice appeared oblivious to her.

One of the observers leaned forward. 'Is she now _under_ , doctor?'

Rimsky nodded and put his hand over the microphone. 'It's a kind of trance. See, with the help of the pentothal, virtually any scenario can be created in the subject's mind. The subconscious is a very powerful thing, and in our hands, it should be possible to achieve any goal. Once I have instilled enough fear into Mrs Green's consciousness, she should be agreeable to any request I make.'

Alice's eyes were now closed.

'Are you still awake, Alice?' Rimsky asked uncovering the microphone.

'Yes,' she replied in a small voice.

'I think the tiger has seen you,' he said.

Alice was silent. Her eyes had opened again and were staring at the screen.

'Would you like to stroke the tiger on the head, Alice?' Rimsky continued. 'But I would be very careful if I were you. They are unpredictable animals.'

'No,' she said.

'No?'

'No, I don't want to stroke it on the head,' Alice managed to say. There were now two fierce looking tigers on the screen and one made a sudden move which caused Alice to react.

'Shall I call him?' Rimsky said. 'Nice tiger...'

'No please,' Alice said. 'I...don't like them.'

'Shall I make them go back to their cages?'

'Yes...please,' Alice said beginning to fidget.

'I will, but only if you do me a big favour.'

'What?' she said sleepily. 'I feel very...tired.'

'Tell me honestly,' Rimsky said seizing his chance,' Did you harm your husband, Stuart Clawe?'

Alice tugged slightly at the arm straps.

'Relax, Alice, relax,' Rimsky said in a soothing voice. 'The straps are on for your safety. Just relax, that's right. Be calm, Alice. Be calm. We're friends and I would not dream of letting the tiger harm you. Just answer my question, please, and I will make them go back into their cages. Did you poison your husband? I ask this question because we have found out that he died under unusual conditions. Mysterious circumstances, as they say.'

'I don't remember,' she answered.

Rimsky smiled at his colleagues. 'Ok. But it's good that you now want to talk about it.'

'I...don't...want...to talk about it.'

'It will help you to get it off your chest,' Rimsky said. 'Did your husband ever abuse you? Hit you? Argue with you?'

Alice sighed heavily, her voice slurred. 'Yes. He used to drink the master's sherry and turn nasty.'

'Go on, Alice,' Rimsky said with a smile. 'This was when you worked for Lord Fenwicke, was it?'

'Yes.'

'See, don't you feel better?'

'No.'

'Did you love your husband?'

'No.'

'But you married him?'

'I had to marry him,' Alice said her voice very slurred. 'But we still kept it secret from the household.'

'So presumably you had to marry him because you became pregnant?'

'Yes. He was a...scoundrel. He...'

'Yes? He what?'

'He used to laugh at me because I hadn't gone to school,' she said. 'He said I was a stupid little ...well he called me names. But he taught me how to read and write.'

'So, he wasn't all bad?'

'He was the...devil!'

'In what way, Alice? In what way was he the devil?'

Pronouncing her words with difficulty she said, 'When I gave birth, he took the child away.'

'I see,' Rimsky said. 'So, you got pregnant in Lord Fenwicke's household. But presumably his Lordship didn't know?'

'He knew about it alright,' Alice said in a small voice. 'And then I got pregnant again, but it was sort of...stillborn.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Rimsky said without emotion.

Alice's eyes were filled with tears.

'Alright, alright, shh, don't upset yourself,' Rimsky said.

'I want to go to sleep now.' she said turning on her side and tugging against the straps.

'You can go to sleep in a little while,' Rimsky said. 'Just tell me, please. One more thing. Did you then put something in your husband's food, because you couldn't stand being with him anymore? Did you poison him?'

In a barely audible voice she said, 'Laurel leaves and deadly night shade.'

'Say that again?'

Alice closed her mouth, her eyes swivelling upwards.

'Alice did you say deadly night shade?'

Alice was silent.

'You said laurel leaves and deadly night shade, I heard you,' Rimsky insisted.

'No, no,' she said tiredly. 'Someone else did it.'

'Someone else put laurel leaves into your husband's food. Is that what you're saying?'

'I want to go to my room now.'

Rimsky glanced at the official observers and covered the microphone again. 'Laurel leaves. A cyanide extraction can be obtained from laurel leaves.'

'I want to go to sleep, now, please,' Alice said.

'The nurse will take the straps off in a moment,' Dr Rimsky said into the microphone. 'Just confirm one thing if you won't mind. Did you put laurel leaves, or deadly nightshade or a powder made from these into your husband's food?'

'Someone else did.'

'Oh yes? Who?' Rimsky demanded. ''Who else would do it? Who else would want to?'

'Lord Fenwicke hated Stuart,' Alice said in a slurred voice. 'Because he knew.'

'I am not following you,' Rimsky said with a frown. 'Knew what?'

'Stuart knew what Lord Fenwicke had done.'

'What had Lord Fenwicke done?' Rimsky asked. 'You are not making sense, Alice.'

'It was the master's,' Alice said. 'The child was the master's, but we had to...put on an act...pretend it was Stuart's!'

Rimsky's face registered faint shock. 'I see.'

Alice eyes finally closed.

'I think that concludes today's session!' Rimsky said. 'Well done, Alice, and don't forget when you are released, you will comply with our conditions, won't you? You _will_ comply! Well, I think today _we have actually made some solid progress_.'

***

It was only when they were on the boat to Liverpool that Marjorie said, 'Brenda, did your da' tell you the name of that cook who poisoned that man in England?'

Brenda pulled an apologetic face. 'Gosh, no, I completely forgot to ask him. It was in the papers a while back, though.'

'I doubt if it's the same woman as my real mother,' Marjorie said confidently.

They were at the front of the noisy chugging boat's seating area and it was possible to see the mainland of Britain in the distance. Marjorie felt a thrill of excitement as she tried to make out the details on the landscape. 'We'll soon be there,' she said.

Brenda was flicking through a movie magazine. 'Yeah. I reckon we'll be in London by six tonight.'

'Where in Fulham does your cousin live?' Marjorie asked.

'Michael Road near the gasworks.'

'Sounds lovely,' Marjorie replied screwing up her eyes.

'We'll easily get there by train,' Brenda explained. 'Or coach or bus, or taxi. Take your pick!'

Marjorie nodded. 'I'm starving.'

'You always _are_ ,' Brenda said stuffing the magazine into a bag. 'Let's go and get something. Leave our bags here.'

'We can't just leave our bags.'

'No one's going to pilfer them,' Brenda said smiling at the handsome young man sitting behind them. 'You'll look after them, won't you, mister?'

'What?'

'Do you mind looking after our bags while we get something from the café?'

'No problem,' the well-dressed man in his twenties replied. 'But you'll have to bring us back a bar of chocolate.'

'Cheeky,' Brenda replied. 'Okay, you're on.'

The two girls got to their feet and staggered to the exit at the back, the choppy waters throwing them off balance.

'Christ, I'm feeling a bit queasy,' Marjorie said.

'Do you want to sit back down while I get the snack?' Brenda asked.

'I might not be able to eat it now,' Marjorie said with a sigh.

'I'll get a couple of sandwiches for later then,' Brenda suggested.

'I'll pay you back,' Marjorie said watching her friend stagger against the cabin wall as the boat bobbed around. Marjorie went back to her seat at the front, nodding to the young man who was watching her uncertain progress.

'You alright?' he asked.

'Might be in a minute,' she replied. 'Where are you going then?'

'Me? London.'

'Snap,' Marjorie said. 'We're going to visit a cousin.'

'That's nice,' he answered. 'Perhaps I can travel part of the way with you.'

Marjorie shrugged. 'I don't mind. Where in London are you going exactly?'

'Tooting' he replied.

'Really? she replied. 'We're going to Fulham.'

'Well, that's no surprise, he said. 'If you're Irish, Fulham is usually the place to go!'

***

One of the corporals at Drewstaignton took Fintan to the stores for some more kit, bedding and other paraphernalia and then showed him to his quarters. He was already wearing a temporary uniform which didn't quite fit properly. Being a big man, he needed to be specially measured up by the army tailor.

'Very cushy being next to the general!' the corporal said. 'But you won't be excused training. Ever been in the services before, Edwards?'

'No, sir,' Fintan replied, holding his belongings, bedding and new kit.

'You do not address me as sir,' the corporal said. 'You address me as corporal.'

'Yes, sir, I mean, corporal,' Fintan answered.

'You've landed on your feet here!' the corporal said. 'And you'll be popular with the other officers who might want a favour from the General.'

Fintan nodded while not quite understanding what the corporal meant.

'Unpack, make your bed up and then in 18.00 hours come down to the mess hall for some grub,' the corporal said. 'You're lucky to have your own room, mate!' He then left Fintan to his own devices.

Fintan looked around what was a very cosy little room with a nice bed, table and two chairs and a kettle. He explored the cupboards in the kitchen corner area and found some biscuits, Bovril, powdered egg and a tin of powdered milk. There were also some teabags in a caddy, though no sugar anywhere. Nor was there any obvious water source or tap. However, there was some water in the kettle and so he quickly made himself a cup of strong tea. Then he went back to his bed to organise his things.

He placed the cup of hot tea on the bedside table and quickly went and checked the door he had just come in through. He noticed there was a latch which he slid along and locked. Then he went back to his bed again and removed the wad of counterfeit money from his small carryall. There was just over five hundred pounds in notes which he needed to conceal somewhere. He saw the room had three doors in all. When he checked them, he found that one led to a bathroom and toilet suite. Going into the suite, he knelt in front of the little cabinet underneath the sink and opened it. There was a container of bleach powder and a scouring pad underneath the 'u' bend of the sink pipe. He also noticed some loose wooden boards at the base of the cabinet. He prodded them and saw that they could easily be lifted.

He quickly took out the items in the cabinet and prised up one of the short floor boards. He discovered an area big enough to conceal a bag. He reached into it and was unpleasantly surprised to put his hands on something furry. He quickly removed his hand in disgust as he realised it was probably a dead rat. He rubbed his hand on his trouser leg. It meant that anything stored there would be at risk of being damaged by inquisitive underground rodents. He replaced the floor boards and put back the items he had removed. Then he shut the cabinet door and stood up. Looking around the bathroom, his eyes came to rest on a gap in the thin wooden panel in front of the bath. Examining it, he noticed he could put his hand into the gap and remove the panel, which he did. He bent down and looked at the dusty underside of the bath which was closed off and not prey to vermin. There was an area just underneath the pipes which would be ideal to hide a wad of counterfeit cash.

A person would have to lean awkwardly down in order to see anything in this location. Besides, the panel would be in place in front of the bath. As a temporary hiding place, it seemed perfect. He quickly went back into the main room and took out his wad of money from his carryall. As best he could, he wrapped it up in a torn-out page from a newspaper he had found. Then he quickly went back into the bathroom and put his package underneath the bath pipes and replaced the wooden panel. It was harder to secure than remove, although it finally clicked into place. He was also able to slide the panel along to obscure the small gap in the corner.

It was unlikely anyone would think of removing the panel, especially as he was now occupying the room. He went back into the main living area and made up his bed and sat on it drinking his tea. He suddenly had a craving for a cigarette and wondered if he could cadge one. He took his tea cup into the bathroom and threw the grouts down the sink. He thought he would go for a walk around the barracks to see if he could satisfy his craving. Leaving his quarters, he immediately became aware that the barracks was a hive of activity. Soldiers were marching around, vehicles were coming and going, and groups of officers were standing chatting. He approached a 'tommy' who was sitting on a low wall tying up the laces of his boots.

'Sorry to bother you,' Fintan said to the man. 'But you couldn't spare me a cigarette, could you?'

The soldier, a man in his late twenties stared up at him. 'Haven't seen you around before,'

'I've just signed up,' Fintan explained.

'Well, they've should have given you a couple of packets as part of your rations,' the soldier said. 'Everyone has a fag allowance,' he reached into his top jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of tens. 'Here you can have these. I'll get some more later. But you'll owe me double.'

'Fair enough,' Fintan said opening the box and finding it virtually full. 'Thanks, what's your name anyhow?'

'Call me Eddy,' the soldier said.

'I'm Hugh Edwards,' Fintan replied smoothly. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth. 'And you couldn't spare me a light as well, could you?'

The soldier smiled and stood up. He reached into the pocket on the other side of his jacket and produced a box of safety matches. 'Here, you may as well keep these too.'

'I'll fix you up on payday,' Fintan said.

'They obviously haven't explained much to you yet, have they?' Eddy said. 'We don't have normal paydays in the army. Not like civvy street. See, the army looks after your wages for you and just gives you a little handout every week. Then when you leave, you'll have quite a bit of money saved up.'

'Sounds like a good plan,' Fintan said. 'Ok, whenever I get my pocket money, I will sort you out.'

Eddy patted Fintan on the arm. 'No worries. So what part of Ireland are you from?'

Fintan froze at the man's question. 'Ireland? What makes you think I come from Ireland?'

Eddy frowned. 'I can tell from your accent.'

'No, I'm not Irish, I'm from America, Baltimore,' Fintan said his face reddening.

Eddy raised his eyebrows. 'Well you've got a bit of a brogue on you. Did you live around Irish people or something?'

'Er, no,' Fintan said, alarmed that his cover had been so easily exposed.

Eddy lowered his voice. 'Well, just between you and me and that jeep over there, my mother is actually Irish. She married a Scotsman and we lived in Norfolk.'

Fintan smiled. 'So, you've got Irish blood then?'

'Yeah, but that's just between you and me. And I'm here because they commuted my prison sentence from five years for doing something naughty to three years conscription. But I'll be blowed if I'm going to fight the Nazis. Sod that for an afternoon's work!'

Fintan nodded surprised at the man's candour. 'Amen to that, and I haven't exactly been an angel myself.'

Eddy looked at him with interest. 'I think I can feel a story coming on.'

'Time enough for stories later,' Fintan said.

Eddy looked at his watch. 'It's nearly six, let's get some grub.'

'Lead the way, if you don't mind.'

'No problem,' Eddy said. 'Here, give us a fag, I'm all out.'

Fintan held out the cigarette packet that Eddy had just given him. 'I like your style. I'll have to knock this fag off the ones I owe you.'

'You're learning quick!' Eddy said with a grin.

The two men walked towards the mess hall passing the first-floor window where Alice Green was being held. But she was lying on her bed oblivious to Fintan's presence.

'So, what do you do here?' Fintan asked.

'Laundry,' Eddy said. 'So, I'm a good man to know if you ever need another blanket.'

Fintan nodded. 'I might be able to use another pillow as it happens. Mine is a bit flat. I'm camped up next to the General.'

Eddy nodded, clearly impressed. 'The new batman, eh? I hope you have better luck than the other one.'

'Why, what happened to him?'

'He volunteered to be one of Dr Rimsky's guinea pigs and he went mad!'

Fintan took a deep puff of his cigarette. 'Who's Dr Rimsky?'

Eddy grinned as they came to the door of the mess hall and turned around. ' _He's the mad professor who works in that building over there!'_

Chapter Fifteen

Since spotting Fintan, Alice had repeatedly gone to her little window in the hope of seeing him again. She was standing at her window now, gazing down at the soldiers marching back and forth, army vehicles rumbling about. There was still no sign of him, though she was certain he would turn up again at some point. Dr Rimsky confused her when he denied she'd had any visitors. Perhaps Fintan had come to see her and had been turned away. She again thought it odd that she had seen him wearing army uniform.

The sessions with Dr Rimsky were taking their toll on her. Rimsky's insistence that they talk about things which happened years ago was starting to occupy her everyday thoughts. Memories of her time at Lord Fenwicke's stately home, Stukely Manor, had begun to plague her. She had managed over the years to put all thoughts of that place behind her. Rimsky had brought them to the surface again. She lay on her bed, her ears attuned to every sound, waiting for the door to open and Captain Marsh telling her she could now go. It shouldn't be long now. Despite herself, her thoughts kept going back to her life at Stukely Manor and her encounters with Lord Clarence Fenwicke.

When she first met him, he was a thirty-something, blonde haired, moustached, fragrantly smelling, immaculately dressed dandy of a man. He also had a large nose which he was very self-conscious about, although it didn't hamper his 'success' with the ladies. He had a wife, Thelma, three mistresses it was rumoured, and he was not above preying on female members of the staff. Such outrageous behaviour was only tolerated in a household where he was king. There was no one to stand up to him. His wife Thelma, had a drug habit, and herself had affairs, and so the lifestyle at the house was liberal and chaotic in the extreme. Alice herself had seen Fenwicke grab one of the parlour maids in a compromising way, and the girl had not resisted. Eventually, the girl became pregnant and was transferred to another one of Fenwicke's properties, in London, it was said.

Alice at the time was just barely twenty. She was not unattractive, if prone to put on weight. Both Lord Fenwicke and the butler Stuart Clawe, almost simultaneously had her in their sights. Both men appeared to be nocturnal animals, knocking on her door at all hours of the night. Fenwicke would summon her to his room on one domestic pretext or another, literally under his wife's nose. So far, nothing compromising had taken place.

Stuart Clawe had used these occasions as an excuse to voice his concerns. He had wheedled his way into Alice's affections, posing as a friend who was looking out for her interests. Alice wasn't so naïve, even at that age not to appreciate the moral danger she was in. Any dalliance with Lord Fenwicke was bound to end in disaster for her, and so she kept her associations with him as proper as possible. Stuart had advised her to always physically stand as far away from Fenwicke as possible, especially when he was drunk. But one late evening, the bell in the kitchen rang and Alice was summoned to the attic art room at the top of the large house.

Fenwicke, who had studied art in France, had been painting, as he was inclined to do late into the night, when he bade her enter the studio. Alice had finished her normal duties and was preparing to go to bed.

'Alice, my lovely,' Fenwicke had said, wearing some baggy trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and holding a paint brush and palette. He had been working on a landscape in the 'modern style' but the work was not without promise. 'I have a great great big favour to ask you. It is a proposition.'

Alice knew immediately her employer was drunk, or at least tipsy. 'Yes, sir?' she had replied not meaning to seem overly keen.

'I need some figures for this painting,' he said standing back and studying it. 'And I wondered if you would pose for me?'

'Me?' Alice said, surprised. 'Why me, sir?'

'Because you have the kind of matronly figure I want for this landscape.'

'Can't you get a...professional lady to do that for you, sir?'

'I love the way you said that, Alice. Professional lady! Well. I suppose I could, but inspiration has struck me now and besides the maroger will dry up by the time I summon someone.'

'Maroger, sir?'

'It's a medium the old masters used to use,' Fenwicke said coming over and putting his arm around her shoulder. 'Come and have a look and tell me what you think?'

She reluctantly walked over to the painting and looked at it awkwardly. 'It's very good, sir.'

'No, tell me what you _really_ think?'

'Well, I couldn't do it, sir,' she had said feeling uncomfortable at his physical closeness.

'So, you think it's got prospects, then?'

'I don't know anything about paintings, but I like that tree,' she replied.

Fenwicke's eyes lit up. 'Ah, which one? The one next to the lake?'

'Yes, and that dog,' she said.

Fenwicke burst into laughter. 'That's supposed to be a deer not a dog, but then this is supposed to be impressionistic.'

Alice briefly looked him in the eye. 'Will that be all, sir?'

'You haven't answered my question,' Fenwicke said, his breath reeking of brandy. 'Will you pose for me?'

'It is rather late sir,' she replied. 'And I have to get up early tomorrow for the fish market.'

'Oh, to hell with the fish market,' Fenwicke said. 'We are not going to starve. Come on, just let me do a couple of sketches and then you can go to bed.'

Alice sighed. It was evident that he was not going to drop the matter. 'What is it you want me to do, sir.'

Fenwicke put down his palette and paintbrush and took her by both shoulders. 'I want you to imagine that you are about to take a bathe in that lake in the picture.'

'How do you mean, sir?'

'Just imagine you're going to take a bath, only it will be a bath in the woods,' Fenwicke said. 'Only, do it like Lady Thelma and I do, when we go bathing.'

At these words, Alice's face reddened slightly. The way Lady Thelma and Lord Fenwicke bathed in the heated indoor pool embarrassed the staff. When they were taking a dip, the staff stayed at a distance and let the Fenwicke's and their guests get on with it. Lord Fenwicke liked to describe these get-togethers as having some 'champers au naturelle.'

Alice's reveries were disturbed by a soldier bringing her in some lunch which he carefully set down on the table in her room. She sat up on the bed and nodded her thanks. 'Have I had any visitors?' she asked.

The young soldier stared at her for a moment and then said, 'I'm not supposed to tell you this, so don't grass me up. But yeah, you had a visitor, a woman.'

Alice frowned. 'A woman? You're sure you don't mean a man?'

'No, quite a posh woman by all accounts. I never saw her myself, but she was turned away.'

'Oh,' Alice knitted her eyebrows. 'Oh, that's a shame! That must have been Lady Petrie.'

The soldier pulled a face. 'Dunno. Well, they're funny here. If they don't like the look of you, they soon tell you to sling your hook!'

'Thank you,' Alice said assisting at the table and picking up the piping hot mug of tea. She took a thoughtful sip.

As the soldier left the room, he said, 'But you never heard that from me!'

'No,' Alice nodded, deciding she was going to have a word with captain Marsh or Dr Rimsky. It was strange that the soldier didn't mention Fintan!

***

Marjorie and Brenda parted from the young man they met on the boat in London, as he was going in a different direction. He did give them his name, Callum. Brenda smiled and shook his hand. 'You never know, we might meet again one day,' she said.

Both girls were quite impressed with the capital which was so much more dynamic than Aughrim. To Marjorie's eyes, people looked better off and certainly better dressed than the folk she knew. After a whole afternoon and evening of travelling, they finally arrived at their destination, Michael's Road, Fulham. They had taken the last couple of miles by taxi. Brenda rapped on the brown door of the little terraced house, which flew open to rapturous greetings. Aunty Gail was in floods of apparent delight at the sight of them. Their suppers were being kept warm in the oven.

'And you must be Marjorie,' Aunty Gail said in a fading Irish accent, giving Marjorie a warm hug.

Marjorie was surprised to see so many people sitting around in the lounge who smiled up at her as she went through to the kitchen.

'I bet you're as hungry as anything,' Aunt Gail said.

'She's always hungry,' Brenda said referring to Marjorie.

'We've put a mattress down in the attic box room,' Aunt Gail said. 'But don't worry, we cleared all the spiders out before you came! I'm only joking!'

'Spiders I don't mind,' Marjorie replied with a smile. 'It's mice that I can't stand.'

'I love them, blessed little creatures,' Brenda said impersonating her mother who famously loved animals.

'Get your coats off then!' Gail said getting organised. 'Ronnie, take their bags upstairs!'

A ginger haired freckled boy in his late teens smiled sheepishly at the two girls and grabbed hold of their baggage. 'What have you got in here then?' he asked. 'Weighs a ton!'

'That's all her makeup!' Marjorie said.

'No, it's not!' Brenda retaliated. 'It's all your love letters!'

'Sit down, sit down, tell us all about your journey!' said Aunt Gail She was a painfully thin woman in her forties with bleached blonde hair with a brushed-under bob. She was wearing a smart blue rayon 'afternoon dress' specially for the occasion. 'Let's get these suppers out of the oven. Do you like meat loaf?'

'Sounds lovely, thank you,' Marjorie replied.

'Don't mind her, she's too posh for comfort sometimes,' Brenda said.

Aunt Gail put the meals on the kitchen table. 'Don't say that. It's nice to hear please and thank you sometimes. I wished my kids said it more often!'

Marjorie's eyes widened at the sight of the mountain of food on her plate. 'Looks very nice!'

The two girls got stuck into their suppers while Brenda told her aunt all about their uneventful trip which she spiced up here and there. 'And I swear to God, this Callum's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of Marjie!' she said.

'No, they did not!' Marjorie said giggling.

'They did too!' Brenda said. 'She doesn't seem to notice men at all! It looks like I might have to do a bit of matchmaking for her.'

'I'm sure she can do her own matchmaking,' Aunt Gail said sitting at the end of the table sipping from a small glass of gin. 'Would you girls like a drink? We've got wine, beer, spirits.'

'I wouldn't mind a glass of beer,' Brenda said making a face at her friend. 'What are you having, Marjie?'

'I wouldn't mind some of what your drinking, Gail.'

Aunt Gail laughed. 'Oh, so you want some of the strong stuff, do you?'

'Not enough to give me a headache!' Marjorie replied.

Aunt Gail organised some drinks and the evening was slowly whiled away with pleasant conversation and updates of family news. It seemed several family members on both sides of the Irish Sea were getting married. Although, in the Irish community someone was always getting married.

Eventually the girls retired just before midnight, finding the attic too stuffy for comfort. This was alleviated by a small stiff window which could only be opened a tad. Marjorie fell asleep, glad she had taken the plunge and had come over to England. Even if things didn't work out with her 'real' mother, at least she had met Gail.

***

There were two conflicting reports from Drewstaignton on Geoffrey Beresford's desk. One was from Dr Rimsky and the other one was from Beresford's 'official observers'. The latter was expressing doubt about Dr Rimsky's methods, viewing the 'treatment' that Mrs Green was being subjected to as counterproductive. Dr Rimsky's report on the other hand was full of confidence, describing Mrs Green as a very suggestible subject. He was pleased that he had almost got Mrs Green to admit she had poisoned her husband. Another victory was the revelation that she'd had two children, one sadly being stillborn. Rimsky was positively crowing.

Beresford pondered this for a moment and then grimaced as he consulted his watch. He was expecting a decorator to come by his flat in Pimlico that afternoon for a quotation. He was having his flat redecorated and envisaged personally entertaining members of the German elite in the style they were accustomed to. Of course, this was subject to Germany either winning a war or invading. But the conflicting reports on his desk annoyed him. He was hoping that the sessions with Rimsky would be the final phase of getting their 'subject,' Mrs Green under control. It would be enormously embarrassing if she was released and then went to the Petrie newspapers with horror stories.

It would be very convenient for Beresford if Mrs Green just disappeared, and if that was what had to happen, then so be it. He would watch for developments. If Mrs Green did not fully succumb, he would have to authorise more draconian measures. If this had been in Nazi Germany itself, Mrs Green would have disappeared long ago. Sometimes difficult decisions had to be made for the good of society, and he was quite prepared to make them. As far as Alice Green was concerned, it might just come to that and Beresford was ready and willing to approve of her covert disposal at any time.

He left the office just after lunchtime and hailed a cab to his Pimlico address. The highly recommended decorator had been referred to him from Harrods and was more a consultant than a wall paperer. The man was due at two pm.

Beresford's plush Pimlico flat or 'apartment' as he preferred to call it, was on the third floor of a large Georgian townhouse. Other occupants included a barrister and an actress who recently moved in and Beresford had only seen once. He was therefore surprised to see her standing at the top of the landing wearing a fairly revealing beautiful pink satin top and skirt.

'Mr Beresford?'

'Yes, Margot Derrius, isn't it?' he said.

'Indeed,' she replied. 'I just wanted to let you know that there has been some suspicious activity going on here this morning!'

Beresford frowned. 'Suspicious in what way?'

'I had just returned home from shopping to find two men leaving your flat,' she said. 'I was coming up by the lift when I saw two men just closing your front door. I knew you weren't in because I had seen you leaving earlier this morning from my kitchen window.'

Beresford's was appalled. 'Would you be able to recognise them again?'

'I'm not sure, but I thought I'd inform you. Obviously not friends?'

'No, not at all,' Beresford replied. 'Thank you very much Miss Derrius. Would you be prepared to give a statement if I decided to call the police?'

'Yes, indeed I would, and I would certainly call them if I were you.'

'Thank you,' he said.

The actress smiled and then disappeared up into her own flat which was on the second floor.

Beresford slowly turned to face his front door in deep thought, holding his door keys. There was something about the actress's appearance and voice which struck him as odd, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He stroked his chin and paused at the front door, studying it carefully. There were no obvious signs of a break in. He wondered if the flat had been booby-trapped with an explosive device or found to be in an upheaval after a robbery or search. As far as he was concerned, anything was possible. When he did carefully open the door, everything appeared normal. He entered the flat quickly and did a quick survey. Everything was exactly in its proper place. Nothing had apparently been tampered with or stolen. If there had been a search, then it had been a scrupulously tidy one. He had a safe behind a painting in the bedroom that he decided to check. When he took the painting down and opened it, nothing had been taken.

This seem to leave one other possibility; that his flat had been bugged with a listening device. If this was the case, then a suspicious unmarked van would be parked in the vicinity of his building equipped with radio receivers. He pulled back the curtains of his lounge window and looked up and down the street. Nothing matching this description could be seen. Suddenly his door buzzer sounded. He quickly went to the front door again and found a short stocky flamboyantly dressed man in a light grey suit holding a small attaché case.

'Mr Beresford, I'm Martin Legrande from Harrods! The main door downstairs was ajar.'

'I couldn't have closed it properly,' Beresford replied. 'But come in please.' He looked at his watch. 'I see that you're a little early.'

The man entered. 'I apologise, the traffic was not as busy as I had anticipated.'

'Not a problem,' Beresford said trying to concentrate on the matter in hand. He studied the man suspiciously. 'Actually, the task I have in mind is quite gargantuan, so you might use the time to have a proper look around. I basically want everything in this flat changed. And done in a more gracious European style, with furnishings to match.'

'That is what I understood,' Legrande said casting an eye over the furniture. 'I see you are a collector of art deco?'

'Yes, I want to keep some pieces and replace others,' Beresford said. 'I am very interested in Bauhaus design but I'm thinking more traditional. More Louis sixteenth.'

'Indeed.'

'With Germanic influences.'

'Germanic?'

'If that's possible.'

Legrande gave Beresford a strange look. 'To be honest, that may not be necessarily desirable.'

'How do you mean?' Beresford asked.

'Given the situation with Germany...' Legrande said awkwardly. 'I mean, we don't do Nazi symbols on wallpaper or anything like that! But European we certainly do. In fact, I would say, there is no such thing as a German style per se which differentiates it from the French. Unless you go back to Bavarian basics, folkish design that kind of thing.'

'French would be fine,' Beresford replied.

'I'll take the dimensions of the flat if I may. Then we can look at some samples that I have brought. I have some wonderful wallpaper designs for you to see. And some crossover furniture in the style of Charlotte Perriand, that you might be interested in...'

It was only when Legrande had left an hour later, that Beresford's suspicions were aroused again. He watched the departing man from his window, crossing over the street and walking all the way up it, looking back a couple of times. He was then met by a woman in a light-coloured overcoat just barely out of range of the window. They disappeared from view.

Beresford ran his hand through his hair. Was this little man really from Harrods? Perhaps he was also an agent? If Sir Hugh Kingston or the secret services were behind any of this, they needed to be reined in. Beresford poured himself a stiff whiskey and threw himself into a chair. He was of the view that reporting the break-in would be a waste of time. He would do a thorough search of the flat later to see if any covert listening devices had been planted. He was aware of a new kind of listening device technology which had been recently developed. It was a precursor of RFID technology. It consisted of a microphone powered by electromagnetic energy which could send a signal to a remote listener. If he found one, it would be a sign of how serious his situation was.

***

The best view of the gardens was from the window of the library at Listwell Park, Lord and Lady Petrie's home in Cambridgeshire. It was from here that Lord Petrie would stand admiring the estate, and even in this season the view was beautiful. The cultivated flower beds and sunken Italian seating area surrounded by 'purple emperors' and 'tawny kings' was still resplendent. Petrie sighed and then walked back to his desk and continue with his work. Although he ran a publishing empire, he rarely went into the London office where it was based. He much preferred dictating policy from home and being with his wife, Lady Marcia.

On this particular day Marcia was reclining on the chaise longue, still in her black silk nightwear, sipping her glass of Fitzroy Gin Fizz. ' _It was most humiliating_!' she was complaining. 'That stupid pompous General Walters just point blank refused to let me see her.'

Claude nodded sympathetically. 'If he allowed you to see Mrs Green, it would be tantamount to admitting that she was there.'

'All he wanted to know was how we knew of her whereabouts,' Marcia said. 'It's supposed to be top secret!'

Claude toyed with his gold Shaeffer pen as he sat at his desk. 'I suppose I could always write to the Prime Minister.'

'No,' she replied. 'They would probably move her again.'

'But what the hell is she doing at an experimental army unit?' Claude said. 'I mean, MOD Drewstaignton is where they test new weaponry and stuff like that.'

Marcia stood up, her face concerned. 'Precisely. They've probably using her in one of their hideous experiments. Oh, Claude what can we do to help her?'

'The only thing we _can_ do,' he said. 'Publicise what we know. Of course, we can't mention specific details. That _would_ incur the wrath of the Home Office. But we can continue to keep the name of Alice Green in the public eye.'

Marcia shook her head. 'One feels so impotent in this situation. The only way I'll get to see her is if the Home Office agrees.'

'And they are not going to do that,' Claude said. 'But, what I will do, is get one of our legal people to write to them demanding access and information about her. The public have a right to know. It is not as if Mrs Green is a traitor or anything like that. She is being accused of poisoning a pro-Nazi German diplomat which is not the act of a traitor. It's the act of a heroine, if you ask me! Especially as we are now practically at war with the Germans.'

'Well, I'm going to make myself a nuisance,' Marcia said. 'I'm going to reserve a suite at the best hotel in Exeter and turn up at the army barracks every day, until they let me see her!'

Claude pursed his lips. 'Sounds a bit extreme.'

'One has to be extreme to make an impression,' she said. 'Look at that poor suffragette, Emily Davison. She got herself killed at the Epson racetrack trying to grab the King's horse!'

'You don't need to put yourself in danger to make a point,' Claude said.

'I've made up my mind,' Marcia replied taking a pull of her drink. 'For the next three weeks I shall be ensconced in Exeter.'

Claude sighed. 'Then I shall have no choice but to visit you there.'

'Oh, would you, darling?'

He nodded. 'Of course. And as it happens, it would be nice to get away for a few days!'

***

There was to be no parade bashing for Fintan. The General was far too greedy of his time, and he mostly spent his days attending to the senior soldier's needs. These were usually domestic in nature, and Fintan was beginning to feel a bit like a servant. There was a bottle of Camp Coffee in the little cupboard in his room with an interesting illustration on the label. It reminded Fintan of himself - a serving man bringing coffee to his master! Fetching and carrying for the General was all he seemed to be doing, not that Fintan minded. It was the first time where he felt genuinely safe from the long arm of the law. He was quickly becoming a face at the barracks and was accepted as the, 'American bloke'.

But the pattern of life was to quickly change, when the General greeted him one morning with the words, 'There will be a special briefing given by myself at the conference room at 16.15 hours this Friday. I want you to be there!'

'Yes, sir,' Fintan replied giving his practised salute.

The General was not normally so formal with him. It was clear that something was up. Fintan had his lunch in the mess hall and talk was all about the briefing. The last time they had such a summons was three years ago when the barracks had been reassigned for other purposes.

Eddy joined him with his tray at the long dining table, and they sat sharing the other day's news. 'It looks like there is going to be a war, after all,' Eddy said as he poked his potato with his fork. 'It's been on the news and everything.'

'I don't listen to the radio,' Fintan answered.

'You better start then,' Eddy said. 'I heard that some of us are going to be transferred.'

Fintan looked up at this. 'Transferred?'

'Well, you should know,' Eddy said. 'You live with the General!'

'He's never said anything to me about me being transferred.'

Eddy laughed. 'He probably wouldn't where you're concerned. But if I have to do any regular service, I'm not going to be too happy.'

'And I haven't even done any target myself practise yet,' Fintan said. 'Not that I need to.'

Eddy nodded. 'Well, if you do have to actually do any fighting, they'll have you on that obstacle course in a jiffy. And doing those horrible long distance runs as well. Sod that!'

'I wouldn't mind that, 'Fintan said.

'Just keep sucking up to your mate the General and you won't have to!' Eddy said with a grin. 'I've also heard they'll be shipping that cook out as well, soon.'

'Cook?' Fintan queried. 'What cook?'

'That bird that did that murder,' Eddy said.

Fintan stared at his friend. 'What bird?'

'You know, that woman who poisoned that German geezer,' Eddy said. 'It was in all the papers. She's one of the mad professor's Guinea pigs, isn't she?'

When Fintan finally realised Eddy was talking about Mrs Green, his jaw dropped. 'You don't mean, Mrs Green, do you?'

Eddy gave Fintan an odd look. 'You're very well informed!'

'Are you saying that Mrs Green _is here_?' Fintan said slowly putting down his eating utensils. 'Actually, _here in these barracks_?'

Eddy's eyes widened. 'Alright, don't have a bleeding fit mate, yes. Why? What's it to you then?'

'I'm just surprised that's all,' Fintan replied, controlling himself. 'Where do they keep her then?'

'In Section F, which is off-limits to the likes of you and me,' Eddy explained. 'It's very heavily guarded. But there _is_ a way in if you're desperate.'

Fintan nodded, not wanting to appear too interested. He shrugged. 'I couldn't give a damn really.'

Eddy stuffed half a greasy sausage into his mouth. 'Well, she'll be gone in the next couple of weeks anyway, is what I've heard.'

'So, where's this way in then, to F Block?' Fintan couldn't resist asking.

Eddy frowned as he chewed his food. 'I think there's something you're not telling me.'

Fintan's face was innocent. 'I'm just curious, that's all.'

'I believe you!' Eddy said with a wink. 'But if you must know, you can get into the block through the window in the officer's loo. You go through that, and you'll find yourself in a courtyard the size of a postage stamp. Then you climb into F Block's own toilet window from there, and you're in! And the only reason I know that, is because me and my mate, Manny, have a little number going on.'

Fintan nodded. 'Tell me more?

'That depends,' Eddy said casting a look over his shoulder and lowering his voice. 'It depends on whether you want in or not.'

'In on what? Your little number?' Fintan asked.

'Well, what can you bring to the table?' Eddy asked giving him a speculative look. 'And I'll have to ask my partners anyway. See, we do a little bit of business on the side with army surplus, only it's not really army surplus. Among other things, it's stuff from the lab on F Block. Tablets, medicines, and all sorts. We take it in turns once a week to climb into F Block at night, when the officers have their little cocktail parties with the local girls...'

'Cocktail parties?' Fintan said pulling a curious face.

'Well, they're not really cocktail parties, but we call them that,' Eddy explained. 'The officers all have a knees-up on the Friday, as they do, which leaves the way clear to climb through their bog window.'

I see,' Fintan said.

'And then, we have a little wander around the labs and raid the stores,' Eddy said. 'They've got boxes and boxes of stuff; prescription drugs, sleeping pills, hypodermic needles, medical supplies mainly. Which we then sell on, for a tidy profit. Now, if you're willing to do some of the dirty work, and I mean, it's not without its risks...'

'I don't mind, if your partners agree,' Fintan said.

'They'll probably go mad when I let them know I told you,' Eddy said.

'You can trust me,' Fintan said with a smile. 'And so, Mrs Green is actually in F Block, is she? But where?'

'On the far side of the building, but I believe that they have a man stationed outside her door,' Eddy said. 'And there are also about four locked doors to get through as well. Why the interest?'

Fintan surveyed his new friend. 'Can I level with you, as one Irishman to another?'

Eddy's face beamed. 'Now you're talking! I knew you weren't American!'

'Shh!' Fintan said. 'Look, I think we can do great things together when we get out.'

Eddy's face cracked into a wide smile. 'And I bet you've never even been to America either, have you!'

'Keep your voice down, for Christ's sake!' Fintan said glancing at the other diners in the hall. 'But see, me and Mrs Green were friends. Actually, I used to work as a farmhand on her boss's estate. So, I feel, well, a bit upset at the way she has been treated.'

'Don't give me that!' Eddy said touching the side of his nose. 'She's the love of your life and you've come to rescue her!'

Fintan stared at Eddy's cheerful face. 'Do you know what? She _would_ make a good wife, and she isn't as old as you think. She's a bit tubby, but then I like a woman you can hold on to!'

'It's all coming out now!' Eddy said with a laugh. 'Next, you'll be telling me that your name isn't really Hugh Edwards!'

'It's not!' Fintan said.

'Pull the other one!' Eddy replied shaking his head with a laugh. 'But if that's true, then it's a good basis for a partnership I reckon!'

'Done!' Fintan said, and the men shook hands.

***

Lying on her bed, staring into the dark in her claustrophobic room, the face of Lord Clarence Fenwicke loomed up before Alice's eyes. It was without doubt a handsome face, though debauched-looking and lacking in compassion. He was a man who once absolutely commanded the world he lived in, and the casualties of his indiscretions were legion. Alice remembered the day that a stranger had come to Stukely Manor, Lord Fenwicke's country seat, with a loaded gun. He had burst through the main entrance and tried to shoot the master. Luckily, two footmen stopped the intruder with an impromptu rugby tackle. But the gun still went off with a loud bang damaging a chandelier. It later emerged that Fenwicke had tried to take advantage of the daughter of a local undertaker which was not well received. After the incident, talk at Stukely was that Lord Fenwicke wouldn't make it to his fiftieth birthday!

But her own experience with Fenwicke on that evening in the upstairs art studio still painfully disturbed her. It wasn't just that he had taken full advantage of her, assaulting her and shaming her with his unbridled lust. It was the complete lack of respect that the man had shown her afterwards. It was as if she was there purely for his entertainment and pleasure. Immediately after his sordid assault, he had threatened to, _'have her slung into a mental asylum,_ ' if she ever said a word about what happened. She managed to escape out of the door of the attic room where Fenwicke had been painting, and run down the stairs in tears, clutching her torn clothes. The butler, Stuart Clawe, witnessed her flight and came to her aid. Seemingly horrified at what had happened, he swore he would have it out with the master. This proved to be little more than gallant hot air and was really part of a cynical ploy to become more intimate with her.

The next day, Fenwicke behaved as if nothing was amiss. Alice thought that she couldn't stay at Stukely one minute longer, although getting a new position wouldn't be easy. Fenwicke also threw a spanner in the works by refusing to give her a reference. The only thing Alice could do was turn to Stuart for support, which was exactly what the butler had wanted. He then began an affair with her, showing his true colours in a way which left Alice feeling used and abused. His advances were forced and unwelcome, but she clung on to him as the only available arbour of refuge in her small world. As a barrier of protection, it proved weak. His Lordship would still seek her out whenever he was drunk and eventually she succumbed in the most compromising way possible and fell pregnant.

It was then that Stuart Clawe, who regarded her as his property, took up a stand. He dared openly question the master's behaviour. Lady Fenwicke, though aware of everything that was going on, turned a blind eye. Her husband's reckless behaviour seemed to fascinate her, and it was said that she actually wanted to see him fall from grace. She herself had a questionable friendship with a local land owner and treated Fenwicke like a spoiled schoolboy. And so it was that the household continually seemed to teeter close to a precipice.

Not used to having his behaviour questioned, certainly not by a mere underling, Lord Fenwicke had slapped the butler's face. Although Stuart Clawe was bigger than his master, he dared not strike back. Instead, he threatened to expose him to the wider public.

'I swear,' Clawe had said. 'If you ever lay a hand on me again, I will write to the papers and tell them what's going on here. And also, what her ladyship's been up to! You'll never show your face in public again for embarrassment!'

Snarling, Lord Fenwicke had grabbed him by the lapels. 'You snivelling puppy! You dare threaten me? I'll have you whipped like the beggar you are!'

Stuart pulled away. 'I fought in the Great War while you were swanning around after spotty debutantes, so you _don't frighten me_. But I will keep my trap shut for a consideration.'

Fenwicke seemed to calm down. 'What are you talking about?'

'What do you think I'm talking about?' Stuart had replied. 'Alice is now with child and it's your bastard! It would be a scandal! But, give us the little cottage on the estate and some silence money, and I'll marry her!'

Despite himself, Fenwicke had sniggered. 'Silence money? Do you really think that you can blackmail me and live to tell the tale afterwards?'

'Is that your last word...sir?' Clawe had said.

As Clawe later told Alice, he suddenly saw an evil light come into Lord Fenwicke's eyes. 'Alright. I agree on one condition' Fenwicke had said suddenly, changing his tune.

'I'm listening...sir.'

'I will give you your cottage and your silence money, and you _will_ marry Alice in secret,' Fenwicke had said. 'But you will give the child away, and I will have access to Alice whenever _I want_.'

The butler had shaken his head. 'But she'll be my wife.'

'Those are my conditions,' Fenwicke had said. 'And if you refuse, you'll be the loser. You can have the blacksmith's old cottage on the estate. But you'll have to give it a lick of paint.'

As Stuart later told Alice, he and Fenwicke had done a deal and everyone had, 'walked away happy!' It also wouldn't be practical to keep the child, and Alice, despite herself, half agreed with this. When she was moved into the cottage, Stuart gave the baby away, which was born on Christmas eve.

But Fenwicke began turning up at the cottage at night, which was a convenient arrangement for him. He would invariably come in a drunken state and whatever transpired, he would conveniently forget the next day. And there was Alice in the middle of it all, compromised, humiliated, owned by two overbearing men, whose controlling chauvinism completely trapped her. It was only then, after coming to the very end of her tether, that she began planning her escape.

***

The little terraced house in Michaels' Road Fulham was probably the most popular house in the street. Marjorie was astonished at the number of people who turned up at the door, and then realised the Irish community in London was very close. Everybody clung together on the little island called Fulham. Aunt Gail loved playing host to the stragglers from the local flats and was often out of pocket as a result.

The couple of pounds Marjorie's mother had 'donated' went down very well with their host, and the girls were treated like royalty. Despite Aunt Gail's impecunity, food and drink were plentiful, which puzzled Marjorie until Brenda let the cat out of the bag.

'Her men friends help her out,' Brenda told a fascinated Marjorie. 'They have card games in the basement and my aunt gets a few quid out of it.'

'This is not a den of sin or iniquity, is it?' Marjorie had asked.

'Sin and iniquity are different things,' Brenda explained. 'Sin can be forgiven.'

Marjorie made a mental note to look the words up in the dictionary.

Over lunch the next day, comprising of some chicken and coleslaw sandwiches, Gail said, 'It's not looking good.'

The girls had stared at her. 'How do you mean?'

'It looks like there _will_ be war, and some of our Fenian friends are going to get locked up for no reason at all,' she had said. 'And then what will happen to me? I will probably have to get a job. I heard women will be expected to work in the factories.'

Brenda patted her aunt's arm. 'Only the younger ones, surely.'

Aunt Gail laughed. 'Thanks a lot! But anyway, I think Marjorie had better go and see her aunt while she can, and then go back to Ireland at the earliest. Where does your aunt live, dear?'

'In Lincolnshire,' Marjorie replied.

Lincolnshire?' Gail said in surprise. 'That's a hell of a distance from here. Over a hundred miles, I'd say.'

'About a hundred and forty,' Marjorie said. 'We were going to take a train.'

'Well you can't walk there, that's for sure,' Aunty Gail said with a laugh. 'So, she's an aunt you haven't been in contact with for some time, I gather?'

Marjorie glanced at Brenda. 'She's been writing to my mother and so I thought I'd come over and meet her.'

Gail looked at Marjorie dubiously. 'That's nice. Obviously, she knows you're coming?'

Marjorie shook her head. 'No, she doesn't actually.'

'She doesn't?' Gail said. 'Well, I think you'd better make sure she's going to be in before you just turn up.'

'I was going to phone her, but then I changed my mind,' Marjorie said. 'I want it to be a surprise.'

Hmm,' aunt Gail said getting up and brewing some more tea. 'Ok. When are you planning to go up there then?'

Marjorie thought hard for a moment. 'At the weekend?'

Brenda nodded. 'Oh, and before I forget, auntie Gail, do you know the name of that cook who murdered that man?'

Gail pulled a face. 'Could you give me some more details.'

'It was in the papers a while back,' Brenda replied. 'A woman, a cook, who worked in a posh manor house and put poison in someone's food...'

'Oh yeah,' Gail said. 'Yeah, I read about it in the Standard.'

'What was her name?'

'Oh, I can't remember that,' Gail said as she came back to the table with a fresh pot of tea. 'But there was a big hoo-ha about it. I think she killed a German man, and they were saying that it wasn't right that she went to prison over it.'

'It wasn't Mrs Alice Green, was it?' Marjorie ventured.

Gail shook her head. 'Now there you've got me. But it definitely was a similar sort of name. I'll ask the postman when I see him. He's a stickler for names and places and whatnot.'

'Ok,' Marjorie said.

'But why do you want to know?' Gail asked. 'I mean, why do you want to know about the woman who did that murder?'

Marjorie shrugged. 'Just in case she's my aunt!'

Gail paused for a second as she took this in and then burst out laughing. 'Heavens, the things you young girls come out with! But if she is the same person, she won't be at home, _that_ much I can promise you!'

***

There it was, a clumsy bit of state-of-the-art radio engineering about the size of a fist tapped under the couch by the window. Geoffrey Beresford knew what it was, the moment he saw it – a remotely controlled high frequency radio transmitter. The technology wasn't very reliable and definitely needed to be shrunk in size.

At first Beresford thought it was a bomb. Then, when a suspicious-looking van parked itself outside his flat, he laughed. Clearly, it was a transmitter whose range was very short, and the surveillance van needed to be as close as possible. The big question was, whether Sir Hugh Kingston was working in tandem with the secret services and was behind it or not. The technology, along with Radar such as the 'Chain Home', had been developed by the army and was used by official agencies of various kinds. The presence of the device in his flat told him straight away that he was being regarded as a 'person of interest'. The thought was initially very daunting to him. It could now mean that charges of colluding with enemies of the state might now be brought. His whole world of privilege could come crashing down around him.

He would have to tread very carefully. It occurred to him that one option would be to leave the country, flee, before the situation became serious. However, then, he would just become another 'useless mouth', of no further use to his masters in Berlin. Beresford paced up and down the lounge as he tried to think of the best way of dealing with the situation. And then it came to him in a flash of pure happy inspiration. He would play the secret services at their own game! He would use the listening device to pass on false information regarding Germany's activities and intentions.

It would ensure that the British government would still have some use for him. They might even cease their assassination attempts, if indeed they were behind them. Then, when Germany started and quickly won the war, he would be on safe ground.

Beresford licked his lips at the prospects which were now opening up for him. He would contact Colonel Schrepps that very afternoon and discuss ways of turning the tables on the British authorities. Beresford felt a huge weight fall from his shoulders as the situation effectively put him back in control again. He just needed something juicy as bait, and would raise this with Schrepps, who had a very fertile imagination. It would also mean he would have carte blanche to deal with that thorn in his side, Mrs Green. He could now do anything he wanted, and it would be tolerated. Sir Hugh would just have to accept it.

Beresford smugly stared out of the window at the conspicuous black van parked under his very nose. He went and poured himself drink. Life would be fun again, with the secret services as his puppets!

Chapter Sixteen

Lady Marcia Petrie had been as good as her word, taking a suite at the Royal Clarence Hotel in Exeter, reputedly the oldest hotel in England. The beautiful building reeked of history and her ladyship felt very at home there. She had taken Madeleine, her personal assistant with her and they had adjoining rooms. Mr Tunney, her chauffeur was roomed at another nearby hotel. It was his job to be outside the Clarence at ten o'clock every morning in the Rolls Royce. This enabled her ladyship to bath, dress and have breakfast without breaking into a sweat before they went to MOD Drewstaignton. This was a journey of some twenty-five miles which Mr Tunney was able to accomplish in half an hour.

Now that she had a comfortable base to work from, Marcia began her campaign of pestering the barracks. Within a matter of days of turning up and being refused entry, Lady Marcia's natural charm began to melt army resolve. In fact, General Walters had even consented to have lunch with her in his private quarters on two occasions. Unfortunately, the answer was always the same. Mrs Green would continue to be off-limits to her until the Home Office agreed otherwise.

'But General Walters,' Marcia said with a bright smile. 'What possible harm could I do? I'm not trying to smuggle in a file, or anything like that. I've got a hamper full of a few creature comforts which I'm sure Mrs Green would really appreciate.'

'Lady Marcia, we are not starving the woman,' the General replied. 'But if you give the hamper to my batman, I'll make sure that she gets it. I would suggest that you personally lobby the Home Office or the MOD or both to get permission to visit. As it stands, I'm not even allowed to tell her that you've been here!'

Lady Marcia smiled to herself. The General had made his first major concession. She was sure there would be others if she kept up the pressure. After a pleasant lunch of haddock and salad, she got her Chauffeur, Mr Tunney to bring in the hamper which was left in the main office awaiting delivery.

'What's going to happen to her, eventually?' Marcia had asked the General.

The General gave her a penetrating look. 'Frankly, it's not really a priority. But I can tell you that she is due to be transferred very soon. Within the next two weeks! I'll give you the precise date when I get it, and you can arrange to be outside the barracks. Perhaps you can discreetly follow her from a distance. This is strictly between you and me, mind you!'

'Thank you General,' she replied touching his arm 'I am in debt to you!'

***

On the same day of the Generals' special briefing, Fintan was surprised and delighted when General Walters approached him with a small mission. The General told him that he wanted him to take something up to their 'guest' in F section.

'Guest?' Fintan had queried, feigning ignorance.

'Yes, we have a guest, a lady, in F section. I want you to take a package, or rather a hamper up to her later, after the special briefing,' the General said. 'I will give you full clearance. But you are not to engage in any conversation with her. Understood?'

Fintan nodded, not believing his luck. 'Yes sir.'

When Fintan later told Eddy, his friend was pleased. 'That's pucker mate!' Eddy had said. 'If you can nick any keys, do it!''

'What?' Fintan said bemused.

'The guardroom is near where they're holding this woman,' Eddy explained. 'Just chat up the guard and see what you can grab.'

Fintan frowned. 'I don't think it's going to be that easy.'

'The keys are all on hooks on a board on a wall,' Eddy said. 'Just see what you can do!'

'Alright,' Fintan nodded doubtfully.

The General's special briefing was held in the barrack's main conference room which was normally only used on extraordinary occasions. Everyone knew, that what General Walters was going to say, had come from on high. It had something to do with the impending war with Germany. Eddy and Manny had run a small 'book' in the mess on that basis.

As attendance was mandatory, everyone on the base had turned up, including non-commissioned and commissioned officers. Looking around, Fintan could see that the entire population of the barracks was less than two hundred and only filled half the seats.

The hall was full of talk and speculation. Armed guards closed and locked the double doors when everyone was assembled. Eddy gave Fintan a meaningful look. At the front of the conference room was a long wooden table where the General and other officers sat.

After having a quiet chat with one of the officers sitting next to him, the Sergeant Major rose from his chair. 'Men, silence please, the General is now going to address you. If you have any questions you can ask them at the end of this session!' he sat down again.

General Walters then rose. 'Good afternoon, men,' the General began, his voice carrying well. 'I appreciate your punctuality. I won't keep you long!' He walked to the front of the desk with his arms behind his back. 'I must remind you that everything said here today is confidential and must not be shared outside these walls. You are not to discuss this, even with your army colleagues. And certainly, you cannot talk about this matter to the general public. It will be an offence to do so, and the penalties will be dire, I assure you. Now, Mr Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty is convinced that these islands of ours are vulnerable and open to invasion by hostile forces. I myself am sceptical of that. However, it is quite evident that relations with the German authorities are shaky, to say the least. But the Ministry of Defence has advised that war with Germany is imminent. However, for reasons of national security and the safety of the general population, the public will not be informed of this as yet. There may still be a chance that diplomatic channels will forestall any military involvement. But we are not holding our breath. Mr Hitler has demonstrated that he is not one to be trusted.' At this point he raised his eyebrows and then stared directly at Fintan who was sitting in the fourth row. Fintan stared back with a suppressed smile.

'In brief,' the General said. 'MOD Drewstaignton is going to be partly requisitioned. It will now partly become the base of the local defence volunteers, which will be better known as the Home Guard. A new sign outside the barracks will be unveiled to that effect. Our usual activities will continue but will be fully partitioned from the volunteers. The mission of the Home Guard will be to guard the coast, airfields, factories and explosive stores. It's basically just a job for old men!'

This raised a small laugh. The General's face remained impassive. 'Also, as you all know, we have an old aircraft hangar which used to house aircraft from the last war. This included the likes of craft such as the Bristol Type 22, Sopwith Camel and Handley Page. Hands up all those who remember these? Just joking! Unfortunately, we are no longer in possession of any of these, but the hangar _is_ full of decommissioned munitions and obsolete artillery. All old stuff from the last war. These include, Lee Enfield rifles, Hiram machine guns, flamethrowers, Stokes mortars, poison gas, parts of a decommissioned tank, and boxes of three-inch shells etc. I recently did an inspection of these and they are rusting at a rate of knots. However, I did note that the mortar shells are still in fairly good condition. The point is, we will have to ship the whole bloody lot out to accommodate the local defence volunteers who will set up in the hangar. We have a storage depot in Ivybridge, which is approximately forty miles away. A convoy of ten lorries will therefore transport the contents of the said hangar to this new location. The whole exercise should not take more than four or five days. Forty men, four men to a lorry will be deployed for this purpose. General Bedwell, of the defence volunteers will be coming to inspect the hanger next Tuesday, so it had better be bloody empty!'

There was more laughter at this, although Fintan was unamused. He was looking with concern at Eddy's face which had lit up with apparent glee. It was evident that he had just had an idea!

***

Alice was stronger than people realised. Some instinct made her resist Dr Rimsky's attempts to break her down. There was more to her life story than met the eye. Rimsky only seemed concerned with getting a confession out of her, but she just didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She was feeling used by him and began to resent what he was doing. When he had first begun the sessions, he had been overly polite and apparently concerned with her welfare. Now, he was quite blunt and brusque, and the other officials were showing her open contempt. Rimsky had also started to give her suggestions about being compliant when she was released.

'When you are out in the community, you will follow all our conditions to the letter, won't you, Alice?' Rimsky had said during one session.

Alice under the influence of the drugs they had given her, had nodded. 'Yes, yes I will!' Though in reality, she was half acting and was still in control of her own mind.

As for all that other stuff about the past, Alice was determined to dig her heels in. Then, she decided, when they let her go, she was going to try and escape the clutches of the authorities all together. She knew that there might soon be a war, though this didn't bother her. She would go abroad if she had to.

After the eighth or ninth session with Rimsky, she found herself sitting in her room with a mug of cocoa in her hand, in a pensive mood. Even if Rimsky and his colleagues didn't much care about her, the regular soldiers did. They were bringing her in so many mugs of cocoa that she was starting to look like a bar of chocolate, she thought. She gently shook her head as a tear came into her eye. Ordinary soldiers, police and fireman, in her view, were the salt of the earth. It was the people at the top and scientists like Rimsky who seemed almost Godless. What did they want with her? Stuart Clawe died years ago. Why were they trying to dig up the past?

But Rimsky had disturbed her mind in a way she had never experienced before. Perhaps it was the suggestions he used. She found herself thinking about the past more and more, and with some regret. She felt that her life had been a wasted one as a domestic. And she had allowed herself to be a pawn of the likes of Lord Fenwicke and Stuart Clawe. She had allowed them to take her children away.

Curiously, things had gone around in one big circle. She was now back to almost where she was mentally, all those years ago, looking for a way to escape. Fate, back then, had a curious twist in store for her.

Everyday life in the Fenwicke household had become quite toxic. Fenwicke continually badgered her, and her husband abused her mentally. He, in turn, hated Lord Fenwicke and relations between master and servant had become as dysfunctional as it was possible to be. But, as Alice well knew, her husband had a hold over his employer. Stuart Clawe simply knew too much about his business, his affairs and his unfaithful wife. This annoyed Fenwicke to the point where, one day, he cornered Alice on the main stairway of Stukely Manor. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her into the large closet on the landing. ' _I want a word with you_ ,' he had said, his face grim.

She looked at him, alarmed. 'Yes, sir?'

'Don't give me that obsequious, yes sir, rubbish,' he said. 'I heard that your husband has been gossiping about me again in the Moreland!' This was the public house in the village.

'I don't know anything about it, sir,' she had replied.

'You're just a little liar,' he had responded. He made a move as if to strike her, then lowered his arm. 'I'm sick to the teeth with the two of you! I'm giving you notice. Your husband is getting too big for his boots and I don't like your attitude! You are to leave the cottage by the end of the week. I want you and that piece of detritus you call a husband gone from here. Besides, I have other plans for the cottage and you are just in the way.'

Alice was shocked. 'But where will we go, sir?'

'That's your affair,' he replied.

'Will you give me a reference?' she had almost begged.

Lord Fenwicke had laughed. 'Reference? Are you really as stupid as you look?'

'But your Lordship...'

'But, but, but...' he mimicked. 'You should have thought of that before. Do you really think you're in a position to ask for any favours? How much longer did you think I was just going to stand back and take it?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, sir?'

He pushed his face menacingly into hers. 'Ask your husband then. And he's going to pay the price for rubbing me up the wrong way. I am the master here. And you will _not make a mockery of me in front of the public or this household!_ ' He had then roughly pushed her to one side and exited the cupboard.

Alice stood looking after him, her mind deeply perturbed. At the same time, she felt a sense of relief. Finally, here was a chance to escape Lord Fenwicke's tyranny, even if it meant still being with Stuart. The question was, would he support her? And where would they go?

Stuart had been in the basement turning over wine bottles in the cellar. He had managed to hear part of their conversation, though most was muted. He came up after having a sneaky drink, to find his wife sitting on the stairs under the large painting of the battle of Agincourt. Her eyes had an odd glazed expression in them. He sat down next to her on the stairs and she haltingly explained what had happened. He took in the information without showing any emotion. He had heard most of it anyway. To her complete astonishment, he suddenly smiled and put his hand on her neck and gently rubbed it. 'Don't worry yourself. I've been expecting this. In fact, I have been planning for it!'

'What do you mean?' she had asked.

Her husband looked over his shoulder. 'We can't talk here.' He stood up and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'We'll talk later. But this I promise you. It will not be us leaving this house. It will be him. _In a coffin_!'

***

The journey from Kings Cross to Lincoln Station took virtually the whole day, not including the taxi ride to Tennyson House. The taxi left them at the gates of the estate, which were wide open. Marjorie and Brenda had left most their bags and belongings at Gail's house in Fulham, expecting to return within the next day or two. They carried just enough clothing for a stay of five days at most and intended to lodge somewhere in the locality, although they hadn't planned where exactly. Being ignorant of all protocol, the girls stood at the gates of the mansion, congratulating themselves on getting thus far. Brenda was impressed that Marjorie's mother lived and worked here, though she had reservations.

'I think you should have written first,' Brenda said. 'We haven't planned this very well. Suppose she doesn't want to see you or suppose she isn't in?'

'We'll then walk back to that village down the road and stay at that inn,' Marjorie replied. 'I'm sure it said it was an inn on the sign.'

Brenda shrugged. 'Then we're going to be running out of money really fast at this rate.'

'Come on. We've come this far,' Marjorie said picking up her little red travel case.

Brenda picked hers up. 'Aren't you nervous? I mean, she is your long-lost mother who you've never seen. If it was me, I'd be getting cold feet, as my da' is fond of saying.'

'Yeah, of course I'm nervous,' Marjorie replied. 'But I've read all the letters she sent. I think she loves me. I mean, really loves me. She must do because of all the money she was sending.'

Brenda nodded. 'Alright then. But don't be surprised if we get turned away. You know what these posh people are like.'

'Actually, I don't,' Marjorie said as they began the five-hundred-yard walk through the grand metal gates.

It was a very pleasant stroll up to the house, with the sound of chirruping birds carried on a warm breeze. On either side of them were large ancient trees and cultivated flower beds and mown grounds. There were crumbling statues here and there which left no doubt in their minds that the estate was centuries old. The private drive was laid with an old-fashioned yellow gravel which barely kept the weeds down.

Finally, they arrived outside the impressive three storey creamy limestone covered Georgian mansion and paused. 'Shall we just knock?' Brenda asked.

Marjorie put down her case and stared at the towering brass embossed shiny black double entrance doors. She then noticed a sign to the right of the pull bell. It said, _'Hawkers and tradesmen side entrance'._

Brenda was also looking at it. 'What are we, hawkers or tradesmen?'

'Well we're not beggars, that's for sure,' Marjorie replied.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a rich Cornish voice which wafted towards them from the grounds. They looked around to see a man in his sixties hobbling towards them. 'Hello there!' the man said in a friendly manner. 'Can I help? Are you expected?'

Marjorie didn't know what to say to this. Brenda said, 'We're not expected.'

Despite his hobble, the man very swiftly made his way up to them. It was Mr Jode. 'Is it a job you're looking for?'

Brenda glanced at her friend and raised her eyebrows. Marjorie cleared her throat. 'I've come to see a relative,' she said.

'Ah,' Mr Jode said carefully studying their clothing. 'Not a relative of the masters I take it?'

'No, Mrs Alice Green's,' Marjorie replied.

'I beg your pardon?' Mr Jode said.

'Mrs Alice Green's, I'm her...daughter, Marjorie from Ireland!'

Mr Jode was always prepared for most things. This stunned him, and he almost fell sideways at the mention of Mrs Green's name. He regained control. 'Mrs Green's daughter, eh? Ah, I see. Well, lordy, I don't know what to say.'

'I'm not related,' Brenda said.

'Was Mrs Green expecting you then?' Mr Jode said.

'Not exactly,' Marjorie replied. 'Well, no actually.'

Jode scratched his bristly chin. 'And you've come all the way from Ireland to see her?'

'We're staying in London,' Brenda answered.

'I think you'd better come around to the side door and see Shirley the scullery maid, and she'll bring you up to date,' Jode said. 'Unfortunately, the old butler doesn't work here during the week anymore. But he comes up at the weekends sometimes. He would be the best person to talk to.'

'Why? Is there anything the matter?' Marjorie asked picking up her case.

Jode puckered out his bottom lip. 'It's a bit complicated. Didn't she tell you what's been happening?'

'No,' Marjorie replied. 'I haven't spoken to her. What's been happening then? Is she here?'

'Let me take those,' Mr Jode said evading the question and grabbing hold of the girl's cases. 'Shirley will explain everything.'

Coincidentally, Lady Collendon was at the window of her upstairs looking out. 'Oh Felix, we have some visitors,' she said to her husband, Lord Collendon. 'Two girls.'

'Might be applicants for that new maid's job,' Collendon said barely looking up from his oversized ironed London newspaper.

'Probably,' Lady Collendon said. 'Interesting though. One of the girls reminds me of someone we used to know. Got the classical British aristocrat's nose. A bit beaky. A poly beak I believe it's called.'

'Poor girl!'

'No, its suits her face. Bit like old what's-his-name.'

'Who's that my dear?' Lord Collendon asked.

'Lord Fenwicke!'

Collendon smiled as he turned to the racing section of the paper with a rustle. 'Heaven spare us!'

***

Feeling somewhat under attack in his own home, Geoffrey Beresford went for a stroll. He ended up in Ecclestone Square Park near to his flat, where he lit a cigarette. It was the twelfth one that day. As he smoked, he realised that he needed to consider his next steps very carefully. The change of dynamics around him had placed him in a better position. He didn't have to walk on egg shells any more. At least he knew where he stood with the British authorities and paradoxically could relax. Sir Hugh Kingston could now go to hell, although it may have been unfair of Beresford to think in these terms. Perhaps Sir Hugh was on his side all along as he had certainly cut him enough slack. It was hard to fathom what Sir Hugh really thought outside of the enclave of Whitehall.

Beresford was wearing a thin pale blue jacket and a white shirt without a tie and was enjoying the brief spell of London sunshine. Dark clouds were gathering on the political horizon, reflecting the mood over Europe. For now, the sky over London was clear. He sat down on a park bench and surveyed the scene around him. Then, to his surprise he saw his neighbour, Miss Derrius about a hundred yards away sitting on another bench. She appeared to be eating a packed lunch and he wondered whether he should take the liberty of disturbing her.

From a distance she presented a pretty picture of a jobbing actress enjoying the mild weather. From what he could tell, she appeared to be generally unattached. She was wearing a pair of very dark sunglasses and a partially revealing top. Several male strollers had also noticed her. But Beresford's instincts were troubling him as she did rather remind him of a very effeminate man. As Beresford was blatantly staring at her, she suddenly looked over and noticed him and smiled. Things were looking up. He gave her a wave back. She remained seated. He sucked on his cigarette heavily as he tried to collect his thoughts. The park was too full of distractions and he had come here to think.

Uppermost was his desire to press on with his pan-German agenda and he didn't need the spectre of Mrs Green continuing to haunt him. Circumstances had placed him as her judge and possible final executioner as well. Of course, the army would never sanction such a thing as an outright murder. This wouldn't be a problem for Beresford as he could have her relocated and then covertly arrange her demise. Beresford knew of several individuals who were effectively 'guns' for hire, although guns were rarely used. There was one man called 'Dick' who specialised in quick painless 'removals'. In fact, he was known as the 'Removal Man' for this reason. He had been recommended to Beresford by an ex-secret service operative. When a quick job was required which didn't implicate the hirer, Dick was the man.

The Delhi Herald's journalist, Safri Brahmbhatt had been the unwanted recipient of these services. Beresford had thought the method used in this instance by Dick had been clumsy. Brahmbhatt had been thrown from a hotel window. Beresford wanted Mrs Green's handling to be subtler. He would want it to appear that Mrs Green had died from natural causes. The last thing Beresford wanted, was her death to generate more publicity which the Germans were bound to pick up on and question him about.

A wad of spoil-sport clouds suddenly scudded over the sun. Beresford checked his watch. Part of the reason why he had come for a walk was because he was considering giving Dick a call. And as he was under surveillance, the call couldn't be made from his flat. Fortunately, there was a phone box nearby which was handy. After several more moments of reflection, he came to a decision. Mrs Green needed to be silenced forever. It was time to give Dick a ring and arrange a meeting. Normally they met in one of the gent's loos at Claridge's Hotel. Beresford thought it wise to have a change of venue. The new situation demanded new protocols.

As Beresford rose from his park bench, he glanced over towards Miss Derrius and found that she had gone. Perhaps he had offended her by staring. Or perhaps it was the sudden sweep of cold air that blew through the park when the sun went in. He buttoned up his jacket and quickly made his way to the phone box before it began to rain. He could smell it in the air.

***

Fintan was not a believer in fate, though he was starting to think that there was something in it. It was very strange that both he and Alice were now at MOD Drewstaignton. If there was such a thing as a circle of destiny, it had come all the way round.

He was instructed to pick up a hamper in the main office, which had been left by Lady Marcia Petrie for 'the guest'. This gave him the opportunity to write a secret note to Alice which he planned to slide under the lid of the hamper. At the main office, he was given a clearance docket by the sergeant which amounted to a signature scribbled on a slip of paper. Carrying the hamper on his shoulder, Fintan discreetly shoved his folded note to Alice under the hamper's lid. Without breaking his stride, he arrived at the sentry post at the gate of the building known as Section F. A brief examination of the authorisation was all that was needed, and Fintan was told to proceed. The hamper was quite heavy, and Fintan could only think that it was full of good things. As he approached the main building, he noticed a black metal sign which read 'Section F – Laboratories and Technical Stores.'

Another soldier examined Fintan's docket and he was asked what he was carrying.

'A basket for the lady on the first floor,' Fintan had replied.

'That would be Mrs Green,' another soldier said, looking through a hatchway.

Fintan's face went red at these words. He was under the impression that her name was not to be spoken. 'Yes, I think so,' he replied.

'You can leave it here if you want, unless you don't mind humping it up the stairs?' the soldier said.

'I don't mind taking it.'

The soldier pointed down the hallway in the building. 'Go down there and turn left at the Fermi Lab and up the stairs. Then show your docket to the man at the desk on the landing.'

Fintan nodded his head and lugged the hamper down the shiny corridor and up the stairs until he came to the next checkpoint. A corporal at a table glanced at the slip of paper with the Sergeant's signature on it and said, 'Fine. You can put it in the guard room just down there.'

Fintan followed the man's instructions and walked down to a small room without a door, where a soldier sat reading the paper. Just as Eddy had said, there were dozens of keys hanging from hooks on the walls in the room behind him. They must have all belonged to various parts of the complex. It would be quite impossible to grab any, not while there was a guard on duty.

The soldier looked up at Fintan. 'What's that you got there then?'

'A basket for...Mrs green,' Fintan replied.

The soldier put down the newspaper and frowned. 'I'll have to search it.'

'I think it's been searched,' Fintan suggested. 'I was sent here by General Walters.'

The guard nodded. 'You're that American bloke, aren't you?'

Fintan smiled. 'That's me. Shall I deliver it to the...lady?'

The soldier scratched his chin. 'You've got to have special clearance to even go in the room,' he said. 'Just leave it here and I'll sort it out.'

'I think the General wanted me to deliver it personally to make sure it got to her,' Fintan insisted.

The soldier nodded doubtfully. 'Let's see your docket.'

Fintan produced the slip of paper which was beginning to show signs of wear.

'No, this is no good,' the soldier said. 'This only authorises you to come into the building.'

'Well, I'm the General's batman and he asked me personally to deliver it,' Fintan said.

The soldier seemed unsure. He sighed. 'Well, alright. But don't talk to her. I'll take you to the door and you can put it on her table. What's in it anyhow? I've got to record everything that comes and goes.'

'I don't know,' Fintan replied. 'The General knows.'

The soldier pulled a face. 'Well, if it's good enough for the General, it's good enough for me. Go on then. It's the room on the right, 14C, down the corridor. I'll get the key.'

Fintan quickly walked ahead, down the gloomy corridor and positioned himself outside the door of 14C. He glanced behind him and saw that the guard was on the phone. ' _Hey, Alice_ ,' Fintan whispered at the door. ' _It's me, Fintan!_ '

There was a movement inside the room. 'Fintan? Is that really you?' Alice said, her voice muffled.

'Yeah, but you have to make out you don't know me, okay? I'm coming in...'

The guard finished his call and quickly came to join Fintan at the door. 'Sorry about that, just double checking.' He tapped on the door. 'Alice, are you decent? We've got something for you!!'

He inserted a large key into the mortice lock and opened the door.

Fintan carried the hamper into the room and put it carefully down on the table. Alice was standing, her face flushed and all smiles. ' _Another one!_ I bet that's from Lady Marcia again!'

'The General told me to bring it up...' Fintan began.

' _I said no talking_ ,' the guard said officiously. 'Come on let's go. I've got to bring up her lunch in a minute.'

Fintan tried to convey that he was coming back to get her, with his eyes.

Alice stared at him uncomprehendingly. 'Thanks again.'

The guard closed the door and relocked it. 'You know your way back, do you?' he said to Fintan unnecessarily.

Fintan nodded. At least he now knew where Alice was. It was just a question of working out how to locate her again at night and under the nose of the guard!

***

Alice had already had her session with Dr Rimsky and she was thrilled when Fintan magically turned up with a hamper. Had he joined the army on a fulltime basis? Was he here by coincidence or had he come to help her? It was also so very kind of Lady Marcia to send her another hamper! As she tugged at the straps and opened the lid curiously, Fintan's note flew up into the air and landed on the floor. She was just about to retrieve it when the guard tapped on the door, unlocked it and came in. He had a tray of warm food for her which he put next to the hamper. He peered nosily into it. 'Looks like Christmas has come early,' he said.

'Yes,' she replied.

The note on the floor caught his eye. 'You've dropped something!' He bent down, picked up Fintan's folded note and placed it on the table. 'Did you say you wanted the kippers this evening?'

'Anything will do,' she answered her eyes on the note.

'Well, it's either kippers or sausages,' the guard said.

'I'll have the kippers then,' she said.

'Right,' he replied with a smile as he backed out of the room and locked the door again.

Alice picked up the note from the table. It was clearly marked Alice. She opened it up and saw that it was from Fintan. It was badly spelled and written in a crude scrawl in pencil:

It's a small world, but I'm glad I've found you. I've been looking for you all over. What they are doing to you is wrong. I'm going to find a way to get you out. Don't give up and don't tell anyone that you know me. My best, Fintan.

Alice frowned. Her prayers were being heard. But how did Fintan find her and how did he propose to 'get her out'. And even if she did manage to escape, where would they go? It wouldn't be a good idea to upset the army. It would be far better to wait until they released her as they promised and then arrange to meet up. She needed to explain to Fintan what was happening so that he didn't do anything rash or stupid. Writing him a note back would be pointless as there wouldn't be any way of getting it to him. Unless, of course, she could persuade one of the soldiers to deliver it. There was only one soldier she really liked and trusted, though she hadn't seen him lately.

She folded up the note and stuck it under her mattress and began to examine the contents of the hamper. She then discovered another note addressed to her from Lady Marcia tucked next to the bottle of lemonade. It was in a scented lilac envelope. It explained that her husband Lord Petrie was consulting with some lawyers about her case. It seemed that there might be a chance of an appeal, and that she wasn't to despair. Lady Marcia also said that she would try and visit her when she could.

Like the first one, the hamper was full of luxury food items, which Alice had herself once prepared for guests at Tennyson House. There was also a rich chocolate gateau which she couldn't resist tasting. The chocolate was delicious without being too sweet. It immediately began to conjure up memories of her former life. She sat down on the bed in a slightly better humour, which was mixed with anxiety, wondering what Fintan was going to do next. She had also had a difficult session with Dr Rimsky. His parting words to her were, ' _It might go bad for you if you don't own up to the truth!'_

Alice had shaken her head. Rimsky really didn't understand. Then why should he? She hadn't told a soul about what had really gone on at Stukely. It was all in the diaries though. They were full of detail but had barely raised any interest when her belongings had been searched at the army reception. The diaries, which comprised of several small books, had also been kept under lock and key when she was in Coldvale. When she was transferred, they were handed back to her, unread, she believed, tucked at the bottom of her large travel case. The army now had possession of them and had put them in storage. If she was so minded, she could tell Rimsky to go and read them. However, there was a lot of other private stuff in them which was not really for public consumption. But it wasn't all bad.

Probably, the one and only benefit of being with Stuart Clawe was that he had taught Alice to read and write. She discovered that she had a flare for it. Words and sentences would form naturally in her mind, and so she began the practice of keeping a diary. Stuart had encouraged her to do this, and it had become a private hobby, almost amounting to an obsession. She loved trying to think of descriptions of people. She had originally described Stuart as a 'humble but respectable man'. She had described him in this way because she knew he read her diaries. Then, when he died, she began to amend a great deal of what she had written about him. She began describing him as 'evil' or as a 'drunken rotter!' No doubt Stuart's spirit had read these entries post-mortem and had turned in his grave!

It was around about that time that she began writing to Mrs Accling, the woman who was fostering her daughter Marjorie. There had been an administrative error and Alice was able to find out where Marjorie had been taken. To her pleasant surprise, Mrs Accling began to write back, and so they had begun a correspondence. To Alice, writing letters and keeping a diary had become almost like second nature. If Rimsky really wanted to know the full truth, then the diaries would have been a prime source. Out of sheer pique and bloody-mindedness, Alice thought she would give him as little information as possible. There was something off-putting about Rimsky which made her feel slightly repulsed around him. His eyes would rove around her in an invasive and unpleasant way.

Since being under the army's jurisdiction, Alice hadn't been able to do any writing at all. However, from Coldvale Prison she had managed to write to Shirley, Mr Kearns and Mrs Accling. She now regretted doing this, although as far as Alice was aware, Mrs Accling hadn't written back. Alice just hoped Marjorie had not seen the letters, as they may have had the prison's official stamp on them. Alice could kick herself for sending them.

The light from the window was waning and she had no idea what the time was. She was feeling tired and lay back on the little bed, her mind going in several different directions. Once again, thanks to Rimsky's post hypnotic-suggestions, the image of Stuart Clawe appeared before her. Even when she imagined his demeanour softening, it remained unrepentant, sour, angry. Time had cast it in stone. But he had always seemed to be angry with her. This was a sentiment she could understand to a certain extent as her responses to what he said always appeared to disappoint him.

When Lord Fenwicke had threatened to throw them out of the cottage, her only concern was whether she would be able to get another position. Stuart had derided her for being so 'knock kneed.'

'To hell with your damned employer's references!' Stuart had shouted. 'There are bigger fish to fry here!' The conversation had taken place in the large pantry at Stukely. 'Have I not promised you satisfaction? As I have said, it will be _he_ who will leave in a coffin!'

'Stuart, shh!' she had replied. 'I don't doubt you're capable of it.'

'Capable? Capable? What sort of language is that?' he had exclaimed. 'You've been reading those trashy melodramas again, haven't you? But life is not like that. What I am telling you is a fact. And you will help bring it to pass.'

Alice had grabbed his arm. 'No Stuart don't even think about it. Let's just leave. We can get another position. What about that fish mongers job up in Yarmouth? _See, Stuart, I'm carrying!'_

Stuart glared at her. 'What! You're not with child, are you? No, that can't be! How long?'

'Three months,' she replied.

'Then we'll have to get rid of it!' he said nastily. 'Why didn't you tell me before?'

She shrugged. 'I was scared to.'

'Scared to?' he retorted. 'It will ruin my plans. It will be in the way!'

'Stuart, please, I want to keep it!' she had pleaded grabbing his arm.

He had pulled away. ' _Oh, shut up_. Shut up! Shut up! You little fool. When we are set up to our liking, then you can have as many children as you want. But not now! Everything we want can be ours. Why only accept the crumbs from the king's table when we can have the whole loaf? With Fenwicke dead, we'll be sitting pretty and then they'll be time enough for playing mothers and fathers. Also, Lady Fenwicke has hinted that she has plans for me.'

'Plans?' What plans? Have you been to her bed?'

'What?' Stuart grabbed her. 'You would think like that, wouldn't you? Especially with Fenwicke pawing at you! And what if I have?'

'Stuart, please, I don't want to talk about it.'

He had shoved her away and changed the subject. 'I happen to know of a little concoction that can put a man to sleep for days. And a little bit more of it will put him to sleep forever. And the beauty is, everyone will just think it's indigestion.'

She had shaken her head. 'What do you mean?'

'I shall pick some leaves from the laurel bush, grind them up and brew them,' Stuart said with a strange smile. 'And you'll put the mixture in his master's gravy. But we don't want to kill off her ladyship. She'll be our benefactor. So, you'll prepare two gravy boats. One for him and one for her. We're having lamb on Sunday, and his Lordship will be as drunk as a skunk and won't notice. It will be a perfect time to start.'

'You want me to put poison in his Lordship's gravy boat?' Alice had repeated, petrified at the thought.

'Who used the word poison? Did I?' he had said. 'No, not poison. It's the herb of kindness, that's how I see it. It will put the man out of his misery. I mean with a nose like his! The thing is, it won't work straight away. We'll have to do it over the course of the week. I think eighty to a hundred leaves should do it in all.'

She had shaken her head. 'No, I won't do it!'

'Oh, really?' he had sneered. 'Why? Do you want to end up on the streets then?

'We'll be found out!' she had protested.

'By who, or whom?' Stuart said in a mockingly pompous voice. 'It will just look like indigestion to a doctor. It's a good plan. It's either that, or we will be without a roof over our heads and no food to eat. Besides, I don't think her ladyship will shed too many tears if his Lordship snuffed it. _The whole estate will go to her_! I will also give you something to get rid of the child and you'll take it, by God!'

Later, Stuart had forced her to drink a vile brown bitter liquid which made her vomit. It was shortly after this that Alice had a miscarriage in the dead of night. Though very tiny, the baby was perfectly formed, and Stuart buried it in the flower bed where the silver roses grew.

***

Mr Jode briefly introduced the girls to Shirley, the scullery maid, then made a funny face as he left them to their conversation. Shirley appeared to be put out, especially as Mr Jode hadn't really explained why they were there. Shirley looked down at their cases. 'Have you come about the position? There's only one really and that's of a chambermaid. It's hard work, mind.'

'No,' Marjorie replied looking around the huge kitchen. It was almost as big as her whole house in Ireland. 'No, we haven't come about the job. I'm Mrs Green's daughter.'

At these words, Shirley appeared to swoon. She staggered towards the large wooden table and grabbed hold of the edge of it and said, 'Oh, bless me. Mrs Green's daughter. Oh my,' and burst into tears.

Shocked, both Marjorie and Brenda instinctively reached out to comfort her. 'Are you alright?' Brenda asked.

'I'll have to sit down,' Shirley said pulling out a chair at the table and wiping her eyes on the tea towel tucked into her percale apron. She removed the cloth cap on her head and put it on the table. 'Not a very nice welcome for you. Have you been to see her?'

'See her?' Marjorie repeated. 'Do you mean, Mrs Green? No. Isn't she here then?'

Shirley looked up at the girls and dabbed at her eyes again. 'Then you don't know?'

'Know?' Marjorie repeated, a feeling of dread creeping up inside her. 'Is she alright?'

'You'd better sit down as well, then,' Shirley said motioning them towards the chairs.

At this point, Mr Jode quickly put his head round the door, nodded to himself and disappeared again.

'Have you read the papers?' Shirley asked.

Brenda gave Marjorie a knowing look.

'No, I haven't,' Marjorie answered, her face white.

'It's been terrible,' Shirley said. 'They've put the poor woman away!' She began to weep again. 'Oh, I _am_ sorry.'

Shirley's grief was so apparent that Marjorie felt the tears welling up in her own eyes. 'They put her away? You mean in prison?'

'Is she the cook that did that...thing?' Brenda managed to ask.

'It was all a lie!' Shirley said loyally. 'There are some wicked, wicked people in this world, and they got the better of her, poor cow.'

'What prison is she in then?' Marjorie managed to ask, her body tense.

'A horrible place called Coldvale. She's been in prison these last few months,' Shirley explained. 'But she's as innocent as I am, God bless her! Wouldn't hurt a fly. I don't know what else to tell you. She's written to me and you can read her letters if you like.'

Marjorie nodded. 'Could I? If you don't mind.'

'I'll just go and get them,' Shirley said shakily rising from her seat. 'And you do so remind me of her, I must say. I won't be a moment.'

The girls watched the woman exit the room.

'So, your mum was the one in the papers,' Brenda said in a whisper.

'The lady just said she was innocent,' Marjorie replied, her eyes downcast. 'But I don't even know for sure what she was supposed to have done.'

'Poisoned a man, I think,' Brenda said. 'Put poison in his dinner or something. I should have asked my dad.'

Marjorie was struck dumb.

'So, what are you going to do then?' Brenda asked gazing up at the array of copper pots and pans hanging over the inglenook. 'It's just as well she isn't here. No harm done, I say. It's been a fine trip. We met some nice people. Now let's just go home.'

'What if she's innocent like the lady said?' Marjorie asked.

'If she was innocent they wouldn't have put her in jail,' Brenda said.

'True,' Marjorie answered.

Another few minutes elapsed before Shirley came back with three letters which she handed to Marjorie. 'You can keep them if you like,' she sat down again and put her cap back on her head.

Marjorie glanced at the letters and immediately recognised the handwriting. 'Coldvale?'

'Yes,' Shirley said with a frown. 'It's one of the big ones in London. I was looking for a paper for you to read, but it must have been thrown away.'

Marjorie put the letters on the table. 'I don't know what to do.'

'We need to go home,' Brenda said.

'There is that job,' Shirley said. 'But you would have to talk to the new housekeeper, Mrs Phelps.'

Marjorie shook her head. 'I'm expected to go back to Ireland.'

'Are you living with family then?' Shirley asked. 'I mean, your mother, Alice never mentioned you.'

'Yes,' Marjorie said. 'It's a long story.'

'I understand,' Shirley replied. 'Look, I'm sure you could stay for dinner. But you'd have to have it in the servant's hall with us.'

Brenda said, 'There's an inn in the village.'

'A bit of dinner is the least we could offer you,' Shirley said. 'I'm sure Mrs Phelps wouldn't mind.'

'I'd feel a bit funny about it,' Marjorie replied.

Shirley patted her hand. 'Nothing to feel funny about, my love. And it will give us a chance to tell you a little bit about what happened. It looks like you don't know much.'

Marjorie looked the older woman in the eye. 'I don't know much about anything. I only found out that Mrs Green was my mother a few months ago.'

Shirley raised her eyebrows. 'My goodness. Then this must be a terrible shock. Well, then, I think you'd better stay so we can tell you what's been happening.'

Marjorie gave Brenda an enquiring look. Mr Jode appeared at the door again.

'Ah, Mr Jode, the girls will be staying for dinner,' Shirley said.

Mr Jode nodded and gave the girl's a raffish smile. ' _I'll bring in a couple of extra pork chops then_!'

Chapter Seventeen

The olive-green Ford Model 8 Deluxe, pulled up at the kerbside of New Row off Garrick Street, and Beresford climbed in shaking an umbrella. It was Dick's idea to meet like this, as he was more concerned than usual to keep a low profile. The promise of war had a compromising effect on all levels of society including paid assassins. Beresford gave Dick a hard look. He noted that this assassin for hire was wearing his usual disguise; dark glasses and hat pulled down over his forehead. Frankly, he looked ridiculous. In a moment of devilment, Beresford was tempted to yank off the man's hat.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Dick shook Beresford's limp hand, 'How have you been, Mr Beresford?' The accent was distinctly foreign. It could have come from anywhere in Europe or even Australia. Beresford suspected it was an affectation.

'I've been alright, sort of,' Beresford replied not mentioning that he had recently been shot at and blown up. He too was wrapped up in a heavy overcoat. The weather had worsened lately, and it was raining heavily.

'Did I tell you? I won't be able to do this for very much longer,' Dick said. 'I'm going into another business.'

'What's that then?'

'Sorry, can't say,' Dick said.

Beresford frowned. 'That's inconvenient.'

'I've got to move with the times,' Dick told him.

Beresford sighed. 'You'll need to recommend someone to me then to take your place.'

'I know a man,' Dick replied.

'Good,' Beresford said peering out of the window as they drove up Charing Cross Road.

Dick glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. 'So, who's the new mark?'

'A woman,' Beresford explained. 'And I hope you make a better job of it than the way you handled that journalist.'

Dick appeared to be offended. 'The man is dead, isn't he? But I didn't actually do it myself, a mate of mine did it as a favour!'

'Really? Well, throwing a man out of a hotel window is hardly discreet,' Beresford chided him. 'It seemed more like a murder than a suicide.'

'The papers said it looked like suicide,' Dick answered. 'Look, if you're unhappy, you don't have to use my services.'

'This will be your last assignment,' Beresford said bluntly.

Dick smiled. 'You don't know what my new business is yet.'

Beresford didn't like being played with. 'Ok, you're obviously dying to tell me.'

'But you'd better keep your mouth shut!'

'I don't like the sound of it already,' Beresford said.

Dick smirked. 'They're reforming MO7 and calling it MI7 and I've been recruited.'

'I see,' Beresford replied, his tone doubtful. 'Recruited? Or do you mean inducted? Inducted implies it's a mandatory enlistment, compulsory.'

'That's actually right,' Dick said. 'They had me by the short and curlies. They were going to have me up for manslaughter or worse. One of my colleagues got careless recently and they found evidence which led straight back to me. Not one of your jobs I hasten to say. Anyway, I had to do a deal. Work for them in exchange for them turning a blind eye to my misdemeanours. As of now, I'm part of the establishment. And between you and me and the traffic light, I understand that there's a Nazi sympathiser living in Pimlico that they're interested in. He might be up for disposal. That's near you, isn't it?''

Beresford's jaw almost dropped. He kept his composure. 'Pimlico?'

'Aren't you around the corner from there Mr Beresford?' Dick asked, his tone slightly challenging.

'Why do you ask?' Beresford began to feel nervous.

'No reason,' Dick replied giving him a suspicious look. 'I mean, they wouldn't be interested in you, anyway, would they? You _are_ the establishment!'

'Don't you have any more details?'

'Not as yet,' Dick said. 'Anyhow, what's this new deal then?'

Beresford took a deep breath and gave Dick a hard stare. 'Have you ever heard of a cook called Mrs Green who was convicted of poisoning a German diplomat? Well it's her. She's currently under lock and key in Exeter. But we'll be moving her down to Newquay in Cornwall. We're setting her up in a hostel and she'll be working at a local factory. I'll give you the precise location later. And I'll tell you when! I want it to appear as if she's had a stroke, or heart attack, and has died from natural causes.'

'I'm not a magician,' Dick replied. 'But I do know a little trick with washing powder. That can be quite effective in some cases.'

'Whatever,' Beresford said.

Dick gave him a wink.

'I'll leave it in your capable hands then,' Beresford said. 'Pull over here, I've got another appointment. Just make sure it's not a messy job.'

'Alright already! I'll send you an invoice.'

'No, you won't,' Beresford replied as the car pulled to the kerb. 'I'll contact _you with more information and when I want it done_!' He climbed out.

Dick tapped the brim of his hat in mock salute and drove off into the rain. Beresford quickly stepped back onto the pavement to avoid getting splashed. He put up his umbrella and watched the car drive off, his mind in a whirl.

Dick had never been a discreet man. Brahmbhatt's murder proved that. The revelation that Dick might be hired by the state to 'remove' a Nazi sympathiser living in Pimlico was a bombshell. It would be ironic if Dick was sent to kill him! Beresford would just have to make sure the surveillance team bugging his flat heard some good stuff. It was his key to survival.

***

Eddy's smile was literally from ear lobe to ear lobe. One more joke and his head would have been decapitated. 'Manna from heaven, that's what I call it,' he said with a chuckle.

Fintan stared at him solemnly. They were playing gin rummy around a small table in the common room with Eddy's other 'partners', Manny and Duds.

'I don't think there's any mileage in robbing the army,' Fintan said.

'Well, there wouldn't be, if the army found out about it,' Eddy said. 'What do you reckon, Manny?'

Manny was a dark curly haired short man in his late thirties. 'As the General said, it's all going rusty anyway. And it will never be missed. In fact, one lorry load of clapped out artillery is like a drop in the ocean to the MOD.'

'Exactly,' Eddy said. 'But it's the mortars and three-inch shells that will be the big sellers.'

Fintan glanced at his cards. 'Who will you be selling the stuff to? Not the Germans, surely?'

Manny laughed and squeezed Dud's arm. Dud's podgy middle-aged face lit up. 'The Arabs. They're still in the middle of their revolt, aren't they!'

Fintan blinked. 'What are they fighting over then?'

'It's the Nationalists isn't it,' Duds said. 'Some Sheikh was killed and it all kicked off! Anyway, they're desperate for weapons and whatnot. Anything they can lay their hands on. My contact will pay good money for any ordnance or weapons we're prepared to sell them. Of course, I'm not going to tell them that it's twenty years old'

Fintan nodded and smiled at Eddy. 'So, what's the plan then?'

'Are you in?' Eddy asked.

'Yeah, why not,' Fintan replied. 'But I don't see how you're going to be able to steal the stuff from right under the sergeant's nose.'

Eddy licked his bottom lip. 'We've got it all figured out, haven't we Manny?'

Manny looked over his shoulder and then lowered his head conspiratorially. 'As the General said, a convoy of ten lorries will be leaving with all the gear, four men to a lorry. All we have to do is make sure we're the last lorry in the convoy. I know the depot in Ivybridge well. At some point we'll be driving through woodland. As the tenth lorry in the convoy, we should be able to stop for three minutes, out of sight of the ninth lorry, and unload half the payload.'

Fintan laid a card. 'You mean, store the stuff in the middle of the woods?'

'I know a good sheltered spot,' Manny said. 'It's just off the road en route. 'It will be out of sight of the road, and it's not going to get any rustier than it is.'

'Aren't they going to make an itemised record of the stuff before we leave?' Fintan said.

'Probably,' Eddy said. 'But I don't think the guys at the depot in Ivybridge will give a hoot. It's all been written off anyway.'

'Still, it could give rise to a few awkward questions, like, where's the rest of the gear?'

'Yeah,' Eddy said, 'But I know people at Ivybridge who'll smooth things over for us.'

Fintan nodded. 'So, we unload it all in the woods, leave it, and then what? Arrange for your Arab buddies to come and pick it up?'

Duds nodded. 'Basically yeah.'

'How are we going to get paid?' Fintan asked.

Eddy's face was serious. 'In cash. They'll come and inspect the stuff and then pay us in cash later.'

'So, you'll trust them to do that?' Fintan asked, his tone dubious.

'They'll pay us,' Duds said. 'I've done deals with them before. And if they don't, they won't get any more stuff. I mean, they'll be paying a fraction of what the stuff is actually worth. So, they'll pay and come back for more. If the stuff really does look knackered, then the live stuff, like the mortar shells will make up for it.'

'You've more or less thought this through then?' Fintan said.

Manny grinned. 'It will be like taking a dummy from a baby. But if it does go wrong, we'll be court marshalled and it will be three years in the slammer. But I think it's a good risk.'

Fintan didn't reply. He kept his eyes on the cards in his hand. 'How are they going to ship the stuff abroad?'

'That's their problem,' Manny said. 'But they're very well connected. Going by what they've done before, it will be hidden on a container ship.'

Eddy looked at Fintan. 'So, changing the subject, how's your lady friend then? I heard you got to see her?'

'Got a lady friend, have you?' Manny asked.

Fintan smiled. 'You could call her that. Yeah, I popped my head round the door. But she's locked up like a sardine. I haven't a baldy notion how I'm going to get her out of there.'

'A baldy what?' Manny queried.

'Oh, it's just an expression,' Fintan said quickly.

'Sounds a bit Irish to me,' Manny said studying Fintan carefully.

'It's just an old saying,' Fintan told him. 'Anyhow, I might need you fellows to try and help me figure this one out.'

Manny fanned his cards. 'Figuring stuff out is what we're good at. Just leave it to us. She's in F section, I gather?'

'Yeah,' Fintan said. 'And there are guards all over the place.'

'Not so much at night time,' Manny explained. 'And not so much at the weekend either. Don't worry, _we'll think of something_!'

'Perhaps we could smuggle her out in one of the lorries?' Eddy suggested with another broad grin. 'If we're going to do it, we'd better do it before they ship her out!'

Fintan's head slowly turned to look at him, ' _Now there's a thought_!'

***

It was Dr Rimsky's idea to give Alice a rest from the bombardment of the daily sessions. They were showing signs of being ineffective though overuse as Alice's resistance was building.

'I don't know what more I can tell you,' Alice had retorted during the last interview with the doctor. 'How many more times do I have to say _\- I didn't do it!'_

Rimsky had nodded, though not in agreement. 'I have seen this situation before,' he said. 'Sometimes the burden of guilt is too much for the individual to bear, and they take recourse in denial. And this is what I believe you are in. You are in denial, Mrs Green, and it's my job to release you from this weight.'

She had been taken back to her room which was beginning to feel like a tomb. Fortunately, she was allowed to take supervised exercise in a small concreted area behind the building. It didn't help her sense of isolation and feeling cut off which was growing stronger. She greatly missed the staff at Tennyson House. They had effectively been her family. She was beginning to wonder what had happened to Mr Kearns. Probably, he didn't know where she was at the moment and would have undoubtedly visited her if he did. At least Fintan and Lady Marcia Petrie were on the scene, although it was clear their access to her was severely restricted.

Sitting on the bed with her hamper, she helped herself to the remains of the chocolate gateau. It was going off, succumbing to the warm atmosphere in the room. There was ventilation, but oily engine smells from the base often wafted in. If they didn't release herself soon, she told herself, she might do something 'desperate'. It was an expression Mr Jode used to use, _'I'll do something desperate if you don't watch out_ ,' he used to say.

As she sat slowly eating the last of the gateau, she had the idea that perhaps she should just tell Dr Rimsky what he wanted to hear. It might speed up her release. Or, if not that, then the rest of her sorry life story. It would mean admitting her part in the plot to kill Lord Fenwicke. She would no doubt be regarded as an accomplice, even if the idea of the murder was entirely Stuart Clawe's. After toying with this idea for a few moments, she felt it might complicate things. She just hoped they didn't suddenly decide to dig up her diaries from the army storage room. She sat back against her pillow and found herself reliving Stuart Clawe's last days at Stukely Manor. He had badly miscalculated. If there was a God in the heavens, then he clearly had other plans. Apparently, it wasn't time for Lord Fenwicke to die. It was Stuart Clawe's.

With only a week left until their expulsion from Stukely Manor, Clawe's master plan had proceeded quite well at first. With his knowledge of herbs, leaves and mosses, he had picked a small basket full of the most potentially dangerous plants in the garden. These included mature Laurel leaves and Deadly Night Shade from the shrubbery on the estate. He spent several hours grinding them up with a pestle and mortar and partially drying them in the oven. Then he went to work adding heated water and creating an infusion and spent an entire morning preparing this.

Finally, he instructed Alice to make a basic gravy mix and to add the mixture with some additional milk and salt. He called it a 'concentrate', and he advised her to wash her hands afterwards. This deadly slurry was then to be introduced into the gravy and sauces at the master's dinner table.

By this time, Alice was the household's senior cook. She had replaced an older woman who had to leave service due to gout and other complications. This gave Alice the complete run and dominion of the kitchen at Stukely. There was also a younger assistant cook called Beverly, who knew not to ask awkward questions. It was part of Stuart Clawe's plan that Lady Fenwicke was to be protected at all costs. This meant that special sauces and gravies were to be made for individual diners. Lady Fenwicke commented on this at the time, though his Lordship was completely blasé.

Clawe knew that the poisons had to be introduced slowly into Lord Fenwicke's system for best effect. At some point he would simply succumb. To ensure this was successful, Alice and Stuart began putting the poisons into his food as well. However, to Clawe's chagrin, his Lordship showed no signs of being affected. This puzzled Clawe, who came up with more concentrated poisonous concoctions. He began experimenting with a number of flowers that contained fatal and unpleasant tasting natural poisons. These had to be disguised with sugar. Also, time was running out. They had been given seven days to get out and had to leave Stukely when the new cook from Bristol arrived.

Peculiarly, circumstances seemed determined to protect his Lordship from Stuart Clawe's machinations. Furthermore, Clawe, despite being the butler, was not always present when Lord Fenwicke and his wife dined. In the end, Clawe learnt that Fenwicke had been eating at his club and was then was only pecking at his dinner at home. He wasn't taking in sufficient doses of poison. Clawe's patience was being stretched to the limit.

One evening as the servants sat eating supper in the basement of Stukely Manor, Clawe suddenly stood up at his place at the table. There were six other members of staff seated including Alice. Everyone stopped eating and looked up at the butler in surprise. Veal with mushroom sauce and white wine had been on the menu.

'What's this green herby stuff on my veal?' he demanded. He clutched his stomach. He appeared to be in pain.

Alice got up from her seat and approached him. 'Are you alright, Stuart?'

'No, I'm not!' he replied nastily.

'Begging your pardon sir,' Beverley, the assistant cook said, her face white. 'His Lordship left his dinner this evening and so I thought it was such a waste. So, I served up his leftovers. I mean, it hadn't been touched.'

Stuart looked at Alice in alarm. 'Served up his leftovers? What? Did you know this, Alice?'

Alice gave Beverly a shocked look. 'Well, no, I...'

Stuart staggered around the room. 'You put Lord Fenwicke's leftovers on my plate?'

'I reheated it first,' Beverley said, almost close to tears. 'I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I mean, there were some choice bits. We've all had some. Even me.'

Everybody looked down at their plates with concern.

' _Don't eat anymore!'_ Clawe commanded, clutching his stomach. 'Throw it all away!'

'But I thought I did good,' Beverly said bursting into tears.

'Well you didn't, you stupid idiot!' Clawe shouted. Still clutching his stomach and bent over in increasing pain, he made his way to the door. 'Get me a doctor, quick! _Quickly_!'

Alice stared at her husband, not knowing what to do. One of the footmen dashed to the upstairs' phone and called Dr Trenche, who was out of the area.

Alice accompanied her husband to his room on the first floor, where he fell on the bed groaning. 'The stupid girl has poisoned me!' he complained. 'I don't know if there's an antidote. But bring me up the Pepso Ginger and get me some mint, there's some growing by the potting shed, and a cup of milk! Hurry!'

Alice ran back downstairs again. She quickly went to the potting shed and grabbed a bunch of the distinctive mint leaves growing nearby. Then she got some milk and the medicine from the kitchen cupboard and re-joined her husband. She saw that he had broken out in a fever, his face was flushed and sweating. Alice gave him the mint which he chewed raw, guzzling the medicine and milk at the same time. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was becoming slightly delirious. Eventually, contact was made with Dr Trenche, who prescribed charcoal without knowing the true source of the ailment. There were also complaints of stomach aches from two other members of staff. Nothing seemed as dire as Stuart Clawe's condition.

It appeared that Beverley had given Clawe the choicest bit of veal from his Lordship's plate. It had apparently been more thoroughly laced with poison compared to the rest of the meal. Clawe had been the victim of his own deviousness, or so it seemed. Alice's reactions, it was noted, were not very 'compassionate,' according to the housekeeper.

Stuart survived another three days, spending some of the time painfully searching for an antidote in his Lordship's library. He died during the night of the third day, his stomach greatly distended. Cause of death was given as Sepsis. It was shortly after this that Alice left Stukely Manor by answering an advertisement for an assistant cook at Tennyson House.

***

It was plain to Lady Marcia Petrie that there was no way of persuading the General at Drewstaignton to go against his orders. Alice would remain off limits to her until further notice which annoyed Lady Marcia no end. The General suggested it was theoretically possible for Lady Petrie to tag along when Alice was being transferred. As a practical suggestion it was full of awkward logistics and inconvenience. Why couldn't he simply tell her where Alice was going?

Lady Marcia had her own life to lead. She couldn't remain at The Royal Clarence Hotel in Exeter forever, as comfortable as it was. For one thing, she had a birthday coming up – her own. A celebration at Listwell Park was expected by the people in her social orbit. Her birthday was actually on September 1st. It was not only an excuse to have a 'bash', it temporarily reunited people who hadn't seen each other for months.

Lord Petrie himself, was keen to reward his chief editor for the excellent work he had done in getting the Socialist Calendar out of the doldrums. It had mainly been done on the back of Alice Green's notoriety. A lavish birthday party was just what was expected by all concerned. And from the way relations with Germany were proceeding, it might be the last occasion of its kind for a while. A week in Exeter had been long enough for Lady Marcia to have made her point, and it had not gone unnoticed. Lady Marcia got her Chauffeur to collect herself and her assistant Madeleine from the hotel and drive home.

Once back at Listwell Park, Lady Marcia and Madeleine belatedly began drawing up a guest list for the party. Among the thirty or so guests she was going to invite, were Lord and Lady Collendon of Tennyson House. Being a private affair there was no need to invite the local parson, though they did anyway. The doctor and a retired judge were also put on the list. In addition, there were endless friends and relatives who had to be added, as was the convention. It was then that Lady Marcia had an inspiration, but she had to square it first with her husband, Lord Petrie.

'Darling,' she began as she approached him at his desk in the library. 'My birthday celebrations might be an opportunity to build some bridges.'

Lord Petrie had to tear his eyes away from a document he was reading. 'I'm all for building bridges,' he replied. 'As long as the potential benefits outweigh any attendant demerits.'

Lady Marcia smiled at him. 'It's hard to say if there are any major benefits for us, directly. But it might help Mrs Green.'

Lord Petrie grimaced slightly. 'Don't you think we're doing enough for Mrs Green? What with all the editorials I have commissioned!'

'We are, and we've done quite well out of it,' she replied. 'But nothing seems to be working for her.'

'You got that hamper through to her, didn't you?' he replied. 'And the General told you he was going to inform you when she was being moved.'

'True,' Lady Marcia said. 'But you promised to visit me at the Clarence and you didn't.'

'Was that one of the benefits?' he asked with a smile.

'Well, I was rather looking forward to having a little break with you,' she said. 'And you also could have popped in and had some words with the General.'

'Ah,' he said. 'Sneaky. And what would I have said?'

Lady Marcia smiled. 'Anything you said would have carried far more weight than anything I have already said or could have said.'

'Sorry, dear, I just couldn't get away.'

'No matter, but back to my idea,' Marcia said watching her husband carefully. 'Why don't we invite that chappy from the Home Office to my party?'

'Chappy?' Lord Petrie said. 'You don't mean Geoffrey Beresford, the man whose been foremost behind Mrs Green's persecution, do you?'

'That's the one,' Marcia said. 'I mean, he's pulling all the strings. At least that's what you've told me. It is he who is denying me access to Mrs Green!'

'Mrs Green!' Lord Petrie said with a shake of his head. 'I'm starting to dream of her in my sleep!'

'Seriously,' Marcia said. 'Why don't we? Perhaps we can butter him up. Get him on our side. You know how these commoners love to fraternise with the aristocracy. An invitation will show that we respect him.'

Lord Petrie made a disapproving sound. 'The man's a dyed-in-the-wool English Nazi. He would make Oswald Mosley look like a complete amateur.'

'Mosley is a Fascist not a Nazi, get it right dear!' Lady Marcia said.

Lord Petrie gave her a knowing look. 'You say that, but did you know he married his mistress in secret at the home of Joseph Goebbels? And Hitler was even one of the guests!'

'No, I didn't, and I don't care,' Lady Marcia said going to the window and looking up at the sky which was quickly becoming overcast. 'My main concern is for Mrs Green's wellbeing. I think the idea of inviting this Mr Beresford is a good one. Look, we are in a privileged position and we should use it to do good.'

'Even if we do invite Geoffrey Beresford, I don't think anything we say to him will make a penneth of difference,' Lord Petrie said. 'I mean we've criticised him openly in our publications, so he must absolutely hate me! So, I'm sure he would decline our invitation anyway. He's made at least two complaints about me to the Press Association already. He takes me for a complete _gawk hammer_! He wants to shut me down!'

'All the more reason,' she persisted. 'I'm sure we could come up with some pretext or legitimate excuse for inviting him. Perhaps you could ask him to write a few articles for the Socialist Calendar! Life from the perspective of Whitehall!'

'Now this is where you are taking it _too far_ , my dear!' Petrie said firmly. 'My publications are diametrically opposed to anything that remotely resembles _his brand of politics_.'

'Yes, but you have to show a balanced editorial dietary, don't you?' she said. 'We'll tell him that we're calling a truce.'

'Remind me to have you voted off the board!' Petrie joked. 'Look, I'll think about it!'

She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. ' _That's all I ask, darling!_ '

***

Mrs Phelps, the new housekeeper at Tennyson Hall took a shine to the girls straight away and offered them positions on the spot. Brenda, who was in two minds about going back home to Ireland, began to take the offer seriously. Marjorie politely refused. Mrs Phelps told them to think about it and invited them to stay for supper.

Having a cigarette outside, Brenda said, 'I hadn't planned on working as a domestic. And I have no experience at all.'

Marjorie found her friend's change of heart amusing. 'You can't be seriously thinking about it?'

'I was reading in my stars that I was going to get an offer of some sort,' Brenda said taking a puff of her cigarette. 'This must be it.'

They were sitting on a low brick wall which was just outside the kitchen door of Tennyson House.

'Well, I can't hang around,' Marjorie said. 'I came here to see my mother. If that means I've got to visit her in prison, then I will.'

Brenda shot her a doubtful look. 'She might not be too happy about you just turning up at the prison. If it was me, I would be really embarrassed.'

'You've got a point there,' Marjorie said. 'But that is what coming here was all about. I mean, what would your family say if they heard you'd taken a job?'

'I think they'd be all for it,' Brenda replied. 'They knew how much I hated that factory job back home. And they definitely didn't like me going to the pubs. At least here, I will be out in the fresh air.'

'It won't be all roses, you know,' Brenda said. 'I read an article once about life below stairs. It's hard work, long hours and low pay.'

'It was the same in Aughrim,' Brenda said. 'And I don't think I'd miss Ireland that much.'

'But wouldn't you miss your folks?'

Brenda shrugged. 'I won't stay here forever. I might be able to save up a bit of money and start my own business.'

Marjorie pulled a face. 'Doing what?'

'I'd have to think about it,' Brenda said. 'Maybe, run my own pub in Dublin!'

At this, Marjorie laughed. 'You as a landlady? That would be grand! Well, if you do, I'll be a regular customer. But seriously, I need you to come to the prison with me to see my ma. I couldn't face it on my own.'

'I know what you mean,' Brenda said almost to herself, her eyes staring hard at the potting shed which stood several yards away. 'So, you've made up your mind then?'

Marjorie nodded. 'I don't care if she put poison in someone's food. I mean, if you could just come with me for the ride, Brenda, afterwards, you could come back here, and I could go home.'

'They might want me to start work straight away,' Brenda said. 'But if it's okay with them, then I'll come with you. After all, as you say, that was the whole point. And then what will you do back home?'

Marjorie shrugged. 'Try and get by without my best friend. I'll miss you.'

Brenda touched Marjorie's arm. 'And I'll miss you too, and I'll probably hate all the work they'll make me do. I'm sure I'll be back in Aughrim before you know it. It just seems like a bit of excitement. Something different. And I wouldn't mind meeting a couple of dukes and daisy chains.'

'Daisy chains?'

'Duchesses then.'

'Just don't expect to marry one, a duke I mean,' Marjorie said with a smile, standing up and stretching. 'Shall we go in?'

Brenda put out half of her cigarette, saving the rest for another smoke later. 'Why not. We can give them a hand in the kitchen!'

***

It turned out that Geoffrey Beresford wanted to see Colonel Schrepps as much as Schrepps wanted to see him. Using a fake passport, Schrepps flew out from Berlin to see Beresford in London, and they met in Kensington Gardens. They sat on a park bench staring at the pond. It was thoughtful of Schrepps to put himself out for his friend, despite being a hardened Nazi and confidant of the German elite.

'I'm sorry you're having problems,' Schrepps said, disguised as a Bavarian businessman with a green Tyrolean hat. 'Also, your security here is getting noticeably tighter at the checkpoints. I was detained by customs for forty minutes! I think this will be my last visit but one to your country.'

Beresford looked at his friend. 'Last visit but one? Does that mean you're coming again? A bit difficult from what you've just told me!'

'It is on the insistence of the Fuhrer,' Schrepps said picking at a bit of fluff which was on his overcoat. 'He will be most indebted to you if you arranged a special conference at one of your prestigious houses.'

Beresford's face paled. 'A conference? I'm risking everything just talking to you now!'

The Colonel nodded. 'I appreciate that you are now a person of interest. But supporters of the Reich need to declare themselves. Not publicly of course. You see, High Command want you to gather our British supporters together for an extraordinary meeting. Anyone who is anyone of note must now come together and start engaging with us. That includes, aristocracy, politicians, businessmen, senior soldiers, senior civil servants, people in the entertainment industry and so forth. When Germany forces walk into your country, we need to know who our true friends are. It is essential that there will be a bureaucracy favourable to our cause, ready to cooperate. Call it an infrastructure in waiting, but the key players and organisers of this must draw up a protocol in readiness. And time is of the essence! A conference at say, Lord Collendon's establishment, Tennyson House would be perfect. It is ideal as it is miles out in the country. Of course, it will have to be conducted in the utmost secrecy. I know that Lord Collendon, though not entirely sympathetic to our cause, is suing for peace. We can use that to our advantage.'

Beresford was stumped. He knew he couldn't refuse this request. It would demonstrate his commitment to Germany, which could propel his profile upwards in the Nazi inner circle. It did seem that the Germans had rather overestimated his influence in British circles. Beresford would just have to put pressure on Lord Collendon to recruit interested parties and organise the event.

'Now, as to your personal problems,' Schrepps said. 'From what you told me on the phone, I gather you are now under electronic surveillance. And this, I presume is because you have friendly intentions towards our country. I can understand that. But you have only yourself to blame, Geoffrey.'

Beresford gaped at the Colonel. 'That's hardly fair to say. I've tried to keep my politics as quiet as possible.'

Schrepps shrugged. 'Well, it's all out in the open now. If there is a war, you may well find yourself under arrest with a large number of enemy aliens. I would suggest getting out the country. Organise the conference first and then fly to Berlin and I guarantee you special treatment.'

'I don't like the sound of that – special treatment!' Beresford said with a humourless smirk.

'I mean, I will guarantee your safety,' Schrepps said. 'Just get the conference organised and then slip quietly out. You can then work in my department under me in the Reichsregierung.'

Beresford's face paled slightly. This was something he wasn't expecting. 'It is an offer definitely worth considering and I have already thought about going into exile! But as I am under surveillance and my flat is bugged, it presents an opportunity. We are in a position to give the authorities any amount of disinformation you want.'

'I appreciate what you are saying, Geoffrey,' Schrepps replied. 'And I will think about it. But you will be putting yourself more and more at risk by showing your hand in such a blatant way. At some point the British authorities will close you down. And then what use will you be to the Reich in a prison cell? I am just thinking of you, especially as I have come to know you as a friend.'

'Thank you for your concern,' Beresford said. 'I mean it, thank you. You now have me confused. I wasn't really counting on leaving Britain. I thought my role in the Home Office would have me suitably placed for when there is an invasion. It will be my power base.'

Schrepps gave Beresford a long hard look. 'Your faith in the Fuhrer's ability to conquer territory is touching. And the policy of Lebensraum must always be at the centre of our expansionism. And certainly, the evils of the Versailles Treaty have to be overturned. In fact, I had an uncle who thought he was living in West Prussia in 1919, only to find himself ending up with Polish status! These are all issues which must be addressed. But there are some of us who think that an initial invasion of Britain would be overstretching our resources. It's a theoretical possibility but a logistical nightmare. Goering thinks we mustn't spread ourselves too thinly. The Channel has always protected your country. It is one of your greatest military assets. It certainly saved you from the Spanish and Napoleon! We would have to assemble our forces on the French coast and then transport them by ship and plane. And how many soldiers could we send over in this way? I am certain we could conquer Dover, but the rest of Britain would rally to the call. Personally, the idea of an invasion now is as impractical as it is fantastical. However, if there is a war and it has been won by us, or if we make significant gains, then we can talk about an invasion. It is only then that we might be able to get a foothold in your country. Britain will be a vanquished sovereignty with no army to speak of.'

Beresford nodded. Schrepps words had the ring of truth and Beresford then knew for certain that there was only one option available to him – to go into exile. Even if he changed political direction, the die had been cast. 'How long do you think this theoretical war of yours might last?'

'It is generally thought that Britain will fall in less than five months,' Schrepps suggested. 'We will then confer with our British supporters and you can be part of that process. That is why our influential British friends must now commit themselves.'

'I will need to think this over,' Beresford replied. He held up his hand. 'Don't worry about the conference, that won't be a problem. But I agree, I could easily end up at this rate being arrested. I am already feeling the pressure. I mean, they've been trying to kill me for God's sake!'

'Exactly!' Schrepps said his eyes widening. 'Why continue to set yourself up as a sitting duck? I will inform my superiors of your intentions to come over. They will understand perfectly. In Berlin, your role will be of consultant, telling us whatever we need to know about your governmental infrastructure and attitudes within the MOD, etc. It will be an important role, and it will come with pay and benefits and a nice apartment in Charlottenburg near me if you like. Our families can meet up on Sunday and go for picnics in Halselhorst. Very nice.'

Beresford nodded again. 'Sounds idyllic.'

'It is,' Schrepps said. 'And before I forget, how's the situation with Mrs Green? I understand she is being transferred to another prison?'

Beresford was shocked at his words. The Colonel was well informed. 'She has been moved for reasons of security.'

'Reasons of security? I see,' Schrepps said thoughtfully. 'She has a ten-year sentence, doesn't she?'

'Yes,' Beresford said quickly. 'But we've reconsidered the situation. We've decided that in the future she could become quite a liability. So, we're... disposing of her.'

Schrepps nodded. 'Ah, good. Very good. Now you're talking. When?'

'I think in the next ten days,' Beresford explained.

'The sooner the better!' Schrepps said patting Beresford on the knee. 'You're beginning to think like a National Socialist. My superiors will be most gratified to hear this!'

***

The work of clearing out the giant hangar at Drewstaignton ready for the Home Guard began in earnest the following Monday. Ten lorries and forty men were deployed for the purpose under the Sergeant's eagle eyes. A corporal was given the task of organising the inventory of items which ran into the hundreds. It soon became obvious to Eddy and Fintan that the corporal was being very lackadaisical about it. It was all clearly just so much rusty junk in his eyes. However, in terms of tonnage, the amount of decommissioned ordnance was very considerable, and ten lorries were inadequate for the job. Vehicles had to be borrowed from a neighbouring removal firm to complete the assignment.

Eddy and Manny simply saw this situation as an opportunity to set themselves up for life. In the end, it was agreed that smuggling a lorry load of the stuff was more than doable. Eventually, a convoy of eighteen lorries in all would undertake the short journey to Ivybridge without officer supervision. It didn't take much to persuade the Sergeant to allow Eddy, Fintan, Manny and Duds to operate as a crew in their own right. If he suspected anything, he didn't make a comment. In fact, the Sergeant was well aware of Eddy's extra-curricular activities and had profited from them in the past. Still, he seemed oblivious to Eddy's plans on this occasion.

But the mooted idea of smuggling Mrs Green out in a lorry was a nonstarter. Fintan had made little headway where her plight was concerned. He simply hadn't had the opportunity to break into F Section as he had planned, and Manny had thrown no further light on the situation. The big thing that was obsessing everyone at the moment was the convoy to Ivybridge which was due to go on the road the next Thursday. Also, the depot at Ivybridge had especially requested that the shipment of decommissioned munitions should be completed within two days.

'Now don't forget, we need to be the last lorry in the line,' Eddy said to Fintan as they loaded up the back of their Bedford lorry outside the hangar.

It was a hot sunny day. Manny and Duds were sweating profusely as they struggled with their loads. Also, the smell of rusting metal was quite rank in the afternoon sunshine.

'We'll need to give this stuff a bit of a buff up!' Fintan said.

'Bring some rags,' Manny suggested.

'Gun oil would be good,' Duds said.

Eventually they managed to load up their lorry from top to bottom, but the payload looked excessive. Fintan frowned as he surveyed the boxes of shells, rifles and rows of mortars piled up on each other. 'We'll keel over if we're not careful.'

'We won't be driving very fast,' Eddy said as he stood at the back of the Bedford wiping his sweaty forehead. 'I think we're looking at a pretty penny here.'

'How much do you reckon, Duds?' Manny asked.

'I'll have to think about it,' Duds said. 'Actually, I haven't been able to get hold of my contact, but that's not a problem. He can come and pick the stuff up from the hideaway whenever. I haven't told them yet where the stuff will be hidden.'

'Good,' Fintan said. 'You can't be too careful.'

Duds shook his head. 'My man is good for the money. I'll work it all out tonight.'

Eddy pulled the green canvas flaps together at the back of the lorry and did them up. 'There we go!'

'There is a problem though, isn't there?' Fintan said, keeping a wary eye on the Sergeant who was some yards away with the corporal checking some documents. 'I mean, if we're going to pinch the whole lorry load it will be a problem in Ivybridge. We'll turn up with an empty truck. How are we going to explain it?'

'We don't,' Manny replied. 'We don't turn up, period. We'll hang back, park up in the woods and then wait for the convoy to come back and re-join them. We'll be the eighteenth lorry in the line. I'll have a word with the lads in the seventeenth. They'll be fine about it.'

'We'll probably have to give them a little tickle,' Eddy suggested. 'To keep them quiet.'

'But if they're expecting eighteen lorry loads at the depot, they'll obviously notice that one is short,' Fintan said.

'Not if the guys in the seventeenth lorry say we've had a break down, or give them some story or other,' Manny said. 'Don't forget, the depot isn't a regular barracks. It's just a place where the army dumps all its unwanted rubbish.'

'And what happens to it _then_?' Fintan asked.

Manny shrugged. 'It just gets rustier and rustier. They've still got old artillery from the Boer war! And boxes of gunpowder. The place is like a tinder box!'

Duds smiled. 'Nah! It's all as damp as hell. It's all out in the open, isn't it?'

The Sergeant began striding towards them. 'What are you lot yapping about?' he demanded glancing at the back of the lorry. 'All done, are we? Ready for the road tomorrow?'

'Yes, sergeant,' Eddy said.

'Good!' the Sergeant said. 'Now stop gossiping like a load of old washerwomen. I need a latrine detail asap to report to the front office in ten minutes. That will be you, you and you! And you, Eddy, you're wanted in the laundry!'

'Yes, sergeant,' Eddy replied jumping to it.

`Fintan smiled at the sergeant who then marched briskly away. He looked at Manny. 'Do you think he suspects anything?'

'Of course, he does,' Manny said rolling down his shirt sleeves. 'He suspects everything. That's why he was made sergeant!'

Chapter Eighteen

There was a gentle knock on Alice's door. 'Are you decent, Alice?' Dr Rimsky's familiar voice said outside in the corridor.

'Yes, come in,' Alice said reluctantly, quickly hiding Fintan's note which she had been studying.

The door was unlocked, and Rimsky and Captain Marsh came in accompanied by another soldier. Alice looked up at them balefully.

'I see you've made yourself quite comfortable,' Rimsky said eyeing the hamper, whose contents had been mostly devoured.

'I suppose,' Alice replied remaining seated on her bed.

Rimsky sat down at the table, while Marsh and the soldier remained standing. 'Time is against us,' Rimsky said. 'And to be honest, you could have tried harder.'

Alice blinked without replying.

'The fact is, we've have been instructed to conclude our sessions together,' Rimsky said. 'But all has not been in vain. I think we've pretty much got a fair picture of where you're coming from.'

'Have you?' Alice said.

Rimsky glanced up at the Captain who handed him some papers. 'I would like you to sign these. It will effectively terminate our dealings with you and you will be released into the community.'

At this news, Alice brightened up. 'You mean, you're letting me go?'

'Subject to conditions which are in this document,' Rimsky said. 'Also, you will be bound by the Official Secrets Act. To breach this will be more prison time for you.'

'That's nice,' Alice couldn't help saying.

'Hmm,' Rimsky said passing her the paperwork. 'You are also forbidden to have any direct contact with Lord or Lady Marcia Petrie. Nor are you to speak to any journalists. Neither are you to return to Tennyson House or take up a post as a domestic at any other establishment. But we discussed all this during the sessions, as I'm sure you remember. In fact, we have a nice hostel for you to stay in and a job for you in Newquay. Do you know it?'

'No,' Alice replied as she took the pen Captain Marsh passed to her. She began to sign on the lines indicated by Dr Rimsky.

'How are your knitting skills?' Rimsky asked as he studied the papers after she had signed them.

'Knitting skills?' Alice replied nonplussed.

'Newquay has some knitting factories and we've got you a nice job at one,' Rimsky said passing the papers to Captain Marsh who smiled at Alice.

Alice watched Dr Rimsky's expressive face. 'When am I going?' she asked.

'Once these papers have been checked in London, we'll organise your trip,' Rimsky said. 'Oh, and you will have an official visit every so often to keep an eye on you.'

Alice sighed. 'Right.'

Rimsky stood up and looked down at her. 'Good luck and I hope things work out for you. I'm sure everything will be _just fine_! Just don't forgot to obey the conditions!'

***

Unfortunately, Marjorie didn't get to meet Mr Kearns that day, although the rest of the household at Tennyson House made up for his absence. Mrs Phelps, the housekeeper, was a very gracious woman who brought Marjorie completely up to date on Alice Green's situation. Unfortunately, unbeknown to them, their latest information did not include Alice's recent transfer to Exeter. As far as Mrs Phelps knew, Mrs Green was still at Coldvale Prison in Gloucestershire.

'Sounds miles away,' Marjorie said as she and Brenda sat down at the staff dining table for supper. They were having Scottish plaice, boiled potatoes with old fashioned parsley sauce.

'It's near Wales, I believe,' Mrs Phelps explained. 'But my suggestion is that you write to them first, or you can use the house phone. I'm sure her Ladyship wouldn't mind.'

'Perhaps I should phone them then,' Marjorie said glancing at Brenda who was demolishing the plate of hot food in front of her.

'It's a terrible situation,' Mrs Phelps said, from the head of the table. 'If Mr Kearns, the old butler was here, he'd tell you all about it. He still comes here every so often as a favour to Lord Collendon. He hasn't been completely replaced yet, that's why I'm here.'

Marjorie nodded without comprehending what she meant. 'I see. Was he a good friend of my...mothers?'

Mrs Phelps sat back in her chair and looked at Shirley.

'He was nobody's friend in particular,' Shirley, the scullery maid, said, sitting opposite. 'But he looked after us. And he did visit your mother in the prison.'

Marjorie nodded again. 'That's good. Once I get the address, I'll start writing to her.'

Mrs Phelps nodded. 'Yes, that's something you could do.'

'I'm just really wondering what she is like,' Marjorie said cutting a slice of the tasty fish and placing it in her mouth.

'She is a lovely woman,' Shirley said. 'I think you would like her.'

'Do you think she would be shocked that I've come all the way over from Ireland to see her?'

Mrs Phelps leaned over her plate. 'I suspect that she would probably be embarrassed. Also, from what I read in the papers she was given ten years, I think. The only way of keeping in touch with her would be to write. It might be awkward for you to keep coming over to see her from Ireland. Unless you moved to England. I mean, there are positions here at Tennyson House if you're interested? I mean for the two of you. There was just the one position, but we could also use a parlourmaid.'

Marjorie looked at the woman for a moment. 'You do know that neither me or Brenda have any experience of this kind of work?'

Brenda frowned. 'I clear up at home all the time, and I know you help your sick mother.'

'Ah, so you help your sick mother, do you?' Mrs Phelps said. 'This is your foster mother in Ireland? Then you would really need to go home then.'

'Yes, to be honest,' Marjorie replied. 'I mean, she's not very well at all. Her health is failing. But she could manage if she had to.'

Mrs Phelps nodded. 'Well as I say, we have vacancies here. And we're not looking for experienced staff in particular. Experienced staff are more expensive, anyway. They'll want the top hourly rate. We can start you on basic pay, and that would include accommodation and food. It would save me a lot of interviewing if you accepted. I mean, I could tell straight away that the two of you have had a good upbringing. Also, being related to Mrs Green...'

Brenda smiled at her friend. 'Be a devil, Marjorie.'

Marjorie sighed. 'I'd have to see what my mother thinks, I mean, my foster mother in Ireland. I think she'd be shocked if I told her I wasn't coming back.'

'You can but ask,' Mrs Phelps said. 'So, do you think you might be interested? It would save me putting an advertisement in the local paper.'

Marjorie glanced at Shirley who was smiling at her. 'What's the job again?'

'Chambermaid and parlourmaid,' Mrs Phelps said. 'Well, depending, your duties would include making the beds, replacing the bed linen when necessary, keeping the hallways, bathrooms and sitting areas clean and tidy. You'll be expected to do the stairs as well. You'll start at seven in the morning and finish at six at night. There are also three breaks in the day.'

Marjorie smiled, unsure. 'I'd have to have a word with my mother first, I think.'

'You can phone her from here,' Mrs Phelps said.

'We don't have a phone at home,' Marjorie said. 'But I could leave a message with a neighbour who has.'

Mrs Phelps nodded. 'I'll tell Lady Collendon that we've got two possible applicants for the jobs, then.'

Marjorie smiled politely again but couldn't help feeling a bit pressured.

***

The elegant-looking invitation from Lord and Lady Petrie in its delicately scented envelope caught Geoffrey Beresford completely off guard. It had come in the normal mail and now sat on his desk in front of him. He could hardly believe the wording in the card:

To Mr Geoffrey Beresford

_Lord and Lady Petrie of Listwell Park would be most pleased and honoured if you attended the celebration of Lady Marcia's thirty-seventh birthday at the Listwell Park Estate to take place at 7.30 pm, on Friday 1st of September_ _in the Green Ballroom. An RSVP would be most appreciated. With deepest respects..._

It was signed ' _the Petries'_. Beresford read it again for the fourth time and thought that it would be interesting to meet his enemy face to face. He also assumed that Lord Petrie had invited him to call some sort of truce. Clearly, Beresford's complaints to the press association had been effective. The other good thing was that the Collendons would be there and so he could stick with them for most of the night. He would try and ignore the fact that Lady Collendon had criticised him behind his back for his role in Mrs Green's prosecution. She had called it 'a sordid demonstration of legal and bureaucratic malice,' but he wasn't supposed to know that.

Beresford's thick skin was resistant to such criticism. In fact, to be given a mention at all, even a disparaging one was a sign of his growing prominence in certain circles. In any case, his necessary dealings would be solely with Lord Collendon who would be key to the success of the 'secret Nazi conference'.

Schrepps had expressed the inner most wishes of the German High Command and doubtless the Fuhrer himself and Beresford felt duty bound to carry them out. Schrepps had hinted that the conference should be organised as soon as possible. It fell to Beresford to contact Lord Collendon and present this request in a palatable way. Collendon though not a Nazi sympathiser, was in favour of cordial relations if not rapprochement with the Germans. The horrors of the Great War of 1914 still festered with the older generation which the younger did not fully comprehend. The young and restless sought war as a distraction from the mundane, regarding it as a patriotic adventure. The previous generation viewed it with dread.

Beresford simply saw it as a means to an end, a necessary disruption which should serve a purpose and then be put to one side. He proposed to approach Collendon as an agent of peace rather than as a war monger. He would also be doing so without the oversight of his boss, Sir Hugh Kingston, but would manipulate Collendon into thinking he approved.

Beresford had also now realised, after drinking several bottles of brandy and virtually his entire drinks cabinet, that going into exile was inevitable. He was resigned to it. Schrepps was right. Beresford would only end up in jail at the present rate of events. In fact, Beresford felt frustrated he couldn't game the secret services in the way he wanted. The listening device was there in his flat and represented the perfect opportunity to lead the British Authorities astray. But Schrepps clearly had other fish to fry. Beresford also knew there was a substratum of official agendas which he didn't even know about or could guess at. Going by his last conversation with the German Colonel, it was obvious that Schrepp's view of things had shifted slightly. The old Schrepps confidence was less than sparkling about Germany's future.

Drinking nonstop for seventy-two-hours had given Beresford a painful migraine just over his right eye and he hadn't gone into work. All the decisions regarding Mrs Green had been given over the phone and by letter. His usual Whitehall duties had also been completely neglected. Sir Hugh had phoned him the day before, presuming Beresford was still under the weather from his bullet 'wound'. Beresford played on this, and hung up the phone, hating his boss all the more despite his show of sympathy. The man was really such a phoney! Nothing would give Beresford more pleasure than seeing Sir Hugh pilloried or better still guillotined. The Nazi's certainly knew how to execute a man in the most horrendous way possible. Sir Hugh deserved nothing less.

Beresford took a shower as he reoriented himself to do business with Collendon, who might just warm to the notional idea of the conference. It would be Beresford's main priority now, above all else. There was just one problem. If Mr Kearns was a British agent, then Tennyson House would be the last place to hold such a meeting. However, Collendon was well known for holding such dinner parties, and inviting the Germans over would not be seen as suspicious. Also, members of the domestic staff, like Mr Kearns, would not normally be allowed to listen in to sensitive private discussions. The worst-case scenario, as Beresford saw it, was that if Kearns was an agent, he would simply report that a peace conference was taking place at Tennyson House. The fact that it would attended by some German officials was understandable and there was little that the authorities could do about it. And were they likely to bug an aristocrats' own home? Beresford didn't think so.

As Beresford showered, he thought about the different ways he could approach Lord Collendon. Obviously, he couldn't just write to him and make the proposal. It would have to be done discreetly, in person. Probably the best thing to do would be to telephone Tennyson House from a public phone box and request a meeting. Collendon would definitely agree to see him and would doubtless assume that it was to do with Mrs Green.

By the time Beresford had showered and dressed himself, the effect of the booze had waned, and he was thinking more clearly. He decided that he would take a walk to the phone box on the far side of Ecclestone Square and make contact with Collendon today. Dressed casually, as the weather was quite mild, Beresford left his apartment to find Miss Derrius coincidently going down the stairs in the vestibule. It struck him as odd that she wasn't using the lift, all the more so, as she was wearing high heels.

'Miss Derrius?' he said coming up behind her.

'Ah, Mr Beresford, how are you?' she asked turning around and smiling at him in a bewitching way. Her lips were rubious with lipstick and her makeup was immaculate, yet there was something about her general appearance which slightly unsettled him. He paused. He was not aware that he had even told her his name, and it was not posted on his doorbell. He racked his brain as he tried to remember if he had ever told her. Then again, he had been a tenant for years and so doubtless the landlords, Tucker and Bryce, had informed her. She herself had only been a tenant for a short while.

'How are you?' she asked again.

'I'm very well, thank you,' he replied politely. 'Just going out for a little bit of fresh air.'

'Fresh air?' she replied with a laugh. 'There's plenty of that in my flat. The skylight has fallen through. Fresh air and rain. I'm off to organise a glazier.'

'You could have phoned one,' Beresford replied. 'In fact, I know of one I could recommend.'

Miss Derrius stopped at the next landing and turned to look at him. 'Oh really? I wonder if I could ask you a really big favour? Are you very practical?'

'Are you asking me to survey the damage?' he asked.

'Would that be an absolute pain?' she said giving him a haunted look. 'There would be some tea and scones in it for you.'

'Ah,' he said with a smile. 'I mean, no, a cup of tea would be lovely.'

'I have to go out now anyway,' she replied. 'But I'll give you a knock later if that's alright?'

He smiled. 'That's fine. I'm not doing anything in particular!' He watched her shapely figure with interest as she continued down the stairs smiling at him over her shoulder. Was she being a flirt, he wondered. He would soon find out.

***

Eighteen khaki coloured Bedford lorries loaded with tons of decommissioned munitions rumbled through the Dartmoor woodlands. At first, the convoy kept together, though a few maverick drivers accelerated ahead, leaving the neat line of vehicles fragmented. Eddy, at the wheel of the eighteenth lorry could see that stealing the goods would be a piece of cake.

Manny tinkered with the radio in the passenger seat and found a decent dance band.

'That's Jay Wilbur isn't it?' Eddy said with a smile. 'Turn it up, Manny!'

The sound of ' _Lookie, lookie, lookie_ ,' sung by crooner Pat O' Malley, merrily filled the cabin, competing with the rumble of the engine.

Duds and Fintan, the two most able-bodied men, sat in the back of the lorry squashed against the artillery. Fintan was fascinated by the compact Stokes mortars which could be set on a man's shoulders. To his eyes, despite the slight tarnishing of rust, they were as good as new. He gave one of the mortar cannons a buff up with his sleeve, which made little difference.

Duds, who was smoking a cigarette smiled. 'I wouldn't bother. They'll probably only get rusty again.'

Fintan nodded. 'I was just curious.'

Duds pulled opened the canvas flap at the back of the lorry and looked out. 'Ah, we're almost here.'

'Where exactly are we going to stash the stuff?' Fintan asked, his buttocks getting sore from the rough ride.

'In a spot we've used before,' Duds said. 'We can reverse the lorry into this sort of dip just off the road and put the boxes in the undergrowth.'

Fintan scratched his nose. 'I'm just worried that it will be found by walkers.'

Duds shrugged. 'We'll put a tarp over everything and tie it down. It should only be here for three days at most. Our man will be dropping by with his transport at the weekend to pick it up.'

'You sure he'll pay up?' Fintan asked as he buffed away at the mortar cannon.

Duds nodded. 'He'll have to pay up first before we tell him exactly where the stuff is hidden, obviously. But I've got another buyer lined up if this falls through. He's an Irishman.'

Fintan looked up at this. 'He's not connected with that recent bombing up north, is he?'

Duds shrugged. 'Maybe.'

Fintan nodded. 'I also know a couple of guys who might be interested in all this stuff.'

Duds gave Fintan a dull look. 'Okay, we'll keep that in mind. I mean, there's some really good gear here. Unused mortars, rifles, knives and bayonets, old grenades, two submachine guns, I noticed, and a box of handguns! Not to mention all the other stuff.'

Fintan nodded his head again. Suddenly, he and Duds were thrown forwards and then backwards as the lorry skidded to a halt with a screech of brakes.

'I think this might be the place!' Duds said climbing out of the back of the lorry. Fintan followed him around to the driver's cabin. Manny and Eddy were getting out.

'We're well behind the rest of them,' Manny said looking up the deserted road where the convoy had gone.

The woodland had become hushed by the racket of all the lorries passing through. The men stood around for a few moments surveying the thick entanglement of trees and deep green foliage. Flowering ivy hugged the trees, and some areas were impenetrable. The sky overhead was almost completely blocked out by the overhead branches of the ancient oaks. Fintan deeply inhaled the natural mossy scents which hung in the air.

'Hmm,' said Manny. 'There's the dip over there. We can reverse into that and then quickly unload. We'll need to be at least several feet back from the road I reckon.'

Eddy jumped into the driver's cabin again and put the gears into reverse. Guided by Manny, he slowly reversed the Bedford into the natural dip which was almost completely hidden by the undergrowth. At one point it became so steep that Eddy had to slam on the brakes.

'Keep going!' Manny shouted impatiently as he waved him back.

'I don't want to dig ourselves into a hole,' Eddy responded, his head out of the window.

'Don't worry,' Manny said. 'Start turning the wheel hard to the left and you'll go down behind the three trees there. It's a perfect spot.'

Eddy put the lorry into gear again and then slowly reversed the lorry into position. The vehicle almost perfectly blended in with the landscape.

'We're good to go,' Manny said rolling up his sleeves and unhooking the wooden panel at the back of the Bedford. The men began helping themselves to the boxes of munitions.

'We can just plonk them in the undergrowth,' Duds said.

'We might not need a tarpaulin after all,' Fintan suggested as he hauled four mortars under his muscular arms. 'The undergrowth is perfect cover.'

'I told you!' Manny said triumphantly. 'I noticed this spot the other month, and I thought if I ever went AWOL, I could lie low here. I could see the road and not be seen myself!'

Fintan smiled as he grabbed a large box of heavy three-inch mortar shells. 'They should be alright for three days.'

Manny gave him a happy look.

Eddy climbed out of the cabin, puffing at a cigarette and checking his watch. 'We've got a good two hours I reckon before the convoy turns around and comes back. I think we should hide here, count the lorries coming back and then turn around ourselves and follow them home.'

'And hope our lorry isn't missed by the depot,' Fintan said.

'You worry too much,' Eddy replied.

'You do the planning and I'll do the worrying,' Fintan suggested with a grin. 'If we're going to hide here, we'll need to cover the lorry a bit better than it is, but it will be getting dark anyway.'

'Yup,' Eddy said getting stuck into the work.

It took them less than twenty minutes to completely unload the lorry. The undergrowth was high enough to disguise anything dropped into it. Nothing was stacked up and so everything was easily concealed. Eddy was all smiles. Suddenly his features tensed. 'There's a car coming!' he said urgently.

Everyone dropped to the ground on reflex in the woodland. They were within ten feet of the road and the Bedford was barely concealed behind the trees.

A small army jeep suddenly appeared on the road. There were two military personnel on board.

'Blooming hell!' Manny said. 'It's the sergeant! _Start praying lads_!'

***

Captain Marsh paid Alice an unexpected visit when he suddenly turned up one morning with another document and a suitcase. Alice recognised it at once as hers. The Captain was accompanied by the guard who politely stepped outside to allow the two to talk.

'Finally, we've got the clearance from the Home Office,' Marsh said sitting at the bottom of Alice's bed. 'You'll be leaving Drewstaignton this coming Tuesday and will be taken to a shared accommodation in Newquay, a hostel in fact. A job has been found for you, so you won't even have to attend an interview.'

Alice stared back at him, her face stern. 'Yes, you've already told me all that. Suppose I don't like the work?'

Captain Marsh frowned. 'At this stage I would be grateful that you are being released _at all_! You could have been sent back to prison. After all, you were convicted with very serious crimes.'

Alice sighed. 'Is that something more for me to sign,' she said looking at the documents in the Captain's hands.

'Just a couple more signatures,' the Captain said. 'You have to agree not to talk about this research unit, or even mention its name to anybody. If you break this condition, you will be charged under the Official Secrets Act. You will simply tell people, including your future employer if asked, that you've come from Lincoln. But your future employer has already been briefed.'

Alice shook her head. 'Believe me, I wouldn't _want_ to talk about it. It would bore me to death! I mean, at least in prison, I had a bit more freedom. I've been in this pokey room for so long I could scream.'

'I understand your frustrations,' Marsh said passing her the documents. 'I know that it's a bit late in the day, but perhaps I can have you moved to a more comfortable room before you go. Now, if you would just sign twice on page one and once on page three on the line next to your name.'

Alice took his pen and sighed where he indicated. 'So, you've brought up my suitcase I see,' she said.

'Indeed,' Marsh answered. 'It's been signed out of reception already. So, on Tuesday morning at about six am, you'll be collected without delay and driven to Newquay. When you are in your new accommodation, you will be briefed one more time about what to tell people when you speak to them. You may have to change your name. But don't worry everything will be explained to you.'

'Blimey!' Alice said.

Marsh smiled. 'I will probably not be seeing you again, and so good luck in your new life. Oh, there was just one thing.'

Alice watched the young Captain's face. 'What's that?'

The Captain glanced at Lady Marcia's hamper on the end of the table. 'That hamper was brought up to you by one of the soldiers on the base,' he said.

'Yes?'

'According to the guard, you appeared to know him,' Marsh said. 'Is that correct?'

Alice quickly shook her head. 'No, sir, not at all.'

Marsh accepted this without question. 'No, I didn't think you did.' He stood up and tidied the documents in his hands. 'Well, as I say, good luck. And if you need to see me for any reason before you go, just let the guard know. Goodbye Mrs Green!'

Alice smiled. She was still holding his pen. 'Oh, this is yours.'

He turned and took it. 'Ah, thanks! He opened the door, closed it and was gone.

Alice waited until she could hear the footsteps of the soldiers recede down the corridor. Then she grabbed the suitcase which Marsh had parked on the floor and threw it on the bed. She opened it up wondering if anything had been taken. To her relief, it was exactly as she remembered it. Nothing appeared to have been touched. She took all the clothing out and found her diaries bundled neatly in elastic at the bottom of the case.

She gently took them out and slipped one out of the bundle. It was dated 1922-1923. This was the diary that could have incriminated her. It told of her life with Stuart Clawe at Stukeley Manor and of their plot to kill Lord Fenwicke. If Rimsky had found this, she would have been sent to the gallows. There was no doubt in her mind.

She briefly flicked through the diary, grimacing at her own childish handwriting. Her writing had improved since then. As childish as the scrawl was, the matter that it described was as serious and condemnatory as it was possible to be. The courts of England and the newspapers would have paraded her before the whole world as a truly evil woman. She decided that at the first opportunity she would destroy the diary. She was mad to even have written about such things! She thought about tearing it up and flushing it down the toilet then and there. She decided to get rid of it as soon as she was moved. Quickly burying the diaries at the bottom of the suitcase again, she closed the lid. As she did this, the door of her room was suddenly unlocked. She looked up to see the guard standing in a shaft of light at the open door. She hadn't heard him coming back.

'I thought you'd appreciate some coffee,' the guard said with a smile, bringing her in an army mug and putting it down on the table.

'Oh,' she stuttered. 'Thank you.'

The guard smiled. 'So, you're off then?' he said conversationally.

She sat down at the table and stared at the steaming cup. 'Yes, on Tuesday.'

He nodded. 'I think we're going to miss you,' he said. 'Of course, you won't be allowed to drop us a postcard, because this place isn't supposed to exist. You won't even find the Drewstaignton barracks on the map.'

She nodded. 'You married?' she suddenly asked.

The guard blinked. 'Sorry, I'm not allowed to answer personal questions, but between you and me, I was. But she left me for another man. A bloke in the navy as it happened.'

'She liked men in uniform then?' Alice observed.

The guard gave her a funny look and his mood changed. 'You could say that. Well, must go. If you need anything just give me a call.'

She smiled at him. Thank you. I will do!'

***

Marjorie and Brenda decided to spend the night at the Tankard inn in the nearest village. Mr Jode dropped them down and made cheeky conversation on the way. There were plenty of vacant rooms available and they took a double room overlooking the entrance of the inn. Brenda was struck by the number of foreigners who appeared to be guests. To Marjorie's ears they all sounded like Germans.

Mrs Phelps, the housekeeper at Tennyson House, had said that Brenda could start as a chambermaid the very next day. Brenda begged for a few more days in order to make the journey to Coldvale Prison with Marjorie. Marjorie, herself, had no intention of accepting the other job of parlourmaid which was being offered as she needed to return to Ireland afterwards.

'This is going to split us up forever if we're not careful,' Brenda said as they lolled on the large double bed in their room.

There was a polite knock on the door and the landlady entered with a tray of Horlicks and biscuits. 'Just a night cap,' the smiling middle-aged woman said.

'Oh, thanks,' Marjorie replied jumping up and clearing off the table for the tray.

The woman set the tray carefully on the small round table. 'This is on the house.'

Marjorie and Brenda thanked her in unison.

'Is there anything else I can get you?' the landlady asked.,

'Who are all these people, downstairs?' Brenda enquired. 'I mean, I hope you don't mind me asking.'

'Tourists,' the landlady said. 'I think they're from Germany. Very interested in the stately house up the road they are.'

'Tennyson House,' Marjorie said. 'We've been offered jobs there.'

'Have you really?' the landlady said with genuine interest. 'Well then, perhaps you can confirm something? One of the tourists wanted to know how long his Lordship has lived up there. I said fifty years!'

Marjorie shrugged. 'We haven't a clue.'

The landlady nodded. 'Certainly, before my time. Strange. One of them said that his Lordship would be leaving soon, and that the property was being taken over.'

The girls looked at each other.

'We wouldn't know about that,' Brenda said.

The landlady clasped her hands together. 'Well, breakfast will be at eight o'clock. And if your planning to stay the rest of the day, lunch will be at twelve thirty and tea time is four, and I'm Mrs Whelks.'

'Thank you!' the girls said again, and the landlady smiled closing the door.

Marjorie picked up her mug and took a long sip. 'Ah, that's better,' she said.

'Pass me mine then!' Brenda demanded from the bed.

Marjorie brought over her friend's hot drink. 'Here.'

Brenda took a long sip of her drink. 'So, when are we going to visit the prison then?'

'I'll phone them tomorrow and see if we can just turn up.'

'It's a long way to travel,' Brenda said.

Marjorie shrugged and sat on the bed. 'I know, but that's why I came to England, to see my mother, and _nothing is going to stop me_!'

***

The seniority of Geoffrey Beresford's position enabled him to get through to Lord Collendon by phone straight away. His Lordship seemed quite amenable to him and was particularly keen to know what the prospects were regarding Germany.

'I think it would be best if we spoke in person, my Lord,' Beresford said awkwardly from the phone box just off Eccleston Square.

'Surely you can give me a hint,' Lord Collendon said from his desk at Tennyson House. 'I mean, you're as close to the British government as it is possible to be. Will there be war?'

'It depends if the Germans invade Poland or not,' Beresford said reluctantly. 'I'm not sure if the government thinks the prospect of an invasion of Britian by the Germans is feasible or likely. But I do believe, if we are not careful, that we could well be at war with Germany before the year is out.'

There was a silence at the other end of the phone and then, 'I see.'

'I should imagine you are getting similar signals from your contacts,' Beresford suggested.

'My people think not,' Collendon replied. 'Another war is not what our economy needs at the moment. In fact, there has been an upturn, if anything. A war would be detrimental to that.'

'I would argue that is a moot point my lord,' Beresford said. 'The young are positively gagging for it.'

'Well, fortunately they are not in control,' Collendon said huffily. 'Now, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?'

Beresford took a deep breath and glanced across the Square from the phone box window. 'I don't have my papers with me, but it is a classified matter. Would it be possible to come and see you in the next few days, in person at Tennyson House?'

'I don't mind, if you wish to traipse all the way up here from London,' Collendon replied. 'I mean, the whole point of telephones is to save people doing just that!'

'This matter is too sensitive to discuss on the phone, I'm afraid,' Beresford said.

'Is it regarding Mrs Green?' Collendon asked.

'Not at all,' Beresford replied. 'Mrs Green is no longer an issue. In fact, the Germans are very pleased with the way we are handling her.'

'Bully for you, Beresford,' Collendon said in a faintly sarcastic tone. 'Well, if you must come, next week would be convenient.'

'That would be ideal, my Lord.'

'You could stay for lunch,' Collendon said. 'I hope the matter is worth the effort!'

Beresford thanked him and hung up. He made his way back home again. He was rather looking forward to seeing Miss Derrius. She had promised to knock on his door that evening regarding her skylight which he had said he would look at.

He waited till eight o'clock before going up and tapping on her door, which was on the next floor up. After a longish wait, the door was opened by Miss Derrius who was wearing an apron. 'Oh, Mr Beresford, I was just going to come and call for you,' she gushed. 'I thought I'd cook something for us to eat. I should have mentioned it. I hope you haven't eaten.'

'Actually no,' he replied. He stared at her. He couldn't shake from his mind that he was really talking to a man despite her convincing appearance and female voice.

'Come in please,' she said opening the door widely for him. 'And once again I apologise for being a nuisance.'

'It's not a problem,' he said with a gallant smile.

'The skylight is in the kitchen,' she said waving him through the flat. 'I've stuck a towel in the gap in the broken glass. There's a stepladder for you to have a look. If that's alright?'

'Not a problem,' he said going through to the kitchen. He glanced up at the small skylight which was about two feet square. Climbing up the wooden stepladder, he pulled away the wet towel which had been rammed into the large smashed hole in the glass. He saw that there was still half a pane of glass in place. It required a closer look. He took one more step and from what he could tell, saw that the glass had been pushed through from the inside. He looked down at Miss Derrius who was stirring something in a bubbling pot. 'How did it happen?'

'The skylight came off its hook and swung down and the glass smashed on the wall,' she said. 'I cleaned up the mess and pushed the skylight back up with a broom. As you can see there's still half a pane of glass left.'

'This towel has been absolutely soaked by the rain,' he said.

'Here give it to me,' she replied, reaching up and taking the damp towel. She dumped it in a laundry basket.

'I would get a glazier as soon as possible,' he suggested. 'Or block the glass with a bit of cardboard or wood cut to size. I'll phone up a man tomorrow if you like.'

She smiled up at him. 'Oh, would you? I think another towel will do for now and pray it won't rain again.'

'Don't count on it,' he said.

She went into another room and came back with a fresh towel. 'Here, use this for now, and thanks awfully.'

'That's okay,' he said taking the towel and jamming it into the jagged hole in the glass. He stood staring at it for a moment. Something about it didn't seem right. It almost looked like a deliberate accident to him. Perhaps, she was a just lonely woman who needed a pretext to get him to come up. He smiled down at her. The food smelled quite appetising.

'What's that you're cooking?' he asked climbing down the ladder.

'Thespian food,' she replied as she organised two plates. 'Pig's trotters and a creamy sauce.'

He gave her an odd look. 'I haven't had those for years.'

She burst out laughing. 'I'm just joking, actually it's a bit of gammon. We're having gammon and pineapple.'

'Which would go very well with a glass of white wine,' he said smiling sheepishly

'Precisely,' she answered. 'There's a bottle in the dining room just to the left. Would you mind opening it in readiness? There's a bottle opener on the table.'

'My pleasure!' He followed her instructions and went through to the dining room, which was quite dark with beige wallpaper. He looked around. There was a heart shaped mirror on the wall which barely reflected the light from the window. Everything was neat and tidy, and appeared as if the room was rarely used. Then he noticed a thin layer of dust on the window ledge and on the book shelf. Perhaps she was so busy with her acting that she didn't have time to do any house cleaning.

There was a circular shaped Ekco radio on the sideboard which he tried to turn on. It was dead. He checked for the plug on the floor and found that it didn't have one which was distinctly strange. He went to the table and opened the bottle of Vanda white wine that was there with a loud pop. There were two glasses set by two placemats at either end of the table. It looked to his amused eye as if she was preparing to seduce him. She eventually came through with their meals on a tray and set it on the table. She was no longer wearing an apron. He stared at her curiously. Now why would an exceptionally attractive woman in her thirties, and an actress to boot, want to seduce him? He could have been her father. Surely, as an actress, she would have plenty of romantic opportunities? Or perhaps she just liked sophisticated older men?

'Would you be a darling and pour the wine, Mr Beresford?' she said sitting at the table.

'Call me Geoffrey, please,' he said doing the honours. The wine was very fizzy and had quite a pungent nose.

'Geoffrey, sit down, do,' she said. She lifted her glass. 'Cheers, and if you could kindly sort out a glazier it would be such a big favour.'

'It will be a priority,' he said sitting down at his plate. There was a nice chunky slice of pineapple on the succulent gammon. He cut himself a man's sized slice of the meat and pineapple and stuffed it into his mouth. It was quite tangy. 'So, are you doing any acting at the moment?' he asked as he chewed.

'A play off the West End. I have the program in the drawer,' she answered getting up and going to the sideboard and pulling open a drawer behind him. She removed a glossy program which she put on the table next to his elbow. She stood to the left of him, pausing in an unnatural way.

He looked up at her. 'Thanks. Sit down and have your dinner,' he said, blinking as he found himself staring at some stubble on her chin.

She too was staring at him in a strange way.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Beresford caught her reflection in the mirror on the wall. To his horror, he saw that she was clutching a small glittery object behind her back \- _it was a deadly-looking paring knife_!

***

The Sergeant's open jeep slowly trundled passed the point where Fintan and his crew were hiding in the woodland. Although their lorry was quite well concealed behind some large trees, a ray of sunshine suddenly hit the windshield. It bounced the light onto the passing jeep's rear-view mirror and blinded the Sergeant. The jeep pulled to a sudden halt and the Sergeant jumped out and looked back up the road. He instantly spotted the lorry which wasn't visible before.

The Sergeant drew his handgun and slowly walked down towards the lorry, his face perplexed. The corporal walked with him, his rifle at the ready. It was then that the sergeant spotted Manny's head tucked down in the foliage.

'Manny? What the bloody hell are you up to?' the Sergeant screamed. 'Get up! Now!'

Manny glanced at the rest of the crew who were less visible. 'I think the game's up,' he said with a sigh. He clambered to his feet followed by Eddy and the rest of the lads.

The Sergeant's face was one of astonishment. He slowly approached them, his gun still drawn. 'Do you plan on explaining yourselves?' he said in a harsh voice. 'What's the lorry doing there?'

Eddy looked up, his face red. 'It's a long story sarge.'

Keeping his eyes on the men, the Sergeant slowly walked down into the dip. 'Corporal, keep your rifle trained on these idiots.'

The Corporal did as he was ordered and lifted his rifle directly at the men.

The Sergeant slowly walked around to the back of the lorry and looked through the rear flap. 'I see! Where's all the stuff then?'

'Behind you, sarge,' Eddy said.

The Sergeant swivelled round and made out some boxes that were nearly perfectly concealed in the undergrowth. He shook his head. 'Tch! Tch! Stealing army property is a serious offence punishable by at least five years in prison. And if the property is to be used against the Crown, that could lead to a hanging for someone!' He stared at Fintan who lowered his head.

'We can explain...' Fintan began.

'I'm not interested,' the Sergeant replied. 'I've heard enough lies to last me a lifetime. Who are you selling the stuff to then?'

'What makes you think we're selling the stuff, sergeant?' Fintan asked.

The Sergeant's face became cloudy with annoyance. 'Do you take me for a complete fool!' he bellowed.

The Corporal swung his rifle around at Fintan.

'Whose idea was this?' the Sergeant asked.

Everyone looked at each other and then Duds spoke up. 'Mine, sarge!'

'I might have known,' the Sergeant said with a sneer. 'What do you think corporal?'

'It's very serious, sarge.'

'Damn right,' the Sergeant said.

The Corporal curled up his lips. 'I think they ought to be court marshalled and shipped down to that horrible military prison in Colchester.'

'My very thoughts,' the Sergeant said.

'Can't we talk about this?' Manny asked.

There was a long pause. 'What do you think, corporal?' the Sergeant asked rhetorically.

'Well, the deed has been done now, sarge,' the Corporal said his voice softening. 'So, we may as well make the best of it.'

' _Cut us in and you've got a deal!_ ' the Sergeant said breaking into a smile. Both he and the corporal lowered their weapons and laughed.

There was a visible look of relief on the crew's faces.

'I should have discussed it with you first, sarge,' Duds said.

'Damn right,' the Sergeant said putting away his gun. 'Who's the buyer?'

'Some Arabs,' Duds said. 'They're going to ship the stuff abroad.'

The Sergeant shook his head. 'They must be desperate to be buying this old junk.'

'Some of it is in good nick,' Duds said. 'Anyway, it will be all hand to hand fighting, so they'll love the bayonets!'

The Sergeant glanced into the undergrowth. 'You've got quite a good hiding place here. When is the pick up?'

'At the weekend,' Duds said.

The Sergeant nodded. 'Then I'd better make sure none of the top brass are driving down here at the time then. Oh, and one more thing,' he said as he walked back to the jeep. 'I'll want half of whatever you make.'

The men looked at each other.

The Sergeant stopped walking and gave them a look. 'Is that understood?'

Duds sighed. 'Yes, sergeant!'

Chapter Nineteen

As far as Fintan was concerned, the whole business was a bit of a fiasco and the Sergeant was just too greedy for words. Fintan didn't really care, his main concern now was to try and help Alice Green. That was his new priority. Manny said he knew someone at the barracks who used to be a locksmith. Manny had suggested it was possible to make three skeleton keys which could fit virtually any door on the base. Armed with these keys, Fintan should then be able to access any room anywhere, including in F Section. Rescuing Alice from under the nose of a guard who was just twenty feet away would be the tricky bit.

The best time to covertly access F Section was on Friday evening when it was possible to get into the officer's latrines. From there it was relatively easy to climb out of a window into a tiny courtyard and then into a corresponding window of F Section. Or so Manny said. Manny drew up a map of F section, although parts of it were vague. From it, Fintan was able to tie in what he knew about the layout of the front of the building. The information Manny supplied confirmed that the only way out would be back through the officer's latrine window. Then there would be the problem of what precisely to do next.

The moment the escape was discovered, there would be an automatic lockdown on the base. But by then Fintan and Alice would have a bit of a head's start. Another problem was that Fintan's van was still in the army compound. To use it would mean crashing through the barrier at the barrack's front gate. They would be halted in their tracks. He would have to leave it behind and appropriate another vehicle from somewhere else. Logistically, the whole plan was fraught with difficulties. He also hadn't really planned to leave the army yet as it was providing him with a safe haven from the police.

Manny's cooperation was conditional on Fintan stealing some supplies from F Section's technical stores as payment. It was a bit of a tall order and Fintan had no intention of keeping his word. He was going to get Alice and then leave without saying goodbye. It would be a lot safer that way. He and Alice would then have to go by foot for a while until Fintan secured some transport. That was the plan. What had made up Fintan's mind more than anything, was the fact that the Sergeant had now identified him as a thief! All it took was a complaint to General Walters and Fintan's 'goose would be cooked!'

Fintan was by nature a chancer. He decided to execute the first part of the plan as soon as possible and improvise the rest as he went along. He would take his chances, rescue Alice and then go absent without leave. It would mean he could never return to the barracks again. This didn't bother him as he was growing bored with the routines of army life and feared he could end up being sent to a future war zone. He much preferred the prospect of having a life with Alice. The idea appealed to him greatly. The question was, did she want to be with him?

Fintan decided to make his move the following Friday in the evening. In preparation, he retrieved the bundle of counterfeit money he had stashed underneath the bath and hid it in his bedding. Next, he put a cap in a bag, if Alice needed to disguise herself. That was the easy bit. The hard bit would be breaking into F Section, subduing the guard, and accessing Alice's room. He planned to bring her back to his private quarters. From there he would collect his money, and they would make their way to the fencing behind the compound's kitchens. A fox had dug a sizeable hole underneath the chain-link fencing which could be crawled through. It was the only other way off the base without going through the security at the front gate.

When Friday evening came, Fintan was tense but ready. Just as Eddy and Manny said, getting into F Section was quite easy. Climbing out of the officer's latrine window and going across the tiny courtyard and climbing into the window of F Section was straight forward. The windows in each case were of regular design and sizeable. Clearly the powers-that-be were not aware of this security weakness.

He found that the skeleton keys Manny had provided him were very useful and opened any door that had a normal mortice lock. This accounted for most of the locked doors he encountered. Fintan noted that F Section was completely plunged in darkness. This gave the impression the building was also apparently empty. As far as he could judge, only Alice and the guard were in the building at this time of night. It appeared that F Section had no function during the evening and so had been locked down. Fintan had to use the torch he had brought along.

According to Manny's map, Alice's room was virtually in the centre of F Section. After going from room to room, and down two dark corridors, Fintan finally arrived at a door facing the corridor where Alice was. It was yet another locked door. A dim yellow light shining underneath told him that the guard's room wasn't far away. Fintan now had to make a decision. Should he attempt to rescue Alice without dealing with the guard first? Or should he incapacitate him and then get Alice? After a few second's thought, the answer was obvious, the guard needed to be dealt with first.

Putting the torch between his teeth, Fintan carefully inserted the skeleton keys into the door's mortice. He jangled the lock mechanism around and successfully unlocked it which unfortunately, made a very audible clicking noise. Fintan held his breath but there was no apparent response from the guard's room. So, he carefully opened the door and found himself in the final dim corridor. He crept up towards room 14C and paused outside for a moment and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside. He moved on with the intention of leaping on the guard and hopefully knocking him out with one of his powerful punches. Fintan had done some fist fighting years ago to make a bit of money and knew his own strength.

With his back against the wall, he slid right up to the guard's open door and took a daring quick look in. To his enormous relief, the guard was sitting in his chair slumped forward, fast asleep. There were a couple of bottles of beer on the desk next to him. No doubt the sheer boredom of being on duty where nothing ever happened was soporific. Also, it was a different man from the one Fintan had met the other day. This was an older soldier, which probably accounted for why he was asleep in the early evening.

Although Fintan had the skeleton keys, he looked up at the board behind the soldier to see if he could find the key to room 14C. He found it labelled and hanging on a hook, but it was in an awkward position. Fintan would have to go into the room and squeeze around the guard to get it. He decided it would be best to use his own skeleton keys instead which had proven themselves. He turned and crept back down the corridor towards room 14C when he heard a sneeze. It was the guard, and he had apparently woken up!

Fintan froze wondering what to do next. He pressed himself against the wall and looked towards the guard's room. He could hear the guard pottering about and then the sound of the radio being turned on. It was a news broadcast. From what Fintan could hear, diplomacy with Germany was not going well! Fintan could also hear the radio stations being changed as the guard retuned it. But the sound of the radio would provide good cover for the clicking of Fintan's skeleton keys, as he tried to open the door of 14C. He positioned himself outside the door, knelt down and looked through the keyhole. Alice's room was completely dark. He inserted the skeleton key into the door's keyhole and whispered, 'Alice, it's me, Fintan!' There was no reply. He assumed that she was asleep.

He managed to unlock the door quite quickly and entered the dark room. His eyes had already grown accustomed to the dimness, though he couldn't make out anyone in the room. He closed the door behind him and turned on his torch expecting to see Alice in bed. To his consternation, the room, save for its furniture, was completely empty! She was gone! The bed had been stripped back, and the hamper which Fintan had brought up was also gone. Either they had shipped her out or she had been moved to another room. Fintan stood staring down at the bed for several seconds trying to collect his thoughts. To his shame, he found himself feeling slightly relieved. Abducting Alice would have been fraught with risk and he didn't have any real idea where he was going to take her. They would have been two people on the run and their future options would have been limited. They would either have to lie low in a caravan site or go abroad, which was impractical at this moment in time.

Fintan briefly considered exploring the rest of the building to see if he could relocate her. The guard was still there and that must have been for a reason. Fintan was certain that Alice was in a room in Section F somewhere. But now that the guard was awake, any further exploration would have been difficult. After checking the room one more time, as if almost not believing his eyes, he quietly left as he came in. He decided he would postpone any further action until he could find out where Alice actually was. If anyone knew where she was, General Walters would. Fintan wondered if he could broach the subject without it appearing to be too obvious. Perhaps he could ask the General in a seemingly innocent way, and he might just volunteer the information.

Fintan would also have a word with the lads and see what they thought. He was surprised that Manny hadn't said anything. He usually appeared very 'clued up' where things at the barracks where concerned.

***

Marjorie managed to find the phone number of Coldvale Prison from the phone directory at the inn. She put a few coins in the phone box in the booth and got connected to the prison after a short delay. Marjorie briefly explained that she wanted to come and visit her mother and gave some background information. The receptionist asked her to hold the line while the call went through to the Governor himself, the Reverend Damon Rung.

'I gather you are Mrs Green's estranged daughter?' the Governor said, his tone wary.

'Yes,' Marjorie answered. 'As I explained to the lady, Mrs Green isn't expecting me. But I was just wondering when visiting time was?'

The Governor appeared to phrase his words very carefully. 'In this instance I would advise you to write to us.'

'But now that I'm speaking to you, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me when I can come up?'

'The situation where Mrs Green is concerned is rather...complicated,' the Governor replied. 'I am also not at liberty to discuss it over the phone with anyone.'

'But I'm her daughter,' Marjorie said.

'That may well be the case,' the Governor explained. 'It's best that you write in this instance.'

'She _is_ there, isn't she?' Marjorie asked, her intuition working.

There was a long pause at the Governor's end. 'I am not at liberty to discuss inmates with unauthorised persons, I'm sorry. But a letter from you _will_ be passed on to her.'

'Alright then,' Marjorie said giving up. 'Thank you.'

She thoughtfully put down the phone and left the phone booth. The landlady smiled at her from across the busy reception area. 'Are you staying to lunch?' she asked raising her voice above the chatter of the other guests.

'Yes, please,' Marjorie replied with a smile. She went back up to her room where Brenda was busy organising herself. She was due to start work at Tennyson Hall that very day and was running late.

Brenda gave her an enquiring look. 'Well?'

Marjorie shrugged and sat forlornly on the bed. 'The prison told me to write.'

Brenda stared at her blankly.

Marjorie returned her look. 'They said they would pass on my letter.'

Brenda nodded and continued packing her suitcase. 'That's saved you a journey then.'

'I don't mind about the journey,' Marjorie said. 'I might just go anyway.'

'It's a long way to go to be turned away,' Brenda advised. She clicked her suitcase shut. 'Well, I'm all ready.'

Marjorie looked up at her friend. 'I'm going to miss you.'

'Pop over to Tennyson tonight and I'll meet you at the gate,' Brenda suggested. 'I reckon you could walk it from here.'

Marjorie looked around the room, a feeling of depression descending on her. 'What am I going to do for the rest of the day?'

Brenda smiled. 'There's always that job offer at Tennyson.'

Marjorie shook her head with distaste. 'Not my cup of tea. I'm going back home to Ireland anyway, as I have said.'

Brenda raised her eyebrows. 'Why don't you ask the landlady here for a job?'

Marjorie smiled. 'If I start running out of money, I might. What time shall I meet you tonight then?'

'Eight o'clock or thereabouts,' Brenda said sliding her suitcase off the bed. 'Hey, you couldn't spare me the taxi fare, could you? I don't think I could lumber this suitcase all the way up there by foot!'

***

The stainless-steel paring knife swung through the air, apparently aimed precisely at Geoffrey Beresford's left jugular vein. He tried to parry the knife with his left arm, but his assailant, Miss Derrius was stronger than she looked. She responded by making several maniacal stabs at his chest and succeeded in penetrating his jacket and shirt. Taken off guard, Beresford's initial reactions were slow, but he managed to rise from the table and punch Derrius in the face with his right fist. She fell backwards under the impact of the blow and her hair piece came away. Beresford stared at her, not altogether surprised to see that she wasn't a woman at all!

Beresford looked down at the blood seeping through his jacket. His wounds were stinging badly. ' _Who the hell are you_?' he demanded.

Derrius quickly got to her feet and jumped on him like a monkey, throwing her arms around his neck, her knife hand continuing to stab at his chest. As painful as Beresford found the assault, the wounds were not deep enough to be fatal. He quickly moved forwards and crushed Derrius against the wall, and grabbed at the knife, pulling the weapon out of her grasp. Then, almost without thinking, he lunged at Derrius' stomach with it. She groaned loudly and fell to the floor clutching her stomach in apparent agony. Beresford dropped the messy knife, appalled at his own actions.

Derrius tried crawling to the sideboard with Beresford looking on, his heart racing. Pathetically, she reached up and awkwardly opened a drawer, trying to get a small handgun there. Beresford kicked her and grabbed the firearm and pointed it down at her.

' _Don't shoot me!_ ' Derrius begged as blood poured out of her stomach. The floor was becoming slippery with blood.

'Who sent you, you nightclub _freak_?' Beresford demanded in a contemptuous voice. 'Who was it? Sir Hugh Kingston?'

'Ring for an ambulance!' Her voice was sounding foreign.

' _I said who sent you_?' Beresford said putting his foot on her leg.

'I beg you, the phone is in the hall,' Derrius said, his voice sounding more masculine than previously. ' _I'm bleeding to death here!_ Ring for an ambulance and I'll tell you everything!'

Beresford decided that he would use the phone, not to phone for an ambulance, but the police. 'I swear if you try anything I'll _come back and shoot you_!' he warned.

'Ambulance quick!' Derrius replied in a desperate voice.

Beresford backed out of the room, the gun trained on her as she sat forlornly on the floor against the wall cradling her stomach. Beresford found the phone on a small perch in the hall and quickly started to dial the emergency number. There was then a sudden movement in the other room. Beresford dropped the phone and rushed back in to find Derrius climbing out of the sash window and dropping deftly out of sight.

Beresford rushed to the window and saw that Derrius had dropped down to the roof of the building's porch. She wasn't as injured as he had pretended to be. Beresford just watched, open mouthed as his attacker made his escape. Several people in the street turned to look at the strange man in female garments scampering off. Beresford was not bothered to pursue the man. He slowly went back to the phone and apologised to the emergency operator and put the phone back on its cradle. He then did a search of Derrius' flat and found little which gave away his true identity. In fact, it appeared the flat had been rented and not really lived in.

Derrius had simply been biding his time waiting for the right moment to strike. Beresford wondered why she hadn't used the handgun when she had the chance. Perhaps, she thought the noise of the gun going off would have attracted attention. Beresford picked up the Derrius's hairpiece and threw it on the table. He stood looking down at the meal of gammon which he had barely touched. He wondered if it was contaminated in some way and shook his head, not believing his own stupidity. He had been so easily beguiled by a 'pretty woman', that he didn't look passed first appearances. Whoever Derrius was, he was also a very convincing and alluring female.

If Beresford had any lingering doubts about leaving Britain and setting up shop in Berlin under Schrepps, they had now been put to bed. The British government clearly wanted him dead, and he really needed to beat them to the punch. He decided he would flee immediately after Schrepp's conference. Doubtless, Schrepps would expect Beresford to be there at Tennyson House as a sort of major-domo. But Beresford couldn't remember whether Schrepps had said he would be there too. In fact, he didn't even know where precisely Schrepps was at the moment. Beresford could only assume he was still on British soil lying low.

Beresford's wounds were starting to smart quite badly. He needed to strip off and examine his injuries, though he felt that nothing life threatening had been inflicted. His layers of clothing had done a good job of protecting him even if he did end up with more bruises in the morning. He left Derrius's flat and went down to his own. He pulled a horrified face as he surveyed his bloody injuries in the bathroom mirror. There were several little bloody cuts and it was obvious that he would need medical attention after all. There was a particularly nasty and quite painful gash on his neck, although the blood was fast congealing. He dabbed at it tenderly with a damp flannel.

He decided he would take a cab to his private doctor's surgery to attend his injuries and then afterwards contact Schrepps. He would have to phone Schrepp's Berlin number and they in turn would give him his London number, if he was still here. Now that Beresford could see the inevitable, there was only one course of action. To quickly set everything up to Schrepp's satisfaction and then disappear into thin air before Mr Kearns and the security services, finally got him!

Before all that though, he decided to respond to Lady Marcia's invitation with an RSVP. He would attend her celebrations but do so with an ulterior motive. He hadn't thought of it before, but it would be a chance to have a good look at Listwell Park, their stately home. In the event of a German invasion, it would certainly be seized, furniture and valuable paintings and all. It was what conquering armies did, and with a little help from Colonel Schrepps, the estate could well end up in his own possession!

***

Captain Marsh was able to pull some last-minute strings for Alice and have her put in a more comfortable room, even for those last few days. As a concession, it came rather late. Within hours of her move, she was informed that she would be leaving the barracks the very next day. There simply hadn't been any available transport for the arranged Tuesday departure and so she was told to get ready to travel the preceding Monday night.

She was thrilled to be leaving the barracks and was concerned to get a message to Fintan, although this might put him in trouble. She had the sense to realise this and so felt there wasn't much she could do for the moment. He was sure to find that she had left the barracks soon enough. Perhaps she could get a message to him later. She thought that if she contacted Shirley at Tennyson House and let her know where she was, that would be a good first step. Fintan just might contact his old employer and then Shirley could tell him where she had gone. First, Alice needed to settle into her new life, start work and try and put all the unpleasantness behind her.

An army staff car picked her up at nine o'clock on Monday evening and Captain Marsh saw her off. He gave her an envelope which had some money in it and the address of the hostel that she would be staying in. Apparently, the rent on a shared room had been paid two months in advance. After that, the responsibility would be hers.

'I am obliged to inform you that if you attempt to abscond there will be severe consequences,' Marsh informed her. 'You are now being released into the community and in time your case will be reviewed. There is a curfew in place at the hostel and you are obliged to be in at seven o'clock in the evening at the latest. If you fail to return for any reason, the manager has been instructed to tell us and you will immediately be returned to prison. Is that understood? You have already signed that you understand these conditions.'

'Don't worry,' Alice replied. 'I aint going nowhere!'

One of the regular soldiers was the driver of the car and he treated her like any normal passenger. There were no handcuffs, or a suggestion that she was still technically a prisoner. Her suitcase and the empty hamper had been put in the boot. It all seemed too easy and normal. Something inside her told her to be wary. Alice sat in the back of the comfortable car, not quite believing the turn of events. She would have preferred to have travelled by day as travelling at night was slightly ominous, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach. But going by appearances, she was all but free.

'Lovely place, Newquay,' the driver was saying. He had kept up a barrage of conversation during the entire journey. 'So why were you at the barracks then?' he asked cheekily.

Alice stared at the back of the man's head. 'Haven't you read about me in the papers?'

'I read something,' the driver said. 'Didn't take much of it in.'

'It's a long story,' Alice said.

'I've got long ears,' the soldier said with a friendly chuckle. Alice smiled indulgently and then gave him a very selective summarised account of her life story right up to her detainment at the barracks.

The driver glanced at her from time to time in the rear-view mirror, then said, 'I reckon you should have got a medal for what you did. Probably in a couple of months' time I'm going to be in the trenches shooting at Nazis myself.'

Alice nodded and relaxed in the back seat. 'Well the thing is, I didn't do it,' she said. 'They got the wrong person.'

The driver smiled. 'If you say so. But if I was in charge, I would have given you a medal, definitely! And my names Alf by the way and if you ever need anything let me know. You know where I am.'

'Yes,' she answered. 'If you mean the barracks!'

He dropped her off at the Tretherra Hostel for Women and put her suitcase on the pavement outside. 'Be good and you'll be alright,' the driver said kindly. 'I'm supposed to escort you in, but I trust you!'

'Thanks Alf,' she answered as she picked up here suitcase and climbed the three short steps to the entrance of what looked like a rundown hotel. She waved at Alf as he drove off. She went into the building to the reception desk.

The moment she gave her name to the receptionist at the desk, the manager came out and asked her to go into a side room. 'Mrs Green, I'm the manager, Harold Benjamin, call me Harold, and we have been expecting you. And we've booked you in here under another name, the name of Brown actually. Not very original I must say! And I want you to know that it is an honour to meet you!' He extended his hand which Alice shook doubtfully.

She looked at him sceptically. 'You do realise where I've come from?' she asked.

'Have a seat please,' the manager said. 'Yes, and everyone agrees with me that you've been sorely treated Mrs Green, sorely treated.'

She sat down and nodded. 'Well, that's how I feel.'

'We're practically at war with Germany, and they've put you in prison for defending yourself,' the manager said. 'I've read the stories about your case and it was all most unjust. The diplomat in question was a Nazi and he picked on you because you were Jewish.'

Alice face reddened at these words. 'Hmm.'

'But don't worry about that,' the manager said. 'I'm Jewish myself and we don't put up with any anti-Semitic nonsense around here. In fact, the knitting factory where you will be working is owned by a Jewish family, the Solomons, who have brought a lot of prosperity to this area. You are with friends now.'

'That's nice to know,' Alice replied.

'I won't put you in the designated room,' the manager said. 'You'd be sharing, which isn't very nice. I thought you could have the suite on the top floor. It's got two rooms and its own bathroom and toilet, and you've a fire escape outside, so you don't have to come in the front door.'

Alice was hardly believing what she was hearing. 'Thank you. That means such a lot.'

'Now about the rent,' the manager said. 'The fact is, the suite is there for staff if they ever have to stay over, but they never do. So, you can have it rent free.'

'Rent free?' Alice repeated.

The manager smiled and gently tapped her hand. 'Actually, it will be paid for by the local synagogue. They insisted on it. See, they do not let their own go to the wall!'

Alice nodded. 'That's really nice of them. I will have to send them a card!'

'We're all on your side, Mrs Green,' the manager said. Then quite unexpectedly he let out a strange sigh. 'I'm sorry, forgive me!' He wiped his eyes. 'We live in terrible times. I have family in Germany, and I haven't been able to contact them.'

Alice stared into the man's sad eyes. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'

He nodded and quickly recovered. 'Thank you, thank you. Now, there is a community dining room here and meals are at regular times. Also, I gather that Mrs Solomon, the factory owner is looking for a cook. She has already shown interest in you, but it might be against your conditions.'

Alice's face lit up. 'Oh? Does she know what I'm supposed to have done?'

'Anyone with any sense knows you can't believe everything you read in the papers,' the manager said.

Alice nodded again. 'I'm starting to understand that.'

'Come,' The manager said. 'Let me take you upstairs to the suite and then you can join us for supper! We're having Welsh Rarebit tonight!'

***

Lady Marcia couldn't wait to show her husband the card that Geoffrey Beresford had sent in response to their invitation.

'Beresford's going to come, isn't that sweet?' she said bursting into the office where Lord Petrie was at work.

He looked up and smiled out of the corner of his mouth. It was his laconic smile, which wasn't really a smile at all. 'Yes lovely,' he said.

'Shall I read it?' she asked.

'If you must!'

She stood before his desk with the card open. 'My dear Lord and Lady Petrie, thank you for your most kind invitation. I shall be very glad to attend your birthday celebrations which I am sure will be the event of the season. Yours with very best wishes, Geoffrey Beresford.'

Lord Petrie frowned. 'What's he after then?'

'Oh don't, darling,' she replied. 'I think this could be the breakthrough we were waiting for.'

'For us or for him or for Mrs Green?' he said looking down at his paperwork.

'For everyone,' Lady Marcia said coming around the desk and giving her husband a kiss on the cheek. 'It's time we put silly differences to one side.'

'I don't have a problem,' he replied. 'He's the one with the problem. And I hope you don't expect me to talk to him all night?'

'No dear,' she answered with a wink. 'That will be my job. To charm the ire out of the man.'

'As long as that is _all_ you charm out of him!' he responded.

'Don't worry,' Lady Marcia said, her voice becoming circumspect. 'Actually, I thought I might try and pair him with Mrs Grey at the table. Now she's on the lookout for a husband, and I do believe Mr Beresford is a bachelor.'

At this Lord Petrie looked up again, his eyes almost popping out from under his aristocratic eyebrows. 'For heaven's sake Marcia, please leave our local rich spinsters out of this! They'll not thank you.'

'Mrs Grey will,' Marcia said with a knowing look. 'Her fortune is now in decline and she could do with a strong important man at the helm of the family business. And that will then make him practically _related to us_!'

'Perish the thought,' Petrie replied.

'It is either the thought, or us who will perish if we're not careful,' Marcia flung back at him as she left the room. 'Mark my words!'

***

After spending an isolated day lying on the bed at the Tankard Inn, flicking through Brenda's magazine, Marjorie went down to dinner. The landlady, Mrs Whelks, gave her a nice table covered with fresh white linen in the quiet part of the dining room. The rest of the room appeared to be filled with noisy foreign tourists. Marjorie couldn't understand where they had all come from.

The landlady handed her a menu where there were three choices at varying prices. Marjorie chose the meatloaf with roast potatoes and greens, followed by custard pudding for afters.

'Good choice!' Mrs Whelks said writing down the order on a small pad. 'Where's your friend?'

'Working up at Tennyson House,' Marjorie replied. 'Started today.'

'So, she won't be having supper this evening?'

'I don't think so,' Marjorie replied. 'I'm going to see her later. Taking a walk up there.'

'And a very nice walk it is too, during the day,' Mrs Whelks said. 'But as the evenings are drawing in early now, best to go by taxi. Or there's a shortcut by the canal. Take a right and you'll see a sign saying, 'Canal'. That will take you up to the back of the estate.'

'I suppose it depends how dark it is,' Marjorie mused. 'Brenda said to meet her at eight.'

'Oh, well, I wouldn't advise walking up there by yourself at that time,' Mrs Whelks said with a shake of her head. She smiled and went to get Marjorie's order.

As Marjorie waited for her meal, she poured some water from the carafe on the table into a glass and pondered what the landlady had said.

'Excuse me?' a young man with glasses and a foreign accent said turning around at a nearby table. He was sitting alone. 'I couldn't help overhearing what you just said about taking a walk up to the local stately home.'

Marjorie stared at him.

'Forgive me for being nosy,' the man said. He was neatly dressed, with a parting down the middle of his brown hair and looked rather bookish to Marjorie's eyes. 'I too am planning to take a walk to the mansion, Tennyson House, I believe it is called. I would gladly accompany you if you are concerned about walking up there after dark.'

Marjorie gave him a polite smile. 'I don't think I'm going now, thank you.'

'But won't your friend be disappointed if you don't show up?' the man said. 'Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing what you said. I mean, it wouldn't be a trouble to accompany you. I am staying for a few days as I am sightseeing, and it would be good to get to know one of the locals.'

'I'm not one of the locals,' Marjorie replied. 'Can't you tell?'

The man shook his head. 'I'm sorry but I do not know the area very well. My name is Hans and I'm a student from Czechoslovakia.'

'You're a long way from home,' she said, not particularly wanting to get into conversation.

'True,' he replied. 'But England is very much like my country, so I don't feel too homesick.'

She nodded. 'And as I said, I'm also not from around here.'

'Ah, a tourist like me?'

'In a way. But I'll let you know if I change my mind,' she said not having any intention of doing so.

'I'm in room number twelve,' he informed her. 'You can slip a note under the door if you're planning to go this evening and need a chaperone.'

Marjorie smiled again without replying. She could see Mrs Whelks coming back to her table with her order. The man smiled and turned back to his table. Mrs Whelks placed Marjorie's meal in front of her and made a silent comical gesture with her head towards Hans.

'Oh lovely, thank you,' Marjorie said smiling and looking down at her appealing dinner.

'My pleasure,' Mrs Whelks said, slightly raising her voice protectively. 'And if you need a bit of company later, come and join me at the bar. It will be open in half an hour's time!'

***

Geoffrey Beresford did not regard himself as a fantasist, though he feared that he was becoming one. Looking out of his flat window at the fairly serene London street, it was hard to imagine German stormtroopers marching through Ecclestone Park. But Beresford believed that it could become a reality, and any pessimism on Schrepp's part should be ignored. Schrepps was a veteran of the first world war and probably had no more stomach for conflict. He was doubtless looking forward to retirement and a handsome army pension.

However, the Fuhrer, in Beresford's eyes, was a man of vision and ambition and had spelled it out in his book, 'Mein Kampf'. Beresford had managed to obtain an English version of this and had read it from cover to cover. It was clear that world domination was the objective, and Beresford believed it could be achieved, if delayed by logistics. It cheered him that the boring norm of everyday life was going to be challenged by exciting new agendas, and he was at the heart of it. He was impressed by Hitler's use of the word 'providential' in his book. It was a word Beresford applied to himself.

He had done his best, with the help of some ointment and plasters, to patch up his injuries which looked worse than what they were. He was obliged to pick up some strongish analgesics from the local chemist to deal with the pain. He thought that a visit to the doctors could be delayed until after he had visited Lord Collendon at Tennyson House. He also wasn't going to bother informing anyone of the attack that he had suffered. The police would probably never get very far with their enquiries, he was sure, and besides he was too busy to bother making a complaint. The mysterious 'Miss Derrius' would be found in time and made to pay for 'her' transgression, of that he was determined.

He might just use Dick, his friendly hired assassin, to carry out this particular task. As it happened, it was now time to inform him that Mrs Green was being transferred to Newquay. Dick could then 'make his move' at the earliest opportunity and Beresford just prayed he made her death look like a natural one.

As arranged, Beresford got an official car to pick him up during the early morning for his appointment with Lord Collendon. He hoped to reach Tennyson House around about lunchtime. He had phoned the housekeeper, Mrs Phelps to let his Lordship know he was coming and boarded the car. He wanted to go by road in order to work on some papers and prepare his presentation to Lord Collendon. However, Beresford wasn't concerned if he missed lunch. The important thing was to get Lord Collendon's assent to host the special conference which Beresford decided to call an 'opportunity to align interests'. He would change the description according to how Collendon reacted. It was important not to rub him up the wrong way. His views on Nazism were well known, and so parts of what Beresford was going to suggest would be unpalatable to him.

He finally arrived at Tennyson House at just after one o'clock, and was warmly greeted by Lord Collendon, who had evidently been drinking. 'Good timing. I haven't lunched yet,' he said slapping Beresford on the back.

Beresford smiled, finding this greeting auspicious. He was to soon realise that Collendon had been entertaining certain fears and concerns on other matters which he wanted to discuss. For Beresford this was ideal. In his eyes, a fearful man was a man easily manipulated. They had lunch of dover sole and new potatoes in the main dining room. There was just the two of them, and so clearly Collendon was trying to impress.

'How was the journey up here?' Collendon asked conversationally as they sat at the overly long immaculately polished marble table.

'Pleasant,' Beresford replied as he tackled his food. 'It's nice to escape from the hubbub of London.'

Collendon nodded as he quaffed his white wine. 'The reverse is true in my case. I miss my old London club but can't get away. Looks like I'm destined to be a farmer.'

'Which in these difficult political times is the best business to be in,' Beresford said. 'In the event of war, the government will require you to meet certain quotas for domestic consumption. Imports will doubtless be restricted. Rationing will be the norm. It will be the duty of farmers to feed the nation, and I think you'll find that quite profitable.'

Lord Collendon's face lit up. 'I'm gratified to hear it. As much as I dislike the idea of war, if it's going to turn my business around, I'd welcome it! Since the Mrs Green affair, I've been all but blacklisted. Local butchers seem reluctant to accept my produce anymore and I'd be grateful for a fair deal.'

'I will do what I can,' Beresford said. 'A good word from me to the Minister of Food Control will go a long way, even if I say so myself.'

Collendon seemed pleased. 'That would be wonderful!'

'I will attend to this asap,' Beresford said. 'And I'd like a report on the present status of your farm – what it produces and quantities etc.'

'I'll get Mr Jode to draw it up,' Collendon replied. 'And while we're talking generally, how is Mrs Green by the way?'

Beresford pulled a face. 'She is serving her time and will soon disappear from the public consciousness. I think the public are now focussed on other things – the prospect of war, obviously. Mrs Green will soon be an insignificant footnote to history.'

Collendon nodded, his face thoughtful. 'And so, what brings you to Lincolnshire then?'

Beresford gave him a look. 'I think we should continue our conversation in more business-like surroundings, if you don't mind.'

'Of course, of course,' Collendon said rising from the table. He escorted Beresford into the smoking room, offering him some Darbeau Vintage cognac and a Havana cigar. As Beresford puffed away, it was obvious to him that Collendon could hardly stand the suspense much longer. Beresford decided to put him out of his misery.

'I have to tell you bluntly that I'm certain that there _will_ be war,' Beresford began. 'In the corridors of Whitehall, you hear talk of nothing else. And Britain will be up against a very powerful foe. In Germany there are over one hundred Heereseigene Betriebe working day and night to produce munitions...'

Collendon frowned. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Germany's investment in army owned factories has been huge,' Beresford explained. 'Germany has been able to create a Wehrwirtschaft – a war economy during peacetime. But public opinion in Britain has been the determining factor in the production of arms here. Britain is woefully under armed. In my estimation Germany's forces will easily overwhelm Britain in the event of a conflict. It is therefore important for influential persons like yourself to make some behind the scene deals to ensure continuity and survival!'

'Continuity and survival for whom?' Collendon asked. 'The country or I?'

Beresford smiled and studied the little golden label on his cigar. 'Parts of the British hierarchy are bound to survive regardless of circumstances – particularly parts friendly to the Reich.'

Collendon's face was grave. He was standing in front of the grand marble fireplace, the very archetypal image of British aristocracy in his black jacket and bowtie. 'Hmm. You see, Geoffrey, I'm not so sure that Britain's prospects are as weak as you are suggesting. Don't get me wrong, I am all for establishing and maintaining good relations with Germany. But what you are hinting at is a doomsday scenario, a takeover, a submersion of one country by another. It sounds very ugly to my ears and the country won't stand for it. If there is a war or attempted invasion, Britain will put up a good fight, on that you can count.'

Beresford nodded. 'It can't if its hands are tied, that's my point. It all boils down to a numbers game. Currently, I would say, for every British tank there are twenty German tanks. For every British munition factory there are ten German munition factories. Germany has been planning this for quite some time. It knows, in the final analysis that it is all down to the availability and deployment of hardware. It is not just a question of the will of sovereign nations. It is a question of how much manpower and battle equipment can be thrown into the theatres of war. I am therefore telling you matter-of-factly that if Germany decided to invade Great Britain, it will be an Armageddon for the people of this nation. And I see it as part of my mission to try and protect the cream of our realm. I am offering you a chance, based upon my connections with the Reich and influence at home, to establish a safe haven here for yourself and your family. This will come with guarantees of protection which others will not be enjoying.'

Collendon appeared shocked. 'You seem very certain of what you're saying. And it sounds terribly defeatist to me.'

'Obviously you can take the offer or leave it, that is up to you,' Beresford said. 'But in return for a small favour, your future can be secured, regardless of whether there is a war or not. You have nothing to lose. It is just a question of hedging your bets. And I will also ensure a turnaround of your farm's fortunes.'

Collendon let out an involuntary dry laugh. 'Come on then, spell it out to me, Geoffrey. You've come all this way! What do you want?'

'My connections with German High Command have thrown up some questions,' Beresford said. 'They are interested to know who their true friends are. Also, war is an expensive business and so why have one if it is actually unnecessary? If Britain could be persuaded to cooperate with Germany without the necessity of war, a smooth transition will result. It is therefore in everyone's interests, I believe, to have a pro German interim government waiting in the wings. This would comprise of a group of powerful British politicians, top generals and other leaders in our society friendly to Germany's interests. At the right moment, they would then take over the reins of government. They will step in and start running the country in league with their German counterparts. But it has to be carefully orchestrated and certain undesirables might have to be forcibly removed. It will not be a democratic process. There will, of necessity, be arrests of unsuitable persons. Governmental infrastructure is complex and so only qualified individuals should be chosen as replacements for those removed. But the British aristocracy must take the lead. If you and your powerful connections take the prerogative, others will follow. To that end, German High Command have requested that you host a special meeting to introduce interested parties to these political objectives. It will be a way of clarifying and aligning interests, Germany's and Britain's. A number of high-ranking members of the Reich will be flown in to attend this meeting, which is to be held under the most secret and secure conditions. No unauthorised persons must know of it. The press must be kept out of the picture at all costs.'

When Beresford had stopped speaking, Collendon was at a loss for words, then he said, 'What you are asking is for me to betray my country. You are asking me to facilitate the handing over of Britain on a platter to an upstart German corporal with ridiculous dreams of grandeur. You are asking me to have old colleagues imprisoned. It is a high price to pay for personal survival, or the survival of my little farm holding!'

Beresford shrugged. 'Then you will have to take your chances. The alternative is a bloody war. This will be a coup, yes, but a bloodless one. Why sacrifice the lives of thousands for the sake of British pride? The important thing is survival and prosperity, and Germany will bring that to Britain.'

'And your promising me what exactly?' Collendon asked sitting down. 'A voice at the table of this new government? A promise that my family will be left in peace?'

'It can be anything you want, my Lord,' Beresford said blandly. 'If you cooperate with German High Command, they will bend over backwards to reward you. It will certainly be a period of unprecedented prosperity for you. I have taken the liberty of writing down their demands and expectations...'

'Demands?' Collendon repeated.

'Their wishes then,' Beresford said correcting himself. 'I have prepared a document for you to study. I have written it out in long hand as typists cannot be trusted to keep their mouths shut. It gives you an outline of what German High Command would like to achieve within a set time frame. It essentially wants to work with Britain in tandem, not against it.'

Collendon sighed. 'I think you over estimate my pull. I have a circle of friends, and they are highly placed. But I think I will become a pariah in their eyes if I endorse what you are proposing.'

'You must explain that it is a question of survival,' Beresford said. 'A country that does not have its own messiah must inevitably submit itself to the one that does. There are a number of British aristocrats who have already recognised the Fuhrer's unique appeal and potential. He is an unstoppable force of nature who demands absolute obedience. To oppose him is, in my view, to dance with death.'

'Very poetic, Geoffrey,' Collendon replied with a shake of his head. 'But I beg to differ with you. We _do_ have a messiah in the wings, _and his name is Winston Churchill!_ '

Chapter Twenty

Dick had given Beresford the number of a phone box to ring at specific times. Beresford had then simply phoned the number at the prearranged time and day and told Dick where Alice's was. It was now time for Dick to do the deed. As it happened the phone box was just off Leicester Square and Beresford might have guessed this. If the booth was being used by someone else and the line was busy, Beresford was instructed to keep ringing.

But he got through to Dick straight away and said, ' _Tretherra Hostel for Women, Newquay_. It's in the phone book. I understand she is in the top room which conveniently has a fire escape and door leading onto it. It couldn't be better. I presume you know what she looks like. She's been in the papers often enough. Also, she will not be sharing the accommodation. And don't be messy!' He abruptly hung up.

Dick made a note of this information in a small diary which he kept for such communications. It contained a list of all the assignments he had completed in the last year and for whom. If the diary fell into the wrong hands, there would be much for certain parties to answer for. But Dick was shrewd enough to keep his diaries well concealed and every year had the habit of burning them on Guy Faulks Day. This was a nod of respect towards the establishment which had blessed him with so much work. The proceeds from his unusual occupation had enabled him to enjoy an above average lifestyle and keep a Brazilian mistress. She had absolutely no idea that her beau was a paid assassin. As far as she knew, he was a businessman who made 'deals'. It was all she cared to know. She also knew him as an attractive looking fair-haired man in his forties with a cockney accent. For reasons of anonymity, he would sometime affect a foreign accent.

Dick had recently purchased a new wine-coloured Citroen Traction Avant which he was anxious to try out. He thought that a nice drive to Newquay would be ideal. Normally he would first familiarise himself with the location of where a 'job' was going to take place. Then he would establish an operating base nearby, usually a hotel if it was far from home. It would be from here that he could focus on the assignment in hand. But on this occasion, he was tempted to take along his Brazilian girlfriend and turn it into a pleasure trip. It would be a chance to show her Cornwall and enjoy some sightseeing. The job itself, the 'contract', would almost be an automatic procedure which he would carry out during his stay. On this particular occasion, he wouldn't be taking any of his usual paraphernalia, certainly not guns or knives. The execution of Mrs Green would involve a different strategy altogether. Beresford had insisted that her death was to appear natural. It would therefore have to involve a combination of force and the administration of chemicals. The only problem was, that death by this means was never instantaneous and so Dick decided he would smother her as well. Her death would be asphyxiation disguised as a heart attack.

He made a booking for a first-class double room in the Regency Hotel on Tolcarne Beach which was quite close to where Alice was staying. Dick's Brazilian girlfriend was thrilled with the room and sunny view. They made love on the large comfortable bed with vigour, the very first afternoon. Then they ordered a sumptuous room service and Dick told her he had to go and see a client afterwards. This little excursion was technically a working break, he explained, and she was perfectly happy with that. Actually, he wanted to survey the hostel where Alice was staying, and he decided he would kill her on the very last day of his stay in the area.

The Tretherra Hostel for Women was easy to find and was indeed in the phone book as Beresford had said. Dick didn't want his presence made obvious and so he drove past the hostel in his Citroen and parked a couple of streets away. Then he casually walked back. Despite the weather being radiantly sunny, he wore his trilby and overcoat, although no one took any notice. The hostel was in the middle of a terrace of houses and had some uncultivated land around it. He quickly went around the back of the property unobserved and found the fire escape as described by Beresford. Dick smiled to himself. All he had to do was wait until after dark, quietly creep up the metal escape and then force the door. He had his own set of tools for the job. These, and the means of Alice's demise were in the boot of his car. After the job was done, he would put his tool shed in his garden at home, under the floor boards.

He knew not to spend too long ogling the property. With his head down, he quickly walked back to the road and up the street. At the corner he turned around again and glanced back at the property. He had apparently been unobserved, or had he? He suddenly noticed a woman standing at the window of the top room looking out in the direction of the sea. It wasn't clear if it was Mrs Green. Whoever it was, didn't appear to notice him. He put his head down again and walked up an adjoining road back to his car. He unlocked the boot and took out a small briefcase and then got into the driver's seat. He made sure he was not being observed and then he opened up the case. He took out some 'notes' which he had made. These were mainly newspaper cuttings of Mrs Green on her way to trial.

He studied the grainy newspaper photographs carefully for a moment. He was now quite certain that the woman he had seen at the window of the hostel was indeed Mrs Green. She had quite a distinctive face with a snub nose. However, she looked quite chubby in the photograph, although the woman at the hostel window appeared thinner. Dick pondered this for several seconds and concluded that she must have lost weight in prison. He also knew that her high profile in the newspapers would mean a suspicious death would be scrutinised and bring unwanted publicity. So, he couldn't cut corners and do a sloppy job. Her death had to appear as natural as possible. In an ideal situation there wouldn't be any publicity at all, but that was not Dick's concern. That would be a matter for Beresford.

Dick packed the cuttings away again, which he would destroy later and then drove back to the Regency, taking the promenade route. He sighed contentedly. This was one job he was determined to enjoy before he began working in earnest for British Intelligence. Of course, he was still determined to freelance, even though he had been warned that this was unacceptable. Being quite a careful man, he was certain that what the secret services didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Dick was not a man to be underestimated.

***

Dud's did not have the face of a happy man, any more than Fintan did. They were playing cards in the mess hall and commiserating with each other. Music was wafting over from a newly installed jukebox from America which everyone was gathered around.

'I can only think it's to do with border controls,' Duds was saying. 'Now that a bloody war is just 'round the corner, foreigners are having a harder time getting into the country.'

They were talking about Dud's intended Arab buyers for the ordnance which was still hidden in the Dartmoor woodland. Duds had not been able to contact them for two weeks and the deadline for the collection of the goods had passed.

'So, the stuff is just going to rot in the woods,' Fintan said, his face downcast, though for other reasons. He was a little depressed his plan to rescue Alice had so far failed. He had no idea where she had been taken.

Eddy approached them at the table. 'I've just heard that your bird has flown,' he said reading Fintan's mind.

It took Fintan a moment to understand what he meant. 'What?'

'What's-her-face,' Eddy said sitting down and lighting up a cigarette. 'Mrs...

'Mrs Green,' Fintan supplied. 'How do you know?'

'The sergeant just told me,' Eddy said. 'I've had to pick up her bedding. She went late last night.'

Fintan was aghast. 'Jesus, really? Any idea where she went?'

Eddy gave him a hard look. 'You really like this lady, don't you? No, I've no idea. But I think the sarge said Devon, no Cornwall, that was it.'

Dud's face was annoyed. 'We're supposed to be playing cards!'

'Sorry mate,' Fintan replied concentrating on his hand again. 'Thanks Eddy.'

Eddy smirked. 'Why don't you ask the General where she went? He should know!'

Fintan nodded. He had other ideas. He was going to go through the General's filing cabinet and see what he could find.

General Walters was not a lazy officer, though he often put off trips away from the barracks preferring to conduct official business by phone. The only easy opportunity Fintan would have to sneak into the General's personal office was when he was temporarily away from it. This would be when he was either eating in the officer's mess or when he went to the toilet. At night, the General's office was securely locked, though this would not pose a as a barrier to Fintan who had a very useful bunch of skeleton keys.

The very next night, Fintan sat on his bed in deep thought. He had not yet stashed his wad of counterfeit money back under the bath and was considering putting it in a better place. He was counting it yet again in a sort of distracted way, as he thought about Alice. Now that she had been transferred, he was thinking about leaving the barracks too. The barracks had been a haven for him for a while, but he needed to know that she was alright.

As he sat on the bed with his money spread out on the counterpane, there was an unexpected sound. The General suddenly appeared at his door. It was not like him to show up at such an hour and was usually sound asleep after twelve. 'Ah, Edwards, good, you're awake. Sorry to disturb you, but I've got the most abominable toothache. You couldn't run down to the dispensary and get me a couple of aspirins, could you? I'll give you the key.' He was staring at the money on Fintan's bed. Fintan made a move to cover it up.

'What the deuce is that?' the General said coming over to the bed. 'Where on earth did you get all this money?'

Fintan was at a loss for words. 'It's my savings, sir,' he managed to say.

General Walters gave him a dirty look. 'Savings? Did you declare them?'

'No sir,' Fintan said. 'Not yet.'

The General picked up a clutch of notes. 'There must be about four hundred pounds here!'

Fintan nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

The General threw the money back on the bed. 'There has been a report that one lorry load of decommissioned munitions did not reach the depot in Ivybridge. Now I'm putting two and two together here. What lorry were you in, Edwards?'

'The last lorry sir.'

'Who with?'

Fintan sighed. It looked as if he was going to have to leave the barracks after all. 'I was with Eddy Latimore, Manny Cohen, and Duds...'

The General nodded. 'Ah, Duds. I might have known! You've been stealing army surplus and selling it, haven't you, Edwards? That accounts for all this money! And I thought you were a _man I could trust_.'

'Sir, this money has nothing to do with that,' Fintan protested.

The General shook his head. 'You'll have to do better than that, Edwards. I now place you under arrest. This is very serious! You are to report to the guardroom immediately and hand yourself over. You could be court marshalled for this, Edwards. Theft will not be tolerated on this base. Give me the money!'

Fintan gathered it up and handed it to the General. 'Sir...'

'That will be all Edwards!' The General turned and stiffly walked away. Fintan sat studying the General's back and then he made a fateful decision. A military prison would not be somewhere he was planning to spend any time in. It could also mean that the normal authorities could be informed, and his true identity revealed. He might end up in a regular prison and then face the gallows for the murder of Michael O'Flaherty, the butcher. He had no choice but to act. He jumped up from his bed and pounced on the General from behind and punched him three times on the side of his head. Before the General could react, he fell to the floor unconscious, the bundle of notes flying everywhere. Fintan quickly gathered up the money and put it on a table.

He then dragged the unconscious body back to the General's own quarters in the next room and dumped him on the bed. He examined the General's head and saw with alarm that some blood was coming out of his ear. Fintan put his ear to the General's mouth to see if the man was still breathing and fortunately he was. Fintan shook his head. He was going to have to tie up and gag the General to give Fintan enough time to escape. He would have to go on the run again immediately. He went back into his own room next door to look for anything he could use to tie up his victim. Unable to find any string or rope, he managed to find a bundle of rags under the kitchen sink which he could tear up into convenient strips.

But when he went back into the General's room, he was no longer on the bed. The door leading to the hallway was open. He could hear the General calling for help. In a panic, Fintan rushed into the dim hall to find the General staggering along holding onto the wall. Luckily the hallway was completely deserted. Fintan grabbed the General again and hit him one more time. The older man collapsed in a heap and Fintan dragged him back to his room again. Fintan threw the bolt on the door and dumped the General on the bed.

Fintan sat down next to him to regain his breath. He studied the General's face. This time, he really did appear completely unconscious. He was obviously as tough as old boots as most generals were. He would doubtless come around shortly. Fintan grabbed the rags and tore them up into strips which he then used to bound the General's arms and feet. He made a gag which he forced into the General's mouth. With some difficulty Fintan pulled the blankets of the bed around up to the General's chin. It would buy Fintan some time. Perhaps twenty minutes at most.

***

Alice could observe the sea from the window of her accommodation at the hostel and she longed to dip her toes in the icy cool briny water. Hopefully, now that she was in Newquay, she would have ample opportunity to do so. The mental burden she had been carrying for the last few months finally felt lifted. Mr Benjamin the hostel manager, seemed quite besotted with her and she was beginning to see why. Alice's examination of her figure in the long bathroom mirror revealed a slimmed down version of what she used to be.

As a cook in a prestigious household, she indulged herself in all the good foods which were available. That included all those multi-tiered sweet desserts! Despite being constantly busy, her weight did pile on. It seemed to be the fate of most cooks, who were always tasting the dishes they were preparing. But prison, and life at Drewstaignton had undone some of the accumulations of good living. Not only had she lost some weight, her face looked younger. That damned button nose wasn't quite so bulbous. She smiled. She realised that she could now be in the running for another husband, if the hours at the factory permitted. The factory owner, Mrs Solomons had sent her a personal letter expressing support, and included an invitation to meet her.

Mr Benjamin, the manager, had been briefed by the army about what Alice could and couldn't do. He was only too aware that she wasn't allowed to go back into domestic service. This was one of the conditions, though Mrs Solomons, who was in the market for a cook wouldn't hear of it.

'I don't care what her conditions are!' Mrs Solomons had stated. 'I personally know Field Marshall McGuire and will have words with him! I have set my sights on employing Mrs Green, who I believe had an excellent record of service with Lord Collendon. I don't need her to man another knitting machine. I want her to replace my old cook and _she will!'_

Mr Benjamin knocked timidly on Alice's door and brought in a tray of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea. 'May I come in, Mrs Green?'

'Please do,' Alice said, who had been dusting. She put down the duster and took the tray from the hostel manager. 'Thank you, Mr Benjamin, very kind!'

'We didn't see you at teatime, everything alright?' Benjamin asked deferentially staring at the duster on the table. 'How's the place? A bit dusty?'

'Just above the wardrobe,' Alice said with a smile. She set the tray on a nearby table. 'This is a lovely little place.'

'You can stay as long as you wish,' Mr Benjamin said grasping his hands together. He appeared nervous. 'May I possibly have a brief word with you?'

'Of course,' Alice replied.

They sat down at the table opposite each other. 'I spoke with Mrs Solomons on the phone,' Benjamin began. 'She owns the factory where you are due to start work.'

'Will I be starting soon?' Alice asked eagerly.

Benjamin pulled a face. 'Well, the problem is, the owners don't want to employ you in the factory as such. They want to employ you as their cook, but as you know you have been forbidden from working in service like you used to. You'll have to refuse or we'll all get into trouble.'

Alice sighed. She dearly would have liked to work as a cook. 'Perhaps I can start in the factory first and work my way up.'

'I will have to get some advice on that,' Mr Benjamin said with a frown. 'See, I am responsible for you. I have to report anything which breaches your conditions, I regret to say.'

'What shall I do then?' Alice said looking down at the cucumber sandwiches. 'Mrs Solomons has sent me a letter asking me to meet her on Monday morning.'

'Go anyway,' Benjamin said. 'And I'll explain again to her the ins and outs of your case. She knows about them anyway.'

'Thank you, Mr Benjamin.'

Benjamin nodded. 'Mrs Solomons is a very stubborn woman and is acquainted with all sorts of influential people, MPs and higher ups like that! I think she'll try and pull some strings for you. I'm sure she will make this right. She employs half the folk in Newquay in one way or another! So, they will have to take notice of her wishes.'

Alice nodded. 'I don't want to go back to prison.'

Mr Benjamin stared at her. 'No, of course not. Well, until this has all been sorted out, you can have a bit of free time. Go down to the beach. At least you don't have to worry about paying the rent!' He rose and smiled. 'Just sit tight and I'll let you know what she says.'

Alice saw him out with a grateful smile and then went back to the table where she hungrily helped herself to the sandwiches. Perhaps, with Mrs Solomons on her side, things would really start getting back to normal. Mr Benjamin's confidence in the factory owner was reassuring.

***

Brenda had not counted on the evenings drawing in as they now were. She had been waiting at the gates of Tennyson House for Marjorie for ten minutes, puffing at a cigarette. Then she gave up and went back into the kitchen.

Shirley was holding the phone in the hallway. It was Marjorie phoning from the inn. Brenda rushed over and took the call. 'Where are you? I've been waiting for you to show up for twenty minutes.'

'It's too dark to come up there by foot,' Marjorie said. She was speaking from the inn's phone. 'And I couldn't get a taxi, sorry.'

'Excuses, excuses,' Brenda said.

'So how was your first day, then?' Marjorie asked.

'Well, I was late this morning as you know, but they didn't seem to mind,' Brenda explained. 'I've got a nice room in the attic near Paul's room, he's the footman. He's a right dreamboat!'

'Oh God, there you go again.' Marjorie said. She suddenly saw Hans walk by the reception desk and exit the inn. She turned away. 'Don't you go getting involved now with no footman!'

'I'm over eighteen and I can do what I like,' Brenda replied. 'Besides, when you get to twenty-nine your life is over.'

'You've got a long way to go yet,' Marjorie said with a laugh.

'That reminds me, I met her Ladyship today, Lady Collendon,' Brenda said. 'She was asking all these questions about you!'

Marjorie was intrigued. 'Me? Oh really? Such as what?'

'She said she didn't know that Mrs Green had a daughter and wanted to know everything about you,' Brenda said. 'She also told me not to say anything to Lord Collendon.'

'I see,' Marjorie replied. 'Do you think you'll want to stay there?'

'I don't see why not,' Brenda said. 'I'll have to tell my parents though.'

'They'll start worrying if you don't,' Marjorie said.

'Maybe,' Brenda replied. 'I think they just want to see me married off and that's it!'

'Okay, but whatever you do, don't marry the footman,' Marjorie advised. 'You'll be stuck in that life forever.'

'I'll see how it goes,' Brenda said with a laugh. 'So, did you write to the prison?'

'No, I don't want to write,' Marjorie replied. 'I'm planning to just go there. I'm sure they'll not turn me away.'

'Hmm,' Brenda said. 'I don't think I'll be coming with you after all. They won't let me have the time off. Sorry about that.'

Marjorie was quiet for several seconds. 'I see.'

'But I've got a few hours off at the weekend,' Brenda said, her tone becoming more positive. 'We'll meet then. I'll come down to the inn and maybe we can take in a film or something in town.'

'What town?' Marjorie asked.

'Ask the landlady, she'll know,' Brenda said. 'I mean, we'll need to meet up before you go off.'

Marjorie sighed not looking forward to taking the journey on her own. 'I'll go after the weekend then.'

'And after that, then what? 'Brenda asked.

'I'll stay in England as long as the money lasts,' Marjorie said. 'By then, you'll know if you want to stay at Tennyson or not. If not, you can come back to Ireland with me.'

'Sounds like a good plan,' Brenda replied. 'Look, I've got to go now. His Lordship is coming! Bye!'

The girls hung up their phones and Marjorie drifted back to her room and went to the window. Looking down, she saw Hans on the dark drive talking to a group of men of similar ages with wooden sticks. The little yellow light above the inn entrance illuminated their faces and they appeared to be preparing to go for an evening walk. She then saw Hans suddenly rush back into the inn. A few minutes later a note was pushed under her door. He must have seen her looking out.

Marjorie retrieved the note and opened it. It said. ' _Tomorrow, ten am sharp, we're going to take a hike to Tennyson House, you're welcome to come. Best wishes Hans.'_

The idea didn't appeal to Marjorie at all. Besides she had other plans. She was going to try and get a railway timetable to work out how to get to Coldvale Prison. She was determined to go and didn't want to be distracted by some amorous foreign student. Hans would just have to go on his hike without her.

***

The meeting with Lord Collendon went on for some considerable time and Beresford could see that he was making headway. It seemed to him that it wasn't a moral objection to the war which really motivated his Lordship, but unbridled self-interest. Collendon relied on his farm to keep things ticking over. If this continued to fail, he would have to start selling off some of the family heirlooms. Beresford knew that this worry was uppermost in the man's mind and played on it continuously. Eventually Lord Collendon agreed to host the 'special' conference and requested some funding for it. Beresford was taken aback by this. The problem was, the event was not something the government would ever sponsor, and so funds would have to be found elsewhere.

'I can't exactly apply for funds for this,' Beresford said. 'This is supposed to be a strictly confidential meeting, that no one, except invited parties should know about.'

'How many German delegates are coming?' Collendon asked as he offered Beresford another cigar from a small wooden box.

'There will be more high-ranking Nazis than delegates as such,' Beresford replied. 'I should imagine at least twenty, and then there will be their British counterparts which you will be inviting. Do you have any idea who'll you'll be asking to come?'

'Well, it won't be Winston Churchill, that's for sure!' Collendon replied with some wry humour. 'But I do know of a popular pro-Nazi organisation based in Bristol. I know the leader quite well. And there are several aristocrats and politicians who have expressed admiration for the Reich. Thinking about it, I believe I could find about fifteen quite influential individuals who might well be very interested in this little meeting of yours. But I'm strapped for cash.'

Beresford nodded and looked around at the lavish opulence surrounding him. He spotted a small painting on the wall and stood up and went to look at it. 'Is that a Vermeer?'

'That's a fake,' Collendon said with a smile. 'A copy of the 'Milkmaid'. I wouldn't want to sell it, if that's what you're suggesting, besides, as I say, it's not the real thing.'

'But who's to know if it's real or not?' Beresford asked.

'The experts would know,' Collendon replied. 'Anyway, why should the financial burden of this little event of yours fall on my shoulders?'

Beresford went back to his chair. 'This is not just about me, or the Germans, it is about you also. You'll be establishing yourself as a friend of German interests. It will be good for you. Besides, all you have to do is put up twenty German guests, here at Tennyson House, feed and water them and be charming. Now where's the expense in that?'

Collendon's face was heavy. 'My experience of hosting dinner parties is that people like to drink. They will literally drink the house dry if it's all free. We produce our own wines, but guests invariably prefer known brands of wine and spirits to our own. And this costs money.'

'Fair enough,' Beresford replied with a sigh. 'I'll personally raise some cash and let you have it as soon as possible.'

'It would be appreciated,' Collendon said. 'I would also like a promise that I will get a war contract of some sort. I mean, in the event of war, the government should agree to purchase my farm produce at guaranteed prices!'

Beresford smiled at this. Collendon really wanted to milk the system. 'I shall do what I can. I do know that there will probably be quite a demand for potatoes.'

Collendon stood up and smiled. 'I have several acres of land which can be given over to those without a problem.' He looked down at his shoes. 'So, getting back to this meeting, if you could let my secretary know when you would like to schedule it exactly, I'll start making arrangements.'

'I'm thinking early September,' Beresford suggested. 'I'll give you a list of who's coming.'

'Fine,' Collendon said. He raised his glass of cognac. 'Here's to a rewarding partnership and please do stay to dinner this evening and rest over till tomorrow.'

Beresford stood up and raised his glass. 'I think I will take you up on that offer, my Lord. Nowadays I can't travel like I used to.'

***

Fintan was reluctant to abandon his van in the army compound, though he had little choice. It would be impossible for him to leave the barracks at this late hour in the normal way. He would have been stopped by the guards at the entry checkpoint and asked to explain his departure. Quickly bagging up his few belongings, and especially his wad of counterfeit money, he climbed out of his quarters through a back window. Keeping his head down, he circumnavigated the compound as best he could without drawing attention. He followed the boundary edge of the fencing until he arrived behind the kitchens and then crawled under the fence where a fox had dug a hole.

This led to a dense woodland which gave him immediate cover. He had brought his old civilian clothes with him in a bag and he quickly changed into them. He made sure to bury his army uniform under a large mossy tree log which was in a clearing. The silvery moon was quite full, and the woodland seemed to be aware of his presence. He suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked around at the sylvan night time tranquillity and took a deep breath. He didn't find the forest gloom menacing at all. There was something very inviting about the woods which he had always felt since he was a child. Life was simpler in the forest. The natural order of things was not disturbed by the doings of men. He decided he might have to temporarily make a home for himself in a convenient woodland somewhere. First, he had to get as far away from the barracks as possible. Once his attack on the General was revealed, all hell would be let loose. A search party would undoubtedly be sent out, and Fintan was sure it would focus on the local roads, villages and towns.

He just needed to keep off the roads in case the locals reported seeing him. The best thing to do, he decided, was to readopt his previous policy, to travel by night and camp by day. He kicked himself that he didn't take any camping gear from the army stores. He would just have to improvise with what the woodlands had to offer. Also, in his haste, he had neglected to take any food supplies with him, but then this wasn't a major setback. He could live off the land and take what he could whenever the opportunity arose. He decided to spend the whole night walking and keeping to the fields and woods, staying off the roads at all cost.

He couldn't place where he was, until he saw a sign saying he was near Wistman's Woods, which meant little to him. He then came across road signs variously for Dartmouth, Plymouth and Bolventor, which pricked his curiosity. For the moment, his instinct was to keep away from people. On a whim he thought he would go in the direction of Bolventor by following the road from the nearby fields.

At sun rise he decided to bed down, although by this time, he was feeling quite hungry. He had managed to quench his thirst from a stream he encountered. But if he wanted to eat, he was going to have to do some good old-fashioned stealing. He expected the army to do an initial search over the next couple of days, and also inform the police. The army only knew him under his alias as Hugh Edwards and there was a fair chance the police would not connect it to his real identity. He decided to change his appearance by growing a beard and wearing his hair in a different way. The most telling factor about him was his size. It was the one thing which would so easily identify him. Melting into the rural landscape was his only option for the moment, until he could procure a vehicle from somewhere. One practical comfort was the Ronson Cigarette lighter which he carried with him. At least he was able to light a fire, and if he could catch a rabbit or a hedgehog, he would be able to eat. Years ago, as a young boy he had poached in the woodlands in Ireland and managed to catch some thrushes, which he roasted over a fire. Catching a rabbit or any other kind of wild creature would take cunning, and Fintan wasn't in the mood. It would be easier to rob local houses.

He eventually spotted a small sleepy hamlet and decided to bide his time until nightfall and then try his luck. Even though he had wads of cash, he didn't want to expose himself to people until he was far away enough from the barracks. Going into a shop, as a stranger, with wads of money might be reported. He positioned himself as close to the houses of the hamlet as he could, in the nearby landscape without being seen and then waited until after dark. When all the lights were extinguished, and the hamlet was in total darkness, he crept up behind the nearest small house and tried the backdoor. He was surprised to find it wasn't locked. He carefully opened it, went into the kitchen and looked around in the semi darkness. Fortunately, the moon gave him enough light to see by and he located the pantry.

It was full of food; bread, tinned vegetables, soup, butter, and some ham on the bone. He stuffed his bag with everything he could steal and then left a five-pound note on the kitchen table. This was an enormous amount of money considering that the average wage was £130 a year. It paid for the stolen groceries forty times over. He crept out of the house, carefully closing the door behind him. He was so hungry he started to eat from the ham joint which was big enough to last him a few days. As he walked back towards the fields, he took big hungry bites out of the meat. For a man who hadn't eaten for two days, it was a feast. He was then better able to collect his thoughts and decide his next course of action.

As he sat again that evening around a camp fire heartily enjoying his ill-gotten gains, he had a sudden inspiration. He would phone Mr Jode at Tennyson House and see whether he could tell him where Alice had been taken. Perhaps it was common knowledge. He might also bring him up to date on the latest news on the O'Flaherty situation and what the police were doing. If anyone knew, Mr Jode would.

***

Alice couldn't remember the last time she was at the seaside. There was a dim memory at the back of her mind of going to Weymouth as a child, and of the surf licking her bare feet. She was now standing on Newquay's Porth sandy beach looking out to sea and enjoying the sun and breeze which was briskly coming inland. She didn't care that it was quite cold. The sense of freedom she felt, as she stood all alone gazing out at the muggy horizon was precious.

She kicked off her shoes and walked into the water. Although the sun was high, the sea's own ambient temperature was still low. It was like standing in an ice bucket. Her feet gradually got used to the cold, and carrying her shoes, she walked along in the surf. Life in Newquay would be good. She decided she would spend as much time as she could at the beach. The fresh air and the smell of the sea would clear the cobwebs out of her mind. The past could be put behind her and she could genuinely start anew. Perhaps she wouldn't need to run away after all.

As she walked along, she spotted an ice-cream vendor selling cones from a small gaily coloured canvas stall. She approached the vendor and then realised that she hadn't brought any money with her. She had left the envelope of cash that Captain Marsh had given her, at the hostel. Money was something she had got used to being without.

The vendor, a smiling middle-aged man acknowledged her. 'Can I help you madam?' he enquired.

'I left my purse at...home,' she said.

'Live locally do you?' he asked.

'Not far away,' she answered.

'In that case, you can have anything you fancy, and I'll trust you to pay me tomorrow.'

'I couldn't,' she stuttered.

'Fancy a nice cone?'

'Well, I...'

The vendor was already filling a large cornet with delicious looking ice-cream from his vending machine. He held it out to her. 'You've got to keep cool in this weather,' he cautioned.

She took the cone gratefully. 'Thank you. Are you sure?'

'You've got an honest face...Mrs Green,' he said with a smile.

She paused, almost unable to believe what the man had just said. 'What?

'I recognised you as soon as I saw you,' he said. 'Eat up or it will start melting!'

'Oh,' she said. For a moment she felt confused. 'Thank you, but...I have to go now!' She started to walk away from the stall.

'I didn't mean anything by it,' the vendor called.

Still holding her shoes, she awkwardly managed to slip them back on. Then she dropped the cornet on the beach and continued walking, almost in a panic to get away. She had been hoping to put the past behind her. She did not want to be remembered as the cook who poisoned a diplomat. As she partly ran, partly walked, she did not notice the blonde-haired man observing her from the promenade.

***

Travelling to Coldvale Prison in Gloucestershire from Lincolnshire could be done in an afternoon. This is what Marjorie had been told by a knowledgeable old man at the inn. She was thinking about the journey when she sat down to a traditional English breakfast in the crowded dining-room. The two eggs and rashers of bacon on her plate smiled up at her invitingly. It seemed to her that her life at the moment had become just a series of meals.

The sun was also determined to shine despite the month. It was conducive to a warm weekend feeling, when all is well with the world, at least for the moment. The only regret Marjorie had was that Brenda had abandoned her when she needed her most. Marjorie was not particularly keen on travelling half way across the country to Coldvale on her own. Yet that was typical of Brenda. She could drop you at a moment's notice.

The landlady had given her an old timetable. It advised that the only route to Gloucester would pass Nottingham to the West and was over 140 miles distant. It would cost a pretty penny to get there, what with taxis to railway stations and so on. Marjorie was annoyed with herself for not getting better information regarding her English mother's whereabouts. Going to Gloucester from Ireland would have been more straight forward than going via Lincolnshire. And then perhaps Brenda would not have flown off. Annoying girl!

As Marjorie was having these disagreeable thoughts, Hans approached her at the table. He was dressed in beige shirt, braces and baggy brown trousers and was holding a walking stick. 'Ah, hello,' he said in a very accented voice. 'Did you get my note?'

Marjorie, eating a bit of bacon, gave him a sheepish smile. 'Yes, I did, thank you.'

He held up his hand. 'I can see you are trying to enjoy your breakfast,' he said. 'Look, we are all going to take a little walk up to the mansion at eleven o'clock and you are welcome to come. Another girl is coming too, so you won't just be on your own with a load of men!' He laughed at his own joke.

'Who is the other girl?' Marjorie asked with faint interest.

Hans looked across the crowded dining room. 'She arrived yesterday, an American, and was just having breakfast with her father. But they must have gone up to their room.'

'Okay then,' Marjorie suddenly said, despite herself. She decided she would take a walk up to Tennyson House after all, just to see Brenda. Perhaps she could get her to change her mind about going to Coldvale with her.

'And wear some good walking shoes,' Hans advised. 'We rendezvous outside at eleven. There will be about five of us.'

Marjorie nodded and then smiled. 'Alright.'

After breakfast Marjorie went up to her room and looked through her suitcase for something suitable to wear. Unfortunately, the only shoes she had brought with her, were the ones on her feet, which were a pair of low heel lace-up Oxfords. They would be quite adequate for a short walk but not suitable for long hikes as such. They would just have to do. She quickly changed into a pair of cream coloured slacks and a light blue cardigan and hoped she wasn't going to sweat in it.

At about eleven, she looked out of her window. On the drive was the group of smart-looking young foreign men again, all wearing shirts, braces and brown trousers. It looked as if they were wearing the bottom half of a uniform. They were also all holding walking sticks and little lunchboxes. The group were joined by an elderly man and a young woman about Marjorie's age. This was reassuring to Marjorie who was entertaining some mild anxieties about being with a group of men she didn't know.

She rushed out of her room and down the stairs and joined the group on the gravelled driveway. She nodded at Hans and instinctively went up to the girl who seemed pleased to see her. The elderly man nodded and smiled.

'Hello,' Marjorie said. 'I'm Marjie.'

The young woman, who was very smartly dressed if not overdressed, gave her a curious look. There was a Leica camera on a long strap around her neck. 'You coming too!' she asked, her accent mid Atlantic although Marjorie would not have realised this.

'I have a friend who works at the big mansion,' Marjorie said. 'So, I thought I'd come along for the walk!'

'The more the merrier! I'm Dana,' the American girl said. 'Didn't you bring a lunchbox? They do them here at the inn.'

'No, I didn't think to ask.'

'We are ready, yes?' Hans said assuming leadership and looking at everyone. 'I don't think anyone else is coming. I've got the map here!' He produced a crumpled bit of paper which he briefly consulted. 'Tennyson House is about three miles away. Okay, let's go!'

The group moved off and began walking along the country road, keeping close to the grass verge.

'If you get the munchies you can share from my box,' Dana said.

'I'm full up from my breakfast,' Marjorie replied. 'But my friend at the mansion will get us something to eat if we're desperate!'

'That's handy,' Dana said with especial interest.

The sun was already high in the sky and it was clearly going to be hot. Marjorie regretted wearing her cardigan. The girls naturally fell in step with each other and Marjorie brought Dana up to date with selected bits of her own situation. She neglected to mention Mrs Green by name and said she was just here visiting a relative in England.

'How interesting,' the American girl said. 'I'm a junior reporter with the Boston Gleaner. It's no big deal, but they offered a kind of scholarship which I won for the most promising journalist student. The Gleaner was the least worst option!'

Her father smiled. 'And she writes great poetry,' he said. 'She's going to win the Pulitzer prize one day, I swear it.'

'Oh really?' Marjorie said. 'What's that then?'

'A very big deal,' her father replied. 'It'll give her leverage in the world of journalism!'

Dana smiled without answering. 'I don't know about that. But I'm here to do a story, as well as vacationing!'

Marjorie nodded. 'What sort of a story?'

'About great British scandals,' Dana explained. 'Americans are crazy about your royalty and anyone with blue blood. So, I dug up some dirt and learned about this cook who used to work at Tennyson House, a Mrs Green. A miscarriage of justice if ever there was one.'

Marjorie swallowed hard. 'Oh.'

'You heard about it?'

Marjorie gave Dana a strained look. 'I might have.'

'Maybe I can talk to your friend who works at the house,' Dana suggested. 'I mean, I was just going to take some photos of the building, but a scoop would be great. To actually talk to one of the domestics there would be real swell.'

Marjorie recoiled inwardly, and then softened. Seeing that she was interested in her mother, it occurred to her the girl might be willing to accompany her to Coldvale prison. It would be a chance of a lifetime for her to get an interview with Mrs Green and be very convenient for Marjorie. 'Ever been to Gloucester?' Marjorie asked.

'No,' the American girl replied. 'Why?'

Marjorie gave her an enigmatic look. 'I think you'll find it quite interesting!'

***

Geoffrey Beresford spent a very pleasant night at Tennyson House and left late morning. Lord Collendon had completely warmed to the idea of hosting the conference, which would probably consist of several meetings in all. He saw it as a chance to pull Britain back from the brink of war which was hovering on the horizon. Beresford saw it as his crowning achievement. German High Command would now definitely accept him into their inner circle, of that he was sure.

It was a beautiful day and as his chauffeur driven car sped down the country roads, Beresford was suddenly aware of singing. It was a song he knew only too well. He tapped on the chauffeur's window. 'Slow down,' he ordered.

The car pulled to the side of the road and Beresford rolled down his window. The singing was now perfectly clear and seemed to be some distance off. It was undoubtedly the singing of a group of young men. What was unusual was the choice of song which would never normally be sung on British soil. It was the 'Horst Wessel' song beloved of the Nazi party.

'Can you hear that?' Beresford said quite amazed, to the chauffeur,

'Yes sir, I can,' the chauffeur replied. 'I can't make out the words though.'

Beresford nodded. 'Drive on, but not so fast!'

They continued on their journey and rounded the corner of the road which widened, trees on either side, and came across a group of walkers. They were all dressed like Nazi Brownshirts. Beresford also noticed a couple of women with the group. The young men were all singing lustily at the top of their voices. Beresford instantly recognised them as members of either, the Hitler Jugend or the Student League, the NSDAP. For a second, he wondered if the invasion of Britain had already taken place.

The car rolled to a halt in front of the group which stopped singing and paused. Beresford got out of his car, smiled and then said. 'It's wonderful to see you here, are you tourists?'

Hans smiled. 'Yes sir,' he said.

'Bist du Schuler de Nazi-liga?' Beresford said lapsing into German. ('Are you students of the Nazi League?')

Hans looked at his colleagues in surprise. 'Jawohl, wir sind hier aus Koln!' ('Yes sir, we are here from Cologne,')

Beresford nodded again and then did the Nazi salute. The entire group, except the two women responded in kind, and the innocent country air was rent with the cries of 'Heil Hitler!'

Smiling, Beresford climbed back into his car with a friendly wave and it drove off. In his eyes this definitely was a sign he was on the right path. The righteous path of a man of destiny.

Chapter Twenty-One

The problem with being on the run and living from hand to mouth was that it was hard to wash regularly. Fintan had got into a routine in the army of daily showers and was beginning to miss them. Living in the woods was a necessity at the moment but he wasn't planning to do it for very long. He needed to find a phone box and speak to Jode. Now that Fintan had some money, albeit counterfeit, he might be able to persuade Mr Jode to help him. He also wanted to know where they had taken Alice.

Of course, once he found a phone box, any passing vehicle, army or otherwise, might spot him. He thought the best time to make the call would be at noon, when army activity might have wound down a bit. He had to assume that during the first three days, their search for him would be quite intense. He located a lonely telephone box on a road next to a field and darted into it. He didn't have any spare change and so he asked the operator to make a reverse charge call to Tennyson House, giving his name as Fintan.

The operator made the connection and Fintan found himself talking to Shirley. 'Oh heavens,' she said. 'Fintan, is that you? Where have you been?'

'Oh here and there,' Fintan said. 'Sorry about reversing the charges.'

'Don't worry,' Shirley replied. 'My nephew does it all the time. How are you then? We don't half miss you.'

'Me too,' Fintan said. 'Look, is it possible to speak to Mr Jode?'

'He's at market!' Shirley explained. 'He should be back soon.'

'Oh, okay,' Fintan answered.

'Wait a minute, someone wants to talk to you,' Shirley suddenly said. There was the sound of the phone changing hands.

'Hello, is that Fintan?' said a well-spoken voice. It was Mr Kearns.

Fintan's first impulse was to put down the phone. Curiosity made him hang on. 'Is that you Mr Kearns?'

'Yes, you're lucky to have caught me, I only come up a couple of days a week now,' Kearns explained.

'Ah, right,' Fintan replied.

'I'm very glad you phoned, I would like to speak to you,' Kearns said. 'But I can't speak on this phone in the hall. Hold the line and I'll transfer you to the phone in the study, but don't hang up, please!'

At these words Fintan considered putting the phone down. Some instinct made him hold on.

'Fintan? Still there?'

'Mr Kearns, if this is about the O'Flaherty business...'

'I don't give a damn about O'Flaherty,' Kearns said. 'From all accounts the man deserved what he got. No, I have a proposition for you.'

'A proposition for me?'

'Yes,' Kearns said. 'You've been on the run for quite a while now, and you've managed to evade the police. That impresses me.'

'It does?' Fintan said intrigued. 'And why is that?'

'I am going to divulge something very secret to you and you must promise me never to repeat what I am about to tell you!' Kearns said mysteriously.

'I'm all ears,' Fintan replied. He was suddenly aware of a vehicle passing the telephone box and saw that it was only a small family car.

'Do I have your promise?' Kearns said.

'Yes, Mr Kearns, I don't have a big mouth like some.'

Kearns lowered his voice. 'Alright. Now, believe it or not, I am not what I appear to be. I am in fact a government field operative. I'm an agent so to speak, working for the Anti-Infiltration Unit of the Secret Service, also known as Department J.'

'The what?' Fintan said in genuine surprise. 'And what the hell do they do?'

'The government recognise that the Germans pose a very real existential threat to this country. My department is concerned with minimising that threat as much as possible. In other words, my job is to root out German spies and fifth columnist activity. There are even a group of pro-Nazi Catholic priests we have been keeping our eyes on...'

'Oh Christ Mr Kearns, I'm not involved in anything like that, I promise you.'

'I know you're not, Fintan,' Kearns said. 'Furthermore, I also know that you are not really a Republican either. So, you could be someone I could utilise. Your ability to evade capture by the police shows a degree of intelligence and commends you to me. See, we have a very important double agent whom we are trying to protect. But his cover may soon be blown. He has posed as a Gestapo agent and has successfully penetrated groups of British fascists. However, we think that the Germans now realise that he is a double agent. A particularly high-ranking Nazi will be coming over to this country shortly to attend a secret conference. We believe that he knows the real identity of our agent and may attempt to expose him here. We couldn't believe our luck when we found out that the Nazis wanted to hold the conference at Tennyson House of all places. As a venue it is surveilled up to the rooftops! Seriously, as clever as the Nazis are, their overlapping bureaucracy does make for some glaring errors!'

'I don't think I want to hear this,' Fintan said regretting making the call.

'I am speaking to you frankly, Fintan, and telling you this highly classified information because I believe you could assist us with this effort,' Kearns said.

'But I'm wanted for murder,' Fintan said lamely.

'Exactly,' Kearns answered. 'If you scratch out back we will scratch yours. If you repeat anything I have just said, I will personally hunt you down and make sure you hang, and I don't mean that maliciously! But if you play ball, and help us, I'll get the O'Flaherty charges lifted and you will effectively be a free man.'

Fintan sighed. 'Maybe I'll just go on the run forever.'

'We have always known exactly where you were,' Kearns said.

'Pull the other one,' Fintan replied with a short laugh.

'Ever heard of aerial photography?' Kearns asked. 'It's part of a secret government program. Quite fortuitously you were photographed from the air, in the Exeter area, and tracked to the home of a notorious counterfeiter. We subsequently made enquiries and discovered that he gave you directions to MOD Drewstaignton, where you have been staying under the alias of Hugh Edwards.'

Fintan swore. He felt cornered. 'Jesus, Mr Kearns, what don't you know?'

'I don't know if we'll survive any war with Germany, but we need all the help we can get,' Kearns said. 'We need your help, Fintan.'

'But why me? I mean, what can I offer you?'

'A lot,' Kearns said. 'We want you to pose as a Nazi-hating Scottish Nationalist. We will drop hints of your existence in the press. See, we want the Germans to think twice about invading us via the Moray Firth! Your job will be to exterminate a group of Nazis. They will be attending that secret conference that I told you about, here, in this very building, Tennyson House, in a few weeks' time. It will make the Germans reconsider invading Britain via Scotland.'

'What? You're kidding me?' Fintan replied aghast. 'And how am I supposed to do that?'

'With the cache of old weapons that you've got hidden in the woods in Dartmoor!'

This time, Fintan was speechless. 'God!'

'It was us that blocked the sale of those goods to your Arab contacts,' Kearns said almost smugly. 'They were all deported back home and are now probably having to explain themselves to their Qassamite masters, as we speak!'

'Who?'

Kearns paused. 'Never mind. Any questions?'

'I wish I never phoned you up now!' Fintan said.

'It wouldn't have made any difference,' Kearns replied. 'I was going to make contact with you in due course, anyway. But you've just beaten me to the punch. Oh, and I gather you have a big wad of counterfeit notes. That's a no no. You are to destroy these immediately, understood?'

'Christ Mr Kearns, I've got to survive somehow.'

'Okay, but don't go flooding the market with them!'

'Alright, alright,' Fintan replied with heavy resignation. 'Oh, I do have a question. Do you know where Mrs Green is?'

'I was waiting for you to ask that,' Kearns said. 'I will only tell you if you absolutely swear to agree to my proposal. But you won't regret it.'

'I swear,' Fintan said. 'So, where is she?'

'She is living in the Tretherra Hostel for Women in Newquay,' Kearns explained. 'And you'd better hurry. She is in mortal danger!'

'What? No!'

'Someone we have been keeping an eye on has taken out a contract on her, so you'd better make this a priority!'

'Who?'

'That's not your concern,' Kearns said. 'But I would suggest that you pick her up as soon as possible and leave the area.'

'And go where?' Fintan asked, annoyed at this never-ending list of chores.

'Phone this number again at eight pm next Thursday and I'll give you an address of a safe house. You are to take her there.'

'And in the meantime?'

'You've got money,' Kearns said. 'Stay at a hotel somewhere miles away and keep your heads down. Understood?'

'Okay, and there's one more thing,' Fintan said. 'I punched a general in the face and tied him up!'

'Ah,' Kearns said changing his tone slightly. 'Now, _that_ I can't help you with. The army are a law unto themselves. But I will put in a good word.'

'Thanks, Mr Kearns,' Fintan replied with doubtful gratitude. 'I'll give you a bell next week, then.'

'I would,' Kearns said, and he hung up.

***

Mrs Solomons was a stout, rich, bohemian woman who was not shy to voice her opinions. She also had strong Spiritualistic leanings and began expressing these views to Alice when she met her on the Monday.

'I would dearly love to have you take over the position of cook in my household,' Mrs Solomons said. 'And I am absolutely seething that it is part of your conditions that you are not allowed to do any domestic work. In fact, when I consulted my guides, they said that you've been paying off a great deal of karma in this life!'

They were sitting on the veranda of Mrs Solomons enormous house, being served tea in tiny china cups by the maid. Alice looked at Mrs Solomons quizzically. She had heard talk like this before and was never sure of its meaning. 'Guides?' she said.

'Yes, spirit guides, we all have them, you know,' Mrs Solomons explained. 'Drink your tea dear, please. My guide Eagle Feather is a constant source of inspiration to me. He told me of your coming. He said you are going to be instrumental in exposing hypocrisy.'

Alice nodded. 'Oh. That's nice. But about the job...'

'I have already spoken to my MP about your situation and he is going to have words with the relevant minister,' Mrs Solomons said. 'So, don't worry, we will sort something out. Even if I have to commit myself to an agreement. I have every faith that you will be on your best behaviour. I have followed your case very carefully and am certain that you are innocent of most of the charges laid at your door. My guide has even confirmed this.'

Alice nodded and sipped her tea. If Mrs Solomons' guide says she is innocent, then she must be. Alice began to feel better. She suddenly smiled.

Mrs Solomons smiled back. 'In the meantime, I would suggest you start work tomorrow at the factory. You won't be expected to operate any of our Dubieds. It takes a while to learn how to use them anyway. You can have the job of assistant in the canteen.'

'Dubieds?'

'Sorry, our knitting machines,' Mrs Solomons explained. 'So how does that sound?'

'The job of in the canteen sounds lovely, Mrs Solomons.'

'Good,' Solomons said. 'Now, have some more cake, you're in Newquay now!'

Alice stared down at the inviting creamy gateau sitting on the plate on the table. 'Thank you, I think I will.'

***

It was one of Dick's essential rules that he always kept his eye on his prey. Observing Mrs Green down at the beach, he realised that it might have been a missed opportunity. If she had walked towards the rocks, he might have come down from the promenade and caved her head in. It would have looked like an accident, as if she had slipped. Instead, she had walked towards the ice-cream vendor. Still, it didn't affect his overall plan. It was clear to him that she wasn't going anywhere, certainly not out of the area. She was just a sitting duck. He expected to break into the hostel, kill Mrs Green and exit within eight minutes. Then he would leave Newquay altogether and return to London with his mistress.

He planned to drive off casually the next morning from the hotel as if nothing untoward had happened. It never paid to behave in an unusual way, and his girlfriend would never suspect a thing, but he was troubled. In a recent phone call, it had been hinted to him that Geoffrey Beresford, his paymaster, might be the next target on his list. This disturbed Dick because Beresford had been a useful contact, and now, he himself was in the frame. Dick's handler at the security services had brought Beresford's name up quite unexpectedly. It turned out that he was the person of interest living in Pimlico, whom Dick was already aware of without knowing his actual identity. Apparently, Beresford was an enemy of the state who couldn't be brought to trial without a lot of awkward questions being asked. It was therefore in the interests of national security that he was quietly disposed of.

They knew all about Dick's professional relationship with Beresford and felt that he was the right man for the job. To Dick this didn't entirely make sense, though to him, this would just be another job. He even suspected, that if he wasn't careful, he might even end up as a disposable item himself.

***

The other day, Marjorie had been quite amused at the behaviour of the young men on the country walk. It was nice to hear such strong throated singing, even if it was in a foreign language. Dana's father was less than enamoured. 'They need singing lessons,' he had whispered to the girls.

'Hans said he was a student from Czecho...' Marjorie began.

'That's what he told me,' Dana replied.

At that precise moment, a sleek burgundy and cream coloured Daimler DB18, had slid to a halt in front of the group. A well-dressed middle-aged man had got out and started to talk to Hans in German. Suddenly the whole group did the Nazi salute, including the middle-aged man.

Without making it obvious, Dana, holding her camera at chest level, began snapping away. 'This is what I call a photo op!'

Marjorie grinned. 'What are you doing?'

'Uncovering the secret face of British society,' Dana's father whispered.

'Nice, got it!' Dana said, almost to herself with several clicks.

'Don't photograph me!' Marjorie said stepping back.

Dana smiled. 'I think the editor will like these.'

'I wonder who that man was?' Marjorie said as the posh car drove away.

'I haven't a clue,' Dana said. 'All I know is, _it shouldn't be happening_ here in the middle of Lincolnshire!' She pronounced the word 'Lincolnshire' with an unnatural emphasis on the second syllable.

'They're going to blow their cover,' Dana's father said.

Marjorie frowned at this without understanding what he had meant.

Hans was grinning like a hyena. He swung his head around and gave the girls a cheeky look. 'Everything alright?' he called, not realising that he had been photographed.

'Just dandy!' Dana replied.

Marjorie was silent. She was beginning to tire of the walk and was slightly put out that Hans wanted to take a detour via a small picturesque stream. She decided she would leave the group as soon as they reached their destination. But it seemed to her that Dana might definitely have her uses. When they reached Tennyson House, Marjorie planned to take Dana and her father to one side and away from the group. She had already promised Dana an interview with Brenda at Tennyson House to keep her sweet!

After another half an hour of walking, they finally reached Tennyson House, which was set back from the road. Marjorie saw one of the young men take some photographs through the tall gates.

Hans sauntered up to Marjorie. 'You have a friend who works here I understand?'

Marjorie nodded uncomfortably. 'Yes, she's a chambermaid.'

Hans nodded. 'Then do me a favour? Tell her that when we take over, I will put in a good word for her, as she is a friend of yours!'

One of Hans' comrades laughed at this. 'We might have to fight a war yet, Hans!'

'You worry too much Rolf,' Hans said walking off. 'If there is a war, it will be a forgone conclusion.'

'Hey Hans, don't use words you don't understand!' Another man said with a laugh. They then lapsed back into German. Marjorie stopped listening. She couldn't wait for them to go. Everyone then sat down on the ground and began to unpack their lunches outside the gates.

Marjorie turned to Dana. 'Come with me,' she said opening the unlocked gates.

'Hey, where are you going?' Hans called.

'To powder our noses!' Dana replied. 'Don't wait for us!'

Bemused, the group watched Marjorie, Dana and the older man boldly walk up the driveway of Tennyson House. As Hans looked on, one of the group cracked a joke in German and everyone laughed.

***

When Geoffrey Beresford arrived back at his flat, he found an envelope shoved under his front door. It made him feel nervous. He ripped open the envelope and found it was just a note from Colonel Schrepps. ' _I'm at the Fulton Hotel, Tavistock Square. We need to talk. Just come asap.'_

Beresford sighed. At least he would have something positive to tell the Colonel. The all-important conference was definitely on, though he needed to catch his breath first. He went over to his small cocktail bar and poured himself a stiff gin gimlet. He needed the lime juice to perk himself up. To him there was something magical about citrus fruit juice and alcohol which never failed to give him a boost.

He had two quick gins and then threw off his jacket and slumped on the settee. The journey to Tennyson House had drained him. He closed his eyes and decided to have 'forty winks'. He would leave for the Fulton hotel afterwards and then perhaps have dinner with the Colonel.

***

In light of Mr Kearns requests, Fintan felt he had no alternative but to steal a car. Of course, the risk was that this would be reported to the police, although he would only need it for a short while. Kearns had impressed on him the need to get to Newquay as soon as possible to get Alice. Fintan would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

After spending three days hiding in the woods, he felt that it was reasonably safe to appear on the normal streets again. After walking for half a morning, he came across a small village with a pub. It was lunchtime, and he walked in and enquired about renting a possible room. The idea was that it would enable him to have a good wash before he met up with Alice. Unfortunately, there wasn't one available, and so before he left, Fintan ordered a cold beer. The landlord gave him an odd look when he put five pounds on the counter.

'I can't change that!' the landlord said suspiciously. 'Got any smaller?'

Fintan shook his head and then noticed a couple of soldiers sitting in the saloon just on the other side of the bar. Fortunately, the pub was so busy, and they hadn't noticed him. Fintan put his hand up to obscure his face and turned his head slightly. He lowered his voice. 'Never mind, is there a bed and breakfast round here?'

With a frown the publican directed him to a building up the street. Fintan thanked him and left feeling the landlord's eyes burning into his back. Some instinct told him to walk as quickly away from the pub as possible. He was right because within minutes, the soldiers came rushing out. Fintan surmised that the landlord must have said something to them about the five-pound note he had produced. The soldiers had clearly been searching the area, and here they were having a lunchtime drink and smoke in the pub.

As they came out, Fintan just managed to evade them by ducking down a mews near the bed and breakfast. As he hurried down it, he noticed a couple of cars parked up on some tarmac. He would need to steal one, but the chances were the soldiers would automatically come in his direction. He tried to climb over a wooden fence at the back of the mews to hide for a few minutes, but it collapsed under his weight. He climbed over it and managed to push it back up from the other side, just as the two soldiers appeared at the entrance of the mews. Fintan crouched, keeping perfectly still, watching the soldiers through a crack in the fence which he was holding up straight. They wandered a few yards in his direction and then ran off back up the mews again towards the street.

He stayed where he was for several minutes and then gently lowered the fence, which could no longer support itself. Then he went over to the parked cars. He tried the door of the smaller Ford and found it locked. Putting his bag against the driver's window, he used his elbow to break the glass after three attempts. The bag prevented him from being cut. Still, the impact effected the funny bone in his arm. Shaking his arm, he climbed into the small car and reached under the dashboard. He found a couple of wires attached to the ignition switch, ripped them out and then re-joined them as an ignition bypass. The car immediately started up and he slowly steered it towards the entrance of the mews facing the street.

The soldiers could reappear at any moment. He had to be as stealthy as possible. When he reached the main road, the bonnet of the car peeking out from the mews, there was no sign of them. He decided to take his chance and drive off away from the village as fast as possible. He took a left down a steep incline, towards an arterial road. Then he put his foot virtually to the floor and kept checking his rear-view mirror. Luckily, he hadn't been spotted. He was going to drive to Newquay as fast as possible and needed to find some road signs. For all he knew he was driving in the wrong direction. He eventually came across a sign for St Austell which he knew was generally in the right direction.

But he was desperate for a bath and wanted to be presentable when he finally met up with Alice. He didn't want to be smelling like he had been camping in the woods for three days. He came across the Woodtree Hotel en route and pulled the car round the side of the building. He wasn't planning to stay for very long. Just long enough to have a bath. The young unpleasant male receptionist didn't seem to like the look of him and demanded to see a passport. Fintan realised this might make him vulnerable to discovery and shook his head. Frustrated, he left the hotel and walked back to his car, and then he saw an open fire exit at the side of the building.

It occurred to him he might be able to sneak back in, find a bath on a landing and quickly have a wash as he badly needed to freshen up. The clothes he was wearing were now quite grubby and so he would have to get some clean ones from somewhere. He crept back into the hotel through the side entrance and found that it led to some stairs. He could hear people talking and the sound of knives and forks scratching on plates in an area of the hotel close by. People were obviously having a meal. It must have been tea time, and the smell of cooked food made him feel hungry.

A woman passed him on the stairs and gave him a cool look. He continued up calmly until he reached the first floor and looked around for a bathroom. After trying a series of doors, he found a bath and toilet in a cramped room. There was even some soap sitting on the sink. Fintan locked the door. He was now safe, and it was unlikely he would be disturbed while he was in there. He checked a cupboard and found several clean towels. He was all set. He ran the bath, which was lukewarm though adequate. He filled the bath up to the half way point, stripped off and then stepped into it. It felt refreshingly good and he sat down and gave himself a thorough wash. Staring down at his pile of dirty clothes on the floor, he decided to abandon the shirt, underwear and socks and just put on the trousers. Then with any luck, he would find a washing line with a shirt hanging on it.

He dried himself quickly, put on the trousers and shoes and then crept out of the bathroom, down the stairs and out of the side door. Naked from the waist up, he ran to the car and got in and drove off at speed. It wasn't long before he spied some shirts on a washing line. Because he was a big man, none fitted. In the end he settled for a large jumper from another line which he slipped over his head. He then stopped the car and enquired from a man painting the front of a shop where Newquay was and followed his directions.

By the time he arrived in Newquay, it was getting dark. He sought some more directions to the hostel, and finally arrived at the Tretherra to find all the lights on and dusk descending. At least he was more presentable, even if his trousers could have used a good wash. He sat in the car studying the front of the hostel, wondering how to venture in without causing suspicion. Then, a smart wine-coloured Citroen Traction Avant slowly drove by him. The driver gave Fintan a long hard look which Fintan a bit disturbing and so he drove away to park some distance up the road. He turned the nearest corner, parked up and then got out and hesitantly walked back.

The Citroen had gone. Fintan walked towards the hostel and concealed himself on the grounds of the property while he considered what to do. He wondered if he should just walk into the hostel and ask to see Mrs Green. As it was a woman's hostel, according to the sign above the entrance, he might be reported. He would just have to sneak or break in to locate Mrs Green's room as quickly as possible. She could be anywhere in the building.

***

Apart from her passion for silk scarves, Mrs Solomons was a proselyter above everything else, and business was a way of spreading her beliefs. Everyone at the factory was bombarded with religious information and most accepted it as a necessary requisite for holding down their job. In Alice, Mrs Solomons saw an essentially empty vessel waiting to be filled with vital spiritual knowledge and felt obliged to supply it. The very next day after starting work in the factory canteen, Alice was invited to dinner at Mrs Solomons' home. It transpired there was to be a séance conducted by a local medium. Although Alice was not entirely ignorant of these things, she had never participated in such an event before. Mrs Solomons insisted that Alice join them despite her general lack of knowledge on the subject.

After dinner, Mrs Solomon, Alice and her three other guests, went upstairs to a more remote room at the top of the large house. They took their seats around a small table which was covered in a thick red velvet cloth. The room was comfortable though bare, as if it had only been used for this purpose. Everyone around the table were women, including the medium, Mrs Clacks. A candle in the middle of the table was lit and the electric lights extinguished. In the semi-dark, the shadows of the sitters were cast mysteriously on the walls behind them. Mrs Clacks directed everyone to hold hands. Having had a couple of glasses of wine, Alice found her guard down somewhat and was rather intrigued by what was going to happen next.

Mrs Clacks' eyes fluttered in a dramatic way. It was soon evident that she was no charlatan. 'There's a man here,' she said and then paused.

Alice couldn't help looking up above Mrs Clacks' head expecting to see a shadowy figure.

'He says he's sorry,' Mrs Clacks said her head bent forward and her eyes tightly shut. 'But he has made provision, he says. There's a Will and it is with a solicitor.'

Everyone around the table glanced at each other at this news.

'This is a message for Alice Clawe.'

Alice stared at the woman in surprise. Not even Mrs Solomons knew her by that name. Clearly Mrs Clacks was genuinely in touch with the other side.

Mrs Solomons glanced at Alice with an interested frown. The name wasn't quite resonating with her. 'Don't you mean, Alice Green?'

'No, Alice Clawe, Clawe,' Mrs Clacks said firmly. 'The money will take care of the daughter.'

'Whose daughter?' Mrs Solomons enquired.

'The man's daughter, Marjorie, I'm getting,' Mrs Clacks said. 'But Alice will know what I mean, it is for her ears only.'

Mrs Solomons looked at Alice again and raised her eyebrows.

'The man says the name of the solicitor is hard to pronounce but it is something like Godlip or Gotlite,' Mrs Clacks said straining. 'The original solicitor is dead now, but his firm continues in London. Find the solicitor, find the Will and all your problems will be over. This is what he is saying. A copy of this Will is to be found in a butler's suitcase!'

'Can you help us with the address of the solicitor?' Mrs Solomons asked helpfully. 'Where in London?'

'I get Holborn, yes Holborn, but my connection is fading,' Mrs Clacks said.

'Is there anything more he can tell us?' Mrs Solomons asked. 'What's the name of the spirit you are talking to?'

'Fen...icke?' Mrs Clacks said. 'Clarence Fenwicke?'

Alice nodded.

'I have one more thing to tell you, but don't be afraid, Alice,' Mrs Clacks said. 'Death is coming to your door!'

Alice's eyes widened.

'Are you sure about that?' Mrs Solomons asked, alarmed. 'Who's door?'

'Alice Clawe's door, but he's gone!' Mrs Clacks said. 'Sorry I can't hold on to him. He is a repentant soul from the lower astral planes. He's been pulled back, sorry...'

Mrs Solomons shook her head. 'That can't be right. My guides said Alice will be fine.'

Mrs Clacks opened her eyes and stared into the flickering candle flame. 'Dying is a part of life. It is the earth plane which is the plane of sorrow! Never forget that!'

***

Mr Jode smiled at the group as they approached Tennyson Hall. He was unloading a small van at the side entrance of the building. 'Hello missy!' he called to Marjorie who waved back. She was with Dana and her father.

'Is Brenda around?' Marjorie asked.

'Oh, she's been ever so good,' Mr Jode said. 'And she brought me out a cup of cocoa last night.'

Marjorie nodded and smiled. 'Is it okay if we go in? These are my friends, Dana and her dad.'

'Nice to meet you,' Mr Jode replied. 'Yeah, just pop your head round the kitchen door. Shirley will be there.'

Dana was grinning. Holding the camera against her chest, and not making it too obvious, she took a sneaky snapshot of the farm manager.

Marjorie knocked on the kitchen door and it was opened by Mr Kearns, whom Marjorie had not yet met. Hesitantly she said, 'I'm Marjorie. We've come to see Brenda, if that's alright?'

Mr Kearns glared at the group in quite a stern manner, almost, 'like a vampire whose sleep had been disturbed', Dana later said. Then he smiled in a most charming way. 'Ah, you must be Mrs Green's daughter, _that_ Marjorie! It is a great pleasure to meet you!' He extended his hand which Marjorie shyly took.

Dana was staring at her in surprise. ' _You're Mrs Greens' daughter?'_

Marjorie ignored her stare. 'Is Brenda around?'

'Of course, of course, and she's made a great start here,' Kearns said. 'The housekeeper is especially pleased. She is in charge when I'm not here. I'm the butler, Mr Kearns is my name and I was a good friend of your mothers.'

Shirley, who was within earshot pulled a face at this remark.

'That's nice,' Marjorie said. 'I hope you don't mind but I have brought some friends, this is Dana, who is a writer...'

'Journalist actually,' Dana corrected.

'And her dad...'Marjorie said.

'You can call me Bob,' Dana's father said shaking the butler's hand.

'You are Americans?' Kearns enquired.

'Just tourists,' Dana's father replied.

'I was hoping to do a story on Tennyson House,' Dana said.

Kearns nodded. 'You can find a lot of facts about this place in the local library. Well, I'll go and get Brenda for you!'

Brenda was summoned, and Mr Kearns left them to it. She came down with a large basket of linen which she put in the laundry room. She lowered her voice, 'I hate this God-awful place. They work you like a slave and all you can hear are the lady and lordship arguing. Paul the footman is a creep, and as for Mr Jode...'

'I did warn you,' Marjorie replied. She introduced her to Dana and Bob. 'Dana works for a newspaper.'

'Will you give me an interview?' Dana said. 'In the States they are fascinated by the English aristocracy!'

Brenda stared at Marjorie and then smiled. 'Is there any money in it?'

Dana smiled. 'I'll speak to the editor and let you know. The juicier the interview the better.'

'Well, I've only been here about four days, and already I could write a book on this place myself,' Brenda said lowering her voice. 'And that Mr Kearns. There's something not right about him. He's a bit of a 'cute hoor'. I mean, sneaking round and stuff. I even saw him going down the master's desk when he was out.'

Dana was showing signs of being very interested in what Brenda was saying. 'Do you get any time off?'

'I've got half a day on Friday,' Brenda said. 'We can meet up at the inn bar if you like and I'll tell you everything I know.'

Marjorie giggled. 'Sounds like you've been listening at doors yourself!'

Brenda grinned and pushed her white cap to the back of her head. 'You know me too well!'

***

Colonel Schrepps consented to have dinner in his small suite at the Fulton Hotel in Tavistock Square which was easy for Beresford to get to. He was faintly amused to see the Colonel with a full grey beard and his hair swept uncharacteristically forward. The man was clearly becoming as paranoid as he was.

'Lift up your arms,' the Colonel ordered as soon as Beresford had arrived. There was the smell of liquor on his breath.

Bemused, Beresford complied and was surprised when Schrepps searched him. 'Forgive me Geoffrey, but the heat, so to speak, is on.'

Beresford lowered his arms, faintly annoyed. 'Colonel, I am your ally and the last thing on my mind is turning you over to the authorities. I am looking to you to save _me!'_

Schrepps nodded. 'In reply to that I say again leave Britain at the earliest possible moment. Did you get Collendon to agree to our requests?'

Beresford threw himself into one of the hotel's less than comfortable armchairs. 'I had to work on him a bit, but he sees it as an opportunity to broker peace.'

Schrepps nodded, obviously pleased and then picked up the phone. 'The menu is on the coffee table. The steak here is pretty good.'

They placed their orders with room service and Schrepps poured out some drinks. Beresford sipped his thoughtfully.

The Colonel appeared to be agitated. 'You do know that they have a task force here combing the country for anyone with a remotely European accent? It says on my passport that I'm Swiss, but that's no protection.'

Beresford nodded. 'Mine will run out soon. So, when are your people arriving for the conference?'

Schrepps sat down opposite him on the couch. 'At the last possible moment. They'll be avoiding the commercial airlines like the plague. They're coming by chartered aircraft via Norway and I would appreciate it if you could find a suitable landing strip. Obviously, something off the beaten track. After the meeting, our colleagues will leave in the same way, as I will. I suggest that you be on that plane with us yourself.'

Beresford nodded. 'Collendon has agreed to host the meeting over a period of a week, but he was begging for funds, which I will supply. He'll have to buy in some decent German wine I should imagine.'

Schrepps rubbed his chin. 'Okay, just supply me with a schedule as soon as you can, and I'll arrange for our people to come over asap. Who does Collendon have lined up from your side?'

Beresford's face went blank. 'His Lordship assured me that it will be people from among the great and the good. The Fuhrer has pressed quite a few buttons here.'

'Good.' Schrepps rested his head on the back of his chair. 'So, you'd better start packing your bags, Geoffrey.'

'I will,' Beresford said. 'Actually, I have been invited to a birthday bash by the proprietor of a left-wing newspaper. Very pro-Churchill. I thought I'd go along out of curiosity. It will be my last social engagement here.'

The Colonel's penetrating brown eyes gazed into Beresford's. 'The Fuhrer once saw Mr Churchill sitting at a dinner in a European hotel but refrained from making contact. I wonder if history would have been written differently if he had?'

'Churchill is too strong minded for his own good,' Beresford observed. 'But I think even he would have succumbed to the Fuhrer's charm!'

'I think I will have to agree with you,' Schrepps answered. 'But if there is a war, it will not be won by charm that's for sure! Just make sure you're on the right side!'

Beresford found this remark odd, almost as if the Colonel was giving him a veiled warning.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fintan stood in the bushes in the side garden of the hostel smoking a cigarette, deciding to wait until everyone had gone to bed. As he puffed away, he was surprised to see the car that had passed him earlier pull up outside the hostel. It paused for a moment and then drove off again at speed. It was the wine-coloured Citroen Avant! Fintan was quite sure that he hadn't been seen as he was well concealed. But the reappearance of the Citroen worried him. Something definitely wasn't right about it. As he pondered this, another car, a large black saloon, suddenly pulled up to the entrance of the hostel with a gentle screech. Fintan watched curiously.

The driver got out and opened the near side door. A lady passenger stepped onto the pavement. To Fintan's great surprise, it was Alice, as he had never seen her, nicely dressed and not in her customary apron or smock! He watched her walk up the steps of the hostel and disappear inside. When the black car had driven off, Fintan stepped forward and tried to ascertain where in the building she had gone. He checked the windows of the hostel. He wondered where she had been. She no longer looked like the poor put-upon woman he had seen in the army lockup. Despite the supposed 'contract on her', things for her were obviously improving.

Fintan walked around the building trying to peer into the windows. Most had curtains drawn. And then on the very top floor, a light came on. After a few moments, Alice appeared at the window as she drew the curtains. Fintan smiled to himself. He could see from the fire escape at the side of the building that he would have easy access to her. He didn't waste any more time. Treading his cigarette butt into the dirt, he quietly climbed the fire escape. There was a door at the top which led directly into her accommodation. He paused, not wanting to frighten her. He pressed his head to the locked outer door and whispered, 'Alice, it's me, Fintan!'

There was no initial response. He then raised his voice slightly and the curtains at the window to the side of the escape were suddenly pulled back. Alice was staring right at him in surprise. He smiled weakly.

She opened her window. _'Fintan! How did you find me?'_

'Mr Kearns told me where you were. Can I come in, I need to talk to you!'

'I'll try and open the door,' she answered. 'I did see some large keys in the wardrobe.'

Fintan waited, feeling exposed at the top of the escape. There was then the sound of a key being turned in the door lock and bolts being pulled back. The door swung open. Alice's face was shining with pleasure. 'Come in but keep your voice down. This is a women's only hostel!'

'I know,' he said stepping into the neat but sizable room. 'Nice little place you've got here. So where have you been then, all dressed up?' He closed the door of the fire escape.

'Had dinner with the lady who owns the factory where I'll be working.'

'Nice,' he replied with a grin.

She stood staring at him and closed the outer door. 'Goodness. You've lost weight. I noticed it when I saw you at the barracks. What were you doing there?'

'It's a long story, I'll tell you later! I see you've lost some weight too.' he said.

She patted her stomach. 'But they're feeding me up again. I expect I'll be back where I was in no time.'

He nodded and glanced around. 'Talking of food, you haven't got any biscuits, have you? I'm starving.'

'No, I don't,' she answered. 'But I can go and get you some.'

'Don't worry, we don't have much time,' he said. 'We've got to go.'

She frowned. 'Go? Go where? I can't just leave, I'll be breaking my...conditions.'

'Well, you're going to have to,' Fintan said. 'Mr Kearns says I've got to take you to a hotel for your own safety.'

She blinked. 'What do you mean?'

'Look, I've got a car up the road, we can talk as we drive.'

'Drive where?'

'To a hotel, as I say, and then Mr Kearns is going to give us the address of a safe house,' Fintan explained. 'See, I think they mean to do you harm.'

'Who do?'

Fintan sighed heavily. 'I don't know. But if Mr Kearns says it's so, it is. See, he told me he was working for the government. He's a sort of...agent, or something like that.'

Alice stood perfectly still as she digested his words. 'That's what I also heard. Give me a minute to think,' she said walking to the internal door. 'Look, let me go downstairs and get you something to eat first, and then we can talk about it!'

'Look, Alice...' he began. She was gone.

He hovered uncertainly for a moment and noticed that she had her own bathroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. He decided to use it while he was there. He quickly went in and closed the door, but after a couple of minutes, he was alerted by a noise coming from the other room. Alice was quick. She had obviously returned with some biscuits. He finished his business, washed his hands and opened the bathroom door. Strangely, he found that the light in the other room had been turned off. 'Alice?' he said as he made his way in the semi-darkness to the light switch. Suddenly there was a blur of movement. A dark figure with a short metal bar in his gloved hand jumped out and violently attacked him.

Fintan flailed as he tried to fend off the assault. His attacker was quite quick and ruthless. He bashed Fintan a couple of times over the head with the bar and kicked him in the stomach. Fintan groaned and fell backwards under this onslaught and could taste blood in his mouth. He lashed out in the dark, but the man deftly stepped back and struck him again three times in succession with the bar. Fintan, his head bleeding and throbbing, held his ground and tried grabbing for the weapon. He tussled with the man, who was quite strong. But in terms of physical strength, no ordinary man could get the better of Fintan. The other man simply had surprise on his side.

Fintan then wrenched the bar out of the man's hand with an upward jerk. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see that his attacker was the man who had driven by him earlier in the Citroen. Fintan punched him as hard as he could in the face. His assailant went down with a thud and then rolled forward and grabbed Fintan's legs, toppling him to the floor. Fintan fell with a crash, which must have been heard all over the building.

It was at this point that Alice returned with a tray of tea things with a hot teapot on it and turned the light back on. 'Fintan!' she screamed, her face shocked at the sight of the two men fighting. She quickly put the tray on the table, picked up the tea pot, removed the lid and poured the scalding tea all over the attacker's blonde head. He cried out in agony, giving Fintan the chance to sit astride him and punch him several times in the face. The man struggled for a moment and then succumbed, falling unconscious. For good measure, Fintan put his hands round the man's throat and throttled him while he was out. Fintan was staring down at him manically, his own bloody head really starting to pulse with pain.

Alice was watching him with horror. ' _You haven't killed him?_ '

'Look, I had to do it,' Fintan said looking up. 'Otherwise he might come looking for us.'

Alice nodded doubtfully. 'My God you're bleeding something terrible!'

Fintan staggered to his feet, holding his head.

'Who is he?' Alice asked, her face pale.

'I don't know,' Fintan replied. 'But I saw him in a car earlier tonight. I think he was casing the place.'

'How did he get in?'

'I don't think I closed the fire escape door properly,' Fintan said. 'Now do you believe me?'

Alice sighed. 'I'll get you a towel. You need to go to a hospital.'

He nodded feeling quite light headed. 'To be sure it smarts like hell! Let's get out of here. There's bound to be more like this one coming.'

Alice returned with a damp towel, reached up and dabbed his forehead. He took it from her and wiped his brow. Then he put the blood-stained towel on the back of the wooden chair, knelt down and searched through his attacker's jacket. There were no items of identification on him. Fintan did find his car keys.

'If he's the man I saw earlier, he's got a nice motor.' Fintan said. 'I'll dump mine and take his!'

'Don't you think we should call the police?' Alice suggested.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Mr Benjamin, the manager in the hallway. 'Are you alright, Alice? We heard a scream and a terrible crash!'

Alice went to the door and opened it an inch. 'Sorry about that, I dropped the tea things.'

Mr Benjamin nodded, unsure. 'Really? Sounded like an elephant had fallen over! Mrs McGuire downstairs said she heard voices.'

'It's just me here,' Alice said convincingly. 'I was going to bed and I must have been humming to myself.'

'Oh, sorry,' the manager said. 'Just as long as you're alright.'

'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' Alice smiled closing the door.

Fintan was sitting in the armchair dabbing his head with the towel. 'God almighty,' he said in a whisper. 'He really gave me a clout.'

'You need to get to hospital,' she said studying his forehead. 'You've got two terrible lumps coming up.'

Fintan rose to his feet. 'I'll sort that out later. Thing is, are you coming or what?'

Alice was still undecided. 'I don't know.'

'Surely you don't want to stay after this?' Fintan said. 'Look, I'll be honest. I think they mean to kill you, and I'm not just saying that. But don't ask me why.'

'It doesn't make sense. Who is?' Alice asked, her face perplexed.

'Christ knows,' Fintan said. 'All I know is, Mr Kearns is no fool, and he wouldn't be kidding us about a thing like that. I now believe him a hundred percent _and so should you_!'

***

Mr Jode dropped Bob and the girls back at the Tankard Inn as it was quite dark. Dana held her tongue until they had waved Mr Jode off.

' _So, you're actually Mrs Green's daughter then?_ ' she blurted out to Marjorie.

Marjorie nodded. 'I'm afraid so.'

'That's amazing!' Dana said. 'She was in all the papers in the States. Do you want to give me an interview as well?'

'Let me think about it,' Marjorie said. 'But I was going to ask you something. How would you like to meet Mrs Green in person?'

'Would I?' Dana said her eyes round and popping. 'You bet! Can you arrange that? Isn't she in jail at the moment?'

'Yes,' Marjorie said. 'And she may be hard to get to see. But if you came with me, it might help. She's in a prison in Gloucester.'

Dana looked at her father who shrugged. 'In for a penny...' he stated.

'Gee that would be just great!' Dana said. ' _Now that really would be a scoop_!'

A couple of days later, Marjorie met Brenda at the inn bar as arranged, but Dana, who was due to conduct an interview with Brenda, was late. Brenda seemed downbeat and tired. The first thing she did was order a stiff gin. Marjorie noticed that her purse was stuffed with money.

'So, where's your American friend?' Brenda asked. 'Didn't she say she wanted to interview me?'

'I don't know, I haven't seen her today,' Marjorie answered. She frowned suspiciously. 'So where did you get all that money?'

Brenda grinned. 'Don't say anything, but there's money everywhere in Tennyson House. Money on mantlepieces, down the back of the sofas, money in jars in his lordship's study. All pennies and silver.'

'Brenda!' Marjorie said. 'What are you thinking? You can't go stealing their money. You'll get arrested!'

Brenda shrugged. 'They'll have to catch me first. Paul, the footman put me on to it. He said he once found a hundred pounds in an envelope under the carpet!'

Just then Dana wandered up to them at the bar and ordered her father and herself a couple of glasses of martini. 'There you are,' she said brightly to the girls.

'I thought you'd left the country,' Brenda replied.

Dana laughed. Marjorie ordered a cider. The group found some seats in a little alcove by the bar. The landlady informed them that lunch was at one o'clock.

'Where are the guys then?' Dana's father asked the landlady. 'You know, Fritz and his pals?'

'Oh, you mean, Hans?' the landlady said. 'They've gone into Lincoln for the day.'

'Thank God for that,' Marjorie said sipping her drink.

Dana tasted her martini and nodded. Her father was already half way through his.

'God, I'm knackered,' Brenda said taking a pull of her drink. 'Today I'm just going to get totally langers!'

Dana frowned. 'Totally what?'

'She means she is getting fluthered, plastered, drunk,' Marjorie explained. 'It can't be _that_ bad at the house, Brenda, surely?'

Brenda guffawed. 'You want to give it a go?'

'Anyway, I've spoken to my editor,' Dana said interrupting. 'And he's agreed to a three-pound fee for an interview. An exclusive, and you've got to tell all.'

Brenda's eyes sparkled at these words. 'You're on! And if you could throw in a couple of drinks as well, I'd be very grateful.'

'Fine,' Dana said. 'Dad, you couldn't get us another round?'

'Already?' Marjorie said.

'What are you drinking?' Dana's dad asked Brenda.

'I'll have what you're having,' Brenda replied.

'I'm fine with my cider,' Marjorie told him.

Her father got to his feet and went to the bar.

'So, what do you want to know?' Brenda asked getting comfortable on her chair.

Dana removed a small notebook and short pencil from her handbag. She licked the tip of her pencil and began to write some notes. 'First your name, and then explain how you got here and then tell us what goes on at the mansion?'

Brenda laughed. 'So, you don't want to know much then?'

Marjorie glanced at her friend suspiciously.

Brenda then briefly explained why she and Marjorie had come to England and how they ended up in Lincoln.

'Was it hard to get the job at the house?' Dana asked.

'No, see, both me and Marjorie are related to Mrs Green,' Brenda said exaggerating. 'And that sort of got my foot in the door. She may be a murderer, but she is well respected round here!'

Marjorie's eyes swivelled towards the ceiling. ' _Brenda please! She is my mother!'_

'And we both love her to bits!' Brenda said quickly.

Marjorie glared at her.

Dana was writing furiously. 'And what's her Ladyship like? Lady Clara Collendon?'

'As a person or as a wife?' Brenda asked. 'Because as a person she is a sweet as a nut. As a wife, she is the biggest bitch going...'

'Brenda please!' Marjorie cautioned.

'And I'll tell you something else for nothing,' Brenda said in a conspiratorial voice. 'Shirley, the scullery maid told me that something big is going to happen up at the house.'

Dana leaned forward. 'Big in what way?'

'Important people are coming over from Germany, and we'll be given the week off,' Brenda said. 'They're calling in some special...caterers and whatnot.'

Dana made a brief note. 'I see.'

Dana's father had just come back from the bar with some more drinks on a small tray. 'Did you say, people are coming over from Germany? Like who? Adolf himself?'

Brenda shrugged. 'I don't know, but Mr Kearns the butler told Shirley that we mustn't say a word to anyone about it until afterwards. Then everyone will know. It's all sort of hush hush!'

Dana's father sat down at the table. 'This is definitely a scoop, Dana!'

Brenda shook her head. 'No, you mustn't say a word to anyone. And another thing, Shirley told me that there may not even be a Tennyson House left to go back to.'

'Oh Brenda, you love acting the maggot, don't you!' Marjorie said with a laugh.

'No, I'm serious,' Brenda said. 'I think I might have to get a job somewhere else! See, I think they're going _to blow the place up_! That's what Paul reckons anyhow!'

***

If ever there was writing on the wall, it was writ large for Geoffrey Beresford. His future no longer lay with Britain. Everything that he had established over the years, had come to nothing and the only thing he could do was embrace the new order. It was coming, and he needed to keep ahead of the curve or his dream would vaporise before his eyes. It was therefore, with the greatest reluctance that he decided to abandon his flat in Pimlico and go into hiding. This also meant taking sick leave from work with the intention of never returning.

Colonel Schrepps was including his name on the manifest of the chartered plane which would fly him to a new life in the Reich. It would avoid an awkward custom inspection at this end and get automatic clearance at the other. Beresford could then begin his new life, although this would mean leaving old friends behind.

His parents had passed away, and he had a brother in the states, though few other ties. But he was gregarious enough to forge new links, and Schrepps would certainly introduce him to his Berlin circle. He would just have to work on his German speaking skills. He could barely hold a conversation, and if anything, that could be his downfall. One of his first priorities once he arrived in Germany was to seek out a tutor and polish up his Nazi argot! Through lack of practice he had grown rusty. Then, he'd had too many distractions. Now, he needed to get organised. He decided to withdraw all his savings from the bank, which were quite considerable. He had an account with Grindlays and actually had enough money to buy a house outright. He was planning to do just that once he was on German soil.

He phoned Sir Hugh in Whitehall and explained that he had a chesty cough and a bit of a fever. Sir Hugh was most accommodating, hinting that he could take as much time off as he wanted, although paperwork was piling up. There were a few awkward questions as always, although Sir Hugh seemed generally unconcerned especially when Beresford said he would delegate the work. Perhaps his boss was just acting. Little did he realise that Beresford was never going to return.

Beresford also needed to get in touch with Dick to find out what was happening with Alice Green. If all went well, that would be the end of the matter and shouldn't necessarily be picked up by the papers. If it was, he would have to think of an acceptable explanation to give the Germans. He thought it would be a good idea to say that she had been removed into the community to facilitate her disposal. They would love that! He had arranged to phone Dick at his usual telephone box in the next few days. Beresford would then make payment for his services, and probably out of his own money. He could hardly get the Home Office to pay for this one, as he had done on previous occasions, citing 'operational expenses'.

Looking around his expensively furnished flat, he felt that it was incumbent on him to put his valuables in safe storage. There were a number of paintings by obscure though collectable old masters. They could be stored and then sent for later. In the meantime, he would move out of the flat, get his savings, and hide out somewhere. He would just pack a few suitcases of clothing for now and get a trusted third party to organise the rest. There was a driver he used quite a lot, who would be willing to organise this for a few extra pounds. Beresford would just tell him that he was booking himself into a private hospital for a while. The driver normally never asked questions.

In truth, Beresford had been resorting to the continuous usage of painkillers for his wounds and was really not a well man. His mind was also becoming more vexed, and he was now inclined to worry more than he used to. He was certainly more paranoid than he had ever been. He had come to feel that the grim reaper truly was stalking him, waiting for him to let down his guard. Death was around every corner, or so it seemed. He was a marked man, a target.

If ever he needed a reason to leave his old life in England, that would be sufficient. And if he succumbed to all this pressure, there was always the psychiatrist's couch. Or, the other honourable thing would be suicide. Beresford shook his head. He was becoming too morbid. It was time to leave and make a fresh start. One more drink and he would be through the door with his bags packed, never to return.

***

Even though Mr Kearns was no longer the officially acting butler at Tennyson House, he was still regarded as a trusted member of staff by Lord Collendon. In fact, Lord Collendon was still holding onto the thought that Kearns might have a change of heart and return fulltime. Of course, Kearns was still keeping his hand in, coming up to Tennyson House at least once a week. Though, as he was, in reality, not a butler, but a secret government operative of the highest rank, he had another agenda entirely. He was in fact the secret service coordinator for the entire South West of England, and in that capacity handled dozens of agents, some even abroad.

He was answerable only to the head of the secret service and was in the running as a potential rival for the post. Though, with the threat of war hovering, ambitions such as these were on the back burner. The important thing was to be as effective as he could be in his current role. In a word, this meant stifling German sympathies at home, rooting out Fascist cells, clamping down on pro-Nazi activists and interrupting the spread of anti-British propaganda etc. All in a day's work, as he was fond of telling himself. There was also the matter of the fate of Tennyson House whose days may well be numbered. It was a pity. In the face of the terrifying possibility of the Nazis invading and taking over Britain, sacrifices would have to be made. Tennyson House would now be in the firing line. Also, the powers-that-be did not want the house to become a symbol of Nazism in any way.

The other thing which had disturbed Kearns, was the sudden and unexpected arrival of Dana, the American journalist and her father. She had claimed to be working on the staff of the Boston Gleaner. A few phone calls soon revealed this to be untrue. She was an imposter. The landlady at the Tankard Inn confirmed that she had arrived with a group of foreign students from Czechoslovakia. Kearns was amused by this rather transparent deception. Clearly the group were from Germany and were members of Hitler Youth or a similar organisation. Did they really think the British were so idiotic that they were not recognised for what they were?

Their arrival at an inn, so near Tennyson House showed that the Germans had designs on the property and were clearly there on a scouting mission. Kearns already knew that a German colonel by the name of Schrepps was coordinating a special meeting with Nazi sympathisers at the house. Little did the colonel realise that he was handing himself to Kearns on a platter. The colonel was probably instrumental in arranging for the young 'tourists' to come over and take a closer look. Of course, Lord Collendon was totally oblivious to all this behind-the-scenes skulduggery. However, his penchant for dabbling in politics was going to pay dividends for Britain. Kearns was preparing a nice little surprise for the guests.

Certainly, Dana and her 'father' needed to be dealt with. According to the landlady, they had booked in under the name of Dana and Bob Williams and claimed to be Americans. They had arrived at the same time as the group of 'brownshirts' on a coach. Kearns knew that coaches often came from as far away as Victoria in London and the coast. This set off alarm bells in Mr Kearns' acutely suspicious mind. He was convinced they were spies.

One uncomfortable point, as far as Kearns was concerned, was that they had managed to latch onto Marjorie. It was obviously the first in a number of steps, to both infiltrate Tennyson House and possibly Lincolnshire aristocracy! Coming up to the property by foot on that day with Marjorie, was a breath-taking instance of over-confidence on the German's part. They clearly did not realise the extent to which the British authorities were on the look-out.

It was therefore urgent for Kearns to arrange for Dana and her father to be picked up by British Intelligence and detained for questioning. This was essential to find out what their objectives actually were. Were they just trying to ascertain Tennyson House's suitability for the conference? Were they checking security? Were they trying to place moles in influential households?

By making a few phone calls, Kearns had the two imposters taken into custody in the dead of night. The landlady was fully cooperative, and watched the two, protestingly being led away by agents in the early hours of the morning. The next day, a couple of guests inquired as to what all the racket had been about and was told that somebody had been drunk. Hans and his group seemed quite unaware of what had happened to their colleagues.

Kearns was later informed that among Dana's belongings was a camera with photographs yet to be developed, two long wave radio transmitters and telegraph keys. Messages were apparently being sent by Morse code to a receiver in the English Channel. This hardly surprised Kearns. The Thames was one of the weaker points in Britain's general defence. Kearns was almost primed to expect a sort of German armada sailing down towards parliament! The worst-case scenario in this instance, was that Dana may have been sent to ascertain how secure Tennyson House was for high-ranking German visitors. And the fact was, that it was anything but safe. Kearns also wondered if Brenda, the new chambermaid, might have let slip information of value to the Germans. She was quite an observant girl. If the Germans had any hint that a trap was being prepared for them, the game would be up!

In fact, the main reason why Kearns was attached to Tennyson House in the first instance, was that Lord Collendon had habitually hosted dinner parties for foreign dignitaries. Kearns was there to basically spy on them and had arranged to have all the guest bedrooms bugged. Feeling secure and unthreatened in the beautiful house, foreign diplomats quite openly expressed their views and divulged state secrets. As far as classified information was concerned, Tennyson House was a veritable goldmine. A government vehicle, off-site, collected the radio transmissions from the bugged rooms and relayed them to London.

The 'secret' conference that was being organised by Schrepps was a rare opportunity to learn in depth, the full extent of British infiltration and sympathy for the Nazis. But Kearns had further plans. He wasn't just going to let the Germans have their meeting and then go back home. He wanted to send a strong signal to German High Command that infiltrating British Society came with risks. He was also concerned that Scotland may be a key entry point for German agents crossing over from Stavanger, in Norway. This was where Fintan was going to play an important role. Fintan would play the part of a Scottish Nationalist and anti-Nazi activist and blow the whole lot of them to Kingdom come! This was not what the British government would have necessarily wanted. It was, however, what Kearns wanted.

He despised the arrogance of the Reich. A short-sharp-shock and a rap on the knuckles was what they needed. And Kearns would give it to them with plenty of room to spare. Kearns had leaked the existence of Fintan's fictitious Nationalist organisation to the press already. Kearns called them the Scottish Freedom Clan 'The SFC' – it had distinct a chime which editors seemed to like. The Germans would see that Scotland was not going to be a soft touch. In fact, Kearns felt strongly about this because he had a Scottish ancestor himself.

After making several phone calls, Kearns sat back in one of Lord Collendon's comfortable chairs and gazed contemplatively out of the window. All in a day's work, he told himself again.

***

It was dawn before Fintan pulled the newly acquired Citroen Avant to the side of the road outside a nondescript guest house. He and Alice had driven all through the night to Folkestone on the other side of the country.

'You should be safe here,' Fintan said as he went around and opened Alice's door.

'I suppose we'd better bring the luggage in,' Alice said. She stood up in the road and glanced out at the sparkling ocean. 'It's funny how the sea always looks the same.'

Fintan stood with her for a few moments. 'I don't get to see too much of it, myself.'

Alice turned to look up at the guesthouse. 'Are we getting separate rooms?'

'Of course,' Fintan replied. 'But it would be good if they were next to each other.'

Alice shook her head slightly. 'I would never believe that all this could have happened to _me_.'

Fintan touched her arm. 'Well, you're going to be alright now. Mr Kearns will look after you.'

Alice gave him a worried look. 'You don't think we're being tricked? I mean you said he worked for the government.'

Fintan was thoughtful. 'I don't think so. He warned us that you were in danger and look what happened. He has also offered me a deal. He's going to get my charges lifted if I do him a big favour, and I believe him!' He began removing Alice's luggage from the boot of the car. 'Let's check in, if we can.'

The guesthouse had advertised four vacancies in its window. Fintan had to ring the bell as the front door was locked. The receptionist was surprised to see them at such an early hour. They took the two rooms which were the closest on the second floor, declining the double room which was also offered.

Fintan had noticed that the lady receptionist kept glancing at the wounds on his forehead. His bump had got worse, though she didn't say anything.

Once Alice was settled in her room, she went to the window. 'This is a nice view. And a nice area. I wouldn't mind living here.'

'I'm sure that could be arranged in time,' Fintan said cradling his head. 'God, I've got the worst headache ever.'

'Why don't you have a sleep in your room,' she suggested. 'I'll wake you at lunch time.'

Fintan nodded. 'And a couple of aspirins and maybe a plaster would be just the ticket as well.'

'I'll go down and ask the landlady,' Alice said.

'Thanks,' Fintan replied. 'And then later I'm going to phone Mr Kearns and let him know where we are.'

Alice seemed unsure. 'Alright. But I can't help worrying.'

Fintan nodded. 'I'm in the same boat as you. I'm wanted on a murder charge! They want to _hang me!_ '

Alice's eyes dulled. ' _Perhaps we're both better off dead_!'

Fintan's face was serious. 'You can't mean that?'

Alice suddenly smiled. 'No of course not. I'm just tired. _Very very tired!_ '

***

Marjorie was having breakfast at the inn, when the landlady broke the news to her at the table. 'Your mates are gone!' she said putting down a pot of tea.

Marjorie looked up from her plate of scrambled egg. 'Who? Hans?'

'No, that American girl and her father,' the landlady said. She had been instructed by Kearns not to reveal that the imposters had been arrested. 'They took a taxi to Lincoln. Frightful hurry and said they weren't coming back.'

'Oh,' Marjorie said feeling disappointed. Her plans to travel to Coldvale with Dana and her father were now in tatters. 'Did she leave a message?'

'Nope,' the landlady said walking off with a tea towel over her arm. 'But you've reminded me. There was a message for you from Tennyson House. I wrote it down on the notepad.'

'Oh yes?' Marjorie said, but the landlady had gone off to attend to another guest.

Marjorie quickly finished her breakfast and poured herself a cup of tea which she drained thirstily. After breakfast, she went up to the counter to speak to the landlady again. From behind the counter, the landlady tore off the message from her notepad and passed it to Marjorie.

'Oh, thanks,' Marjorie said glancing at it. At that moment, Hans and his group walked through the lounge and gave her a wave. Marjorie smiled and waved back and looked down at the note again. It was from Mr Kearns, it read, ' _Marjorie,_ _if you come by Tennyson House today, I will arrange for you to have some lunch. I have news. Lawrence Kearns.'_

Marjorie found herself smiling. She looked up to make a comment to the landlady, but she had gone again. Marjorie asked one of the bar staff to tell the landlady that she wouldn't be having lunch at the inn today. Luckily, there happened to be a taxi available to take her to Tennyson House which was very convenient. Marjorie asked the driver to wait for her while she changed.

She was intent on looking her very best as she had been invited to lunch. She went to her room and put on a good quality striped chambray dress and cardigan. It occurred to her that she didn't know whether lunch meant that she would be dining with the staff or with their lord and ladyship. Suddenly, she felt nervous. On the taxi-ride there, they passed Hans and his walking group singing at the top of their voices. Marjorie shook her head. It was becoming a bit of a joke.

The taxi driver was impressed to have dropped Marjorie at the gates of Tennyson House. 'I'll pick you up as well,' he said as she paid him. 'Just give me a time.'

'Three o'clock?' she said off the top of her head.

She walked through the impressive black gates, which were apparently never locked and walked up the long drive. She expected to see Mr Jode. He was nowhere about. She then heard her name being called.

She looked around and saw that she had passed Mr Kearns, who was sitting on a bench behind a large shrub full of blooming 'dinner plate' red hibiscus. It seemed odd to Marjorie to see such flowers at this time of year.

Mr Kearns stood up. 'Thank you for coming. I just wanted to have a private chat with you away from wigging ears,' he said. 'We'll have lunch in a little while.'

'Will Brenda be joining us?' Marjorie asked as she sat down next to Mr Kearns on the bench.

'Eventually,' Mr Kearns said. 'She's doing her rounds at the moment!'

Marjorie stared at Kearns inquisitively. 'You said you had good news?'

Kearns smiled. 'Indeed, I have. To cut a long story short, your mother is no longer in prison. In fact, I have been instrumental in getting her sentence commuted to nothing. She has been a pawn in a rather vicious political game. The objective was to help the career of a British Nazi sympathiser in high office. I know for a fact that she is innocent of her crime. Her conviction will remain on the books, but the authorities have agreed to turn a blind eye to her living in the community.'

Marjorie nodded uncomprehendingly. 'I don't quite understand...'

'I could have acted sooner,' Kearns said with a shake of his head. 'I could have saved her the trauma of trial and imprisonment, but I needed to see where it was all leading. I was anxious to follow the trail and see who was involved and to what extent. You see, there are lots of people in this country who think that Mr Hitler is the best thing since sliced sourdough. That includes the politician in high office whom I have been keeping under surveillance. I shouldn't be telling you all this, but I believe I can trust you.'

Marjorie nodded. 'I'm quite good at keeping my mouth shut.'

'In any case,' Kearns said with a long sigh. 'The world will soon know about him. Your friend Dana has taken a wonderful photograph of him doing the Nazi salute in front of a group of German tourists. I plan to release this picture to the press to embarrass him and as a warning to others.'

Marjorie pulled a guilty face. 'I was there when she took the picture, Mr Kearns. But she's left. Who is that man anyway?'

Kearns laughed. 'A ghastly man called Geoffrey Beresford. I doubt that you would have heard of him.'

Marjorie shook her head. 'No.'

'Well, he knows more tricks than a bloody mandrill,' Kearns explained. 'But little did he know that we were keeping a close eye on him. Apparently, he has disappeared. But he will soon be flushed out. He's coming to a posh birthday party at which I will be attending, and I will then make my move. In fact, he is being lured there!'

Marjorie nodded feeling out of her depth. 'Oh. Well, you've saved me a journey to the prison.'

'I'm glad. But don't worry your pretty head about any of this, and please don't say a word!' Kearns said. 'The fact is, I have arranged for your mother to take up a new post as the cook at the household of a well-known publisher. It will be a job for life, and the authorities are in full agreement. I'm telling you all this because it will be a chance for you to meet her. I understand that you have never actually met her.'

Marjorie shook her head. 'No, I was fostered.'

'As Mrs Phelps the housekeeper was telling me,' Kearns said.

'Where is my mother now, at that house you mentioned?' Marjorie asked.

'Not yet,' Kearns said. 'But she will be arriving there soon. I will let you know in the next few days. You will be staying at the Tankard for the duration, I presume?'

'For the moment,' Marjorie replied.

'I would invite you to stay at Tennyson House,' Kearns confided. 'But his Lordship, Lord Collendon might have some misgivings about that. See, he was involved in the matter regarding your mother.'

Marjorie nodded. 'I see.'

Kearns shook his head again and stood up. 'Bloody fools, some of them. Sometimes money and position can cloud a man's judgement.'

Marjorie automatically stood up. 'I wouldn't know, I don't read the papers much.'

'That's a good policy,' Kearns said with a warm smile. 'I wouldn't in your shoes. Shall we go in?'

***

It was raining heavily when Geoffrey Beresford emerged from his bolthole wearing a trilby and heavy overcoat. He had been staying at the Westwood Hotel near Regent Street and now needed to make a phone call. He could have used the phone at the hotel but tended nowadays to prefer public telephone boxes.

He was due to phone Dick to get an update on Mrs Green. According to his plan, he expected her to be dead and a possible article to appear about her in the papers. Despite getting the Standard from a vendor, nothing was mentioned. Being a notorious murderess, her death was bound to get a mention somewhere, but another story on the inside pages, caught his eye instead. It read:

'INTRUDER FOUND DEAD IN SEASIDE HOSTEL'

It was the word 'hostel' which caught his attention. He quickly read the story. He was mortified to learn that the intruder had been found dead in the Tretherra Hostel for Women in Newquay! Mrs Green was not mentioned. Beresford felt a twinge of anxiety in his gut. He quickly walked to the nearest phone box and stood inside re-reading the article. From the description of the unnamed dead man, it became obvious that it might be Dick. If it was, it meant that an official enquiry would ensue with the possibility of Beresford's name being dragged into it. Dick might well have recorded Beresford's name somewhere among his personal effects. If this was the case, a possible connection might then be made to Dick's other illicit activities. It was a disaster in the making.

Not quite believing the article was about Dick, Beresford made the prearranged phone call to one of Dick's special 'contact' phone boxes. There was no answer. He tried three times and then it became clear to him. Dick had failed in his mission!

The newspaper article gave very little information. It merely said that residents at the hostel heard loud noises and the dead body of the unidentified man was discovered the next day. It was strange that the article did not mention that the hostel was the same one Mrs Green was staying in. Perhaps the press didn't know she was there. Then he remembered, they had booked Mrs Green in under another name!

Beresford pulled his hat over his eyes and made his way to a coffee shop, where he ordered a hot drink and a sandwich. He sat in the window looking at his own reflection in the glass and out at the night. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It was the fear of being made to answer difficult incriminating questions which would be inevitable. For all he knew, his own arrest may be imminent. It once again confirmed to him the necessity of getting out of the country as soon as he could.

He then re-read the article which silently raised the question as to where Mrs Green was. Was she still at the hostel? If she was, then perhaps Beresford could finish the job himself, get a handgun and shoot her. The last thing he wanted was for the Germans to find out he that had not accomplished what he had promised to deliver.

***

Although the wounds on Fintan's head were visibly healing, and drying up, they still hurt badly. Alice had brought him up some aspirins and ice from the guesthouse owner. Alice then filled a bowl with warm water, found a flannel and solicitously tended to his injuries. Fintan stared at her with a kind of blank wonderment.

'You'd be a good nurse,' he said as he sat in the armchair.

Alice, bending over him, laughed. 'I was taught a little bit of First Aid years ago,' she replied. She clicked her tongue. 'I should have asked the landlady if she had any Halitosine, you know, antiseptic.'

Fintan was wincing as she dabbed his head. 'Salt water will do the trick. My mother used it all the time. Salt heals like nothing on earth.'

'No, it will make it flare up.' Alice said with a frown as she applied the ice under the flannel. 'But your head doesn't look too bad and the bumps are going down.'

'I'm from good Irish stock, me,' he said with a smile. 'It will take more than a bump on the head to stop me in my tracks.'

She nodded. 'Fintan, have you ever had a girlfriend?'

Fintan gave her a sharp look and then laughed. 'Now where did that come from?'

Alice shrugged. 'I'm just curious. I have always known you as a bit of a workhorse. You never had a real life at Tennyson, living in that horrible caravan on the estate.'

Fintan made a gesture with his hands. 'I had a girlie in Dublin, but she said I was too tall for her. I must admit she was a bit of a ninny.'

Alice smiled and finished her chore throwing the warm water down the sink in the room.

'I think being tall in a man is a good thing,' she said.

'Oh, you do?'

'It makes a woman feel protected,' she said.

'Is that right?'

'I had a husband once who was just fine, height-wise,' she said.

Fintan's face became animated. 'I heard about him. I heard that he was a right bugger as well, if you don't mind me saying.'

Alice threw herself into a chair. 'Well, that's true, he was. And you do know that I'm 38.'

Fintan gave her a strange look. 'What's that got to do with anything? Anyway, I heard it was 43!'

Alice laughed, ' _Give it to me straight, why don't you!_ '

'I don't believe in beating around the bush,' he said. 'But what are you getting at?'

Alice shrugged. 'I just want to know why you're doing all this for me? You're a wanted man and you could get into trouble by helping me.'

'I've told you, Mr Kearns has it all sorted.'

She shrugged. 'That doesn't explain why you are bothering.'

'Bothering?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Why are you bothering to help me? Why are you putting yourself out? Is it because Mr Kearns asked you to?'

'Well, what they did to you wasn't right. Everyone agrees on that, plus you're not a bad looking woman, and I speak from the heart.'

Alice blinked several times at these words, smiled and clasped her hands together. 'I see. Well, I've got a lot of bad habits, you know.'

'So have I.'

She smiled. 'I know I've lost weight, but I'll soon put it all back on.'

'I don't like skinny minnies anyway.' he said.

She nodded and looked up at the ceiling. 'So, shall we give it a go then? I mean, you and me?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'That's a bit forward of you Mrs Green!'

'Oh, don't call me _that_ ,' she said. 'But I'm serious Fintan. I know women shouldn't make the first move. But no man has ever done this much for me. My husband, God rest his horrible soul, just shouted at me all the time.'

'I've been known to do that too,' Fintan warned with a grin.

'Then we're half way there,' she said. 'Tell you what, if you propose, I'll accept.'

'You've put me right on the spot now,' he said smiling.

'Well?'

'Christ, I've just had a big bump on my head,' Fintan stated. 'So, I might give you the wrong answer.'

'I'll take my chances,' she said staring at him.

'Ok,' Fintan said, his voice becoming softer. 'I'll be honest. The very first moment I saw you in the kitchen at Tennyson House with that apron on, doing the dinner, I knew. I knew.'

She nodded, her eyes moving from side to side. 'You knew what?'

'I knew you were the one for me,' Fintan said. 'I remember that time when I brought in that big joint of pork from the shed and you called me a diamond. Remember that? And I said, do you mean a rough diamond? And you said no, a tough diamond! That really meant a lot.'

'I'm glad,' she said.

'Do you want me to get down on my knees' he asked. 'Because I will, even though my head's killing me.'

'No,' she answered. 'I've known you a long time, Fintan, and I trust whatever you say. I mean, we're not rushing this are we?'

'I've known you almost ten years,' Fintan said. 'And we've never had an argument. I think I know you better than any woman I've ever known, and I think you know me. So, okay, I'll ask you then. Will you be my wife?'

She leaned forward and paused before answering contrarily, 'I'll think about it!'

Fintan grinned and in a mock gruff voice said, 'Good, _because I won't ask you again!_ '

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Marjorie came down for yet another breakfast she was surprised to find Brenda sitting at a table nursing a hot beverage. Marjorie came over to her. 'Brenda? What are you doing here?'

Brenda shrugged and sighed. 'Mr Kearns has given me a week's notice.'

'Oh, why is that?'

Brenda looked over her shoulder. 'I told you? They laying off some of the staff for a while.'

Marjorie stared at her friend. 'That's a terrible shame. Now you'll have to hang around with me!'

Brenda let out a short laugh. 'I'm not that desperate! No, I'm only joking!'

'Well, I've got some news, too,' Marjorie said. 'My mother's no longer in prison. Yeah, she's really innocent and Kearns is arranging for me to meet her.'

'Oh! Sit down,' Brenda said holding her drink. 'That's good news for you, eh?'

Marjorie took a seat at Brenda's table. 'Yup, so, are you staying here now then, at the inn?'

'Well, I was sort of hoping I could share the room again?'

'Of course,' Marjorie said clicking her tongue. 'It's a bore being on my own. But at least I won't have to go to Gloucester.'

Brenda nodded. 'So, if your mother's not in prison, where is she then?'

Marjorie shrugged. 'Mr Kearns didn't really say, except that she's being given a job as a cook at some fancy place.'

Brenda's eyes lit up. 'Maybe they'll give _me_ a job as well.'

'Don't you want to go back home to Ireland?'

Brenda leaned back in the sofa. 'Nope. I tell you, working at Tennyson House has been a right little racket!'

Marjorie shook her head. 'Brenda, stealing isn't going to get you very far!'

'You don't understand,' Brenda replied. 'It's stuff they don't give a hoot about. Those rich people are so loaded they don't notice when little things go missing. They just think they left them somewhere.'

'Such as what?'

Brenda leaned forward. 'I'll show you later, but I picked up a nice little broach. I think it's solid gold!'

'Brenda! You're going to get into serious trouble!'

Brenda smiled broadly. 'Nah. If they ever caught me I'd just say I found it on the floor and was planning to give it back. That's what Paul told me to say, you know Paul the footman.'

Marjorie sighed. 'It's like biscuits to a bear talking to you! It's just as well that you're leaving.'

'Pity,' Brenda said. 'So, could you ask Mr Kearns when you see him again, if there's a job for me where your mother's going?'

'Why can't you ask him yourself?' Marjorie objected. 'I mean you see him more than me. You work with him!'

'I don't know,' Brenda said pulling a dubious face. 'He's a bit boss-eyed and I'd feel funny about asking him. Anyway, he only comes up a couple of times a week, and I might not see him again before my notice runs out. Mrs Phelps is mostly in charge now.'

Marjorie looked down at her hands in her lap. 'Well, if I get to speak to him again, which I probably will because he's arranging the meeting with my mother, I'll ask him.'

'You're a first-class mucker, cheers a lot,' Brenda said raising her gin. 'Anyway, you _will_ be speaking to him again, because he told me something in confidence.'

Marjorie was all ears. 'Yes what?'

'Don't say a word, but he said you don't know who you really are.'

'What?' Marjorie said. 'What do you mean?'

Brenda shrugged. 'I don't know. I'm not a mind reader. Why don't you ask him? But he said it like he meant it. Like you were someone important or something.'

Marjorie gave her friend a searching look. Then she laughed and stood up. 'You nearly had me then! Come on, let's have some breakfast!'

Brenda looked at her earnestly. 'Look, I'm not joking. _Ask him yourself_!'

***

The dark figure which emerged from the bottom of the gloomy main stairs at Listwell Park might have been the harbinger of doom. His pale face was serious, and the hat on his head almost covered his eyes. He was greeted by Lord Petrie, on the landing, who gave him a firm handshake.

'Come,' Petrie said in his educated voice. 'I bet you could use a drink at this unearthly hour!'

'The only real thirst I have is for the freedom of the Western world,' the man in the hat said. 'But a drop of sherry would go down very well!'

Lord Petrie's handsome face broke into a smile. 'Consider it done, Mr Kearns. And I must say in that hat, I would never have recognised you!'

Kearns removed his hat and followed Lord Petrie up the stairs and into a comfortable room where he glanced over at the glowing embers in the fireplace. 'You'll have to start conserving your resources my Lord. Even wooden logs will soon be in short supply.'

'I'm fortunate that I have such a large estate and can cultivate trees for the purpose,' Petrie said attending to the drinks on the sideboard. 'But I think what you're really telling me is that the news is _not good_.'

Kearns sat down in a chair by the dying fire without being asked. He toyed with his hat for a moment. 'I'm afraid not.'

Lord Petrie handed him a sherry which Kearns sipped contemplatively. Kearns engaged Petrie's eyes. 'I'm afraid Mr Chamberlain's good intentions are going to be chewed up by the Nazi meatgrinder. The Germans are so confident that they can expand into European territories without fear of any real opposition, that they have underestimated our resolve. The sooner Mr Churchill takes over the helm, the sooner will the Germans know that we are not to be tinkered with. Mr Chamberlain is a nice man, a decent, educated and peace-loving man, that this is being mistaken for weakness.'

'Same old story,' Petrie said throwing himself into a chair opposite his guest. 'I suppose it is better to have a belligerent and intelligent leader rather than one that is simply too middle class. But Mr Hitler is a rough neck. His supposed genius, in this instance, has failed to perceive the real British character underneath Chamberlain's mantle of gentility. It also doesn't help that Chamberlain thinks the British ought to accept Nazi domination of Europe as a matter of course.'

'I agree,' Kearns said. 'We can't bury our heads in the sand. Mark my words, the German Soviet pact will be the greenlight for the Nazis to invade Poland.'

Petrie frowned. 'Do you really think they will?'

'We have good intelligence which says as much,' Kearns said taking a sip of his Domecq. 'Czechoslovakia, the Rhineland and Austria have all been invaded so far without so much as a murmur. If we draw the line at Poland, and this is ignored, then _we will be at war_. Even the peace-loving Mr Chamberlain will have to accept this. Which brings me to our little plan, my Lord.'

Both men looked up when the door suddenly opened, and Lady Marcia swept in wearing a light blue silk dressing gown. 'You do realise that it's three o'clock in the morning?' she said giving Kearns a warm smile.

Mr Kearns rose politely, 'Good evening my lady.'

'Sit please,' Lady Marcia told him. 'Can't this wait till the morning?'

Lord Petrie crinkled his bottom lip. 'We'll just be another five minutes darling, I promise.'

'I've heard _that one_ before,' she replied giving Kearns a playful salute and exiting the room again.

Mr Kearns sat down again and smiled to himself. 'Our beauty sleep will have to be put on the back burner for now.'

'Oh, before I forget, what are the arrangements regarding Mrs Green?' Petrie asked. 'Do you still want us to put her up?'

'If that's possible, my Lord,' Kearns replied. 'She is now off the hook as far as the police are concerned. You can ignore the reports you may have heard that she is wanted for questioning regarding that incident at the hostel where she was staying. I've offered to be her guarantor and it's been squared with the Home Office and other agencies. Frankly, as we've discussed previously, I think she would love to work in your kitchens.'

'Not a problem,' Petrie said. 'As long as she doesn't try to poison us!'

Despite himself Kearns smiled at this. 'Now there's an idea. Perhaps she could prepare a little something for Geoffrey Beresford. He's coming to your do, isn't he?'

Lord Petrie chortled and took a swig of his drink. 'Yes, but do go on.'

'Well,' Kearns said gathering his thoughts. 'First, I want to reiterate our gratitude to you for your cooperation in this matter. Be assured that we have very good intelligence that members of the Nazi elite _will_ be attending a conference at Tennyson House. There's an individual in particular, who poses a threat to one of our most important double agents. So, he needs to be eliminated asap. We have the entire house bugged, and so all conversations will be recorded and relayed to London. Any British traitors at that meeting will be identified and will also be taken down. It will be a rare chance indeed to inflict some meaningful damage on the Germans before they harm us. And I suspect, out of embarrassment, they will try to sweep it under the carpet afterwards. But they would have got the point. Obviously, we don't want to hurt Lord Collendon, his wife or the staff who currently work and reside there. But British traitors _won't_ be spared. And so, Lady Marcia's birthday bash will be the perfect excuse to spirit the Collendon's away from what will be a mini theatre of war! The staff have already been given notice that their services won't be required for a couple of weeks. Although, Lord Collendon does not know this yet.'

Petrie frowned. 'Tennyson House is one of the loveliest historical properties in Lincolnshire.'

'We will try and limit the damage,' Kearns replied. 'Now, regarding Geoffrey Beresford...'

Lord Petrie laughed humourlessly. 'The mere mention of his name gives me the shivers.'

'Indeed, and I appreciate the fact that he's on your guest list,' Kearns said. 'But he's a marked man regardless. We picked up two Nazi spies posing as Americans, who were snooping around Tennyson House. Under interrogation they told quite a tale. As you know Beresford has been the target of a couple of assassination attempts...'

Petrie nodded. 'I think I know what you're going to say. It's the Germans who want him dead!'

'Precisely,' Kearns said. ' _The Germans have apparently been trying to eliminate him without success!_ But I think he's convinced that the British secret services are behind it! And they have been to a certain extent, but I haven't been involved with that. However, I think there's been a change of gear, and they are now waiting to see what the Germans are going to do with him. A Colonel Schrepps, I am certain, has been the orchestrator of a couple of failed attempts. I can only surmise that Beresford was proving to be a liability. His usefulness had expired and now they want him dead. I understand that after the conference, he was going to fly back to Berlin with our German visitors. But I am quite sure that they are planning to murder him onboard their chartered plane and throw him into the North Sea! So, if we don't kill him, they will!'

'But three failed attempts!' Petrie said thoughtfully. 'I mean, the Sicherheitsdienst or Gestapo or whoever, aren't that clumsy, are they?'

'Not usually,' Kearns said. 'So, I've concluded that the attempts on his life _were not meant to succeed!_ They were designed to scare him. To make Beresford think that the British secret services are gunning for him, to get him on side! But he was like a love-sick puppy in their hands anyway!'

'Hmm. Do you plan to arrest Beresford?' Petrie asked.

'It would prove too embarrassing for the British government, frankly,' Kearns said. 'I propose to deal with him myself.'

Petrie nodded. 'I understand.'

'Which is why I am really here, tonight,' Kearns said. 'Would you give me carte blanche to also stage something at the party, here at Listwell? It will send a message to the world, although it might spoil the party atmosphere a bit.'

Petrie laughed. 'Lady Marcia and I have already been speculating about what you're planning to do. As you probably know, Marcia has a strong Bohemian streak and she hates the Nazis more than I do. I think some unusual entertainment will be an absolute gas, especially if it puts the Hun in its place. Marcia will love it!'

'Good, good,' Kearns said. 'Trust me, none of your respectable guests will be hurt, but a couple of big egos _might be_ crushed very severely!'

'Perhaps even fatally?' Petrie mused.

'I think in Beresford's case, it will be fatally,' Kearns said. 'I'm still working on the details.'

'As long as no major harm is done to anyone else,' Petrie said.

'No shots will be fired,' Kearns said with a smirk. 'Apart from some verbal broadsides. And your marble floors will still be pristine after the event. No slippery blood to speak of, I promise.'

Petrie smiled. 'As long as the floors are kept clean then that's fine!'

Kearns bowed his head and raised his glass of sherry. ' _To the King_!'

' _To the King_!' Petrie echoed.

***

When Geoffrey Beresford arrived at the Tretherra Hostel for women, he did not resemble the suave civil servant from Whitehall that he used to be. He had deliberately let a beard and moustache grow, and wore his reading glasses, which radically transformed his appearance. Sporting a black Fedora on his head, he might have been mistaken for a foreign tourist anywhere. The good thing about bad weather was that it was an excuse to wear an overcoat which further detracted from who he really was. He drew the line at effecting an accent and spoke normally.

'My name is James Green,' he said to the lady receptionist at the hostel. 'I am Mrs Alice Green's brother, is it possible to see her?'

These words were overheard by the manager, Mr Benjamin who came out from his little office to attend to the enquiry. 'Can I help?' he asked.

Beresford clutched the small gun in his pocket which he had taken from Miss Derrius' flat. 'I'm Mrs Green's brother and I was in the area and I thought I'd pop in to see her.'

Mr Benjamin's face was curious. 'I didn't know she had a brother. But no, I am afraid that she isn't here at the moment. She has literally disappeared! We don't know if she's dead or alive! There was an incident which occurred in her room and which is being investigated by the police, and they really want to speak to her. I can give you their details if you like. In fact, they would probably like to speak to you!'

Beresford was stumped by this news. 'Oh, I see.'

'Did you read about it in the papers?' Benjamin asked. 'We found a dead body in Mrs Green's room. Seems that there was a struggle. I can't imagine how Mrs Green would have got the better of this intruder. I'm glad you're here, perhaps you can help us locate her.'

Beresford sighed. 'I haven't seen her for years.'

'Then how did you know she was here?' the manager asked.

'It was mentioned in the papers,' Beresford replied smoothly.

'Was it?' Mr Benjamin said in surprise. 'Well, her being here wasn't mentioned in the local papers. They just reported the unfortunate incident.'

Beresford turned to leave. 'Thank you.'

'Wait a minute, I'll give you the police contact number if you like?' Benjamin said quickly going back into his office. He came out with a slip of paper with a detective's name and number written down on it. 'Give him a ring. It's Detective Farson. He's the man in charge.'

Beresford nodded. 'Ah, thank you. I will.' He stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and quickly walked out into the night.

As he strode up the road he felt partly relieved, although he had the dire feeling that everything was about to unravel. The police clearly now had Dick's body which was probably lying in the local morgue. Beresford prayed that Dick had been professional enough not to have carried any identification when he broke into the hostel. The question was, why had he failed in his task so miserably? Mrs Green was a vulnerable middle-aged woman of average height and prone to putting on weight. She would not have been expecting to be attacked and would not have had a chance to prepare or defend herself. Her survival chances would have been nil.

Beresford's mind went over the possible scenarios. It was quite possible that she might have defended herself with a weapon of some sort. The article in the papers did not say. In Beresford's mind, that would have been the only way she could have squared up to a ruthless assassin like Dick. Beresford rubbed his forehead. It was a mystery. He decided that he would have to phone his office in Whitehall to try and get the rest of the details. He was afraid to contact the police directly in case they had already made the connection between Dick and himself.

A flock of seagulls suddenly swooped overhead, screeching, as if mocking him. He was surprised to see them at this hour; it was after eight o'clock at night. He thoughtfully made his way to the promenade which was only a few hundred yards away and leaned against rail and stared out to sea. There was no wind and the moon cast its mysterious silvery glow on the water. It was a scene of quiet enchantment. He caught sight of a boat on the horizon and found himself wishing he was on it. Certainly, to remain on British soil was becoming more and more precarious for him.

He checked his watch. There were still a few more trains for London that he could board. He would return there to lick his wounds. For the moment, he was confused, though he felt that before morning he would know what to do. It was just the way his mind worked.

***

Fintan had tried twice to get hold of Mr Kearns at Tennyson House and finally succeeded on his third attempt. Mr Kearns seemed glad to speak to him. Fintan was speaking on the phone which was on a little corner stand on the same floor as his room in the guesthouse.

'I would like to have a word with Alice for a minute, if I may,' Kearns said. 'Could you put her on?'

Fintan went to get her. She rushed down the hall and took the receiver. 'Mr Kearns? Is that really you? How are you?'

'As well as can be expected, and how are you, Alice?' Kearns asked.

'Surviving,' Alice joked. 'And I know you've been busy.'

'Busier than you can possibly imagine,' Kearns said. 'Look, I have some good news for you. The authorities have agreed to you taking up a job as a domestic again. So, I've arranged for you to start work at Listwell Park, Lady Marcia's home near Cambridge.'

'Oh really?' Alice said in a delighted voice. 'Thank you so much! What are the staff there like?'

'Very nice. And the really good news is that Shirley at Tennyson, will be taking up a post there as well, and I will be popping my head in from time to time. Also, you know Lady Marcia. First class lady!'

'She is that!' Alice replied. 'But why is Shirley leaving Tennyson? They haven't sacked her, have they? I know she can put her foot in her mouth sometimes.'

'It's a long story, I'll tell you when I see you.' Kearns replied.

'And what about Mr Jode?' Alice asked.

'He'll never leave Tennyson, no matter what,' Kearns observed.

Alice laughed. 'And Paul?'

'Paul and Mr Jode are cut from the same cloth,' Kearns said. 'They're the Devil's brood.'

'Oh lummy!' Alice said. 'When can I expect to start work then?'

'Next week,' Kearns said. 'They're getting a room ready for you.'

'I can't wait,' Alice said as the months of stress and anxiety melted from her face. 'Thank you ever so much Mr Kearns.'

'My pleasure, Alice,' Kearns said. 'Oh, and I'll have another lovely surprise for you. But I don't want to ruin it by telling you, obviously.'

Alice chuckled. 'You're spoiling me now, Mr Kearns.'

'It's about time somebody did,' Kearns replied. 'Could you put Fintan back on the phone please?'

Alice handed the receiver to Fintan, her face beaming. Fintan gave her a curious look. 'I've never seen Alice so happy,' he said to Mr Kearns.

'She doesn't know what happy is yet,' Kearns said. 'Now, we need to meet to discuss what I want to tell you. Can you find your way to Listwell Park in Cambridgeshire?'

'Yes, I reckon,' Fintan said. 'So, is that _thing_ still on then?'

'Most certainly it is, and I've spoken to General Walters at Drewstaignton,' Kearns explained. 'He's very miffed about what you did but has agreed not to court martial you. I explained that you were working for me. However, he still wants his pound of flesh and said that he will drop all charges on condition that you redecorate his quarters for him.'

'Oh Jesus!' Fintan said.

'I had to get him on side,' Kearns explained. 'Because I need a crack band of mercenaries to carry out my little plan and so you'll be teamed up with your old army pals again.'

'Oh.'

'Also, just to let you know, Mr Jode _will_ be held responsible for the O'Flaherty murder,' Kearns said. 'You're no longer on the hook for that.'

'But he'll swear it was me,' Fintan said.

'He can swear all he likes,' Kearns replied. 'Ever heard of a man called Kalo Smythe?'

'I've heard of that bastard, yes,' Fintan replied. 'He tried to have me killed!'

'Did he now? Well, he and Jode have been smuggling in cheap foreign booze and hemp, of all things, from the continent. They were receiving shipments from France and Belgium via Guernsey. I don't want to say too much on the phone.'

'I knew he was up to something,' Fintan said. 'Kalo's got a house in Devon.'

'Yes. That house is where they were mainly operating from,' Kearns stated. 'How did you know about it then?'

'As I was on the run, Kalo said I could go and hide out there,' Fintan answered. 'But he really got me to go there to have me done in! I reckon Jode had something to do with that. Didn't want me to be a witness against him!'

'Now that you've mentioned it, I'd be interested in hearing your side of the O'Flaherty story,' Kearns said. 'Also, Kalo has been on our radar for some time. The point is, the skulduggery that they've been up to will be brought to book, I promise you. It should put them away for a while and get you off the hook.'

'I'm mighty glad to hear it,' Fintan said. 'So, is this Christmas come early or what?'

'It could be the best Christmas you've ever had,' Kearns said. 'Play ball with me, Fintan, and you _won't regret it!_ '

***

Under pressure from Marjorie, Brenda agreed to throw away the things she had stolen from Tennyson House before she got caught. That afternoon, they walked to the river near the inn and Marjorie made her throw the stolen broach and several other items into it. Brenda miserably watched them fall into the water with a plop.

'Is there anything else?' Marjorie demanded as they stood on the river bank.

'No, but it's a rotten shame,' Brenda protested.

'It will be a rotten shame if you went to prison over a few trinkets,' Marjorie said.

Brenda shrugged and sighed. 'What's your money situation like? I've still got two weeks wages that I haven't touched.'

'That's good,' Marjorie answered. She glanced across the swirling river at the weeping willow opposite which was dragging its branches in the water. 'I reckon I could last another three weeks here and then it's either get a job or go back home. It's just as well we got those return tickets.'

Brenda suddenly perked up. 'Perhaps we could both get a job where your mother will be working?'

Marjorie gave her friend a withering glance. 'No thanks. I'd rather go back to Ireland.'

Brenda pulled a face. 'I haven't got anything to go back to. I think I'll stay here in England for a while. If I can't get a job up here, I'll go down to London. I'm sure my aunt Gail could fix me up with something.'

Marjorie picked up a twig and threw it into the water. 'You'd probably earn more money in London anyway.'

'Yeah, well, I'll hang around up here for a bit and see what happens,' Brenda said. 'And if Mr Kearns can't get me a little jobby then I'll be off.'

'Hmm,' Marjorie said. She glanced up at the sky. 'They'll be serving lunch soon.'

'Did you put my name down for it?' Brenda asked.

'I told the landlady you were staying,' Marjorie said turning around and slowly walking back to the road.

'Thanks,' Brenda said. 'Maybe later you can phone Mr Kearns and find out what's going on, I mean about your mother and all that.'

Marjorie pulled a face. 'I'd rather leave it till he contacts _me._ If anything was happening he would have told me already.'

'True,' Brenda said. 'God, I'm starving. Come on, let's get a move on before we miss out!'

***

Mrs Green's disappearance had completely baffled Geoffrey Beresford and he decided to wait and see if there would be any more newspaper reportage. If there wasn't, then he would continue to tell the Germans that everything was under control and they would be none the wiser. Sitting in his London hotel finishing his morning coffee, he was surprised by a sudden knock on the suite door. Assuming it was the cleaner, he opened it, only to find Colonel Schrepps standing there, dressed in overalls.

Beresford was amazed. 'How did you know I was here?'

'You told me, remember?' Schrepps said coming in and closing the door. 'I hope your brain isn't getting soft, Geoffrey!'

Beresford was puzzled. 'I...'

Schrepps walked passed him and went over to the window where he pulled back the curtains and looked down into the street. 'It's not safe here!'

'No one knows I'm here,' Beresford replied. ' _And I'm sure I didn't tell you!_ '

Schrepps smiled strangely. 'It doesn't matter. The point is, something has come up! Two of our agents have gone missing. They were evaluating Tennyson House for suitability, but they haven't reported in.'

Beresford stared at him. 'Why would they be checking it for suitability? It's the perfect venue and you requested it, remember? And it's far enough away from London not to be on its radar. I think it is ideal.'

'Oh, do you?' Schrepps said, but his tone was faintly hostile. 'More importantly, if our agents do not re-emerge, then the conference might have to be cancelled. They were undercover, posing as two Americans and staying at the local inn when they disappeared. I would appreciate it if you went up there and found out what happened because the trail has gone cold. They were staying at the Tankard Inn.'

Beresford nodded reluctantly. 'Okay.'

Schrepps shot him a hard look. 'You sound peeved, Geoffrey. Frankly, I would make the enquiries as quickly as possible. Our chartered plane is scheduled to land on a private airfield near Wickhambrook, Norfolk in three days' time. We need to be vigilant. I want you to arrange a quiet reception for them and lay on four staff cars. But this will depend on whether our missing agents are alright or not.'

'I thought you were going to leave the landing arrangements to _me_?' Beresford said. 'I have the perfect strip near Grimsby on some isolated land which once belonged to the MOD and has been abandoned.'

Schrepps pursed his lips. 'I'll be honest. People are raising doubts about you, Geoffrey. There is a rumour in Berlin circles that you might be a British double agent.'

'What!' Beresford said alarmed. 'What do you mean?'

'Don't worry, Geoffrey,' Schrepps said. 'I have assured them that nothing could be further from the truth. But they think you could be responsible for our agent's disappearance! Our agents reported that they saw you in person when they were out walking near Tennyson House.'

'I saw some German tourists and spoke to them, that's true!'

Schrepps patted Beresford on the arm. 'I see. Well, I would appreciate it if you satisfied the doubting Thomases on our side and find out what happened to them.' He pulled out a small diary from his inside pocket. 'I have taken the liberty of writing down the agent's particulars. And here's my new contact number. I expect to hear something from you in the next twenty-four hours. Also, I want the name of every British guest being invited by Lord Collendon!'

Beresford took the slip of paper and watched the Colonel walk to the door.

The Colonel suddenly swung around. 'And I would check out of this hotel, if I were you. This place just _isn't safe_ ,' and he was gone.

***

Fintan had a very strongly intuitive sense of direction and was easily able to find the Listwell Park Estate, which was near the town of Cambridge. Feeling more relaxed, he and Alice stopped at a tea shop on the way which made for an enjoyable journey. They were obliged to use Alice's money, as Fintan's cash was almost unspendable. The counterfeit money was proving useless for this reason.

Alice was very taken with the local countryside and it was apparent to Fintan that she wasn't very widely travelled. It seemed to him that she had been virtually imprisoned all her life by the kind of work she had done. They arrived at the impressive country estate of Listwell Parkin the late afternoon. Mr Kearns was there to greet them, and Alice was ushered in to see Lady Marcia in the pink sitting room. Fintan had still not fully recovered from the fight at the hostel and was given some aspirin.

Kearns took Fintan to one side. 'I've arranged it with Lord Petrie. You can work and stay here from now on if you like. This can be your new base. They could always use another handy man.'

Fintan grinned. 'That would be grand! This is some safe house!'

Kearns was studying the painful-looking bruises on Fintan's forehead. 'What on earth happened to you?'

'I had to fight off the fellow they sent to kill Alice,' Fintan explained.

'We are all very grateful to you,' Kearns said. 'My information is that your assailant still hasn't been identified by the police. I personally have no doubt as to who sent him.'

Fintan nodded. 'This is a rough business!'

'It's going to get rougher,' Kearns replied. 'Come, let me give you a tour of the estate.'

Kearns took Fintan around the outside of the property which was literally a refurbished Tudor palace. They sat in the beautiful landscaped gardens opposite the fountains.

'I could do with a dip under one of those!' Fintan said with a smile.

'You'll have your own room here and you can get cleaned up later,' Kearns said. 'I'll be brief. In the next seventy-two hours a group of high-ranking Nazis and their entourage will be landing in this country in a chartered plane. It will probably be under the cover of darkness, but our radio detection and ranging system should pick them up. However, even though the Germans have the same system, they are unsure if we have it, so they are going to take a gamble.'

Fintan watched the water from the fountain splash noisily into its basin. 'I think I've heard of what you're talking about. It's called radar isn't it?'

Kearns smiled. 'Very good, Fintan! At the moment we don't know where their plane will land, but we think it will be within easy access of Tennyson House. Our German visitors will then be taken to the house where a meeting or a series of meetings will take place, as I previously told you. They will be joined by representatives from the British Fascist movement and other British individuals friendly to the Nazi cause. Lord Collendon will be the host. He is not a Nazi sympathiser, but simply wants to prevent the breakout of war, which is just around the corner. But the Germans will be playing him for a fool! During this time, Lady Petrie will be hosting her own party to which Lord and Lady Collendon will be invited for the evening. We have carefully orchestrated this. It will create a window of opportunity for our plan. All the staff at Tennyson House except Paul and Mr Jode will be elsewhere. The coast will then be clear for you and your crack team to go in and eliminate them all!'

Fintan nodded, his eyes sorrowful. 'It will be a shame to harm poor Paul. He's just a kid.'

'He's being used by Mr Jode and is essentially a bad egg,' Kearns said. 'He's been stealing from the Collendon's for years. I should have had him sacked long ago but there was never enough proof. Also, he was a witness at Alice's trial and really got her into hot water. What he said sealed her fate, certainly in the eyes of the press. She could have gone to the gallows because of him!'

'Now that you put it like that,' Fintan said with disgust.

'There is no reason why Paul or Mr Jode _should_ be harmed,' Kearns said. 'But everyone else will be fair game!'

'I just hope our artillery _will_ be up to the job,' Fintan told him.

'I'm sure they will be. Just try not to blow the whole place up,' Kearns said. 'It is just a pity that some of Collendon's valuable artworks will be damaged!'

'I'll bear that in mind,' Fintan said.

Kearns nodded tiredly. 'You will rendezvous with your old friends, Eddy, Manny and Duds the day after tomorrow at a location near Exeter. I will tell you where precisely, closer to the time. This will be with General Walter's blessing. You will then collect the hidden munitions and artillery from the Dartmoor woods using an unmarked army vehicle. You will go to Tennyson House on the second evening of the meetings. I will tell you precisely when. As far as the world is concerned you are a group of amateur political activists who have the Nazis in your sights. But you will treat this like a serious military operation, and your object is to leave no one alive. Still, if you don't entirely succeed, it won't really matter. It will still send a strong message to the Germans not to mess with us! You will be in charge. You will be rewarded if all goes well.'

'I think just working here at Listwell would be reward enough,' Fintan observed.

Kearns smiled and stood up. ' _I know I can rely on you!_ Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to see how Alice is doing!'

***

As soon as Alice walked into the pink sitting room at Listwell Park, Lady Marcia grabbed her hand and hugged her like an old friend. Alice was overwhelmed by Lady Marcia's genuine affection for her and tried to express her gratitude.

'I don't know how to thank you,' Alice said slightly embarrassed. 'For the hamper and everything else!'

'I came up every day,' Lady Marcia said. 'But that horrid old general wouldn't let me see you!'

'Ah, but they weren't bad to me though,' Alice said. 'I never drank so much tea and cocoa in all my life!'

'Sit down, sit down,' Marcia said. 'Talking about tea, can I get you some?'

'Please don't go to the trouble, milady.'

'I insist,' Lady Marcia said tugging the bell pull on the wall. She then forcibly made Alice sit in one of the armchairs. 'Make yourself comfortable, please! Oh, and you've lost so much weight since I last briefly saw at Tennyson House! I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself to you at the time, but you were so busy. You need a holiday, Alice.'

Alice gazed at her new employer. 'No thank you, milady! Sitting in that room in that blooming army barracks drove me potty! I'd sooner be keeping myself busy! I was grateful for that hamper you brought up for me though!'

Lady Marcia smiled. 'Good, I'm very glad. So, how does working for me sound? You'll be the assistant cook to Mrs Plover, if you're interested? We tend to have quite a few guests here from the publishing world and what with politicians staying. They all need to be fed! You'll not have a minute to yourself.'

'Sounds perfect, my Lady,' Alice replied. 'As long as _they_ don't mind.'

Lady Marcia paused as she tried to fathom what Alice meant. 'Oh, you mean the powers-that-be? No, it's all been settled. We've been taking some legal advice and as you know Mr Kearns has some influence. I believe there might be grounds to overturn your conviction. Especially if we go to war with Germany.'

'It's all above my head, milady.'

There was a knock on the door and a maid took Lady Marcia's request for tea, curtsied and left the room.

'Now you really must call me Marcia!' Her ladyship said to Alice.

'Alright...milady,'

Lady Marcia laughed. 'You can start straight away if you want. My birthday is coming up in a couple of days and we're having a big celebration, so we could use your help...'

'Happy birthday, milady, I mean Lady Marcia.'

'Thank you, Alice! And so, as I was saying, we could certainly use your assistance.'

'Nothing would make me more happy...Miss Marcia,' Alice said with a sheepish grin. 'Who is doing the cake?'

'Mrs Plover is in charge of that, and it will be based on the one Edward the Seventh had on his sixtieth birthday!'

'How nice.'

'Yes, we saw it in Nash's Pall Mall magazine and I thought how lovely!' Lady Marcia said.

They chatted amiably for another ten minutes when there was a polite knock on the door and Mr Kearns came in with the tray of tea they had requested.

'Oh, Mr Kearns you are such a tease!' Lady Marcia said as Kearns put the tray down. 'Of course, Mr Kearns isn't our regular butler. Mr Toop is, and he is in charge of all the staff below stairs. But if you ever have any problems, you can always come straight to me, Alice.'

'Thank you, I will, milady, I mean, Miss Marcia!'

Lady Marcia grinned at Kearns who nodded his head. 'Shall I serve, madam?'

'If you don't mind Mr Kearns,' Lady Marcia replied. 'I think Alice looks positively parched!'

***

Marjorie rarely had nightmares. But on this particular night she dreamt she was lying in a pigsty surrounded by big black mud-spattered pigs and was struggling to sit up. She woke with a start to find Brenda, fully dressed, sneaking out the door of their room at the inn. Marjorie glanced at the clock on the table next to the bed – it was two am!

'Brenda?' she called, but there was no reply. Marjorie sat there in bed for a moment and then jumped out and quickly threw on a dressing gown and followed her friend. The guest house was dark and deathly silent except for the sound of a ticking grandfather clock on the landing. Marjorie wandered downstairs into the lobby and saw Brenda quietly leaving the inn by the front entrance. Marjorie watched her stick a piece of screwed up paper in the doorlatch to keep it from locking and then go out into the night.

Brenda walked towards the country road unaware that she was being followed. The moon was not quite full, though there was enough silvery light to see by. A cool breeze was also blowing, and Marjorie debated whether to continue to follow her friend. Brenda's actions so intrigued her, though, that Marjorie wanted to see what she was going to do. Suddenly Brenda bent down and picked up a long stick from the side of the road and continued walking. Marjorie observed this with interest, keeping her distance. After a couple of hundred yards, Brenda then climbed over a broken wooden fence and disappear into the bushes. Marjorie realised where she was going - to the river!

The river was quite close to the inn and wasn't more than a twenty-minute walk away. Even so, the landscape looked forbidding at night, and the moon threatened to slide behind a cloud. Marjorie pulled the dressing gown tightly around herself and carefully followed Brenda into the bushes. It was then that Marjorie knew what Brenda was going to do. She was going to try and retrieve the jewellery that Marjorie had made her throw into the river. Marjorie smiled to herself. That girl really was something!

Keeping herself hidden behind a tree, Marjorie watched her friend do exactly that. Brenda stood roughly where they had been standing the day before on the river bank and trawled the dark bubbling water with the stick.

' _What on earth are you doing_!' Marjorie said, jumping out from behind the bushes.

Brenda let out a scream and then turned to face her friend. 'Marjorie! You scared the bejeebers out of me!'

Marjorie smirked. 'Sorry about that!'

'I had a funny feeling someone was following me!' Brenda said patting her chest.

'Have you had any luck?' Marjorie asked.

'No,' Brenda replied sullenly. 'You shouldn't have made me throw that broach away! I could have taken it down to London and got a pretty penny for it.'

Marjorie shrugged. 'You would have been asked some awkward questions.'

'I could have said it was my dear old departed Granma's,' Brenda answered.

Marjorie shook her head and stared down into the black depths of the river. 'You'll never find it.'

Brenda stared at the river. 'It's probably right down at the bottom. Some fish will gobble it up and it will end up on someone's plate!'

Marjorie laughed. 'Come on let's go back. It's cold!' She readjusted her dressing gown.

Brenda sighed and then threw the stick she was using into the river. 'To hell with it!'

They started to walk back to the inn when they heard a sudden noise.

Brenda grabbed Marjorie's hand and dragged her into the bushes.

'What was that?' Marjorie said, her eyes like saucers.

'Shh!' Brenda said sharply.

They crouched down in the bushes and became aware of the voices of a group of men getting louder. From her position, Marjorie was able to make out the dark shapes of Hans and his friends strolling along the road with their walking sticks. They were laughing and joking despite the hour. Then they abruptly changed direction and began climbing over the fence towards the girls.

From their position, the girls crawled along the ground and found cover behind a prickly shrub. They listened as the men obliviously walked passed them and went down to the river. Because of the dense foliage it was hard to make out what the men were doing. All the while they were chatting away in German and then they suddenly stopped talking. The two girls froze, listening intently. Brenda crawled out from her position and signalled Marjorie to follow her. Marjorie crept forward from behind a bush and could now clearly see the men. They had hidden a small boat in the long reeds and were now skilfully rowing the boat smoothly up the river hardly making a splash.

'Where are they going?' Brenda asked in a whisper.

'Who cares,' Marjorie replied. 'Let's go back, I'm freezing!'

'Do you think we should report this?' Brenda asked.

'That's rich coming from you after you stole all that jewellery!' Marjorie answered.

'Oh, shut up!' Brenda replied testily. 'But this could be serious. They could be spies or something. Hey, this would be a good excuse to phone Mr Kearns to tell him.'

'And how are we going to explain that we were also here in the middle of the night?' Marjorie said.

'Just say we couldn't sleep and took a stroll,' Brenda suggested.

'Hmm!' Marjorie replied. 'Come on then!'

Chapter Twenty-Four

Colonel Schrepp's tone had worried Beresford enormously. It was concerning that it was being mooted in Berlin circles that he might be a British double agent. Unfortunately, there was little he could do to change this perception. All he could really do now, was make sure the conference at Tennyson House was properly organised and hope for the best. Perhaps he could organise some extra security. Once the conference had successfully taken place, German High Command might see him again as a useful asset. But such rumours about him were dangerous and not easy to dampen down. Beresford knew the Germans had such little regard for human life that they would sooner kill someone than give them the benefit of the doubt. If they ever found out that Mrs Green had been released from prison and had then absconded, they wouldn't be too happy. Mistakes like that were usually paid for by a bullet.

Also, Schrepps had now lumbered him with finding out what had happened to their undercover agents. The worse possible scenario for Beresford would be if the conference had to be called off. If the agents had been picked up by the British, then that would have been the end of it. Beresford's dream of becoming a big cheese in Berlin would be over. So, whatever he uncovered, he would have to weigh up very carefully. If the agents had been taken into custody, then he would need to limit the damage. For the sake of his future dealings with the Nazis, he might have to lie and act as if nothing untoward had taken place.

After ordering room service at the hotel and having a slap-up lunch, which he thought was like a condemned man's meal, he got to work. Schrepps had requested a list of the British attendees at the proposed meeting. The easiest way to obtain this was to phone Lord Collendon personally and ask him directly. Beresford was pretty sure the phone at the hotel wouldn't be tapped and so sensitive information would not be at risk necessarily.

Beresford was put through to Collendon at Tennyson House, whom himself had just had lunch. 'Ah, Geoffrey, I'm so glad you phoned. I've been hearing these odd reports!'

'Oh yes, My Lord?' Beresford enquired.

'I've had a phone call from Sir Hugh Kingston,' Collendon said. 'He was expressing some concern about you and asked if I had spoken to you. I tell you this strictly in confidence,'

'It's alright, I've spoken to him,' Beresford lied. 'I've been having some sick leave and not been going into the office.'

'I see,' Collendon said. 'When he phoned I thought it was about the money.'

'Money?' Beresford repeated, his mind blank.

'You said you were going to arrange for me to receive a contribution towards the expenses of holding this conference of yours.'

'I will,' Beresford said. 'Did you discuss the conference with Sir Hugh?'

'No,' Collendon replied. 'I thought it best not to over the phone.'

'Good,' Beresford said relieved. 'I would appreciate it if you didn't discuss the conference over the phone with anyone. Enemy ears are everywhere.'

'Don't worry,' Collendon said. 'I didn't say a word. But are you going to assist with the funds?'

'I can send you a cheque today,' Beresford said. 'Would a hundred and fifty pounds be alright?'

'It will be alright for starters!' Collendon replied. 'Make it out to Collendon Farm and Co.'

'Fine.'

Collendon sighed. 'I mean, champagne is seven shillings a bottle, oysters a shilling...'

'Okay, I'll send you a cheque for two hundred, my Lord,' Beresford replied. 'And could you possibly advise who on the British side will be attending!'

'Invitations were sent out last week!' Collendon replied. 'I'll get my secretary to send you a copy of the guest list if you like! You can speak to him if you wish.'

'That would be very helpful, but the list can't be sent to my office as I won't be there.' Beresford said.

'Just tell my secretary where,' Collendon said.

'Alright,' Beresford said. 'It's just that our German contacts are anxious to know who's coming.'

'Fine,' Collendon said. 'I'll transfer you now!'

'Before you do, my Lord, I would like to ask you something,' Beresford began awkwardly. 'How is Mr Kearns?'

'Mr Kearns? Why do you ask? He only comes up now and again,' Collendon explained. 'He is slowly handing over to our new butler. Didn't I mention it? No reason why I should have. What's the problem?'

'This may sound a bit strange,' Beresford said. 'But do you think it's possible he is in league with the secret service in some fashion?'

'What?' Collendon replied sounding astounded. 'No, not at all. Why on earth would you think that?'

'I once saw him in London talking to someone I knew and thought that he may not be what he appears.'

Collendon laughed. 'I've known Kearns for years. He's just a dedicated gentleman's gentleman, nothing else.'

'I would imagine that he is aware of the proposed meeting?' Beresford asked.

'He knows that I am having some friends down to stay for a few days,' Collendon replied. 'But he has no idea that we've got a contingent from Germany coming over. I haven't discussed it with him as his domain is the running of the household. But my secretary knows all the details of the conference, and he's the one whose been organising things. However, what we do here at Tennyson House is no one else's business and I believe you did stress discretion.'

'I see,' Beresford said feeling slightly reassured. 'It was just a thought. Thank you, my Lord.'

Collendon then handed him over to his secretary. Despite warning Collendon about the dangers of discussing sensitive subjects on the phone, Beresford asked for the guest list then and there. He laboriously wrote down the names of the British guests, raising his eyebrows at some of the proposed names. These included members of the film industry, clergy, politicians and aristocracy. He noted that not one military person or high-ranking policeman was on the list.

He checked his watch and thought he would try and see if he could find out what had happened to Schrepps' agents. Beresford realised that it would be useless phoning any of his usual contacts. The MOD probably wouldn't know, nor would anyone in the normal Whitehall complex except Sir Hugh and he wouldn't divulge anything. If the agents really had disappeared, then that smacked of the work of British Intelligence and their code of secrecy was second to none. It would be easier opening a tin of beans with a pencil sharpener than getting anything out of them.

He decided to phone the inn where the agents had been staying and make some enquiries. He initially spoke to a bartender who passed the phone to the landlady.

'Is that you Mr Kearns?' she asked unexpectedly.

Beresford froze at the mention of the name and realised that Kearns must have been in recent contact with the person he was talking to. But why would he be? Beresford's own public-school accent must have confused the landlady. It took him a microsecond to orientate himself to the opportunity. 'Yes, it's Kearns here. Sorry to bother you again, I just wanted to confirm that you had two Americans staying.'

'Y _ou had them arrested, don't you remember?_ ' she replied sounding confused.

Beresford's heart almost stopped at these words. It finally established without any doubt who Mr Kearns was. He was no mere gentleman's gentleman, but the agent Beresford always suspected him to be. 'That's right,' Beresford said quickly, his mouth dry. 'Sorry, I meant, have they returned to the inn?'

'No,' she answered. 'You are Mr Kearns, aren't you?' she asked.

He banged down the phone, his heart racing. He stood up and went to the hotel window and looked out. So, Kearns _was_ a British agent after all, disguised as a loyal butler. If he had been responsible for the arrest of the German agents, then he probably knew all about the proposed conference at Tennyson House. He also must know its true purpose. Lord Collendon had obviously been a blind amiable old fool who had unwittingly opened himself up to official scrutiny. Kearns must know everything right down to the smallest details and if he knew, then the government knew. The conference would be an open secret.

From the window, Beresford watched the passers-by on the street and envied their simple lives. He had an impulse to open the window and jump to his death. He staggered back into a chair and slumped into the cushions. He then began to sob like a man choking on his own frustrations. He wouldn't dare tell Schrepps that the agents had been arrested. It would be the end for him. The meeting wouldn't then go ahead, and he would become persona non grata. He recalled a quote from the Bible about the Son of Man having nowhere to lay his head. He would be like that. His life wouldn't be worth living.

He needed a drink and a think. He got up and staggered to the bar and poured himself a large whiskey. He needed to calm down and re-evaluate the situation. He was now at an impasse and only cunning could extricate him.

At the back of his mind was the faintly consoling thought, that if the authorities now knew about the intended conference, then they probably knew everything else. In which case, no great harm would be done if it went ahead as planned. There would be no surprises among the British attendees and the Germans probably wouldn't divulge very much at the conference anyway. What they would divulge, the British authorities doubtlessly already suspected. So, all he had to do is convince Schrepps that all was well, and suggest another venue, to be on the safe side, and he might just relocate the event.

***

The next day was a very intense one for Fintan. He quickly acquainted himself with the staff at Listwell House and was officially given the position of odd-job man. Mr Quibly, the gardener would be his immediate boss and so his duties would be quite diverse. Mr Toop, the butler was in charge overall. They gave Fintan a very pleasant room at the back of Listwell Park with a good view of the gardens. This was quite a privileged location and not something Fintan was used to. At Tennyson House he had been obliged to live in a caravan and so this was a luxury as far as he was concerned. He even had his own sink with running water, although he would still have to share the bath with the other servants. It was also nicely furnished, although basic compared to the standards of the rooms in the main part of the house. He didn't care. It was the best accommodation he'd had so far, and he wouldn't be under the thumb of a man like Mr Jode.

Kearns had arranged for him to have a day off, allowing him to recover from his recent misadventures. It was surprising how quickly wounds would heal, if given the proper care attention and rest. The bumps on his head had gone down considerably.

It wasn't long before Mr Kearns came knocking on his door. 'Settling in then?' he asked coming into the room.

Fintan had been relaxing on his bed. He sat up. 'Mr Kearns! Yep, everything is just tip top. I think I've died and gone to heaven!'

Kearns smiled at this. He leaned against the small chest of drawers. 'Good, good. Well, I'm sorry to burst your balloon, but it's almost time to get cracking. I've arranged for you to rendezvous with your pals, Manny, Eddy and Duds at twenty-three hundred hours tonight at the Two Bridges near the West Dart River. From there, you will go to where your munitions are hidden, which I believe will be one mile away from there. I will give you a map. I, myself will be going under my own steam and will meet you there. Your pals will be coming in an army vehicle which the General Walters has said we have to return in one piece! I notice that you've got quite a nice little Citroen, where did you get it?'

'From the bloke who came to kill Alice,' Fintan explained.

'I see,' Kearns said. 'This is the man who was found dead in the hostel?'

'Yes,' Fintan replied pulling a face.

'Ok, well I suggest you go to our rendezvous point in the car and then abandon it,' Kearns said. 'They keep stocks of petrol here, so fill up her tank before you go. Also, wipe the steering wheel and everywhere else in the vehicle that you might have touched. And then burn it after you've arrived!'

'Oh, that's a pity,' Fintan said. 'I was getting quite fond of it.'

'The police might be on the lookout for it,' Kearns said. 'Don't worry, I'll get you another car. Now, you'll need some rugged clothing for the job and so I've asked Eddy to bring along your old uniform.'

'That will be fun!' Fintan said.

'Hardly the word I would have used,' Kearns said with a smile. 'The first job will be to load up the lorry with all the ordnance, artillery and what-have-you that you can.'

'I just hope the old weapons will still be any good,' Fintan suggested. 'I mean, they've been sitting out in the woods getting more and more rusty.'

'It's a risk, I know,' Kearns said. 'But I understand that there are mortars and shells which are still in excellent condition. If the ordnance proves unfit for purpose, General Walters said he will give us some new ammunition. We'll test them before we leave. But for this exercise, I'm anxious that evidence of old munitions is found so that it doesn't look like a government sponsored attack!'

Fintan nodded. 'I think I know what you mean. But I reckon we should have tried the stuff out before now.'

'Duds assured me that though the artillery is rusty, it is still in good working order,' Kearns said.

Fintan shrugged 'You're the boss!'

Kearns stared at him. 'The drive there will take you roughly five to six hours from here, so I suggest you leave at five pm. You'll be met at eleven pm and will receive further instructions.'

Fintan looked over at the small clock on the sideboard which said three pm. 'So, I might be able to get in a couple of hours of kip before I go?'

'If you like,' Kearns said. 'And you can always take some food with you on the journey. Any questions?'

'Who am I supposed to be, again?' Fintan asked.

'The SFC,' Kearns told him. 'The Scottish Freedom Clan!'

Fintan nodded. 'The SFC!'

'I'll give you a knock at just before five then,' Kearns said with a wink as he turned to leave.

'How are you getting there yourself?' Fintan quickly asked.

'Flying!' Kearns replied, and he shut the door.

Fintan blinked. 'What?' But Kearns had gone.

Fintan laid on the bed and had hardly closed his eyes, or so it seemed, when there was another knock on the door. 'Come in,' he said groggily.

The door opened, and it was Alice with a plate of sandwiches and a mug of tea. 'Rise and shine!' she said. She put the food and tea on the table next to him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Fintan sat up, surprised at her intimacy and glanced at the clock opposite. It was four forty-five already. 'Is that the time already?'

'Mr Kearns said you'd be needing something to give you a bit of energy,' Alice said. 'I hear you're off on important business.'

'You could say that,' Fintan replied getting stuck into the sandwiches. 'I'll tell you all about it afterwards.'

'Before you go, they'll be a snack bag to take with you, and some beer,' Alice said solicitously. 'So, when will we see you again?'

'Probably in the next couple of days,' Fintan said. 'I've got a bit of travelling to do.'

'It's going to wear you out!' Alice observed. 'And how's your head then?'

'Getting better, but still sore,' he answered, touching the plaster on his forehead. 'The kiss helped!'

'Good! Well, I'll see you later and take care please!' she said leaving the room.

***

Alice watched Fintan drive away after giving him a bag with some food in it. He accepted this gratefully and broke open one of the bottles of beer with his teeth, taking a couple of gulps. He then gave Alice a friendly wave and drove off at top speed. She would have been mortified if she knew what his mission actually was, though felt it wise not to ask him. Mrs Plover agreed. 'Men like Fintan don't like to answer to women like us!' she had said.

Mrs Plover, Listwell Park's resident cook, was glad of Alice's help and didn't seem to resent her presence. They had a lot in common, coming from similar backgrounds and had plenty to talk about. Mrs Plover was aware of Alice's notoriety but accepted Lady Petrie's account of the situation. Mrs Plover expressed considerable sympathy towards Alice, and it was clear they were going to be friends. Also, Mrs Plover was increasingly coming down with gout and welcomed any help she could get. This was all the more so in view of Lady Marcia's birthday celebrations which were coming up. Alice virtually spent the whole of her first day in the kitchen and by the evening knew the ropes.

On the very first evening, after Fintan's departure, Mr Kearns, who was still hovering around took her to one side.

'So, how are you settling in, Alice?' he asked.

'I'm very happy and have good feelings about this place,' Alice had replied.

They were standing in the large conservatory where the Petrie's kept his huge collection of tropical plants. Alice had gone in there to get a misplaced bucket.

'There's something I have to tell you,' Kearns said. 'Actually, it is more of a favour I want to ask. Tell me, what are your feelings towards the Collendons?'

'Lord and Lady Collendon?' Alice said. She shrugged. 'I don't know. They were the ones who had me put away, so you said.'

'Yes indeed,' Kearns said. 'What they did to you was very wrong. Obviously by now you know I'm not really a full-time butler.'

Alice nodded. 'Yes, I know, Mr Kearns.'

'Does that bother you?'

Alice shrugged her shoulders. 'I don't know why it should. You've always been good to me.'

Kearns nodded, casting a glance over his shoulder when one of the other staff walked passed the conservatory entrance. 'I work for the government and I have the onerous task of trying to stop our country's enemies getting a foothold here. You'd be surprised how misguided people can be.'

Alice smiled not knowing what to say.

Kearns stared at her seriously. 'The Collendons are well meaning, but they have certain blind spots. Without realising it, they are being duped into helping our enemies.'

'Oh,' Alice replied.

'When Lady Marcia has her party, quite a number of people will be present, important people, people of influence in the world,' Kearns explained.

'Do you mind if I sit down, Mr Kearns?' Alice asked, her legs aching.

'Please do, I'll join you,' Kearns said. They sat on one of the conservatory benches.

'So, what do you want me to do then?' Alice asked. 'You've done a lot for me, Mr Kearns and if I can help in any way.'

'I'm grateful you said that,' Kearns said. 'I'm trying to sum this all up in a few words. The Collendons will be coming to the party...'

'Really? 'Alice said.

'And it would be good if they were chastised for the role they are playing in helping the Nazis,' Kearns said. 'It would be especially good if they were taken to task in front of all the influential people in attendance at the party. It would send out a message to others in this country. Geoffrey Beresford will also be coming.'

Alice frowned. 'I don't understand what you want me to do, Mr Kearns.'

'Just speak your mind but do it in front of everyone!'

Alice rubbed her eye nervously. 'Speak my mind?'

'I want you to come upstairs during the dinner party and tell Lord Collendon what you think of him,' Kearns said. 'Now don't worry, nothing will happen to you. I have been pulling strings on your behalf and will protect you.'

'But won't that spoil the party?' Alice said. 'I mean, Lady Marcia might get upset if I did something like that!'

'No, she _wants_ you to do it!' Kearns said. 'Lady Marcia is a champion of justice for the lower classes. She sees Lord Collendon as exemplifying the insensitive and inhumane arrogance of the upper classes. You were sacrificed to protect their farm, believe it or not.'

Alice sighed. 'I don't know if I could. And I don't know nothing about no Nazis!'

'You don't have to talk about the Nazis,' Kearns said. 'I just want you to give Lord Collendon a piece of your mind and humiliate him in front of the gathering!'

'Blimey, that's a bit of a thing, isn't it?' Alice said shifting uneasily on the bench. 'I wouldn't know what to say, Mr Kearns! I'd rather just keep quiet and let him get on with it.'

'Suppose Lady Marcia said that it was alright?' Kearns asked.

'I think that would be very strange if she did,' Alice said.

'I don't want to force you, Alice, and you don't have to say much,' Kearns said. 'See, it is about time the ordinary people in this country stood up to be counted. Especially against those who are aligning themselves with dark political forces. You could lead the way, Alice. Every newspaper in the country might pick up on a story like that. I would even circulate the story myself.'

Alice shrugged again. 'Let me think about it, Mr Kearns. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am still upset about what happened to me. But, I'd probably have to have a drink before I could do anything like that!'

'That could be arranged,' Kearns said with a mischievous grin. 'And I could suggest a few things you might want to mention.'

'Are you sure I won't get into trouble?' Alice said.

'I know that this is a big ask,' Kearns said. 'But you will be under Lord Petrie's protection. I promise. It will make everything you've been through, count for something.'

'I don't know, Mr Kearns,' Alice said in a downcast voice.

'I understand,' Kearns said. 'But this could be your one and only chance to speak out about the wrongs that were done to you!'

Alice smiled. 'You make me laugh, Mr Kearns. You'll have me going on stage next!'

Kearns grinned. ' _That could also be arranged!_ And there's something else. I have a nice

surprise for you, but I won't tell you until after the party.'

'Love a duck!' Alice said sitting back on the bench and glanced up at the giant green palm cactus just behind her. She sighed. 'I can tell you're keen for me to do this, Mr Kearns!'

Kearns bowed his head. 'I just want to put people like the Collendons in the spotlight, and then let nature follow its course.'

Alice raised her eyebrows. ' _If you say so Mr Kearns!_ '

***

Taking Brenda's advice, Marjorie tried to contact Mr Kearns at Tennyson House only to be told that he was away. Then several hours later, Kearns phoned her back at the inn.

'Marjorie, I apologise for not being able to take your call, but I'm not at Tennyson House at the moment,' Kearns said. 'Is everything alright?'

'Yes, sort of,' Marjorie replied. She glanced at Brenda who was standing next to her at the payphone. 'There is just something I want to tell you, Mr Kearns.'

'Fire away!'

'Me and Brenda were taking a walk the other night and we saw something strange.'

'Oh yes?'

'I don't know if you know, but I think there are some German tourists here at the inn,' Marjorie explained. 'And we saw them getting into a boat in the dead of night...'

'A boat?'

'Well, we were walking near the river and it was quite late,' Marjorie said almost guiltily. 'Just to get some fresh air, and we saw them down by the river.'

'Getting into a boat?'

'Yes, it was Hans and his friends,' Marjorie said staring down into the receiver. 'They are always dressed in this sort of brown uniform like a bunch of...'

'Boy scouts?' Kearns volunteered. 'Yes, I am aware of them, but what you're saying is very interesting. The river actually flows around the back of the Tennyson House estate. Which direction was the boat going and how many people were on it?'

'I think they were going in the direction of Tennyson House and there were four of them,' Marjorie said.

'Thank you, Marjorie,' Kearns replied. 'I shall definitely look into this. I appreciate your help. As you know, we have to be careful, especially as we may be going to war.'

'Do you think we will?' Marjorie asked.

'I hope not,' Kearns said. 'But German tourists snooping around on a boat in the middle of the night is something we need to investigate. And by the way, on another note, your mother has arrived here where I am. She's safe and sound and you'll be able to see her in a few days. Please be patient. I would also advise you not to go anywhere near Tennyson House for the duration.'

'Alright, Mr Kearns, and that's good news about my mother!'

Brenda gave her a nudge.

'Oh, and there's just one more thing,' Marjorie said, her voice reticent. 'You told me that my mother is going to be offered a new job...'

'That's right, at the house here,' Kearns said. 'Where I am at the moment.'

'Oh, and where's that again?'

Kearns paused. 'I wasn't going to tell you just yet, but we're down in Cambridgeshire at a very nice stately home. The person who owns it is a friend of your mothers. Which reminds me, there is something else I need to tell you, but I would prefer to speak with you face to face.'

'Oh, alright,' Marjorie said.

Brenda gave her another nudge.

'Well,' Marjorie continued. 'I was wondering, there aren't any jobs going, are there? I mean down there in Cambridge where you are now?'

'Are you desperate for a job then?' Kearns asked.

'I could be,' Marjorie said looking at her friend. 'I was thinking perhaps me and Brenda could do some part time work, some chambermaiding or something.'

Kearns laughed. 'I'm sure something could be arranged. They are having a big birthday bash here in a few days and could use some help. Perhaps you and Brenda could help with the clearing up afterwards and then you could meet your mother. She is so busy at the moment, that if you came down now it might put her off her stride.'

'I understand,' Marjorie said.

Brenda was staring hard at her.

'Does she know I'm here?' Marjorie asked.

Kearns paused again. 'I haven't mentioned you yet. But I will when the time is right. See, she has just come out of prison and is slowly getting used to normality again. I don't want to overburden her with too much.'

'I hope I'm not that,' Marjorie replied. 'A burden.'

'I didn't mean it like that,' Kearns said quickly. 'I mean, I don't want to overwhelm _her._ But rest assured, I shall prepare her. You and she have never met before, and so that is no small thing.'

'No,' Marjorie said.

'I'll give you a call in a couple of days,' Kearns said bringing the call to an end. 'And thank you again for that information.'

'No problem,' Marjorie replied slowly putting down the phone.

'Well?' Brenda demanded.

'There might be some work in a few days,' Marjorie said. 'And I'll get to see my mother, _at last!'_

'Really?'

Marjorie nodded. 'But we will have to go down to Cambridge or Cambridgeshire, wherever that is.'

Brenda grinned. 'I'll go anywhere, I don't care. This place is starting to bore me anyhow. _There are just no decent men here!_ '

***

Geoffrey Beresford had spent half-an-hour rehearsing what he was going to say to Colonel Schrepps and then he phoned him on his contact number. The Colonel sounded quite perky compared to Beresford who had been drinking heavily.

'Geoffrey, I appreciate the prompt call,' the Colonel said. 'Are you phoning from the hotel?'

'Yes.'

The Colonel sniffed. 'What I have to say is very sensitive and so I advise you now to leave the building and find a phone box in the street and phone me back.'

Beresford sighed. 'Oh, alright, give me ten minutes.'

He threw on a jacket, patted his hair into place and grabbed the list of guests that Collendon's secretary had dictated to him. Then he left the hotel, wandering away from the busy main thoroughfare looking for a phone box. He found one on the corner of the street and redialled Schrepp's contact number.

Schrepps answered straight away. 'Are you in a phone box?'

'I am,' Beresford replied.

'I told you that the hotel wasn't safe and yet still you phoned me from there! You mustn't be so lax, Geoffrey!'

'No, sorry.'

Schrepps let out an indulgent sigh. 'What news of our agents then, anything?'

Beresford glanced through the window at the passing traffic and took a deep breath. He then launched into his big lie. 'I made some enquiries and spoke to my contacts at the Home Office. I have ascertained that no arrests were made of any Americans in the last thirty days. I spoke with the landlady of the Tankard Inn where they were staying. She informed me that two Americans left the inn and took a coach to Victoria.'

'A coach to Victoria?' Schrepps repeated.

'Apparently Tennyson House is a popular tourist destination and coaches from Victoria deposit visitors at the Tankard Inn on a frequent basis,' Beresford told him glibly. 'Coaches also go back to London!' He then held his breath awaiting the Colonel's reaction.

'You are sure of this?' Schrepps asked. 'That's strange, because I have people at the inn as we speak, and they report that our agents just disappeared into thin air. The landlady was unable to give them any more information. If our agents left on a coach for Victoria as you say, then they would have informed our people.'

'I can assure you there's nothing to indicate that any arrests of the type you described have taken place,' Beresford replied trying to sound as if he had been thorough.

Schrepps was silent for a long moment. 'Alright. Just keep monitoring the situation. We can't afford to make any slip-ups. On the basis of what you've said then, I will confirm to our side that the meeting at Tennyson House will proceed as planned. Our chartered plane will leave from Norway tonight and arrive at Wickhambrook in the early hours of tomorrow. In case you didn't know, you take the B1063 to Malting End in Norfolk, and the landing strip will be just due East of Wickhambrook. I can give you the coordinates if you want.'

'I wouldn't be able to remember them off the top of my head,' Beresford replied.

'Just be at Wickhambrook at around three in the morning with enough transport for twelve people,' Schrepps said. 'Now, can you give me the names of the British guests attending Tennyson House?'

'Yes,' Beresford said taking the list out of his inside pocket and reading it to Schrepps.

Schrepps could be heard scribbling down the names at his end. 'To be honest, Geoffrey, I haven't heard of half of these people.'

'They have been handpicked by Lord Collendon,' Beresford assured him.

'I hope this isn't going to turn into a fiasco,' Schrepps said. 'It could be the ruination of my career and yours if it is!'

'I understand,' Beresford replied.

'Have you packed your things?' Schrepps enquired. 'Because you'll be leaving for Berlin with us after the meeting.'

'I've sort of started packing,' Beresford said.

'Good,' Schrepps replied but his voice sounded dubious. 'Let's hope that all goes well. How secure will the transportation to the house be?'

'I know of a car hire firm that I have had dealings with in the past, and I have access to some very discreet drivers,' Beresford explained. 'They don't work for the government either, if that's what you are thinking.'

'We might have to shoot them afterwards,' Schrepps said coldly. 'They will need to be accommodated for the duration of the meeting and then they will have to do the return journey back to the airstrip.'

'Of course,' Beresford said, his voice tense.

'You sound worried,' the Colonel suddenly said.

'No, not at all.'

'Because if our agents have been arrested, we will be in very hot water indeed,' Schrepps said. 'A cyanide pill may be the only way out for us!'

'Don't even think about it,' Beresford replied.

'Oh, there's one more thing,' Schrepps said. 'Have you seen today's papers?

'No.'

'There's an excellent photograph of you doing the Hitlergruß in front of some German tourists on the inside pages of one of the dailies!' Schrepps said.

'What!' Beresford replied, shocked. 'What do you mean?'

'The Hitler Greeting, the Nazi salute!' Schrepps said. 'Somebody took a photo of you doing it in public. Hardly discreet Geoffrey, but at least I know where you truly stand,' and he hung up.

Beresford, his head reeling, left the phone box, unintentionally leaving Collendon's guest list next to the phone. He looked frantically about for a newspaper vendor on the street to see the photograph Schrepps had described for himself. Unable to find one, he went back to his hotel and found some newspapers in the lobby and quickly thumbed through them. Sure enough, there were two photographs of him saluting to the group of Hitler Youth that he had encountered the other week in the countryside. The headline screamed:

' _INVASION? NO, THEY ARE ALREADY HERE!'_

Beresford looked around the lobby self-consciously and then took the newspaper back up to his room. He read the article carefully, and noted that though he wasn't specifically named, the picture was undeniably of him. He didn't understand how it could have been taken. He just hoped that no one in Whitehall recognised him as the saluting man.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The sky was as black as a crow's wing when Fintan arrived at Wistman's Woods. He had no means of telling the time and wished he had borrowed a watch from Mr Kearns. Navigating there had been done purely by dint of memory, though he was unable to precisely locate where the munitions were hidden. He thought he would recognise the stretch of road easily and soon realised that all the country roads practically looked the same at night. In this part of Dartmoor, trees thickly bordered the road on both sides which made for a canopied gloominess. The moon could barely be seen through the tree tops and so Fintan was obliged to keep his headlights full on.

The Citroen had a radio, which was a novelty to Fintan, and he flipped from one station to another as he drove. He eventually pulled up by the side of the road and turned the radio down as he peered into the darkness. The van's headlights were shining into a faint mist which surrounded the car and did little to improve visibility. It was the mist of very early morning which was rolling off the trees and undergrowth.

He knew he wasn't far away from where they had buried the munitions and so he got out of the car and walked up a few yards. He was surprised at how icy cool the air was. Staring into the almost black foliage of the woodland revealed nothing, but gradually his eyes got used to the gloom. It was then that he thought he spotted something and went into the bushes to look, only to find it was the remains of a fallen tree covered in moss. Making his way back to the car and lighting up a cigarette, he heard a horn honking some distance away.

As he stared into the mist, he was able to make out some faint headlights shining through the trees some distance away. It had to be the crew! He got back into his car and slowly drove towards them down the winding forest road. The crew were parked up two hundred yards away in a large green army lorry. Manny got out of the lorry's cabin and waved at him. Fintan drove up to them and got out of the car.

Manny shook his hand enthusiastically, followed by Eddy and Duds.

'Going AWOL can get you court-martialled, you know!' Manny quipped.

Eddy patted him on the back. 'We were all worried. Thought you'd been kidnapped in the middle of the night!'

'I had a bit of bother with old Walters!' Fintan replied with a grin.

'We heard about it,' Duds said.

Fintan squinted into the dark woodland. 'Is this where the stuff is then? Ah, I see it!'

Eddy smiled. 'It's still there. Are we loading all of it up?'

'Most of it, just in case,' Fintan said staring into the dark foliage of the woodland. 'The stuff in those crates could be useful, whatever it is.'

At that moment there was a loud sputtering overhead as a metallic green double-seater de Havilland biplane flew over them. Caught off guard, they looked up to see Mr Kearns wearing a bomber hat waving to them from the cockpit of the plane.

Fintan couldn't contain his amazement. 'I'll be damned! There's Mr Kearns the butler! He must have spotted our headlights!'

Eddy was open mouthed. 'I don't know where he is going to land!'

Fintan frowned. He knew that the woodland in the area was quite dense and landing would have been difficult if not impossible. As they were pondering this, the plane circled back overhead with a roar. Mr Kearns then tossed an object out of the plane which fell on the road a short distance away with loud slap. Kearns then waved to them again, and the aircraft flew off heading north.

'Obviously he is not going to land!' Manny observed.

Eddy sprinted up the road to get the mysterious object which had been thrown at them. He held it up. It was a small black briefcase. He rushed back out of breath and handed it to Fintan.

'You're in charge!' Eddy said.

Fintan handed it to Manny. 'You open it. There's probably a note or a map in it.'

Manny did the honours, standing in the headlights of the lorry. He removed an enlarged official army ordnance map and a typed note. Holding it in the lorry headlights he began reading, 'Sorry I couldn't be with you chaps, landing impossible in Dartmoor terrain. I have enclosed map with marked handy shortcuts in red. I advise keeping away from main routes as much as possible to avoid identification. You are to go to a village called Navenby on the A15 where I have marked, before dawn. There is a farmhouse there, Hewlets Farm, where you can stay overnight. Farmer Todd Roberts will meet you there and you can park your lorry in his barn. I will phone the farmer to let you know when to proceed to Tennyson House to complete the mission. It is all clearly marked on the map. If all goes according to plan, you can commence the assault on Tennyson House tomorrow night, preferably at between twenty and twenty-one hundred hours. If there is a glitch, then postpone until the following night. Please destroy this note. Also, Fintan please burn car as discussed preferably off road. Finally, please phone me at Listwell Park as soon as you have completed the mission or if there are any problems. As you will know, there is a public telephone box very near the estate on the main road. Here is Listwell's number. Good luck, Air Vice-Marshall Kearns!'

Everyone looked at Fintan. 'Jesus,' Fintan exclaimed. 'That Mr Kearns isn't just a pretty face then!'

'So, he's a butler by day and an Air Vice-Marshall by night?' Manny said.

'Secret service more like,' Fintan said.

Manny looked at his watch. 'We don't have much time. What's this about burning a car?'

Fintan sighed. He had grown very fond of the Citroen. 'It's a long story. I will tell you later. But I've got to destroy the car in case the police are on the lookout for it! See it was stolen. I'm supposed to wipe down the inside first to remove my fingerprints, but I don't see the point.'

'Waste of a nice motor,' Eddy said.

'Stick some cloth in the petrol tank, light and retire!' Manny suggested with a grin.

'It will be a bit of a bang,' Fintan said. 'It might catch the trees alight.'

'I'll do it if you like,' Eddy said with a broad smile on his face. 'We just need a strip of cloth.'

'I've got a paper bag that had my supper in it,' Fintan said. 'We can roll the bag up and that can be the fuse!'

Eddy nodded. 'I like a firework display!'

'We'll set it alight after we've loaded the lorry,' Fintan said. 'I'll just get my stuff from the car.'

He removed his personal belongings from the front seat, and without bothering to wipe off his fingerprints gave Eddy the empty bag that Alice had given him. The food that was in it had already been eaten. Eddy rolled the bag up into a makeshift fuse, removed the petrol cap and stuffed it into the open tank.

'All ready to go,' Eddy said.

They walked back to the lorry which was slowly reversing up to accommodate the payload of munitions which were still in the woodland. Duds was in the driving seat, and he pulled the vehicle to a juddering halt, and the men began the job of loading the artillery into the back.

'Just take the good stuff,' Fintan said as he passed a crate of mortar shells to Eddy. 'Mortars, shells, machineguns, rifles and ammo!'

Manny gave him a curious look. 'We still haven't been briefed on what we're going to be doing exactly. The General just said there wouldn't be any real danger. But by the looks of it, there might well be.'

Fintan shrugged. 'I don't reckon so. All we have to do is blast a group of drunken Nazis holed up in the place where I used to work.'

'Oh, is that all?' Manny said, his voice slightly sarcastic. 'Well, the General didn't mention anything about no Nazis! Going to have machineguns, are they?'

Fintan shrugged. 'One or two maybe. But we're going to take them by surprise. They're having a meeting in this big fancy old building called Tennyson House, and we've got to kill them! The whole blooming lot of them!'

Eddy pulled a face. 'Then they are bound to have armed guards, aren't they? So, they're going to shoot back. That reminds me, I brought your old uniform to change into.'

'Cheers!' Fintan replied. He put three mortars into the rear of the lorry. 'Well, if we surprise them properly, we should be alright. We'll take out any guards first and then we'll deal with the rest. I think they're sort of diplomats and high-ranking officers and whatnot. Mr Kearns wants them all dead!'

'Does he now?' Manny observed. 'Easier said than done I should imagine.'

'You might have a point there,' Fintan said. 'To be honest, I haven't really thought about it. We'll play it by ear.'

Eddy passed a crate to Duds who threw it into the lorry. 'Shame,' Duds was saying. 'We were going to make a nice bit of money out of this stuff.'

Fintan gave him a sympathetic glance. 'Maybe we can sell off what's left over?'

Duds brightened up at these words and then became dour again. ' _If we survive_!'

***

The preparations for Lady Marcia's birthday at Listwell Park were quite elaborate, and the staff were told that fifty guests would need to be fed. This information was particularly daunting to Alice. Not because of all the work involved in the kitchen but because of what Mr Kearns wanted her to do. Did he really expect her to tear Lord Collendon off a strip in front of all those important people? Collendon could demolish her in a few scathing words. It was a tall order, especially as she was a shy person by nature and had no real status in the eyes of the gentry. But she could hardly refuse. Lady Marcia had taken her to one side and had made similar suggestions to her. Alice felt they were putting far too much on her shoulders. To do what they asked, she would need to have a couple of brandies for some Dutch courage.

There was a part of her that wanted to put Lord Collendon on the spot. Perhaps she could ask him in a very civil way why he had done what he did and betrayed her. She had, after all, been a loyal cook, who never took a day off sick and was always going beyond the call of duty. She would be very interested to hear what he had to say.

As for Lady Collendon, she was completely blameless. Alice was sure she would be tickled to see her husband being taken to task by a mere domestic! Then again, it might all go terribly wrong. Alice shuddered and tried not to think about it. She would see how she felt on the day.

Even though Mr Kearns was not a part of the household, Alice was amused to see him wandering around in a smart blue air force uniform. He was clearly a very important person in his own right, and the Petries seemed to respect him. Later that afternoon, he came into the kitchen. 'Everything alright, Alice?'

Alice gave him an odd look. 'Yes, thank you Mr Kearns. I must say, you're looking very smart in your uniform. I don't know whether to curtsy or salute!'

Kearns laughed. 'Have you had any more thoughts about what we talked about?'

Alice frowned as she washed a large pot of brussel sprouts over the sink. 'I'm a bit nervous about it, to be honest, Mr Kearns. I think I might get a bit tongue-tied.'

Mrs Plover, the senior cook, who was standing by the kitchen's inglenook, looked over with interest.

Mr Kearns drew his eyebrows together. 'Well, I've spoken to Lady Marcia and she thinks, that, on second thoughts, perhaps we _are_ expecting a little too much from you. If you don't feel like doing it, that's perfectly alright. It was just an idea.'

Mrs Plover appeared riveted by what Mr Kearns was saying.

Alice nodded. 'But the thing is, Mr Kearns, you've done so much for me. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.'

Kearns took a seat at the table and smiled up at Mrs Plover. 'We'll talk about it later,' he said.

Alice gave him an enquiring look. 'To change the subject, Lady Marcia tells me she is offering Fintan a position here.'

Kearns nodded. 'What do you think of that idea, Mrs Plover?'

The senior cook's face reddened. 'This is such a huge estate, and we could certainly use another man. And he's such a big lad too.'

'He is that!' Kearns agreed.

'At least he won't be sleeping in a blooming caravan,' Alice said. 'I mean, I thought it was a bit harsh of Lord Collendon not to offer him proper board and lodging when he was working at Tennyson House.'

Kearns pulled his lips together. 'His lordship just left it to Mr Jode to organise.'

'Mr Jode!' Alice said in a disapproving voice. 'He didn't give a tinker's cuss about anyone except himself!'

'Not entirely,' Kearns said with a smile. 'Don't forget, he loved his drink and he always had eyes for a good-looking chambermaid!'

'A good-looking chambermaid wouldn't go near him!' Alice snorted.

Mrs Plover laughed. 'I've heard about him. Mr Jode. Weren't the police interviewing him about some murder? That's right, a butcher got attacked in his own home and they thought this chap Jode had something to do with it.'

Alice gave Mr Kearns a meaningful look. 'I can't say that I knew much about it.'

Kearns said, 'People like Mr Jode invariably get their comeuppance!'

'I think I know what you mean, Mr Kearns,' Mrs Plover said.

'Well, see you folks later then,' Kearns said standing up and walking towards the open doorway. 'Got some business to attend to!'

***

After worrying about it, Mrs Whelks, the landlady at the Tankard Inn decided to tell Mr Kearns about the suspicious phone call she had received the other day. Mr Kearns had given her a number at Listwell Park to phone in the event of an emergency. She duly called and told Kearns that a man had telephoned asking about the American tourists.

'For a split second I thought it was you!' the landlady said. 'I'm ever so sorry, Mr Kearns. He was so posh that I got confused.'

'So, you told the man that the Americans had been arrested?' Kearns confirmed.

'I'm afraid so Mr Kearns,' the landlady said close to tears.

'Now don't upset yourself, it wasn't intentional,' Mr Kearns replied trying to calm her. 'But he didn't give a name?'

'No, but he said he was you,' the landlady said. 'I mean when I said, 'is that you Mr Kearns?' he sort of said, yes, as I remember.'

'Hmm, well, don't worry about it,' Mr Kearns said soothingly. 'At least you've informed me, which is the important thing. Perhaps we can check your phone records and see where the call was coming from. What time was the call?'

'About lunch time, on Wednesday,' the Landlady told him.

'Fine, so would you give me permission to check your phone records and incoming calls?' Kearns asked. 'I can do it by requesting the information from the GPO. Would that be alright?' Even as he said this he knew he probably wouldn't get around to it. It would only doubtless lead to a public phone box or hotel. Of course, he was right.

'Not a problem, Mr Kearns,' the landlady said.

'Much obliged,' Kearns said. 'Oh, and could you possibly get Marjorie for me, sorry to trouble you.'

'Right oh, Mr Kearns,' the landlady said putting down the receiver and rushing upstairs to Marjorie's room and knocking on the door. The girls were still in their pyjamas. When he landlady told them there was a call from Mr Kearns, Marjorie threw on a dressing gown and came rushing down to the phone.

'Mr Kearns?' Marjorie asked picking up the receiver, slightly out of breath.

'Ah, Marjorie, you alright?' Kearns asked.

'Fine, Mr Kearns and you?'

'Not too bad. The reason why I phoned is that I think you should come down here to Cambridge and take some rooms. It must be quite expensive at the inn?'

'My money is going down, I must say!' Marjorie admitted.

'I thought it might be,' Kearns said. 'I happen to know a lady, Mrs Teague, who will be quite happy to rent you a room in her house in Cambridge. The rent is very reasonable, and she'll throw in breakfast and dinner at no extra cost.'

'What about Brenda?' Marjorie asked.

'Yes, she can come too,' Mr Kearns replied. 'I wouldn't expect you to abandon her!'

'Does that mean you might be offering us a job?'

Mr Kearns laughed. 'The thing is, you might not need a job.'

'How do you mean?'

'It's quite involved, and I don't want to get your hopes up too much, but you might be entitled to some money, like an inheritance.' Kearns said. 'I came across some rather interesting information about it recently.'

'Really?' Marjorie said her eyes wide.

'Yes, apparently you and your mother might have an entitlement!' Kearns said.

'Ah!' Marjorie replied, her voice going up in pitch.

'If you can produce some documents proving that you're Mrs Alice Green's daughter, then you might be in the money,' Kearns said.

Marjorie was silent for a moment. 'Does my mother know about this, I mean, does Mrs Green know about the inheritance?'

'Not yet,' Kearns said. 'I'm just waiting for the right moment to tell her and then bring the two of you together. I hope you don't mind me meddling in your life like this?'

'I'm sure it's for the best,' Marjorie replied. 'Have you told her about me yet?'

'No, I must confess I haven't,' Kearns said. 'I apologise, but I'm not sure how she'll take it. See, there's a lot going on at the moment and she's up to her eyebrows in work. But rest assured, you'll be reunited with her soon. I promise!'

***

Geoffrey Beresford had never been to Wickhambrook before. Although he knew Norfolk, he wasn't familiar with this part of the country. He had arrived there in the early hours with his fleet of three other vehicles. They were awaiting the arrival of the chartered plane from Norway, which would land in a local field. Earlier, Beresford had placed some oil lamps in the field to improve visibility, but the ground struck him as being a bit too rugged.

From his parked car, Beresford could see the village's quaint local church towering above the trees. It would soon be a silent witness to an historical event. The actual village dwellings were some distance away and so there shouldn't be any other witnesses to speak of. As Beresford stared at the church's steeple, he found himself having misgivings about not telling Schrepps the truth about the arrest of the German agents. Perhaps the conference should have been relocated after all. But it was too late now, and Beresford decided not to worry about it.

The moon was darting in and out of the clouds, and the wind was breezy, though for the most part the sky was clear. It would be easy to spot the plane once it began taxiing towards the field. Beresford hoped the makeshift runway was fit for purpose and wondered to what extent Colonel Schrepps had checked this. If the landing was uncomfortably bumpy, Beresford would doubtless be blamed for it. The cavalcade of black limousines parked along the country road was an odd sight in such a modest backwater. Anyone might think there was a midnight funeral taking place. With his hands in his pockets, Beresford strolled between vehicles speaking to the drivers. They were clearly curious about the passengers they had been sent to collect. Little did they know the potential danger they were in.

Beresford, who was looking through a pair of binoculars, was carefully scanning the indigo sky. Eventually, two tiny red lights appeared in the east coming from the direction of the coastline. Although Beresford didn't know it, it was a silver Junkers Ju 52, the German trimotor aircraft. Within seconds, the sky was filled with the fruity hum of the plane as it began to descend and then disappear behind the trees. It could be heard skidding along the ground and coming to an abrupt halt. Beresford pulled a face, hoping the landing hadn't been too traumatic.

Schrepps instructions on this point had been vague. Beresford had been advised to 'stay put,' as the plane's passengers would make their own way to the rendezvous point. This involved a five-minute walk which was bound not to go down very well. Eventually, the fifteen or so dignitaries, all angrily jabbering away in German began to emerge from behind a hedgerow, as they walked towards the parked vehicles. Most were dressed in civilian clothing, except for some armed SS guards, who stared at him coldly. Beresford extended his hand in greeting and was snubbed by the group, who cursing, climbed into the cars.

Schrepps had informed him that he may already be at Tennyson House to receive the German visitors. With his very basic German, Beresford told them where they were being taken. An interpreter tried to help him out, and Beresford heard one of the men call him a 'dummkopf!'

Beresford smiled and wondered why Schrepps hadn't been here to do the introductions. As it happened none of the guests joined him in his own car at the front of the queue. He was grateful as it might have made for an awkward journey. Everyone was waiting for Beresford's car to take the lead. He quickly consulted a map which he showed his own driver, who looked at it briefly. The driver nodded and started the car up and slowly drove to the next junction and took a left. The cavalcade behind them followed.

During the journey to Tennyson House, Beresford would take the occasional glance through the back window. He was dismayed to see how disgruntled the Germans seemed. They obviously did not like being taken out of their comfort zone. Also, the journey across the North Sea might not have been particularly pleasant, certainly not at this time of year. Beresford looked at his watch. It was now just after four in the morning. The guests could still grab a couple of hours of sleep when they arrived at Tennyson House. This might put them in a better mood.

The driver glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. 'Almost there now, sir,' he said deferentially.

Beresford acknowledged this with a nod. 'I could use a drink, I don't know about you?'

The driver looked at him again and smiled. 'I've got some brandy in a flask if you would like some?'

'Oh, would I!' Beresford replied as the driver passed a silver flask to him. He unscrewed the lid and took a modest gulp. The fiery liquid instantly warmed his throat. ' _Ah, just what I needed!'_

***

Eddy carefully lit the fuse in the petrol tank of the Citroen and ran the twenty yards to the lorry, as the car went up in flames. It turned out to be a bit of a damp squib. Everyone in the lorry looked back at the Citroen for a moment, which was now only just burning. Had the petrol tank had more fuel in it, the flames would have been fiercer.

'Shame,' Fintan kept saying.

'You can always steal another one!' Duds remarked as he put his foot down on the lorry's accelerator. They sped down the winding country lanes, which Duds knew quite well, even in the dark.

'I'll tell you about it later,' Fintan said. 'I need to give you a briefing.'

They were heading towards Navenby according to Mr Kearns instructions. As they drove Fintan explained what the mission was all about. The men were unhappy to learn there was an element of danger involved.

'I'm not too chuffed about this,' Eddy said. 'I didn't join the army to do any actual fighting.'

'The way I see it, it won't be too bad,' Fintan replied. 'There won't be any hand to hand fighting as such. We'll just set the mortars up outside Tennyson House and bombard the place to smithereens. I think all the regular staff have been told to take the week off. So, the only casualties will be Nazis and so called sympathisers!'

'Suppose they fire back?' Eddy asked.

'It will be dark, we'll be in the bushes, and they won't know what hit them!' Fintan said.

'Suppose the mortars don't work?' Manny said.

Fintan shrugged. 'Then we'll be up a creek without two farthings to rub together!'

'But I reckon the mortars be okay,' Eddy said. 'I mean the mortar shells have been kept nice and dry in their crates. Although to be honest, I thought it was stupid to hide them in the woods in the first place.'

'They were only supposed to be there for a few days,' Duds chipped in. 'But where else could we have hidden them?'

Everyone was silent for a moment and then Fintan said, 'Before I forget. Mr Kearns did say we ought to test out the artillery to see if it was still up to the mark. If not, then General Walters would supply us with some new stuff.'

Duds slammed on the lorry's brakes. 'Then we should do it now, before we get too far from the barracks. We can fire off a few machine gun rounds and a mortar shell into the woods as a test before we go any further.'

'I suppose we had better,' Eddy said with a sigh. 'I mean, we don't want to be caught with our pants down!'

Manny looked at Fintan. 'Come on then!'

With just enough moon to see by, Fintan followed Manny round to the back of the lorry. The machine guns were still packed in crates, but the lorry had a bountiful tool box and the men found a couple of useful crowbars. They broke open one of the crates and Manny removed a heavy handheld machine gun and loaded a magazine into it. He then walked a few steps towards the woodland and fired off a few rounds. At first the gun jammed, and then noisily sprayed some fairly ancient machine gun bullets into the bushes. Manny smiled at Fintan.

Fintan gave him a wink. 'So far so good, let's test out one of the mortars.'

Although the mortars were not packed in crates, their three-inch shells were. Fintan used a crowbar to break open a crate of shells and then loaded one into a mortar cannon. He set it on the ground some feet away from the lorry, then, never having used one before, looked back at Manny perplexed. Manny had never used one either. In the end Duds came to their aid and fired the shell into the woods with a reassuring whoosh and bang! A bush and a tree burst into flames.

'You've got the option of mounting it on your shoulder,' Duds said.

Fintan nodded. 'Great. Let's get going!'

They threw the weapons into the back of the lorry and continued their journey to Navenby, finding Hewlets Farm well signposted. The Farmer was hovering with a lantern at the gate, waiting for them in the predawn darkness. He slowly swung the gate open for them. The lorry drove onto the muddy driveway and was directed to a barn where they parked up.

Fintan got out of the lorry and shook the farmer's hand. 'We came as quickly as we could.'

The farmer, a craggy-faced man in his sixties nodded. 'I expect you could use a hot drink and a bite to eat.'

Manny, Eddy and Duds disembarked from the lorry and smiled.

'If it's not too much trouble,' Fintan said.

'No trouble at all,' the farmer replied. 'The wife is in bed, but she knows you're coming. She has put some sausages, bacon and eggs in the pan and there's some bread and homemade mead.'

The crew seemed cheered at this prospect and followed the farmer back into the farmhouse where the alluring smell of cooking food filled the air. The farmer led them into a well-appointed kitchen where hams were hanging from the beams on the ceiling.

'Sit down please,' the farmer said. 'This shouldn't take too long.' He prodded the bacon in the sizzling pan on the stove.

Everyone took a chair around a large round wooden table.

Fintan found his belly rumbling at the smell of bacon. It was obvious that the other men were also eager to demolish something substantial.

'You can get some kip upstairs afterwards,' the farmer said as he tended to their breakfast. 'We had some spare mattresses which we put down for you.'

'Thank you very much,' Fintan replied.

The farmer put some mugs on the table and brought over a jug of homemade mead. 'Help yourself. There's plenty where that came from.'

The men dived in. The farmer smiled. 'I understand you've got an interesting job lined up for you tonight.'

Fintan nodded. 'That's right but can't say too much about it.'

'Well, from what Mr Kearns told me,' the farmer said. 'It's very important indeed. He wouldn't tell me the details, but he said that it might be in the newspapers tomorrow morning.'

Fintan smiled not wanting to say too much. 'Maybe. And I hope they spell my name right!'

'Well, I wish you luck with it all,' the farmer said with a laugh.

Fintan grinned at him. 'Thank you, we might well need it.'

***

The preparations for Marcia Petrie's birthday where so involved that the staff at Listwell Park were obliged to have regular morning meetings to discuss them. Lady Marcia would convey her wishes to Mr Toop, the butler, and he in turn would communicate these to Mrs Plover, the head cook. Alice was in the privileged position of having access to Lady Marcia whenever she wanted, and so the two conferred frequently.

The evening's fare on the big night would consist of sixteen courses, beginning with partridge consommé and ending with chocolate mille-feuille. In the middle would be a large variety of dishes, some being no more than a mouthful or two.

'It is always a good idea to begin with a warm entrée,' Alice said.

Mrs Plover agreed. 'A salad at the beginning can sometimes be quite rough on the stomach.'

The two cooks split the workload between them. Alice agreed to supervise the preparation of the vegetables and sauces. Mrs Plover would organise the meats, which included beef, rabbit and game. There were also several other helping hands to assist them below stairs. Apart from the maids and waiters, there was a small army of domestics peeling potatoes, washing vegetables, polishing the silver and filling salt and pepper pots.

In the end it was agreed that the birthday cake, a reproduction of a royal cake, would be made by a Knightsbridge catering firm, who also agreed to deliver it. When it arrived, all activity in the kitchen and household stopped.

The cake was carried ceremoniously into the house by two men dressed as chefs and set down on a special table in the kitchen away from harm. From there it would later be placed in a large refrigerator especially hired for the purpose. The last thing anyone wanted was a wilting cake, especially as it was going to be centre stage. It would be the 'piece de resistance' in an otherwise dazzling culinary display. Even Mr Toop came over all nostalgic, as it did indeed remind him of the great days of the reign of Edward the Seventh. It was based on the birthday cake that had been made in Edward's honour. It was, in the words of Mrs Plover, 'Too good to eat!'

That did not stop someone from craftily chipping off a tiny piece of the pink and green icing. Mr Toop was angry beyond words but despite his suspicions had no proof of the culprit.

In a busy household like Listwell Park, the hands spun round the kitchen clock, and the hour of celebrations was fast approaching. Alice kept her head down, trying not to think of the onerous request which had been made of her. She was also worrying about Fintan and whether he would be alright. He said he would tell her all about it later. It was while she was preparing the Potatoes Au Gratin, that Alice finally decided that she would do what Mr Kearns had requested. She would confront Lord Collendon at the table, as foolhardy and dangerous as this might prove to be and speak her mind. Or at least, make a half-hearted attempt at doing it.

However, no sooner had she made up her mind, when she wavered again. It was well known below stairs, that the aristocracy had their own view as to how the classes should behave. A domestic stepping out of line was simply not tolerated. It would usually end with a dismissal and being blacklisted by the establishment, even if the fault was the employer's. The poor were the universal scapegoat, or so it seemed to Alice who was beginning to appreciate these things. They had no rights, save for the right to serve their masters. And to bite the master's hand, for any reason, would have been unforgiveable. To stick her head out above the parapet and actually challenge an aristocrat on his own turf was equated with disrespect to the crown.

It was Alice's private view that because Lady Marcia really wasn't a true blooded aristocrat, she didn't really understand these things. Someone once described her as a bohemian intellectual outsider with Marxist sympathies who thought the class war was a bit of a gentleman's debate. But as Alice tried to weigh everything up, she realised any bad behaviour on her own part would reflect badly on Lady Marcia. It could result in Marcia being marginalised in the society that she was now a part of. But then perhaps Mr Kearns was right. Perhaps, aristocrats who were chummy with Nazis needed to be stood up to by the common man. No one else was going to do it.

However, politics was a luxury which the poor normally couldn't afford. Alice would happily work for anyone regardless of their race, creed or political affiliations. In truth, it didn't matter to her in the slightest who Lord Collendon was in league with.

At one point, Alice looked up to see Mr Kearns staring at her. He seemed unusually jumpy and kept glancing at the clock. In fact, everyone was glancing at the clock, which itself seemed eager to get ahead of itself. In Alice's mind, it was almost like a countdown to doom.

***

Mrs Whelks at the Tankard Inn was sorry to see the girls go. Marjorie promised they would write. The Landlady only charged them for half the week's board and lodging and waved them off as they left for the station in a taxi. They were heading for Cambridge, to stay at the home of Mrs Teague, who was a friend of Mr Kearns. For some reason, Mr Kearns was eager to get the girls out of the area. Brenda couldn't wait to leave and anticipated that Mr Kearns was going to set them up with a couple of jobs. They entrained at Lincoln Station to arrive at Cambridge North in three and a half hours with a possible ten-minute pause at Peterborough. After studying the train time table, Brenda appeared to be looking forward to the journey. 'We might even meet up with a couple of sweet geezers!'

'You and your men,' Marjorie said as they sat in one of the second-class carriages as the train chugged energetically down the track. 'I'm fearing the worse for you!'

Brenda shrugged and buried her nose in a magazine that she had bought from Lincoln station. 'What else is there? You either work all your life and end up an old maid, or you find Mr Right.'

Marjorie stared out of the carriage window at the landscape rushing by. She adjusted the little cherry coloured bonnet on her head. 'But I'm not sure I know the best place to look, for a man, I mean.'

'Just keep your eyes open,' Brenda advised.

'But you don't want to end up with any old person,' Marjorie said.

Brenda looked up. 'But that any-old-person could be the one. You just don't know. If it's meant to be, he will be thrown into your path.'

Marjorie frowned and leaned forward to see what Brenda was reading. It was Photoplay, the movie magazine. 'Ever thought about going to America, Brenda?'

'Everyday,' Brenda said. 'If I had money for a ticket, I'd get the first boat out there.'

Marjorie smiled as she remembered Mr Kearns' words to her. 'That reminds me, did I tell you Mr Kearns said that I might be in the money?'

Brenda blinked. 'When?'

'He told me yesterday!'

Brenda nodded. 'I'd better hang around then.'

'You'd better!' Marjorie replied as they went flying through a dark tunnel. Cold air rushed into the carriage through the little window above them.

Brenda reached up and shut it, patting her hair back into place. 'Less of that, thank you!'

Marjorie smiled. 'I'm just going to have a nap, wake me up when we get there!'

***

Arriving at Tennyson House with his small fleet of cars stuffed with Nazi top brass, Geoffrey Beresford had a sense of anti-climax. The house, which would normally be lit up, was dark and sombre. He could almost sense his German guests being put off by this, but then secrecy was the key element in this situation. Lord Collendon had obviously taken this to heart, and he surprised everyone by answering the door of the large mansion himself. It soon became clear that the regular staff had been given the week off. Beresford immediately wondered what provisions had been made to cater to the German guests. It transpired that Colonel Schrepps had personally laid on some handpicked staff, having shipped them over from France a few days before. How they were going to return home afterwards was unclear. As for the chauffeurs, they went round to the kitchen entrance and were duly accommodated.

Schrepps was inclined to arrange things without consulting him and had already been in touch with Collendon behind Beresford's back. Beresford was quite piqued about that and was beginning to feel distinctly left out.

Lord Collendon shook Beresford's hand when he saw him. 'These bloody people haven't a clue,' he complained in Beresford's ear. 'I didn't even know they were taking over from our usual domestics till the last minute. Kearns apparently laid off our people without even consulting me or Lady Collendon, bloody liberty!'

'My Lord?'

'I'm talking about the temporary staff that have replaced our usual people,' Collendon said irritably. 'Can't speak a word of English between them and then Kearns had to go down to London. Goodness knows what he's up to!'

Beresford tried to sound sympathetic. 'All this will only be for a week, my Lord.'

'Hmm. And who's this bolshie Schrepps fellow?' Collendon said. 'Phoned and said he's the one in charge. Audacity of the man!'

'Has he not arrived yet?' Beresford asked.

'No, but apparently he's on his way.'

'He's the primary organiser on their side,' Beresford explained. 'He has the ear of the Fuhrer.'

'Well, I hope he's not bloody well coming too!'

'If you mean, Mr Hitler, no, my Lord,' Beresford said.

They were standing in the grand vestibule of Tennyson House several feet away from the chatting German guests, whose coats were being taken by two foreign maids.

Suddenly a voice rang out from the group and a short, dark suited German official walked over to Lord Collendon. ' _Lord Collendon, what a great honour!_ My name is Hartwig Klausmeister. I am the general assistant to the German Chancellor's personal assistant. You have a beautiful home!' He extended his hand, clicked his heels on the marble floor and bowed.

Collendon reciprocated sheepishly. 'The honour is all mine! I trust that your trip here was smooth. Hopefully, the new maids will be able to show you to your private rooms where you can freshen up, and then breakfast will be served at eight am!'

Klausmeister nodded and then turned to the group by the main entrance. ' _Das is unser Gastgeber, Lord Collendon!_ ' (This is our host Lord Collendon.)

The entire group came to attention and saluted. ' _Heil Hitler_!'

Lord Collendon limply held up his hand in response, giving Beresford a curious glance.

'If you would like to come this way,' one of the maids said in German, leading them up the main stairs.

The German official turned back to Lord Collendon. 'Are our British counterparts here, already?'

'Not all,' Collendon replied. 'Most will be arriving tomorrow.'

'Good, good, and then we can get down to some serious work,' the official said.

Collendon smiled coldly. 'I hope. Have a good night, what is left of it.'

Klausmeister bowed again and followed the others up the stairs.

Collendon turned to Beresford and whispered. 'Have you got a list of all their names?'

'Yes, my Lord, it's in my briefcase. I'll go and get it,' Beresford said quickly walking away.

'Thank you,' Collendon replied. 'I'll be in the smoking room.'

As Beresford walked away he had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that things were not going to turn out well.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As it happened, Farmer Todd Roberts had been a royal air force man himself, which was where he had met Mr Kearns. According to the farmer, Kearns was something of a legend and a hero in air force circles. It was said that he had even sparred with the likes of the Red Baron himself in the skies over France. The Red Baron, the so called 'ace of aces', had eighty air battle victories to his name. To have survived combat with him was an achievement in itself. Unfortunately, during the dogfight, Kearns had run out of fuel, and was forced to return home. The farmer was adamant that Kearns would have defeated him.

The crew, Fintan, Manny, Eddy and Duds had sat around after their breakfast, listening to the farmer's reminiscences. They were simply too hyped-up to go to bed. The farmer insisted they had some rest before morning. 'I think you boys had better get some shut eye before tomorrow,' he said. 'I've put the cockerel in the barn so that he doesn't wake you up too early. Got a bit of a beak on him that one!'

Fintan cast a glance out of the window. Dawn was finally breaking, and for him it meant the prospect of getting any decent sleep was remote. 'Goodnight then, Mr Roberts. Or should I say, good morning!' He stood up, his belly pleasantly full. 'We won't be pushing off until Mr Kearns phones to tell us when.'

The farmer led the way to the room next to the kitchen where the men could try and get some sleep on the four mattresses on the floor. Despite feeling wide awake, Fintan fell into a doze as soon as he lay down on his mattress. None of the men disrobed. It was the army way. In a combat zone, the niceties of life were temporarily put on hold. All fell into a deep sleep.

The men were roused at twelve by the buxom farmer's wife who offered them a ploughman's lunch. Despite having had a huge country breakfast just hours earlier, the men didn't refuse. They went back into the kitchen where the farmer's wife had laid out some cheese, bread and soup in a large tureen on the table. The attraction to the men, was the fact that it wasn't army food. As excellent as army food was, it sometimes lacked the little touches that home cooking could bring to a platter.

'Help yourself to the pea and chicken soup,' the farmer's wife said. 'And don't worry about Todd, he'll have something later.'

'I could get used to this,' Eddy said as he cut a big slice from the block of cheese in the middle of the table.

Fintan also enthusiastically helped himself, using the ladle to decant some of the piping hot soup into his bowl. The men dived in and demolished everything in front of them. After lunch, the men took a stroll around the farmyard, and found the farmer mucking out in the stable. Eddy volunteered to help him, and by the end of the afternoon, the crew found themselves engaged in various jobs.

'You need to come here more often,' the farmer chuckled. 'I do have a son, but farming isn't his cup of tea. If any of you boys are desperate for a job, you know where to find me.'

The men acknowledged this with grateful nods. They worked till five and the farmer's wife called them back in for their tea. It was a little after this, that Mr Kearns phoned and asked to speak to Fintan. Fintan took the call from a rather antique telephone in the hall.

'Everything alright, Fintan?' Kearns enquired. 'Did you double check the artillery? I presume you did otherwise you wouldn't be here.'

'Yeah, we shot off a few machinegun rounds and fired a mortar,' Fintan replied. 'There were no problems.'

'Excellent! And did you incinerate your car, making sure to wipe any fingerprints from the steering wheel?'

Fintan pulled a face. 'Yes, Mr Kearns, but the fire would remove them anyway.'

'Yes, but you can't be too careful,' Kearns said. 'Now, you are to move into position at nineteen hundred hours tomorrow night. But park up behind the copse to the left of the West Wing of Tennyson House. Access this from the dirt road. You know where I mean. It's near your old caravan. This will be the perfect blind spot to operate from, and you will be well concealed by the trees. You will then commence the assault at twenty-one hundred hours. Attack the front of the property and focus mainly on the windows of the smoking room where our targets will be positioned at that time. Also, there will most certainly be armed guards, possible snipers on the roof but only one or two. I would suggest removing them by stealth before commencing the main assault.'

'Suppose they hear us driving up the dirt road,' Fintan asked.

'If they approach you, shoot to kill immediately,' Kearns said. 'So, I would suggest having a loaded machine gun in the cabin of the lorry with you at all times.'

'What about Mr Jode?' Fintan asked.

'At that time of night, he'll probably be in his shed,' Kearns said. 'But if he happens to be wandering around, there's not much he can do anyway. Use whatever force is necessary to detain him if you have to.'

'So, you just want us to focus on the one room?' Fintan asked.

'All the targets will be in that room, because it is customary for Lord Collendon to have a smoke and some brandy after a meal there, only Collendon won't be present. He'll be at a party.'

'So, we just blast away?'

'That is the general idea,' Kearns said. 'If for any reason we have to abort the mission, I will try and get a message to you, although that would be difficult.'

Fintan licked his lips thoughtfully. 'If his Lordship isn't going to be there, how do you know the targets will be in the smoking room?'

'I have already told Paul to inform the temporary staff to entertain the guests in that room specifically in the evenings,' Kearns said. 'Lord Collendon has also requested this.'

'And Collendon definitely won't be there?' Fintan said. 'Because I don't want to be done for another murder!'

'Don't worry.' Kearns said. 'He'll be leaving earlier that evening for Lady Marcia Petrie's party and won't be returning until after midnight. He'll be away for roughly six hours.'

'And what about the staff in the house?' Fintan asked.

'None of the regular staff will be there apart from Paul the footman and Mr Jode. But they shouldn't necessarily be in the line of your fire. The temporary staff have been shipped over from France, and are Germans,' Kearns said. 'I'm afraid if anything happens to them it will be unfortunate but unavoidable.'

Fintan sighed. 'Alright, Mr Kearns. Twenty-one hundred hours tomorrow night then?'

'You've got it,' Kearns said with a slight pause. 'So, it just remains for me to wish you good luck, and remember, you will be acting in the service of your grateful country.'

'Yes Mr Kearns,' Fintan replied. ' _I'll try not to forget it_!'

***

Between them, Alice and Mrs Plover were doing a thorough job and were well ahead of their schedule. Virtually everything had been prepared and put away in the giant walk-in refrigerator ready for the next day. Potatoes, carrots, swedes and parsnips had been cut up, greased with lard and laid out in trays, ready for the oven. Green vegetables such as sprouts, and mangetout had been washed and trimmed, and salads prepared and covered and kept cool.

Meat had been partly cooked, par boiled or salted. Sorbets and several gallons of ice cream were put in the fridge, and pastries packed away in the pantry. Sweets and other confectionary were kept under linen. Wine had already been specially selected and put to one side. Each type, red or white would be carefully selected to match the particular course being served. Everything that needed to be in readiness for the party was in place. It would have been impossible to prepare everything on the actual day of the celebrations.

But lots of cooking had still yet to be done in the early morning of the big day. For instance, there were the many sauces which still had to be conjured up. There was also some extra baking to be undertaken, which had been taking place the previous day. To cap it all, there were also some special gift bags which had to be filled. Lady Marcia was personally supervising these and would contain little trinkets and exotic sweetmeats.

Alice, after working virtually nonstop for two days, her ankles aching, finally found some time to sit down and have a breather. Mr Kearns, now wearing his normal attire, approached her. 'Mr Toop says you're just about on top of everything.'

Alice nodded. 'Thank God it's only once a year.'

'You've still got Lord Petries' birthday to come yet,' Kearns said with a grin.

'Hopefully he'll have a quiet one,' Alice replied with a smile. 'No, I'm only joking. I don't mind being busy. It keeps my mind off things.'

Mr Kearns nodded. 'I know what you mean. And I've come to tell you that you can forget what we discussed. On the face of it, it was rather a tall order. We don't really expect you to do our fighting for us, Alice! I don't what we were thinking.'

Alice shrugged. 'It depends on what mood I'm in. I mean, I squared up to the likes of the queen of the prison wing that I was in. Big jean was her name. Lord Collendon should be a pushover compared to her!'

Kearns chortled. 'Well, don't worry about it. I think Lady Marcia and I sometimes get carried away by our own idealism. To be honest even Lord Petrie was expressing some doubts, although he was quite happy to go along with it. The point being, that there is a real threat in Europe and everything we know and hold dear in this country could be destroyed. The last thing we need are pockets of resistance in our own country. Sympathisers should be named and shamed, whoever they are! The Nazis stand for complete and utter suppression of all human freedoms, and the possible annihilation of whole races of people. It is an evil...'

'Hear hear!' Mr Toop said who had been listening in the pantry.

Mr Kearns gave Alice a wink. 'There speaks a patriot!'

Mr Toop came through to where they were sitting. 'Tell you what Mr Kearns, if I was a younger man and there was the threat of war, I wouldn't hesitate to volunteer.'

Kearns nodded. 'There's more than one way to skin a cat, Mr Toop. And it may even come to hand to hand fighting on our own turf.'

'Lead me too it,' Mr Toop said, rolling his fists comically like a boxer. 'I've heard what goes on over there. The sods really need to be taught a lesson.'

'They do, but as I say, they might even bring their fight over here!' Kearns said. 'We just need to be as vigilant as possible.'

Mr Toop straightened up. 'I couldn't agree with you more, Mr Kearns. Well, I'd better go and double check those blessed wines!'

Mr Toop walked off and Kearns stared thoughtfully into Alice's eyes. 'Lovely old boy.'

'Isn't he,' Alice agreed.

'And talking of old boys, I came across some rather interesting information,' Kearns said. 'I haven't had much opportunity to speak with you, but Lady Marcia has been apprising me of certain hard facts. It's an expansion of what I gather you've said to Doctor Rimsky.'

At the mention of Rimsky's name, Alice froze. 'Eh? What do you mean?'

Kearns looked around the kitchen. 'This is not the best place to discuss this. But as I have said, you have been badly wronged Alice. And I am not just talking about the recent court case and your imprisonment.'

'Oh,' Alice replied. 'Well, to be honest, I don't really remember what I said to Mr Rimsky. They kept giving me these injections and what-have-you which made me forget.'

'You have the evil Mr Geoffrey Beresford to thank for that,' Kearns said. 'Even General Walters is very regretful at what happened. He feels he owes you an apology.'

Alice shook her head. 'To be honest, I am completely confused. I mean, what did they want to know?'

'It is not some much what they wanted to know, it was about control,' Kearns said. 'You were being used as a Guinea pig in an experiment to see how far the human mind could be influenced. I have no doubt that they also gave you certain suggestions to carry out certain actions at specific times.'

'And what would they be?' Alice asked.

'I have been trying to get the transcript of the induction that Rimsky used,' Kearns said. 'But it is like trying to prize a nut out of a hamster's cheek. But we've got him in our sights, don't you worry about that!'

Alice shrugged. 'Good job too!'

Kearns stood up as a maid came into the kitchen. 'I hope I haven't confused you more.'

'You have to be honest, Mr Kearns.'

'Let's just say that it appears that you have some compensation coming,' Kearns said lowering his voice. 'Not because of what Rimsky did to you but what you endured at the hands of Lord Clarence Fenwicke! I'm talking about a possible inheritance.'

Alice blinked, her mind in turmoil. 'An inheritance?'

Kearns smiled and nodded. 'I think Lady Marcia would probably like to tell you all about it.'

Alice watched Mr Kearns walk off, as she slowly got to her feet. At that moment, Mrs Plover came back into the kitchen. 'No peace for the wicked,' she observed.

Alice went over to the large butlers sink. 'No indeed. I think you and me must have been born very wicked.'

'Going by all the work we have to do!' Mrs Plover chimed. ' _Very very very wicked_!'

Alice nodded and rolled up her sleeves. ' _And there's more to come, bless us!_ '

***

Marjorie and Brenda were surprised when a man dressed in a grey flannel suit and tie approached them on platform five of Cambridge North station. 'Brenda and Marjorie?' he enquired.

The girls looked at each other. 'And who might you be?' Brenda asked.

The man, with thin grey hair around the sides of his bald head, held out his hand. 'I'm Bert Teague. Mrs Teague's husband. You'll be rooming at our house?'

Marjorie raised her eyebrows and shook his hand. 'Ah but how did you know we'd be here?'

'Your landlady at the Tankard Inn told Mr Kearns you'd left for Cambridge and he phoned my wife.'

Brenda smiled. 'That Mr Kearns doesn't miss a trick!'

'Mr Kearns has got eyes and ears everywhere,' Mr Teague said. 'He could be watching us now! I've got the car outside, if you would like to join me? Or if you fancy looking around Cambridge first, I can pick you up later.'

'All that travelling has worn me out,' Marjorie said.

'Me too,' Brenda said. 'I think we'll come back with you.'

'Let me take your luggage,' Mr Teague said grabbing their cases which were on the platform.

They followed Mr Teague to his little blue Austin parked outside the station and climbed in the back. Mr Teague put their cases carefully in the boot. He then climbed into the car and started up the engine and drove down the Fen Road past Stourbridge Common towards the ward of Cherry Hinton. It was there, where the Teagues had a little semi-detached house.

Mrs Teague had prepared them a very late lunch, but first showed them to their sizeable room with two beds at the front of the property. 'The rent is four pounds and ten shillings a month payable in advance, all found.'

Brenda frowned. 'All found?'

'It includes meals and I'll do your washing for an extra two shillings a week each,' Mrs Teague said with a smile. 'We lock up at ten at night and no boyfriends or smoking allowed. I'll also expect you to keep your room clean and tidy. And the bathroom is down the hall and toilet out the back. You can also come downstairs in the evenings to the parlour to listen to the radio with the other guests.'

'Oh, are there other guests then?' Brenda asked.

'We have a Mr and Mrs Henderson-Fitzpatrick, Tony and Glynis,' Mrs Teague explained.

'Who's this Tony then?' Brenda asked.

Mrs Teague frowned. 'A very nice young man from Newcastle, who has just broken up with his fiancé and so tends to stay in his room a lot lately.'

'That's sad,' Brenda said giving Marjorie a meaningful look.

'I understand you are good friends of Mr Kearns?' Mrs Teague said.

Marjorie nodded. 'He's been helping us out.'

Mrs Teague clasped her hands together. 'That's nice of him. Well, if you would like to come down to have your lunch. The other guests have already had theirs, except Tony who's at work.'

'Thanks a lot, we'll be down straight away,' Brenda said, as Mrs Teague left the room.

Marjorie went to the window and looked out at the nondescript street. 'At least we're on the sunny side.'

'I can't wait to meet this Tony,' Brenda said, her eyes gleaming.

Marjorie nodded and sat on one of the beds, giving it a little bounce. 'Four pounds and ten shillings a month is brilliant. I might even be tempted to stay here for a while.'

'Why not?' Brenda said taking off her bonnet and coat and throwing them on a chair. 'Which bed do you want then?'

'This one, if you don't mind?' Marjorie replied. She took off her own coat.

'Come on let's have lunch,' Brenda said. 'I'm famished.'

Marjorie sighed deeply. 'And afterwards, I think I'll give Mr Kearns a tinkle and find out what's happening!'

***

Despite himself, Geoffrey Beresford fell asleep in one of Lord Collendon's sumptuous drawing rooms. It was due to the combination of warmth, comfort, drink and the fact that he had been up all night.

Lord Collendon gave him a shake. 'We've just had another arrival. Colonel Schrepps! And Geoffrey, I really think you need to get to bed for a couple of hours!'

'I might have a nap this afternoon, my Lord,' Beresford replied coming awake.

Collendon appeared to be in a bad mood. 'And I don't like this Klausmeister chappie either. Another bossy bugger. Wants to borrow the Camphausen!'

'I beg your pardon, my Lord?' Beresford said.

'My Camphausen!' Collendon replied. 'The painting of Frederick the Great. Klausmeister wants to take it back to Berlin to show the Fuhrer.'

'Is it particularly valuable?' Beresford asked as he straightened his tie.

'Not really,' Collendon said. 'But it will leave a great big shadow on the wall.'

'It might be a goodwill gesture they would appreciate,' Beresford suggested. 'I believe the Fuhrer has a particular respect for Frederick.'

Collendon shook his head and then threw himself into an armchair with a sigh. 'Alright. But dammit, it's not the done thing. Oh, and your boss, Sir Hugh, gave me a ring again.'

Beresford's mind became more alert. 'Oh, really.'

'Just asked whether I had seen you,' Collendon said giving Beresford a piercing look. 'I said I hadn't. But really, Geoffrey, what's going on? Playing AWOL are we? I mean, you led me to believe that Sir Hugh not only knew about this conference but endorsed it.'

Beresford lowered his head, mortified. 'He does, he does.'

'Well, it didn't sound like it!' Collendon told him. 'I thought Whitehall were entirely behind this.'

'Did you discuss it with him?' Beresford asked nervously.

'Only indirectly, because like you, I don't really trust telephones,' Collendon said.

'Sir Hugh has the same view,' Beresford replied.

Collendon appeared not to be convinced. 'Well, he was talking as if he didn't have a bloody clue what was going on!'

'Please don't be concerned, my Lord,' Beresford said, his mind going in several directions at once. 'This conference is crucial to any prospect of averting a war and I assure you, Sir Hugh is fully aware of the situation.'

'Let's bloody well hope so!' Collendon replied. 'Because I don't want to end up with egg on my face. And I don't like being bossed about in my own home. I'll be glad when this is all over. Anyway, we'll have the rest of our British guests arriving later today. They can do all the talking.'

'That would be ideal,' Beresford said.

'Now, about Lady Marcia Petrie's birthday bash at Listwell park,' Collendon said. 'I gather you were also invited. Are you still going? It will take place tomorrow, won't it? Right in the middle of all this stuff here.'

'Yes, I'll be coming,' Beresford said, trying to keep calm. 'If you are agreeable, my Lord, we could attend together. I'm sure they'll forgive our absence here for a few hours.'

'Frankly, I'll be rather glad to get away,' Collendon said. 'The Germans have only been here for a day, and already I'm feeling as if I'm under siege. To be honest, I don't think the prospect of peace is really possible. They are looking around my house as if they've got designs on it! Strange mentality!'

Beresford nodded pleasantly. Inside, he was far from calm. Depending on what Collendon had said to Sir Hugh, the security of the conference was potentially now in jeopardy again. Despite this, Beresford thought it best not to mention anything to Schrepps and just let events take their course. Frankly he was sick of worrying about it. There was also the issue of his Lordship's feelings which needed to be respected a bit more by the guests. British aristocracy was acutely sensitive and did not like being bullied.

***

Fintan looked up at the clock in the farmer's kitchen. It was time to get on the road to meet their deadline of twenty-one hundred hours. Fintan gathered the crew together for an informal briefing, repeating Mr Kearns' instructions.

'Well lads,' Fintan said. 'We'd best be getting on. Personally, I'm not worried about it. We'll have surprise on our side. As I understand it, they'll just be a load of sitting ducks.'

Manny pulled a face. 'Now, I don't really understand politics. But if what we do, doesn't start a bloody war, I don't know what will. If we're going to kill a load of Germans who've come over for a peaceful meeting, it's really going to rock the boat.'

'I had similar thoughts myself,' Fintan said. 'Maybe Mr Kearns _wants_ to start a war.'

'Or maybe he just wants to frighten the Germans off,' Eddy said. 'Maybe they'll think twice about invading us.'

Fintan shrugged and looked down into his lap. 'Christ knows. Someone somewhere is pulling all the strings. And it makes you wonder who.'

Eddy shook his head. 'And we're caught piggy in the middle.'

Fintan stood up thoughtfully. 'Yeah, well, I'll just let the farmer know we're going, and give our thanks for the grub.'

The men nodded and watched him go. Twenty minutes later, the lorry was backing out of the barn and heading towards Tennyson House under the night's sky. Typically, the country roads were completely deserted at that time of the evening. The only sounds that could be heard were the hum of the lorry's engine and the radio playing music quietly in the background.

'Would you like to hear a joke?' Manny said, who was now behind the wheel.

'Okay,' Eddy said.

Manny cleared his throat. 'Hitler and Goering were standing at the top of the Berlin radio tower. Hitler says he would like to do something to cheer up the people of Berlin. Goering looks at him and says, 'Why don't you jump, my Fuhrer?'

There was muted laughter. Fintan then said, 'If anyone's interested, the farmer's wife put a crate of beer in the back of the lorry.'

'You didn't mention that before!' Eddy said.

'I've just this minute remembered,' Fintan replied.

Manny pulled the lorry to a sharp halt and Duds, who was scrunched up next to Eddy got out to get the beer. He came back with some bottles and passed them round.

Eddy frowned. 'How are we going to open these without a bottle opener?'

Fintan shot him a look. ' _With our teeth_!'

***

It was finally the day of Lady Marcia's birthday party and she spent the morning organising her many cards. The mantlepieces simply couldn't hold them all and the bulk ended up on top of the grand piano and on cabinets here and there. The staff in the kitchen had been working around the clock to put the finishing touches to their preparations. There was also still the cooking of the main courses to be done. Even Mr Kearns mucked in, though he was juggling several other things at the same time. The guests weren't due to arrive until seven and celebrations were likely to continue throughout the night.

Lord Petrie had presented Lady Marcia with some expensive presents just after breakfast which she was delighted with. There were likely to be many more gifts from the guests, and so a table was set up in the drawing room to accommodate them.

Lady Marcia, still in her dressing gown asked to see Alice, who was up to her elbows in flour. She quickly dusted herself off and went rushing up to Lady Marcia's bedroom.

'Ah, Alice!' Lady Marcia said turning around from the vanity table.

'Happy birthday, milady,' Alice said with a curtsy.

'Thank you, Alice,' Lady Marcia said with a broad smile. She held up the back of her hand. 'What do you think? A present from Claude!'

Alice gazed at the huge pink diamond ring on Lady Marcia's middle finger. 'It's lovely, milady!'

Lady Marcia stood up and took Alice's arm. 'It is rather nice isn't it! Look, I just wanted to thank you for all the hard work you and Mrs Plover have been doing. Mr Toop informs me that you've been performing miracles.'

'We've all been pulling out the stops, milady.'

'I know. And Alice, I have also been wanting to tell you something, but I haven't had a spare moment. Sit down, if you wouldn't mind.'

Alice took a chair by the long bedroom window and looked over at the pile of birthday card envelopes scattered on the unmade bed.

Lady Marcia placed her hands together. 'Mr Kearns has been doing a bit of research and it seems that you and your daughter are two of the beneficiaries in a Will!'

Alice knitted her eyebrows. 'Me and my daughter?'

'You have a daughter, don't you?' Marcia said gently.

Alice became flustered. 'I do, but she...was fostered, and I have never seen her. I mean, I write to the foster parents and I know she's well and...'

'I'm sorry, this is obviously a very sensitive subject,' Lady Marcia said.

Alice pulled a face. 'I didn't know you knew about her. But I suppose Mr Kearns told you.'

'He did,' Lady Marcia said. 'You know Mr Kearns. He doesn't do things by halves. He's known you for years, but only recently found out about the unfortunate incidents which happened at Stukely Manor, when you worked for Lord Fenwicke.'

Alice nodded not knowing how to respond. 'Ah, yes, milady.'

Lady Marcia's face was one of deep concern. 'I feel very upset for you, Alice. It was outrageous of Lord Fenwicke to have taken advantage of you in the way he did. Your daughter was his child, wasn't she?'

Alice took a deep breath, and then despite herself began to cry, dabbing her tears with a handkerchief from her sleeve.

Lady Marcia got up and knelt on the floor next to Alice, taking her hand. 'I'm so sorry, I was a bit blunt, wasn't I? This must be very hard for you.'

Alice tried to smile and wiped her eyes. 'Forgive me, milady, but some things I don't care to remember, though you are so very kind to me. You, Lord Petrie and Mr Kearns are the kindest people I know.'

'I only wish I could give you the day off today,' Lady Marcia said with a regretful smile.

Alice laughed. 'Don't be silly milady. I'd rather be busy than lolling about. I'll send a maid up to make your bed and clear away those envelopes straight away.'

Lady Marcia stood up and went back to her chair. 'Never mind about the bed. The thing is, there is something you need to know. It concerns your future and that of your daughter. Apparently, Lord Fenwicke, Clarence, was quite remorseful in old age and added a codicil to his original Will. He had a fit of guilt and named you and your daughter as lawful beneficiaries. I suppose he wanted to make amends. Between you, you'll have a fifteen percent share in the Fenwicke estate and an eight percent share in the Fenwicke businesses. They own, Kedbricks, the haberdashery chain, and Pollivers, the pulp mill which makes paper and paper goods. I gather from Claude that his company has a contract with Pollivers to supply paper rolls for his print presses. Small world, eh? The elder Fenwicke died some years ago and your share has been held in trust for you. But the Fenwicke family, particularly the older son Everett, have been contesting the updated Will ever since. I believe there was a court hearing, and I can only presume you weren't informed.'

Alice's eyes glazed over. 'This is the first I've heard of it. Sounds like a fair bit of money.'

Lady Marcia laughed. 'I'll say! You're probably the richest cook in middle England, and you don't even know it! The evil thing is, it seems that the lawyers involved have deliberately prevented you from knowing about this. Clearly no attempt has been made to contact you or inform you. I believe the solicitors claimed that your whereabouts were unknown, when all the time, they knew where you were. Claude and I believe that part of the reason you were scapegoated and sent to prison is in some way connected to this. We can't prove it, but between you and me, I think Lord Collendon was put under pressure to get rid of you. Possibly by Lord Everett Fenwicke. With you out of the picture, executing the terms of the codicil could be delayed, perhaps indefinitely. Kearns said that he's been going over the case with a toothcomb. Also, you might be interested to learn something else. A Whitehall official, friendly to the Nazis called Geoffrey Beresford, originally wanted to have Mr Jode prosecuted for the death of Dr Fefferberg. But Mr Jode was too valuable to the Collendons. So, your name got put forward as the obvious alternative, considering you were the cook who prepared the sausages. As it happened I was sitting next to Fefferberg at the meal you prepared. Obnoxious fellow!'

Alice shook her head. 'You're making my head spin, milady.'

'We can't prove any of this,' Marcia said consulting her wrist watch. 'But Kearns is looking into it. What Claude and I can do to help is get you a good solicitor to represent you.'

Alice got to her feet. 'I really don't know what to say, milady.'

'Perhaps we can talk more afterwards,' Marcia said. 'Oh, there's also one other thing...'

Suddenly the phone rang next to the bed, and Marcia went to answer it. She made a signal to Alice who quietly left the room.

As she quickly walked back to the kitchen, she bumped into Mr Kearns. 'Everything alright?' he asked.

'Yes, thank you Mr Kearns,' she replied with a shy smile. ' _Everything is just perfect_!'

***

Mrs Teague's establishment was like a traditional guesthouse and a private home rolled into one. Residents felt they were part of a family and Mrs Teague even organised outings. She was planning one to Bury St Edmunds this coming weekend, principally to see St Edmundsbury Cathedral, the Abbey and the Vineyards. It would be her umpteenth visit.

'We love visiting old church sites,' Mr Teague said. 'I've got albums stuffed with photos of them.'

The proposed outing was not one that immediately appealed to the girls. They had other things on their minds. Marjorie had been trying to get hold of Mr Kearns without success. Finally, Mr Kearns got back to her.

'Settling in?' he asked.

Marjorie, who was taking the call in the hallway said, 'It's nice here. Food is nice. Our room is really big.'

'Good, 'Kearns replied. He sounded rushed. 'I've had a word with the Lady of the house, Lady Marcia Petrie and she said, if you want, you can come over to Listwell Park in a few days' time for a visit. You should be able to finally meet your mother.'

Marjorie's stomach started to flutter. 'Oh, that will be good.'

'We are all being rushed off our feet at the moment, what with Lady Marcia's birthday celebrations,' Kearns explained. 'Lots to do. However, there is always a chance that your mother may not want to see you. You will have to be prepared for that possible eventuality. But Lady Petrie has offered to tell your mother that you're coming, which is very gracious of her. She will probably know better than I how to break the news. Personally, in your shoes I would have let your mother know that you were coming over before you came.'

'I know,' Marjorie said. 'But I was afraid she wouldn't want to see me.'

'Yes, it's an awkward one,' Kearns mused. 'Under the circumstances, perhaps if Lady Marcia tells her you're here, it might help break the ice. Knowing your mother like I do, I'm sure she would be delighted to see you. I'll keep you posted.'

'Thank you so much, Mr Kearns.'

'My Pleasure. Got anything planned this weekend?'

Marjorie smiled to herself. 'We might be going to Bury St Edmunds.'

'Oh, Lord,' Mr Kearns said with a laugh. 'The Teagues have got a thing for churches. I think Mr Teague used to be a lay preacher years ago.'

'Oh really? Well, thanks again,' Marjorie said, and they hung up.

Mrs Teague looked out of the kitchen doorway. 'Everything alright Marjorie, you look a bit pale?'

'I'm fine, thank you Mrs Teague,' Marjorie replied.

'You coming to Bury?' Mrs Teague asked.

'I'm not sure.'

'Everyone else is going,' Mrs Teague said.

Marjorie frowned. 'How are we all going to fit in Mr Teague's small car?'

'We've also got a van parked round the back,' Mrs Teague said.

'I see, well I might then,' Marjorie said with a smile going up the stairs to her room.

Brenda who was lying on the bed with a magazine, looked up. 'Did Kearns offer us a job then?'

'He says we can go over in a few days' time. He didn't say anything about work even though they're really busy.'

Brenda nodded disappointed. 'Oh. Do you know how to get there then?'

'No,' Marjorie said sitting down on the little chair next to the wardrobe. 'Thing is, there's a chance my mother won't want to see me.'

Brenda blinked her eyes thoughtfully. 'She won't have much of a choice if we just turn up.'

'That's true,' Marjorie said. 'Mr Kearns said they're going to tell her that I'm here. The lady of the house has offered to.'

'Really?' Brenda said. 'Okay, but if your mother says she doesn't want to see you, then we're stuffed! And I so want to get a job!'

'You can get one in Cambridge,' Marjorie said.

'Hmm,' Brenda mused. 'No, I think the best thing to do is just turn up without telling Mr Kearns you're coming. If he says what are we doing here, you can pretend you thought he said to come over straight away.'

Marjorie considered this for a moment. 'I suppose. You going to Bury St Edmonds with Mrs Teague?'

'I might do, if Tony's going,' Brenda said. 'He's a bit of a rawny, but he's the spitting image of Leslie Howard, don't you think?'

'He doesn't say much does he?' Marjorie observed.

'He's still nursing a broken heart,' Brenda replied. 'Well, that's what Mrs Teague said.'

'I don't like the way he holds his knife and fork,' Marjorie said with a smirk. 'He scoops his peas up on his knife. That's not right. And he's got a tooth missing.'

Brenda threw down her magazine. ' _He has not_!'

'He has too!'

Brenda said. 'Well so what? You shouldn't judge a book by its cover.'

Marjorie sniggered. 'You can talk!'

'Look, there's no harm in getting to know him,' Brenda said.

'I'm not stopping you,' Marjorie replied. 'Which reminds me. I need to send my mother in Ireland a postcard to let her know we're alright.'

'You've got so many mothers you'll get yourself confused,' Brenda said.

Marjorie smiled. 'But I do think you're right about what you said.'

'About what?'

'I mean about just turning up at Listwell Park,' Marjorie replied.

'Yes, we should,' Brenda said densely. 'And what's Mr Kearns going to do? Send us away again?'

'I doubt it,' Marjorie said. 'They're having this great big party there. Maybe we can just sneak in.'

Brenda looked doubtful. 'It won't be like a regular shindig. We'd need to be dressed up to the nines.'

Marjorie shrugged. 'Yes. We can't just turn up in a cardigan.'

Brenda was thoughtful. 'How are we going to get there then?'

'I'll look it up on a map,' Marjorie said. 'Might be able to take a bus.'

'Maybe I won't go to Bury then after all,' Brenda said.

'Not if you're coming with me,' Marjorie said. 'Then once I've met my mother, I can go back to Ireland with my head clear.'

Brenda turned the magazine page. 'And maybe even a little bit richer, eh?'

***

The conference at Tennyson House was organised over three days jointly by Hartwig Klausmeister and Colonel Schrepps who acted as his sidekick. In attendance were several high-ranking military personnel from the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, Schutzstaffel, Kriegsmarine, Sturmabteilung, Einsatzgrupen, and the Gestapo. There were also consular people, Reichstag representatives, several minor government officials, and a professional negotiator, who was actually an Ortsgruppenleiter from Nazi Party Headquarters. In addition, there were various secretaries and someone to take the Minutes. The Germans were very well prepared and brought along a list of 'requests' and clearly meant business. Beresford realised that the preponderance of military people showed that they really did want to invade Britain. The presence of the Einsatzgrupen representative was particularly chilling.

The British guests invited by Collendon, by comparison, were just a motley bunch of closet fascists of no particular stature. These included two marginalised politicians, another member of the aristocracy, three senior churchmen, a group of people from the BUF, a retired general and a famous artist. There was a film producer who was meant to attend, though he phoned to say he couldn't make it. Two English actresses, whom Collendon was certain he had not invited, also turned up.

It was evident to the Germans within a very short time that the British contingent was not really representative of British political power at all. They carried negligible influence. At the very least the Germans expected to meet someone from the Cabinet or Special Operations Executive. Despite these major drawbacks, the Germans still thought this was a start of sorts, although shaky, and began proceedings.

Collendon had organised a large circular table for the conference in the old billiard room. He agreed with Klausmeister that the talks should be interposed with regular breaks. Collendon had the idea, which he confided to Beresford, that he could make up for the German's disappointment by getting them drunk. The addition of the two actresses was fortuitous.

The flow of alcohol did seem to cheer the Germans up tremendously, especially as they were beginning to regard the conference as a bit of a joke. Klausmeister, who was all business, was distinctly peeved. Telephone calls to Berlin only compounded his frustrations with officials from High Command screaming at him down the line. The Germans were particularly annoyed by the fact that there were no major British politicians or military personnel of significant rank present.

However, Klausmeister did cheer up a bit more later on. He confided to Beresford that it was all a sign that Britain was completely disorganised and a 'shambles'. It appeared to both men that the invasion, when it happened, would surely be a piece of cake.

It was evident when the meetings first came to order that the British were agreeable to anything the Germans were proposing. The first item on the agenda was a proposal by the Germans to set up a secret German naval base in Eyemouth Harbour in Scotland. This was met with enthusiastic nods which surprised Klausmeister and made him dubious of the authority being granted. It set the tone for the first in the long tedious series of ludicrous talks whose outcome seemed utterly worthless to Klausmeister. It didn't help that the delegates found themselves increasingly being distracted by the two beautiful British actresses who were hovering in the background.

Collendon could see that if all else failed, at least the Germans were being entertained. In the evenings, in the smoking room, the two actresses performed cabaret skits accompanied by a German uniformed captain on the piano. Wine and spirits flowed, and the smoky atmosphere became distinctly debauched. Even Klausmeister could be seen laughing hilariously when a drunk Kriegsmarine Kommodore plonked a bonnet on his head and began waltzing around. Even Collendon's pet dogs joined the festivities and were much fussed over by the guests.

Collendon happened to have a good record collection, and he had the gramophone wheeled out to everyone's delight. Despite the problems, the get-together seemed to be of some value and Collendon thought that something could be salvaged. Geoffrey Beresford during this time had also tried to make himself useful, and had even made a short speech, although it was all but slapped down by Colonel Schrepps. Beresford had now seen the other side of his onetime friend, and it wasn't encouraging.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After repeatedly checking the time, Fintan and the crew made their tentative approach to Tennyson House. The night's sky was practically without stars due to heavy clouds, and in general visibility was poor. They had arrived early and had been idling in their lorry just a few miles down the road from their destination. Suddenly, they saw a black Rolls Royce race past them. Fintan recognised Lord and lady Collendon sitting in the back seat with another passenger.

'There they go!' Fintan said. 'It's going to take them two hours to get to Listwell Park. The coast's now clear.'

'Was that his lordship?' Eddy asked.

'That was my old boss, yes,' Fintan replied. 'And he didn't do Alice Green any favours either.'

Manny's face was serious 'Them lot are all buggers!'

Fintan gave him a look. 'I think that's true to say.'

Duds, who was behind the steering wheel said, 'I think you'd better drive from this point.'

Fintan got out of the lorry and walked round to the drivers' side and climbed back in. 'There's a dirt road on the left-hand side of Tennyson House, behind a load of trees. We can park behind them and get our act together, and then do some reccy without being seen.'

The men looked at him dubiously. It was their first serious mission and nerves were beginning to show.

Fintan gave them a double take as he put the engine in gear. 'For God sake, cheer up. It's not the end of the world. They won't know what's hit them.'

'It's them snipers I'm worried about,' Eddy said.

They drove down the country road for several yards.

'Wait!' Duds suddenly said.

Fintan slammed on the brakes and everyone lurched forward. 'What now?'

Duds hopped out of the cabin. 'I'll feel better holding a machinegun!'

'Even a rusty one?' Fintan said with a laugh. 'No, good point. I think Kearns did say we needed to be at the ready!'

'Get me one,' Eddy said.

'And me too,' Manny said.

'Make that four!' Fintan suggested.

Duds came back with two Lewis machineguns which were more portable than the heavier Vickers guns. The weapons held ninety-seven rounds of ammunition in their drum magazines and could fire five hundred rounds a minute. The men didn't realise they would be out of ammunition before they knew it. Duds passed the machineguns to the crew.

He then went around to the back of the lorry again and came back with some Webley revolvers which he found in an open crate.

'Ah!' Fintan said, who preferred the smaller weapon.

'MK fives,' Duds said passing them round. 'And there are some Brodie helmets in a sack in the back.'

'We'll put those on when we arrive,' Fintan said handling his revolver. 'Any ammo for these?'

'Yup plenty,' Duds said.

Fintan nodded. 'I reckon we are about to start world war two, don't you gentlemen?'

Eddy nodded as he examined the machinegun on his lap. 'But I think, in this situation, I'd prefer the guns we've got back at barracks.'

Duds shrugged. 'Beggars can't be choosers!'

Fintan put the lorry in gear again and drove up the country road with the headlights dipped. After a little while, the lights of Tennyson House could be seen through the trees. Fintan did a left turn at a muddy cross road and went around to the west side of the estate.

After driving for a quarter of a mile, he realised that he had accidently passed the access dirt road, which was overgrown with foliage. Fintan turned the lorry around and then slowly drove back until he spotted the partly concealed gap in the bushes.

'That's it,' he said. He manoeuvred the lorry slowly into the gap. Then after a hundred or so yards over very bumpy ground, he could see finally Tennyson House itself through the trees. Fortunately, the moon had decided to grace the scene, and Tennyson House seemed to bask in its night time glow. The clouds had moved west. Fintan turned off the engine and hoped its rumble had not carried.

Manny was squinting his eyes. 'I think we're quite well concealed here.'

They were positioned slightly at an angle to Tennyson House and could make out the south side which was the front of the building.

'What's the time?' Fintan asked.

Manny consulted his watch which he could barely see in the dim cabin. 'Eight forty-three!'

Fintan nodded. 'We'll start the attack in fifteen minutes. But first let's see if we can spot any snipers on the roof. Christ, we should have brought some binoculars!'

'We don't need them,' Eddy said, climbing out of the lorry. 'You can see the guards quite clearly!'

'Ah, yes,' Fintan whispered as he stared through the fairly thick trees towards the building. 'Two, just under the porch. We could just pick them off from here.'

'Shall I go get the Enfields?' Duds offered. 'They'll be quieter than the machine guns.'

'Good idea,' Fintan said. 'Get three rifles, and then they'll be like _coconuts in a shy!_ '

***

Guests had been arriving at Listwell Park since seven o'clock and by nine the black-tie event was in full swing. A jazz band had been hired for the evening and its syncopated rhythms could be heard half a mile away. The band was located in the huge main vestibule of Listwell Park, which had excellent acoustics. It was also jam packed with well-dressed people in various states of drunkenness.

Lord and Lady Collendon had arrived with Geoffrey Beresford an hour late and were shown into the ballroom where the main festivities were taking place. The Collendon's had brought some gifts as was customary. Lady Collendon had even organised a present for Beresford to bring along as he had completely forgotten to buy something.

Dinner had been moved to a later time due to the Collendon's not arriving earlier. It was announced by Lord Petrie, and the guests were good humouredly accepting of this and continued to make merry. There was, however, a resplendent buffet on hand to act as a belly filler in the meantime. The kitchen staff were understandably relieved when the Collendons finally arrived as they could begin to organise the delayed evening dinner.

Lord 'Claude' Petrie acted as 'greeter' and when he was introduced to Geoffrey Beresford was no less charming. 'Mr Beresford, a pleasure,' he said extending his hand.

Beresford eyed him coldly as he shook his host's hand. 'You have a beautiful home,' he managed to say.

'Thank you, Mr Beresford,' Petrie replied with some strain. 'You really should pop down for the Glorious Twelfth, next August.'

Beresford looked at Petrie blankly. 'The Glorious Twelfth?'

'The Grouse shoot,' Petrie said. 'Consider it an invitation.'

Beresford grinned sheepishly. 'I don't have a gun.'

'Don't worry about that,' Petrie said. 'I will have to show you my collection.'

'That would be interesting,' Beresford said, quickly running out of conversation. 'Is there much game in the area?'

Petrie smiled as he gestured for a waiter to bring his guest a drink. 'When Grouse numbers are low there are always the Wood pigeons, Mallards and Teal.'

'And then they're eaten afterwards, I presume?' Beresford asked.

'You can't beat wild duck, especially with my cook's wonderful marmalade syrup,' Petrie said. 'Although to be fair, my wife is not in favour of game hunting. But accepts that in some cases it can be helpful to the environment.'

Beresford nodded as he took a flute of champagne from the silver tray being proffered by the waiter. He took a sip as Petrie excused himself to greet another couple who had just walked in through the door. Beresford then quickly moved away and joined the Collendons, who were surrounded by several old cronies, laughing and cracking jokes.

The noise from the jazz band and crush of guests, meant that everyone had to speak at the top of their voices to be heard. Beresford was content to observe, being more concerned about what was happening back at Tennyson House. When he had left with the Collendons, Schrepps and Klausmeister had seemed quite unconcerned. 'Don't worry,' Schrepps had said. 'I'm sure we can look after ourselves for a couple of hours. Please convey our very best wishes to Lady Petrie!'

Unbeknown to Beresford, he was quietly being observed by Mr Kearns from the other side of the packed ballroom. He had disguised himself, wearing a black wig, stuck-on moustache and pair of glasses. Lady Marcia thought the disguise uproarious and said it was the best birthday present she had received so far, barring Lord Petrie's gifts of course.

Kearns had been checking his watch throughout the evening and was wondering how the crew were doing at Tennyson House. By his reckoning the assault should have already taken place. It was now nine forty-five and still Fintan had not phoned. Perhaps there had been some problems.

As for Alice, she was a bag of nerves. Although Kearns had said that she wasn't expected to do anything, she felt that she owed him something. However, old fears were hard to put to bed. To calm herself, she had been taking sneaky nips of a glass of sherry that she had hidden in the pantry. Virtually every time she went in there, she had a sip of the drink. She was on her third glass of 'La Ina' when she decided that she wasn't going to let Lady Marcia and Mr Kearns down. She would check with Kearns when to put in her appearance, which would probably be at the conclusion of the late dinner.

She knew that Lord and Lady Collendon would be shocked to see her as they probably thought she was still in prison. The whole thing would be quite bizarre. She would just keep her eyes down and say her piece and then go. She just hoped that it wouldn't result in her being dismissed or worse being put back in prison. Mr Kearns would need to again reassure her on those points.

Finally, just as the guests were being ushered into the banqueting room for dinner, Mr Kearns was called to the phone.

'Mr Kearns?' Manny said down the receiver, his voice sounding far away. 'Fintan's been shot!'

Kearns tried to hide his shock. 'It's not fatal is it?'

Then the telephone went dead. Kearns frantically tried to phone back to no avail. He put down the receiver and hoped they would call back and waited a couple of minutes. It was the first time he had actually felt worried. In the end he was compelled to go down to the kitchen to assist Mr Toop and Mrs Plover. They were trying to salvage the roasted lamb which had been overcooked. It had been basted in red wine and tomato sauce which had dried out. The solution, as suggested by Alice was to remove the driest upper part of the meat and turn it over in some freshly made sauce.

After they did that, Mr Toop cut a slice and tasted it. 'It's passable.'

'They are all so drunk they won't notice,' Mr Kearns said.

At this point Alice whispered in his ear. 'I'm ready when you are.'

Kearns gave her a quizzical look. He then took her to one side leaving Mrs Plover to deal with the meat. 'You don't have to do this,' he said. 'It wouldn't serve any purpose now anyway. They're all plastered.'

'I want to do it now!' Alice said, her voice in earnest. 'I've been thinking about things and I think you're right. Something should be said. I just hope I won't get into trouble.'

Kearns gave her a hard look and patted her on the shoulder. 'Thank you, Alice. You will have my protection, that I promise! But I will tell you when to come up.'

***

According to the map, Listwell Park was about half a mile from Abbots Ripton, which was a thirty-minute journey by taxi from Cambridge. From what Marjorie could see, it lay within the diamond shaped borders of Huntingdonshire, and yet was still said to be in Cambridgeshire. Mr Teague explained that this was because Huntingdonshire was a non-metropolitan district of Cambridgeshire. Marjorie had nodded sagely at this information though remaining unenlightened. The day trip to Bury St Edmonds had been cancelled because of bad weather and the girls had spent the whole day indoors. It made then eager for some action. Marjorie decided she and Brenda would leave about eight o'clock that evening by taxi, to arrive at Listwell Park around eight thirty. Brenda was now in two minds whether to join her or not, as she had seen Tony hovering on the landing.

Miraculously, Brenda had managed to squeeze a conversation out of him and discovered he worked in a bookshop in Cambridge. Marjorie couldn't quite understand Brenda's fascination for this skinny, rather dull young man. She thought Brenda would soon lose interest once she found a job. Both girls were still hoping Mr Kearns would help them in that respect. However, Mr Kearns' unexplained remarks to Marjorie regarding an inheritance, gave her cause to hope. She knew that Mr Kearns was not likely to be making it up. The suspense had finally got under her skin and was one of the reasons she wanted to go to Listwell Park without any more delays.

Once Marjorie had got ready to go, Brenda agreed to accompany her, not wanting to miss out. Marjorie then went downstairs to look at the phonebook to see if she could phone for a taxi. To her consternation, there weren't anything listed.

Mrs Teague said, 'To get a cab you normally have to go into town to hail one.'

Once again, Mr Teague came to the rescue. 'Going to Listwell Park? Have you been invited?'

'Sort of,' Marjorie said.

Mr Teague scratched his chin. 'I suppose I could always drop you off. But then how will you get back?'

Marjorie looked at Brenda blankly. 'We'll sort that out once we get there. I'm sure Mr Kearns will help us out.'

Mr and Mrs Teague exchanged looks. 'Alright then,' Mr Teague said. 'I'll take you!'

***

The sortie upon Tennyson House had begun well. Despite their fears, the crew had no problem disposing of the German guards posted outside the building, by shooting them through the trees. As Fintan had said, the crew had surprise on their side. Regrettably, the crack of the rifles echoing across the grounds had drawn the attention of one of the guests in the building.

There was the scraping noise of a downstairs sash window being pulled up. The guest, a man in his forties, poked his head out of the window to take a look. He glanced towards the moon and trees for a moment but didn't see the body of one of the dead guards lying just feet away. Then he closed the large sash window unconcerned.

The crew drew a sigh of relief. Music could suddenly be heard playing from somewhere inside the building.

'Sounds like they're having a party,' Fintan observed. 'Ok, now that the guards are out the way, we'll set up the mortars in a line opposite the house and start firing on my command!'

Manny smiled at this. 'Yes, sir!'

'So, we're firing at that window on the ground floor where the crowd is?' Eddy asked as he peered through the trees.

'Yes, that's the smoking room,' Fintan said.

'Are we going into the building itself?' Manny asked.

'No,' Fintan replied. 'We'll just blast them from the outside!'

'What about possible snipers?' Eddy said.

'They would have been firing now if there were any,' Fintan replied.

Suddenly, from their position behind the trees, they saw the portly figure of a middle-aged man running around the side of the building. 'Christ, that's Mr Jode!' Fintan said.

Jode had spotted one of the dead guards lying by the entrance and had gone to investigate.

'He'll need to be silenced,' Eddy said.

'Don't kill him, just shoot him in the leg to slow him down,' Fintan suggested. 'Or he'll raise the alarm!'

Manny, who was quite a good shot, aimed his rifle at Mr Jode, fired and missed. But the noise of the shot startled him. Now fully aware that he was being fired at, Jode rushed towards the house yelling at the top of his voice.

'We need to set up the mortars now!' Fintan said rushing out of his hiding place with his machine gun towards Jode.

Jode was waving his hands in the air hysterically.

' _Jode, stop, or I'll fire!_ ' Fintan shouted.

Jode halted in his tracks and slowly turned around to see Fintan standing several yards away with a machine gun pointing at him. ' _Fintan, is that you? What the hell are you doing?'_

Fintan signalled for the mortars to be placed in a line in front of Tennyson house. 'Go back to your shed, Mr Jode, and keep your mouth shut!'

Now that the moon was shining in its fullness, the visibility in front of the building was quite good. Despite this, the guests inside seemed completely oblivious to them outside.

Jode glanced towards the window of the smoking room. 'What's going on Fintan?'

'Shut up and move!' Fintan ordered advancing towards him. 'Put your hands on your head.'

Not daring to disobey, Jode did as he was told and turned around and slowly walked towards the herb garden. 'Are you mad?' he said.

'Maybe,' Fintan replied. 'But this probably wouldn't be happening if you hadn't bad mouthed me to the police. I was on the run because of you!'

'That's not true,' Jode said. 'I never said a word.'

'Just keep walking!' Fintan commanded.

'If you're going to do what I think you're going to do, you're making a big mistake,' Jode said.

'I told you to shut up!' Fintan said brusquely. 'And you'll need to warn your friend Kalo, that he'll probably be next on the list.'

'He's not my friend,' Jode replied.

'He tried to have me killed me down at that little house of his in Devon,' Fintan said as they walked. 'Put him up to it, did you Mr Jode?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Jode said. 'You're not in your right mind.'

'Aren't I?' Fintan answered as they arrived at Jode's little shed. He pushed Jode into it, took a padlock off the wall and hung it on the hasp and staple on the outside of the door. Then he firmly clicked it.

Fintan rushed back to the crew who were nervously standing behind their mortars, each with a couple of three-inch shells at the ready. They were also holding machineguns as a backup. They were pointing their weapons squarely at the downstairs window of the Smoking Room where the Germans were partying.

Fintan was about to give the order, when there was the sound of a shot coming from the roof of Tennyson House. Eddy looked up to see a sniper skulking behind the upper parapets of the building with a rifle. Without thinking, Eddy let go a round of noisy machine gun fire towards him. The sniper fell heavily, but the racket had alerted the drunken Germans inside, who rushed to the window.

At the same time, the crew saw Fintan fall to the ground nursing his leg. ' _Fire!_ ' he shouted. ' _Fire!_ '

The crew released the first volley of three-inch shells at the building, as Manny ran over to help Fintan to his feet. The wall and window of Tennyson House exploded and caved in under the cacophanous blast of shells. Masonry and debris flew everywhere as the guests inside were tossed about like mannikins.

Helped by Manny, Fintan hobbled painfully out of the range of the mortars as the men followed up with a second and then a third loud volley. A fire had begun to rage in the building which Fintan had not counted on. Then as if with one mind, the crew spontaneously advanced on the decimated window, their machineguns blazing loudly. It was their army training kicking in. The remaining, confused and terrified guests inside the smoking room had no chance at all. Tennyson House had quickly turned into a scene of carnage.

Fintan had not even fired a shot. He just stood there, supported by Manny, watching the flames slowly spread.

'We need to go,' Manny said urgently.

The men packed up their equipment and everyone quickly walked back to the dark trees from where they had emerged.

'Shame,' Fintan, in pain, said. 'It was a nice building.'

'We need to get him to a doctor quick!' Manny said. 'I'd better phone Kearns and tell him what's happened.'

They cleared a space in the back of the lorry where they gently placed their wounded comrade. Concerned, Eddy and Manny climbed in next to him, while Duds started up the lorry and slowly reversed it. It was awkward moving backwards through the darkness of the woods. Eventually they found themselves back on the main road.

At that point Fintan, hugging his leg in pain said, 'There's a phone box about a mile near the gates of Tennyson House!' He appeared dazed. Blood seeped through his trousers. Manny looked around for something to make a tourniquet with without any luck. Fintan had to press down on the wound.

Duds drove the lorry down the road back towards the front of the estate at a pace and found the phone box. Manny then quickly got out and phoned Kearns at Listwell Park. Annoyingly for Manny, the call ended abruptly because he had run out of change. It didn't occur to him to make a reverse charge call. He had only one thing in his mind, to get Fintan to a doctor as quickly as possible.

The only other observer of the destruction of the lower part of Tennyson House was Sootsac the cat. The cat, its eyes wide with wonder, had kept a safe distance from the edge of the estate. Then resignedly, when everything went up in flames, turned around and slipped away under some shrubs.

***

When Mr Teague dropped the girls off at Listwell Park, he said, 'Sounds like they're having a whale of a time. Don't get drunk!'

The sound of clarinet, drums, trombone and piano filled the improving evening air. Partygoers could be seen wandering around the grounds of the estate with glasses of champagne. The main building itself was lit up like a Christmas tree, drawing the eyes of the fascinated girls.

'If you can't get a lift home, give me a ring and I'll pick you up,' Mr Teague said.

'Thanks ever so much, Mr Teague,' Marjorie replied as they waved him off.

The girls watched him drive away and then turned back towards the gates of the imposing estate. 'I'm feeling really nervous!' Marjorie said.

'Shall we go in?' Brenda said.

'No wait,' Marjorie said. 'I need to calm down a bit.'

Brenda smiled. 'What's your mother going to do? Bite you?'

Marjorie shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Let's try and sneak in through the kitchen,' Brenda suggested.

'But that's where she'll be working!' Marjorie said in alarm. 'I was sort of hoping Mr Kearns would introduce us.'

'And say what?' Brenda asked. 'This is your daughter, Marjorie? You could do that yourself.'

'Maybe,' Marjorie said.

'Come on, don't be a cowardy custard!' Brenda said pushing open the heavy black cast iron gates of the estate.

The girls walked onto the grounds, instinctively moving to the right of the building away from the main entrance. They were observed by several guests enjoying the evening air, who made no comment, as the girls didn't look out of place. After a couple of minutes, they came across a woman wearing a white apron, sitting on a small stoop next to the kitchen entrance. Half in shadow, she was puffing away at a cigarette and drinking from a glass of wine.

'The main door is that way, Miss,' the woman said pointing. 'Pardon me if I don't get up.'

Brenda said, 'Do you work in the kitchen?'

The woman, her face half in shadow, smiled. 'I do all sorts.'

'Would you know where I could find Mr Kearns?' Marjorie asked.

'Everyone is asking where he is!' the woman replied. 'Just go to the main entrance. The doors are open, and I'm sure you'll find him.'

'Bit of a bash!' Brenda said as the music wafted over.

'They do things in style here,' the woman replied.

'To be honest, we're not really looking for Mr Kearns,' Marjorie said. 'I'm supposed to be meeting someone and I'm a bit nervous about it.'

The woman looked up. 'That's you and me then! I'm supposed to go and make a speech in a minute.

'A speech?' Brenda asked.

'Well, not exactly a speech!' the woman said. 'Here, fancy a fag? It might calm your nerves!' The woman brought out a packet of woodbines from her apron and offered them up. 'I don't normally smoke, but I had to today. The footman gave me these!'

The girls gratefully took a cigarette each. 'Thanks.'

'My pleasure dear,' the woman said lighting them up from her cigarette. 'You're a bit late arriving. The party started hours ago, but they're having dinner late.'

'To be honest, we haven't really been invited,' Marjorie said.

The woman laughed. 'Don't worry, I _won't_ say a word!' She then stood up, brushed down her apron and stubbed the cigarette out under her shoe. 'Well, must press on. And remember my dear. Whatever it is, it's never as bad as it seems.'

'No,' the girls said.

'And if you believe that, you'll believe anything!' the woman said with a laugh. She then disappeared into the building.

'She's a bit drunk!' Marjorie said with a grin. 'Hey, you don't think that was her, do you? Mrs Green, my mother, I mean?'

Brenda thought about it. 'Nah! She doesn't look a bit like you! Come on!'

'Just give me a minute,' Marjorie said. 'Let me finish my cigarette first!'

***

Dinner was finally served in Listwell Park's grand banqueting hall on a large marble-topped table, which was fifty feet in length and ten feet wide. It was covered with an array of exquisite objects; solid gold cutlery, fine porcelain side plates and charger plates, faux silk napkins, lead crystal goblets, carafes of freezing cold spring water, handy finger bowls, solid silver cruet sets, a number of lit candelabras and numerous vases of real and artificial flowers. Bottles of Bisquit Dubouche champagne and flutes were positioned opposite every diner. There was barely room for the meal itself which would consist of sixteen courses.

In attendance was an equally sparkling group of rich and powerful diners from all walks of life, including foreign royalty, barons and captains of industry. Lord Collendon was in his element.

Listwell's wonderful banqueting hall was dripping with French aristocratic finery worthy of an eighteenth-century palace. Louis XIV tapestries and ancestral paintings by Jacques Louis David hung on the wall. Beautiful vases and busts of Roman emperors stood on plinths. Fine antique Louis Sixteenth, Georgian, Regency and Victorian furniture filled the gaps along the walls. Even the chandeliers appeared to be assembled from rare coloured diamonds which complemented the diamante hair accessories of the lady guests.

Not to be outdone, the rich male banqueters sported resplendent twenty-four carat cufflinks and tiepins and oversized gem-encrusted gold rings. Everything seemed to sparkle in the dazzle of the glorious evening. However, the 'piece de resistance' was without doubt the crepuscular sight of the multi-tiered birthday cake. It almost seemed to hover in a glorious golden haze of its own above the central table in front of the giant fireplace. Occasionally eyes would wander over to it, awed by its architectural beauty.

As knives and forks squeaked on beautiful dinner plates and wine was thirstily glugged, noisy talk rose and fell, and spontaneous laughter frequently erupted. Toasts were made praising the very excellent host and hostess. There were cries of 'speech speech', and one or the two of the diners obliged, and then finally Lady Marcia stood up and thanked everyone for coming. She made a few carefully rehearsed comments about the importance of friendship and promised to have everyone back again next year. She then sat down again. The irony was that most of the people present were friends of her husband, Claude Welles.

Marjorie and Brenda were hanging about outside, observing everything through the lace curtains hanging on the veranda's French windows abutting the banqueting hall. Brenda's initial bravado had diminished slightly, and so the girls had decided to wait until after the grand meal before venturing any further. They had found the veranda around the rear of the property and lingered there. Brenda eyed the bottles of wine on the magnificent table.

'I could kill for a glass of wine!' Brenda said.

'Look at that cake!' Marjorie said as she peered through the curtains.

'And I could eat a slice of that too!' Brenda said. 'I'll ask Mr Kearns later.'

Marjorie watched the noisy scene in the banqueting hall with some fascination. 'I can see why you want to work in service. There must be a ton of food and drink left over after a do like this.'

'No!' Brenda said. 'At Tennyson House the greedy buggers ate every last thing. Although, I must say, sometimes when you were clearing away the table, there was still the odd drop of port left in the glasses.'

'You alcoholic you!' Marjorie said.

Suddenly, Lady Marcia Petrie stood up again and tapped the side of a crystal glass with a knife. The banqueters fell silent.

'Oh Christ not another speech!' Brenda whispered.

'Shh!'

'Friends, diners and fellow gormandizers, there's something I forgot to say,' Lady Petrie said.

There was muted laughter.

'To paraphrase the poet,' she said. ' _The sun descending in the West, the evening star does shine, the food we have is of the best, and so's the blessed wine_!''

'Hear, hear, well said,' someone offered as laughter and applause burst from the diners.

'And even if I say so myself,' Lady Petrie continued. 'This is truly a resplendent meal and I would like to propose a toast to the very excellent staff here at Listwell Park who prepared it. And then you can all sing me happy birthday!'

There were bangs on the table and glasses were raised. Lord Claude Petrie winked at Mr Kearns, no longer in his disguise, who was standing by a door.

Lord Collendon was now staring at Kearns with a surprised expression.

' _To the staff at Listwell Park_!' Someone shouted. Several others joined in.

'Jesus!' Brenda said from behind the curtain

Lady Petrie continued. 'In fact, to break with tradition, I would like to present to this esteemed gathering, the very cooks who laboured so industriously, diligently, intelligently and assiduously, and with such great culinary skill over this meal, on condition they are not kidnapped afterwards!'

There was laughter at Lady Marcia's word play and there were shouts of, ' _Why not_!' and _'She is a true socialist_.'

'May I present Mrs Plover the head cook,' Lady Marcia announced.

Mr Kearns, having removed his disguise, opened the door and in stepped Mrs Plover, her face like a beetroot. She took a bow to uproarious applause from the guests and quickly departed.

Lord Collendon was still staring hard at Mr Kearns. 'Kearns?' he called. 'What on earth are you doing here? I thought you went to London?'

'Thought I'd drop in and assist, your Lordship!' Kearns replied, still standing at the door.

Lord Collendon frowned again. 'Well you could have told me!'

'I was intending to, your Lordship,' Kearns replied.

Collendon muttered something to his wife.

'And now Mrs Green, the assistant cook!' Lady Marcia continued.

Alice stepped through the door, her head respectfully lowered. Mr Kearns patted her on the back. There was a mixed reception at her appearance, some applauded and others who knew of her, looked around murmuring in confusion.

'Oh my God!' Marjorie said, her jaw dropping. 'That's the lady we talked to outside the kitchen. _It's Mrs Green, my mother!'_

'What the hell?' Brenda said.

The girls stared in amazement as Alice stepped forward and smiled self-consciously.

The look on Lord and Lady Collendon's faces were first ones of bewilderment and then on Collendon's face, one of rage. He glanced over at Geoffrey Beresford on the opposite side of the table, whose eyes were darting about like a tennis ball. He seemed almost overcome and spilled his glass of wine.

Collendon looked sharply over at Lord Petrie. 'Claude? What on earth is going on?'

A silence fell over the table.

Lord Petrie looked towards his wife and shrugged. 'We thought Mrs Green deserved some recognition for her services.'

'Recognition?' Collendon repeated raising his voice. 'Well, I think this setting is a highly inappropriate forum for such ridiculous gestures! Kearns did you know about this?'

'She's a fine cook,' Petrie interrupted.

'A fine cook no doubt, but I'm sorry Alice, you're a _convicted criminal!'_ Collendon stated loudly. 'And you should rightly be in prison? Did you know about this Geoffrey?'

Geoffrey Beresford who was staring at Mr Kearns was floundering. 'No, your Lordship.'

Lord Collendon's face was grim. 'Petrie? Is this some sort of prank? What in God's name has possessed you, man?'

'I served you well enough, your Lordship,' Alice suddenly said in a quiet voice.

Every guest turned at the table and stared at her.

Lord Collendon shook his head. ' _Get her out of here_! You, footman, take her downstairs!'

Burt the footman went to grab Alice's arm, but she pulled away. 'Leave me be, Burt. I came to pay my respects and I will.'

' _Respects_?' Collendon replied. 'Petrie, I _insist_ that you remove this woman from my presence now!'

'That woman was your cook for ten years,' a woman at the table said.

Geoffrey Beresford suddenly rose from his chair. 'If you don't get her out of here, Petrie, I will! Mrs Green, you have breached your conditions, and I am going to phone the police!'

'That's _all_ you know isn't it?' Alice said her voice echoing around the dining room. 'To bully, to push people around. To make them feel worse than dogs. Well, Lord Collendon, and _you_ , whoever you are, I'm sick of it!'

Collendon's face showed shock at these words. ' _How dare you speak to me like that_! Your opinions are of no relevance here! You committed a dreadful and unforgiveable crime and you were convicted of it. _It is what you deserved_ , and how on earth you've managed to wheedle your way back into service is beyond me. I will certainly make sure that you are returned to prison immediately! Lord and Lady Petrie have obviously _completely_ lost their minds to a have allowed you into their home!'

' _You leave them out of it_ ,' Alice said slowly walking up along the side of the table. She stopped and stared at the aristocrat. 'Lord and Lady Petrie put you to shame, they do. They have got more decency in their little fingers than you'll ever understand!'

' _Footman_!' Collendon demanded again. ' _Get this woman away from me!_ ' But Burt remained where he was. ' _Kearns do something_!'

'Don't call poor Burt or Mr Kearns to do your dirty work,' Alice said staring Collendon in the eyes. 'If you were man enough, you would do it yourself. But that's not how people like you work, is it? You think because you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, it gives you the right to treat people like dirt? Well, I'm not dirt. And I will not be treated like such. And you can call whoever you like, because you _will_ hear me out!

' _That's enough_!' Beresford snapped. ' _Footman bring me the telephone_!'

' _Burt stay where you are_!' Lord Petrie ordered. 'I want to hear what Mrs Green has to say!'

Collendon and Beresford looked at Lord Petrie with open mouths.

'Thank you, my lord, God bless your kindness and grace,' Alice said with a nod. 'See, Lord Petrie is a very fair gentleman, as I have come to learn.' She stared at Lord Collendon and folded her arms. 'But as for you, Lord Collendon, you need to understand that things are changing. Do you think because I didn't have the benefit of a good education that I'm stupid? Do you think that me and people like me in service, are blind to the evils that you stand for? If the truth be told, we know that we're no better than skivvies, working for a bunch of...drunkards, who've got more money than sense. And I don't include Lord and Lady Petrie, who truly _are_ a cut above.'

At these words, an apoplectic Lord Collendon madly jumped up but was restrained by the guests sitting next to him, who forced him back into his chair.

Alice stepped back and snorted. 'Huh! I'm telling you, ordinary people, like me, all over this country won't be taking this nonsense for much longer. The last war had helped change a lot of attitudes, including mine, even though I was only young at the time. But the penny has dropped. Ordinary people have had a sniff of the truth and I tell you, our eyes have been opened to the rights and wrongs of this world. And we know that it's people like _you_ who are really to blame for all the hardships and the pain and the poverty. And you'll mix with anyone if it gives you an advantage. Hobnobbing with Nazis? Whatever next? And if there is another war, and I pray with all my heart that there won't be, it will down to you and your rich cronies!'

' _For God sake, Petrie!'_ Collendon said his voice almost broken.

'Let her speak man!' said one of Lady Marcia's anti-Collendon theosophical friends.

Alice continued. 'You call yourself gentry, as if you're something special? Well let me tell you, Lord Collendon, being posh doesn't make you special or a good person. Just because you're friends with the Reverend Cope won't save you at the end of the day. There is a God up there, you know, and he _will_ judge you. And every time you have sworn at a footman, or raised your hand to a chimney sweep, or shouted at a housekeeper, _he_ will have seen it and marked it down in his holy book! God sees all, and _He will_ take away what has been giving to you so easily. Mark my words.'

' _Spare me your plebian superstitions_!' Collendon retorted. 'Geoffrey for God's sake do something!'

Geoffrey Beresford who was still standing said, 'I think this has gone far enough!' he protested weakly.

Alice smirked. 'Has it? Not far enough for me. Yes, I have heard talk of revolution. I didn't even know what the word meant when I first heard it. But it has been explained to me. And I have seen that word in the newspapers. It's a word that frightens you, Lord Collendon, isn't it?'

' _Petrie, this really is intolerable!_ ' Collendon said looking to his wife for support. 'Consider our friendship ended! This is _absolutely unforgiveable_!'

' _Unforgiveable?_ ' Alice said taking a step nearer to the aristocrat. 'I'll tell you what's unforgiveable, Lord Collendon, the way you sold me to the devil. The way you have tried to destroy my life, when all I ever did was give you service and loyalty. I have probably given you the best years of my life; working from dawn to dusk, sweating over hot stoves and boiling pans to make meals that are fit for kings. And did you ever stop to thank me?'

All eyes were on Lord Collendon. Lady Collendon went to speak but words failed her.

' _You were paid for your services, weren't you_?' Collendon said clenching his fists. ' _We gave you a roof over your head, didn't we? You should be grateful, woman!'_

Alice nodded, her voice softening. 'Yes, you did all that. And I know, despite what I have just said, that you _do_ have a kind heart under that starched shirt and fancy black bowtie. But it's been smothered, as if a pillow has been put over it! A person's heart needs to breath, and I don't think yours does anymore, your Lordship.'

Lord Collendon's resistance suddenly weakened and he sighed wearily. 'Have you quite finished, Alice?'

'I don't think anything ever quite finishes, your Lordship, not completely,' Alice replied. 'But, you know, when I first came to work for you, all those years ago, I thought you _were_ a cut above. You were different then. Better, younger, more handsome. Not that I can talk! And Lady Collendon was the most wonderful person I had ever met. It was as if there was a golden light around you, that drew me to you like a moth. And I thought, these are good people, these people will protect me and teach me a better way of life. They will raise me from my ignorance.' Alice looked down at the floor and sighed. 'And you were a nicer man then. You used to personally bring the staff little presents on Christmas morning. Do you remember? And gave chocolate eggs at Easter.'

The diners looked over at Collendon, watching his reaction. He was staring with resignation at the table with glazed eyes.

Alice shook her head. 'I would have done anything for you in those days, and I did. But a cloud has come down over this country and over Tennyson Hall. From where I do not know. And it has turned what was once a happy house into a place of darkness and worry and fear, and death. And only you, your Lordship and your class of people can change that for us and this country. Because no one else, save the Good Lord himself, has the power!'

The dining room had become transfixed by Alice's words. All eyes swiveled over to Lord Collendon.

'Mrs Green?' Beresford said in a stern voice. 'You really have overstepped the mark in a most disgraceful way and I will personally arrange for you to be placed back in custody immediately...'

Lord Collendon raised his hand. 'Leave it.'

'My Lord?' Beresford queried.

'Shush now Geoffrey!' Collendon said looking down at his plate. Some later claimed there were tears in his eyes. He glanced around the table at the stupefied diners. 'Well done, Alice! You've had your say. And someone has no doubt put you up to it. And I wonder who? And it has been noted!' He then held out his hand out to lady Collendon who took it and they both stood up. Collendon glanced at Mr Kearns. 'And Kearns, you and I will have to have a talk!'

'Yes, my Lord,' Kearns replied from his place by the wall.

Everyone watched as Lord and lady Collendon gathered themselves together. Then they slowly walked out of the room taking care to avoid Alice's eyes which were firmly fixed on them.

'Are you coming, Geoffrey?' Collendon bellowed.

Geoffrey Beresford quickly joined the Collendons, and the three left the building.

Brenda, still behind the lace curtain whispered. 'I noticed your ma didn't say she didn't do the murder!'

' _Oh, forget that will you!_ ' Marjorie testily replied and then smiled. 'I think she's wonderful! Let's go and see Mr Kearns.'

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was while Lord Collendon's Rolls Royce was racing back to Tennyson House, that Geoffrey Beresford, in the back seat, clutched his stomach. Lord Collendon had been muttering angrily about, 'never being able to live this down,' and Mr Kearns, 'being a traitor'.

Lady Collendon had been nodding her head, her eyes glazed.

Geoffrey Beresford suddenly groaned in apparent agony.

Lord Collendon gave Beresford an impatient look. 'What's the matter with you man?'

' _I've been poisoned_!' Beresford said.

'What?' Collendon said.

'Do you need a doctor, Geoffrey?' Lady Collendon enquired.

'Yes, yes!' Beresford said, his voice urgent. His eyes bulged in his sockets. ' _She did it_!'

'What are you taking about, Geoffrey?' Collendon said with exasperation.

'Mrs Green, she poisoned me, I know she did!'

'Don't be ridiculous man!' Collendon said.

'Stop the car!' Beresford demanded.

'What?'

'Your Lordship, please stop the car!'

'Oh, for God's sake!' Collendon said tapping the driver on the shoulder. The car swung over to the side of the road with a jolt. Beresford stumbled out of the door and vomited violently onto the grass verge.

Lord and Lady Collendon watched the spectacle with disgust.

'Couldn't you have waited?' Collendon said in an annoyed voice.

' _Oh my God!_ ' Beresford said as he vomited again. _'I think I'm going to die!_ '

'Geoffrey, pull yourself together,' Collendon said. 'We'll be home in half an hour.'

'I need to go to hospital!' Beresford said.

'Well there isn't one for miles!' Collendon replied. 'Now wipe your mouth, have a drop of brandy and get back in the bloody car!'

Beresford staggered towards the car and then did a sort of pirouette and landed face down in the grass.

'Geoffrey?' Collendon said in a concerned voice.

But Geoffrey Beresford's eyes were already staring unseeing at a thick stalk of grass two inches from his nose. A small violet ground beetle which was clinging to it hopped off and disappeared.

Lady Collendon and the driver quickly climbed out of the car to attend to the fallen man. Beresford was unresponsive.

Lady Collendon, her face aghast, looked back at her husband. ' _Oh Lord,_ Felix, _I think he's dead!_ '

***

Fintan's own urgent need for medical care had been very quickly met. They went to see Dr Dennings in the local village, who was the Collendon's private practitioner.

'Fintan!' the tousled haired doctor said in surprise as he opened his front door. 'Do you realise what time this is? And aren't you supposed to be on the run?'

Fintan fully conscious, in pain and supported by Manny and Eddy, stumbled forward. 'I've been shot, in the thigh...'

'Oh! You'd better come in then!' Denning said. 'Go through to the surgery.'

'If you're thinking of phoning the police, speak to Mr Kearns first,' Fintan said, his face white with pain. 'He'll explain everything.'

'I wasn't going to call the police,' Denning said. 'I was just getting some fresh bandage.'

Fintan was taken through to the surgery and laid on the examination table and the swift ever professional Dr Dennings removed his blood-soaked trousers. He noted two holes in them. He then sopped up the excess blood on Fintan's leg with some toweling and examined the bullet wound. 'It seems that a missile entered and exited the Tensor Fasciae Latae. It's just deeper than a flesh wound, you were lucky!'

'It feels like I've been kicked in the leg by a rugby team,' Fintan said. 'So, the bullets gone?'

Dennings gave him a sharp look. 'Yes, it passed through you. But you'll need to be disinfected, patched up and given something for the pain. But you won't be crippled or anything like that!'

'I'm obliged to you doctor!'

'Dare I even bother to ask how you've ended up with a bullet wound?' Dennings enquired.

'Mr Kearns will fill you in,' Fintan said. 'And you can reach him at Listwell Park.'

'I know Listwell Park,' Dennings replied. 'I have patients there.'

Fintan nodded and glanced at Manny and Eddy.

'I'll patch you up for now then,' the doctor continued. 'But I recommend that you attend Lincoln Hospital at the earliest opportunity.'

'Yes doc.'

'Could I use your phone, doc?' Manny asked. 'I need to speak to Mr Kearns.'

The doctor frowned. 'By all means. But what's Mr Kearns got to do with any of this?'

Fintan gave him a pained wink. ' _You'd be surprised_!'

***

Despite Lord Collendon's ignominious departure from Listwell Park, the party resumed its momentum, with Lord Petrie making some slightly disingenuous apologies for the interruption. Everyone raised their glasses to Lady Marcia and began singing 'Happy birthday.'

Mr Kearns followed Alice back down into the kitchen, his face beaming. 'Well done Alice, you put the old man on trial and he was found wanting!'

Alice sat down at the kitchen table and looked across at Mrs Plover who was staring at her with a frozen smile on her face.

'I had to have a couple of sherries first,' Alice said, her face flushed. 'And I need another one now!'

Kearns took a chair next to Alice and glanced at Mrs Plover. 'You're probably wondering what this is all about?'

'It's not for me to say anything, Mr Kearns,' Mrs Plover said. 'Except, would you like a cup of tea, Alice?'

'I wouldn't say no,' Alice replied gratefully. 'And another glass of sherry!'

'It's all a long story Mrs Plover,' Mr Kearns said.

'I can believe that,' Mrs Plover said with understanding.

'And there's more to this story,' Kearns said to Alice.

Alice looked up. 'They're not going to take me away are they?'

Kearns laughed. 'No, no, nothing like that. Lord Petrie and I have been pulling some legal strings. We've have managed to jump the interminably long appeal queue, and got your conviction quashed. However, there's something else.'

'Not another speech is it?'

Kearns smiled. 'No, but it might come as a surprise. Someone has come to see you. You have a visitor. Perhaps I should have told you before now.'

Alice's eyelids fluttered. 'Fintan?'

'Well, actually, Fintan is on his way back as we speak. No, it's someone else.'

Alice frowned. 'Are you going to keep me guessing then, Mr Kearns?'

'Come through to the drawing room,' Kearns said standing up.

Alice wearily got to her feet and winked at Mrs Plover. 'I think I'll have that cup of tea a bit later!' She followed Mr Kearns along one of the lower corridors and up some stairs. The noise of the party could be clearly heard from there. Just as they reached one of the drawing rooms, the band struck up again. Everyone began singing 'happy birthday' to Lady Marcia.

Mr Kearns dramatically opened the door and Alice walked through and looked around. Marjorie and Brenda were standing by the mantlepiece studying some silver-framed photographs. They turned to look at her.

'May I present...your daughter!' Mr Kearns said. Then he quietly closed the door and disappeared.

Alice stared at the girls open mouthed. 'Not you two again!' she said. 'Is this some kind of a joke?'

Marjorie stepped forward her cheeks flushed with emotion. 'No, it's not a joke. Hello mother. It's me Marjorie. I've come all the way over from Ireland to see you. I hope you didn't mind.'

Alice just stared, her face uncertain. 'Marjorie?'

Marjorie took Alice's hand. 'Shall we sit down?'

'Oh, my God, is it really you?' Alice said. 'I can't believe it! You're so...grown up!'

'I'm not a baby anymore.'

They sat down on one of the sofas and looked at each other. Alice's face appeared in turmoil.

'This is my friend, Brenda by the way,' Marjorie said.

'Hello, again.' Alice smiled. There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes. 'Marjie, you're so pretty!'

'And you were pretty good yourself!' Marjorie said.

Alice took hold of Marjorie's hands. 'And you've come all the way from Ireland to see me? Your disgraced mother whose been in prison.'

'Don't say that,' Marjorie said pushing some hair from Alice's forehead.

Alice began to weep, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing your eyes. 'What must you think of me?'

'Please don't cry! Are you upset that I've come?' Marjorie asked, tears forming in her own eyes. 'I'll go, if this is too much for you?'

'No, I'm crying because I am so...happy,' Alice said. 'I can't believe it, my very own, dear daughter, the one who has always been in my heart. Come to see me. I have never forgotten _you_!'

Marjorie gave Alice a warm hug. 'I know, I saw all those letters.'

'You saw the letters?' Alice asked.

'I'm just going for a walk,' Brenda said with an awkward smile leaving the room.

'I read some of the letters and thanks for all that money, by the way,' Marjorie said. 'My mother in Ireland never told me about you. I found the letters by accident.'

'Oh, well, I'm glad,' Alice said. 'I'm glad you came. You were the one thing that was missing from my life. It was like there was a big hole in my heart. Are you going back to Ireland?'

Marjorie nodded. 'I will be, but now that we've met, I would like to keep in touch. I mean, I think Brenda wants to stay here, in this country. I might be tempted to as well.'

'But what about your...mother in Ireland, she'll miss you?'

'She is unwell at the moment, so I will have to get back to take care of her,' Marjorie replied.

'Who's taking care of her now?'

'The neighbours are really nice and helpful,' Marjorie explained. 'There's also Mrs Murphy and Mrs Keen who pops in. But I will have to get back.'

'Of course, you do,' Alice said. She sighed. 'I just can't believe it. And I need to explain that I... had no choice...I was forced to give you away...'

'That's alright,' Marjorie said in a gentle voice. 'It has all worked out well. My foster mother has been a good mother.'

'And I have been a terrible mother!'

'No, don't say that. But you loved me that's the main thing,' Marjorie said. 'I can tell that from your letters.'

Alice smiled. 'And I always will, for what it's worth.'

Marjorie gave her another hug. 'When I saw you outside the kitchen door I had this funny feeling it was you.'

'Do you know what?' Alice said. 'When I first saw you, you reminded me of someone.'

'Who is that then?'

'It's a long story, as Mr Kearns likes to say,' Alice said with a grin. She wiped her eyes again.

Marjorie nodded and smiled.

Alice touched Marjorie's cheek. 'Did Mr Kearns tell you the latest?'

'No,' Marjorie replied. 'He did say something, but I didn't quite understand all of it.'

'You and me could be in the money!' Alice said ungrammatically.

Marjorie frowned. 'Ah? Mr Kearns did say something about an inheritance or something?'

'That's right, and Lady Marcia and Mr Kearns are trying to sort it all out. It's been going through the courts. But we got a sort of...share in some shops or something. I don't know the ins and outs. You might be able to live like a lady.'

Marjorie smiled. 'That would be good.'

Brenda had come back into the room. ' _That would be grand_! And I'll work for you!'

Everyone laughed.

'You can be my personal assistant, Brenda' Marjorie said.

'I'll do the cooking!' Alice said.

' _No you will not_!' Marjorie said firmly. 'You'll be the grand...duchess and we'll all live together in a big mansion in the countryside. My mother back in Ireland as well.'

'We might not all get along!' Alice said.

'We'll get along just fine, don't you think, Brenda?' Marjorie asked.

'No, we'll be like cats and dogs, scrapping every five minutes!' Brenda replied with a smirk.

Marjorie laughed. 'We'll be fine.'

'I reckon,' Alice agreed.

At that point Lady Marcia swept into the room. Alice got up to curtsy.

'Sit down silly,' Lady Marcia said. She beamed at everyone. 'So, you've finally met?'

'Yes, thanks to you, milady,' Alice said.

'I can see that it has all worked out well,' Lady Marcia said.

Alice nodded. 'It couldn't have worked out any better, milady!'

'What an evening, eh?' Lady Marcia observed giving Alice a meaningful look.

'Indeed, milady,' Alice replied.

Lady Marcia went up to the girls to shake their hands. Introductions were made. Marjorie rose and curtsied, as did Brenda.

'Excellent!' Lady Marcia said with a graceful smile. 'You are all most welcome to stay overnight and have a bit of supper. My butler, Mr Toop will organise this if you wish, unless of course you need to return home, but it is a bit late. He'll organise a driver, if you need one.'

'That's very kind of you milady,' Alice said with a broad smile.

'Well, I'll see you all a bit later,' Lady Marcia said with a wink leaving the room.

'What a nice lady,' Marjorie observed.

'She is one of the best!' Alice replied. 'Have you girls eaten?'

The girls shook their heads. 'Not yet.'

'Come down to the kitchen with me then,' Alice said rising from the sofa. 'And we can all have a bit of supper down there and a good old chat. It's more cosy!'

***

Fintan was dropped off at Listwell Park by the crew, who had to return to the barracks. They offered to help him in, but he refused not wanting to make a scene. There was then some manly hugging, and everyone swore to keep in touch. Fintan limped in through the kitchen door to find Alice and the girls and other members of staff sitting round the table laughing loudly. Fintan winked at Alice who looked down at the bandages on his leg.

'Oh, my goodness,' Alice said getting up and coming towards him. 'Fintan, what happened? Are you alright?'

Fintan gave her a crooked grin. 'Couldn't be better. Just had a little mishap but nothing major. I'll tell you about it later.'

Alice's face was wrinkled with concern. 'You really have been through the wars. Let me make you a cup of tea. Are you hungry?'

'Always,' he replied glancing at Mr Kearns who was standing by the sink.

Kearns quickly came over to him and clapped him on the back. 'Let's go upstairs for a quick debriefing, and then you can have some supper.'

It was almost three in the morning, and there were still some inebriated guests loitering about in various parts of the building. Kearns took Fintan into a small upstairs office where Lord Claude Petrie ensconced behind a desk. He rose to greet Fintan and extended his hand. 'Well, done Fintan, and I'm sorry you sustained an injury, please sit down. I gather you saw the trusted Dr Dennings?'

'I did that sir, he was a gentleman,' Fintan replied taking a chair. 'And he bandaged me up like a mummy.'

Lord Petrie laughed. 'Good.'

Mr Kearns also took a chair. 'I gather from Manny that the operation was a complete success?'

'I reckon so, Mr Kearns,' Fintan said. 'We had some trouble from Mr Jode, but I locked him in his shed!'

'What was the extent of the damage to Tennyson House?' Kearns asked.

'We blasted away a window and half a wall and the whole place caught fire,' Fintan answered. 'But I think we managed to kill quite a few of the enemy.'

Kearns nodded. 'Good. Would you like a drink?'

'I would like that very much,' Fintan a said. 'I hope the whole place doesn't burn down.'

'Me too,' Mr Kearns said with a wistful expression as he fixed Fintan and Lord Petrie a couple of scotches from the drinks cabinet. 'I should have given the fire brigade advance warning. I wasn't thinking. But if you remember, the place was fitted with those newfangled fire doors a few years ago. With any luck they might contain the damage!'

'Fingers crossed.' Fintan replied. 'Fingers crossed.'

***

Although Mr Jode could not be described as a hero in any sense, he did manage to save the day. As soon as Fintan's crew had gone, he broke out of the shed and ran to see what he could do to help. He was horrified to see that the lower part of Tennyson House was ablaze. He rushed into the building through a side entrance to find the foreign staff in a frenzied panic. _'Bring water in buckets!_ ' he shouted.

'Wasser?' a German servant asked.

' _Yes, wasser wasser_!'

Jode then quickly ran into the main hallway and began shutting all the doors around the vicinity of the smoking room. He was assisted by the chauffeurs and some of the British guests who had been elsewhere in the house at the time of the attack. Thick grey smoke had begun to infiltrate the entire ground floor. Coughing violently, Jode then got on the phone in the hallway and called the fire brigade and also requested an ambulance. The buckets of water which the servants brought were used to drench the closed doors to contain the blaze.

By the time, the fire brigade had arrived, Mr Jode was lying on the grass on the grounds of the estate quite exhausted by his exertions. Fortunately, the fire had been contained.

It was at this point that the Collendons arrived with the dead of body Geoffrey Beresford. He was slumped with staring eyes next to Lady Collendon on the back seat of the Rolls Royce.

Lord Collendon, who was not athletic, jumped out of the Rolls Royce with his driver and ran madly towards the smoking building. As Lady Collendon later recalled in her diary, ' _It was a night which changed many things_!'

***

It appeared that all the Germans delegates and one servant perished, either directly as result of the mortar assault or because of the fire and smoke. Luckily, most of the foreign staff were below stairs. Klausmeister's body was unrecognizable and Colonel Schrepps' was never found. Interestingly, Mr Jode's old Morris Cowley was stolen the same night. Further, at five o'clock the next morning, a small plane was seen taking off from Wickhambrook heading for the coast. It was widely thought that it was Schrepps making his escape. None of the British guests were harmed as they were in another part of the building during the attack. It was suggested that they may have been tipped off.

The story of the assault by 'Scottish extremists' made both the front and inside pages of the London and European press. Berlin were deeply shocked and embarrassed by the whole affair and fiercely denied it ever happened claiming it was a propaganda exercise. Possibly as a result, plans to invade Britain were put on hold.

Paul the footman, and other staff, who had been given the week off, returned to help restore normality. The smoking room was bordered up, though the reek of charred wood had permeated everywhere. Some of the most valuable paintings in Lord Collendon's collection had been in the smoking room. Staff were also instructed never to refer to the smoking room by that name again.

Alice and Fintan became co-workers at Listwell Park, and though never married, remained very good close friends. The effect of Dr Rimsky's therapy on Alice was negligible. Fintan never did spend any of his counterfeit money which was later stuffed in a letterbox and found by the postman who retired on it. Nor did Fintan ever get around to redecorating General Walter's quarters. The crew, Manny, Eddy and Duds went to America after the war and started an army surplus business.

Shirley, the scullery maid rose to become assistant cook at Listwell Park and did very well. Paul the footman, died from alcoholism before he was forty.

Brenda Clough married Tony Wiggins, formerly a guest at Mrs Teague's house, and they rented a flat in Cambridge. Marjorie Accling met and married Mick Moore and they moved to Nailsbourne in Somerset.

Lord Collendon lapsed into a deep dark depression from which he barely recovered and his wife Clara, became an historical biographer to help with the finances. Lord and Lady Petrie continued with life as they always did with kindness and good humour, lending a hand to the poor or downtrodden wherever they could. They never spoke to the Collendons again.

Mr Jode continued to serve the Collendons and never had to face prosecution for the murder of Michael O'Flaherty. Kalo Smythe, wanted for smuggling, absconded to Ireland.

Mr Kearns never returned to Tennyson House and moved to a small flat in London.

Geoffrey Beresford's cause of death was officially registered as a heart attack.

Frau Brinkman, though not a Spanish agent, worked for the British, and retired to Glasgow after the war. The full extent of her mission had never been disclosed to Mr Kearns. Miss Derrius was Frau Brinkmann's lover and was later found drowned in a London canal.

Colonel Schrepps went to Argentina because he believed Hitler had flown there on the 29th of April 1945 and was convinced the suicide in the bunker was staged.

Sootsac the cat was last seen by a nurse in Dr Denning's back garden licking its chest.

All official records of Alice Green's prosecution mysteriously disappeared, and Everett Fenwicke still managed to retain complete control of the Fenwicke fortune. It was now up to Marjorie Moore to right the wrongs which had been inflicted on her mother.

***

Taunton 1957

Inspector Burse's desk at Taunton Police Station had never been in such a mess. Coffee cups were strewn across it like a table at a soldier's mess. The inspector looked up at the large circular clock on the wall. 'Well, Marjorie, that's quite a story. Mrs Green sounds completely innocent to me but proving it might be difficult.'

'I know,' Marjorie said tiredly. She had been sitting in the inspector's office for three hours.

He looked at her. 'And you say you've tried checking official records about her trial, but had no joy? What about newspaper reports? I mean, I've heard of the case, so you should be able to dig it up as a matter of public record.'

'I've already applied to the courts, been to the library and I wrote to the papers and they said that there wasn't a thing.'

The Inspector pulled a face. 'Very weird! Well, as I say, I think your best bet is to get a solicitor, if you're after compensation.'

Marjorie snorted. 'We've had it up to here with solicitors! My mother and I are supposed to get a share of that Will I told you about. We paid out a small fortune to solicitors and barristers and got nowhere fast. My Irish foster mother also helped us for a while with the expenses, but she died before we got anywhere. Lord and Lady Petrie even helped with the legal costs too but were threatened.'

'Threatened?' the Inspector said. 'By whom?'

'That horrible Lord Everett Fenwicke, son of Clarence Fenwicke,' Marjorie said. 'He reckoned the second Will didn't exist. The Will that mentions my mother and me.'

'Oh, the codicil,' the Inspector said. 'I suppose it would be a simple matter to destroy it. There should be some records of it at Somerset House in London. It's a wonder you ever found out about it.'

'Mr Kearns found out about it,' Marjorie explained.

'Ah, Mr Kearns, the flying butler,' the Inspector observed. 'I wonder what happened to him?'

'Got killed in the war.'

'Really?' the inspector said. 'Was it on active service?'

'No, it was during the blitz,' Marjorie explained. 'His flat was bombed in London.'

'Dear me!' the inspector said. 'Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think there's much I can do to help. I will however, see what I can dig up from police records and if there _is_ something, you've got a good starting point. You can hardly pursue a compensation claim if the case doesn't officially exist.'

'That's why I've come to you,' Marjorie said. 'As you were the nearest police station. I thought you might be able to find something.'

The Inspector nodded. 'I'll do my best. I will also try and contact this Inspector Haycock who used to work in Lincoln.'

'Tried that already,' Marjorie said.

The Inspector was surprised. 'You've been a busy bee!'

'He retired, started a bed and breakfast business, but it went broke and then he went to Spain.'

'Ok, what about Paul the Footman?' the inspector said. 'He was a witness at the trial.'

'Never thought of that,' Marjorie said brightening up.

'And the legal team that represented your mother at the trial?'

'They moved offices and one retired,' Marjorie answered. 'But they wouldn't speak to me. I think everyone is scared of Everett Fenwicke.'

'It certainly sounds like it,' the inspector said. 'Scared of something, that's for sure. Ok, leave your full address with the sergeant at the desk and I will get back to you. _But don't hold your breath!'_

***

Marjorie took a train back to her little cottage in Nailsbourne feeling that she had definitely achieved something. Her Irish husband Mick, a short ruddy faced man with a bald head, met her at the door. 'Well, how did it go?'

'The Inspector was ever so nice, but he was retiring this very day,' Marjorie said taking off her coat and hanging it next to the door. 'But he did say he would see if there were any official records of the case. Because, as we found out, you can't make a claim if the case doesn't officially exist.'

Mick nodded. 'Exactly. There's just been a big cover-up!'

Marjorie looked at him. 'Where's ma?'

'She is in the conservatory,' Mick said. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?'

'I'd kill for one,' Marjorie said. She went through to the conservatory where her mother, Alice was sitting reading a book.

Alice looked up and smiled. 'Hello dear, how did it go?'

Marjorie bent down and gave her mother a big kiss on the cheek. 'Quite well actually. The inspector that I saw said he would check all the records. If he finds anything, then we can start thinking about making a claim for compensation.'

Alice looked doubtful. 'Thank you for trying dear. But it seems to me that the only people who will make any money are the legal people, the solicitors and what-have-you.'

'But apart from the money, it's important to have your name cleared as well, isn't it?' Marjorie said sitting down next to her mother.

Alice shrugged. 'To be honest, it doesn't bother me.'

'But it bothers me,' Marjorie said as Mick came in with two cups of coffee and some biscuits. He arranged them on the little table and went out again.

'Thank you, Mick,' Alice said.

'No worries,' Mick said from the kitchen.

'Look, dear, I know you mean well,' Alice said. 'And I know you said that if we get compensation then we can afford to fight the big case. But, it's such a lot of effort, isn't it?'

'I don't mind,' Marjorie said picking up her cup of coffee and taking a sip. 'And I want your innocence to be official!'

'My innocence?' Alice said with a smile.

Mick walked in again. 'I'm just going down to the village for some fags!'

'Could you pick up some strawberry jelly cubes, hun?' Marjorie requested. 'Or orange.'

'No prob,' Mick said walking briskly to the front door.

When Mick had gone Alice leaned forward. 'Sylvie, dear, I really need to get something off my chest.'

Marjorie put down her cup. 'Oh, yes?'

Alice sighed heavily. 'I don't know how to say this.'

'Take your time, have a biscuit!'

Alice smiled. 'I'm...'

'Yes?'

'I'm not really...'

'Not really what?'

'I'm not really as innocent as you think I am,' Alice said. 'There, I got it out.'

Marjorie nodded. 'Oh. How do you mean?'

Alice picked up her tea and took a sip. ' _I did it!'_

'You did what?'

'I did the murders,' Alice said lowering her eyes.

Marjorie was silent for a moment and then laughed. 'Oh, Ma, you're such a comedian sometimes.'

'I'm not joking.'

Marjorie frowned. 'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying that I killed them, my husband Stuart, that German man and that other bloke, Mr Beresford, with Mr Kearns help, and I poisoned Big Jean in prison!'

Marjorie's eyes widened slightly, and she slumped forward. 'You killed them?'

'Yes, I put rat poison and deadly night shade in their food,' Alice confessed. 'My husband didn't realise what I had done. It's a long story.'

'I see,' Marjorie said, her face puzzled. 'What do you mean you had Mr Kearns help?'Alice shrugged. 'He gave me some liquid to put in Mr Beresford's food.'

Marjorie's face was nonplussed. 'Ah.'

'Did you bring back my diaries, dear?' Alice asked.

'No, I left the diaries with the inspector, but they are in safe hands, I'm sure.'

'Not to worry. I didn't give you the really bad ones, where I tell all,' Alice said matter of factly. 'So, I sort of don't think I'm really entitled to _any_ compensation. I know Mr Kearns was always talking about it, but easier said than done.'

'Did you take your tablets today?' Marjorie abruptly asked.

'Yes,' Alice said. 'Look, I'm not dotty, I know what I'm saying. I did it, but I'm not sorry.'

'You're not sorry?'

'No.'

Marjorie sighed and sat back, contemplating her mother curiously. 'Well, this is a bit of a shock.'

'I'll leave if you like,' Alice said.

' _You'll do no such thing_ ,' Marjorie replied. 'The people you say you killed were horrible anyway. They probably deserved it.'

'That's what I thought,' Alice said.

Marjorie put her hand on her mother's arm. 'Look, we'll pretend we never had this conversation. Just don't say a word to Mick.'

'No.'

'You promise?'

Alice nodded. 'I promise!'

***

It was late by the time Marjorie and Mick Moore went to bed. Marjorie was unusually preoccupied. She put on her nightie and slowly climbed into the bed next to her husband.

He leaned towards her and gave her a kiss. 'You alright?'

'Yeah, fine,' she replied.

He gave her a look. 'You do know that your mother says she did them?'

She turned her head sharply. 'Did what?'

'She reckons did the murders,' he said. 'She made me promise not to tell you.'

'My God and _I made her promise not to tell you!_ ' Marjorie said surprised.

'Really? Well, she told me a couple of weeks ago,' Mick replied. 'I didn't mention it before because I didn't believe her. I think she is just saying that to save you the effort of trying to prove her innocence!'

Marjorie shook her head. 'She only told me today.'

Mick turned out the light on his side of the bed. 'Did she?'

'Yeah,' Marjorie said and then she laughed. 'I don't really care if she did do them, the murders I mean. As long as she doesn't murder us!'

Mick laughed.

Marjorie rubbed her arm. 'I'm not going to give up though. We'll just do it for the money then.'

'That's as good a reason as any,' Mick replied.

And on that note, Marjorie turned out the light on her side and went to sleep.

***

Ten days later, Inspector Burse contacted them by letter. 'Good news,' he wrote. 'We discovered an old Gestetner copy of the amended Fenwicke Will among Mr Lawrence Kearns' private effects, of all places. Kearns died in the Blitz in 1941, but his sister, Helen, did recover a suitcase with some very interesting things in it. These included newspaper cuttings about your mother's trial and unsent love letters to her. Apparently Mr Kearns _was madly in love with her_!

###

Sunday 11.16 am

Hi,

Herbert Howard Jones here,

As you can imagine, trying to write a novel is a lonely task and so by reading it you have sort of kept me company. Thanks for getting thus far. If you are _moved_ to give me a positive review for my efforts that would be greatly appreciated. You can submit a review where you obtained this copy. Good reviews really help an author, as they obviously encourage other readers to take the plunge.

Best regards,

HHJ

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

British Herbert Howard Jones was born in the fifties and was formerly a porter at the BBC before he became a civil servant and then trained as a legal executive. (Passed one exam only!) He dabbles in writing and the arts in general and is very keen on music. He is particularly fond of domestic animals, metaphysics and is fascinated by the future of technology. His profile page can be found via this link:

<https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HHjones>

MY OTHER PROJECTS

I will be producing a follow up novel to the current book tentatively entitled, 'The Americanisation of Marjorie Moore.' I have also just recently finished a small book of verse – 50 odd poems under the title of 'Rhyme and Reason'. In addition to the above I am working on some art and music projects.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Grateful thanks to Smashwords for distribution, Maureen Cutajar at Gopublished for formatting my book, and Xpress Videos at Fiverr for producing my promo video.

