The Secret Generations (16 page)

A small child almost ran between their legs, chased by its nanny, scolding and apologizing to the two gentlemen.

They walked on in silence. ‘You’re having him watched, I presume?’ Giles could have been talking to himself.

Kell smiled.
‘Quinn says we’ll have details of his every movement. Even his bowels. That’s what he said.’ Giles simply nodded.

*

Quinn was on duty, marching in the funeral as a bodyguard to the Royal family. But Charles joined Kell and the orderly, occupying an empty room in a government office which afforded a view of the entrance to Westminster Hall.

Standing back from separate windows, they saw the entire, moving, procession: kings
and emperors, princes and potentates, the military escorts, the regiments of the line, cavalry, bands, regiments of German, Russian and Austrian armies, and the whole heraldic panoply of England.

In all, nine kings, a battalion of princes, armies of dignitaries, sixty-three aides-de-camp (all Peers of the Realm), England
’s three Field Marshals (Kitchener, Roberts and Wood), six Admirals of the Fleet (including the famous Lord Fisher), the late King’s horse, saddle empty, boots reversed in the stirrups, and – with a touch of British sentiment – King Teddy’s wirehaired terrier, Caesar, trotting behind.

The bluejackets carried the coffin, wrapped in the Royal Ensign, from Westminster Hall, to place it on the gun carriage for the journey along Whitehall, down the Mall and Piccadilly, and then through the Park and on to Paddington
– where the final lap was made, to Windsor, by train, for the committal.

Giles watched from a different vantage point, and as he looked at this incredible gath
ering, he had a strange premonition, based on his own particular sense of history. To see all this splendour and power on display was like watching the last act in an incredible opera. In his heart he knew it was never going to be the same again.

In their secret watchtower, Kell, with Charles, noted that Captain Rebeur-Paschwitz was present. Idly Kell again wondered why this particular intelligence officer was in England at all.

*

‘Apparently he came over for a haircut,’ Quinn told them late on the Monday afternoon, when they met at a house recently purchased as a ‘safe property’ by the Branch, for most private meetings or interrogations.

Quinn had put his two best men on the surveillance of Rebeur-Paschwitz
– Detective Inspectors Drury and Seal. ‘Drury telephoned me, quite late last night. The Captain went back to his hotel after the funeral. He changed out of uniform, then ate a slap-up meal at the Café Royal.’

The German had returned to
his hotel, and the two surveillance men would have lost him if they had not been so experienced. One took the front entrance while the other watched the rear. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Rebeur-Paschwitz came out – ‘Quite furtively,’ – from the back.

‘
Now, you’d expect a naval officer to go over to the Savoy or the Dorchester to have his hair trimmed. Not so our man. Would you say it was normal for a senior German naval officer to get his hair cut, late at night, in a barber’s shop in the Caledonian Road?’

They remained silent as Quinn told them that it was a seedy place, owned and run by a man named Karl Gustav Ernst.

‘Technically the fellow’s British.’ Quinn’s distaste showed, like a man who has taken a mouthful of spoiled fish. ‘British born, but with strong German links. I have men watching the place now. We’ve rented a little terraced house across the road.’

Charles, naturally, wanted to barge straight in.
‘Kick the beggar hard.’

Kell slowly shook his head. There could be large rewards if they played it carefully.
‘I’d put money on the barber’s shop being a “post office” – and an important one at that, if someone like Rebeur-Paschwitz takes the trouble to visit.’

Quinn agreed.
‘There are ways of finding out, Vernon. We have our own methods, but I sense we should keep this strictly official. We’ll need permission to get all Ernst’s post intercepted and opened. It should be done fast, I feel. There’s no point in putting this one “on the long finger,” as they say where I come from.’

‘
Charles,’ Kell hardly turned towards him, ‘I think we should have a word with your Uncle Giles.’ He actually winked at Quinn before turning to face Charles. ‘Your Uncle Giles is a friend of the Home Secretary, is he not?’

‘
They live practically next door to one another, yes.’

‘
If we have to get post intercepted, then we must see the Home Secretary. Let’s go and see Giles Railton and ask if he can put in a word for us. This must be settled now.’

The large opera
tion that was now mounted, by MO5 and the Branch, against the Caledonian Road shop, became directly responsible for more staff, and offices, being made available to Kell.

*

The full chapter of events, springing from the German Captain Rebeur-Paschwitz’s visits to the barber’s shop in the Caledonian Road, was discussed again later in the year, on a beautiful Sunday in August, at Redhill Manor.

The houseparty was Sara
’s idea. Giles had been one of the first to receive an invitation, and he telephoned to ask a favour. Could Sara ask Captain and Mrs Vernon Kell? ‘Charles’ boss,’ he said, with no hint of intrigue.

This week-end at Redhill was a welcome break for everyone, though Sara had no inkling that Giles had managed to turn her invitation into a meeting for Kell, Charles, John Railton and himself, to discuss clandestine affairs. He also wanted to view Charles at close quarters.

Charles almost turned down the visit, for Mildred was in the last weeks of her pregnancy – continually tired, and warned by her doctors that she should rest even more than usual. But Mildred loved Redhill, and insisted that the change would do her good. To be safe, Charles had ensured that their daughter, Mary Anne – roughly James’ age – should accompany them.

Mary Anne, a slender vivacious girl, with eyes
– as Andrew once remarked – ‘the colour of the North Sea in winter, though with more warmth’, had become something of a problem.

Already they were talking of her
‘coming out’; but Mary Anne stubbornly refused to discuss any arrangements. Mildred, with time heavy on her hands, had even started to make lists to cover the ball they would give for her, following the usual ritual presentation at Court, and other social delights which surrounded girls of Mary Anne’s age and station. But when it was mentioned, the girl showed no interest. At last, during one angry evening, Mary Anne claimed that she wanted none of the tradition, revealing her only aim in life.

‘
Please, Mama and Papa,’ she had spoken with cold reason. ‘I know you won’t like it, but I think all the “Season” business is a waste of time and money. Besides it isn’t going to help me.’ It was then she told them that she wanted to become a nurse. ‘Eventually I shall be a doctor and the way into that profession is through nursing.’

Charles and Mildred were scandalized.

The skirmishes moved backward and forward, though Mary Anne’s mind appeared to be unchanged. In time there would be an inevitable clash, but, for the moment, the real battle was carefully avoided.

Giles detected an uneasiness between the girl and her parents, but that was not unusual for headstrong young women of Mary Anne
’s age. In any case, he had little time to concern himself with small family struggles. In truth, the maze of Giles Railton’s mind, was at this moment so full of twists and turns, so devious and confused, that even he wondered how he managed to keep all the threads together.

Giles had not seen John for nearly a month, and the sight of him at Redhill now gave cause for alarm. John Railton had lost weight, becoming almost gaunt. His hair had turned even more grey, and his facial colour constantly changed from a sallow lack of pigment to sudden crimson flushes.

They met, after dinner, in The General’s study, John slumped behind his father’s old desk looking listless and tired.

‘
Sara’s worried, but I dare not tell her the truth,’ he answered when Giles asked after his health.

‘
And what
is
the truth?’

John gave a short, bitter laugh.
‘That I’m the odd man out; a Railton who is not going to make old bones…’

‘But, my dear fellow…’

John held up a hand, shaking his head, ‘It’s all right. There’s nothing to be done. I’ve got what one doctor described as “A dicky heart”. The man I saw in Harley Street was more precise.’ He gave a resigned shrug.

‘B
ut, surely, you should rest. Stop, take a holiday…’

‘
And gain an extra year? Maybe two? That’s not my style: not the Railton style. The General could have died suddenly in battle, from the age of sixteen onwards. I shall go in my early fifties. A year, two years with luck.’

Giles nodded. He would have felt the same.

So, on the Sunday afternoon, four of the men were seated on the rear terrace of the Manor – the women having taken themselves off; while the other male members of the party, including James Railton and Dick Farthing, were examining a new aeroplane – the prototype MF7 ‘Longhorn’ – that Dick had flown down to Redhill.

Mildred rested; the sky remained clear, a deep blue; and the sun blazed hot on the stone terrace where the men sat watching the butterflies amon
g the lines of flower beds, conscious of the background drone of bees and other insects.

Giles began by saying he felt it was an ideal opportunity to review the situation.
‘…Put the pieces together: particularly for John. He has only the barest of details, and, as Cabinet minister with special responsibilities, he should know everything.’

‘
We could have been badly hindered.’ Kell gazed at a stone urn, as though the flowers cascading from it held some particular secret known only to him. ‘Could have been held up and missed much. That fellow King proved a great stumbling block.’

Charles asked why they had been saddled with King, at all?
‘We really thought you could work the oracle with Winston, you know, Uncle Giles.’ Sir Alexander King was the civil servant in charge of the General Post Office.

Giles gave a friendly growl, recalling how Kell had arrived, with Charles, seeking immediate clearance to have Karl Gustav Ernst
’s mail intercepted and examined.

Half thinking aloud, and partly for his own amusement, Giles went over the facts of that night.

After hearing Kell out, he had immediately telephoned Churchill’s Eccleston Square house. After a short delay, the Home Secretary came on the line: not too pleased at having been called from his bath. Giles told him that this was a matter of national importance, and was reluctantly asked to come straight to the house. ‘You’ll have to take me as you find me,’ Churchill said. ‘I have the onerous duty of making an after-dinner speech tonight. Clearly, I am tardy with my ablutions.’

‘
I was received by the Home Secretary in his dressing room, as he bumbled around for studs and tie,’ Giles told them. ‘He was dressed informally – in his under-drawers and shirt, stockings and carpet slippers.’

After listening to Giles, Churchill had looked glum.
‘You realize the Royal Mail is sacrosanct?’ he said.

Giles had caught a glint in Churchill
’s eye. ‘Come on, Winston. This is a question of the country’s security. By scrutinizing this fellow’s “Royal Mail” we could bag a whole nest of the blighters.’

Winston Churchill nodded.
‘Very well, I’ll make my recommendation tonight. But I fear it will take a few days. My order alone will not bear complete weight. To have Ernst’s post examined you must get assistance from a man not noted for speed.’ He spoke of Sir Alexander King.

‘
Took three days,’ Kell still gazed at the urn. ‘Even then, he tied us up with red ribbon.’

Across the lawns, on the far side of a line of trees, two figures could be seen on horseback.

‘My farm and estate manager, Berry,’ John Railton said, as though this important conversation had little bearing on
his
future.

Charles said that King had been nice enough, but played by the book.
‘It widened the circle of knowledge. Dangerous.’ It had worried everyone. King insisted that the sorter concerned had to know, so had a senior member of the Post Office. ‘Those two are always present when the stuffs opened,’ Kell turned his attention directly to John. ‘That’s three men in all, if you count one of my people. Too many for something as sensitive as this.’

They admitted that it was wo
rth it, though. The first intercepted package contained a dozen sets of hair clippers, complete with leaflets in German, on their use. Careful examination revealed a number of more specific instructions mixed up with the leaflets. These included postcards and letters, addressed, stamped and marked to be forwarded. The letters contained minute details of targets for reconnaissance and surveillance.

Similar packages and bulky letters arrived at roughly two-week intervals, most of them sent by a Fraulein Reimers, of Potsdam. They all contained cards and letters for forwarding. There were also messages for Gustav Steinhauer, the self-styled paper manufacturer, drawn to their attention during Captain Nicolai
’s visit to London.