The Secret Generations (30 page)

Caspar Railton was still breathing, and, as Billy put an ear to his chest, he moved slightly and groaned.

Still working in a frenzy of speed, Billy put on his tunic and buckled the webbing equipment. His clothes were smeared with Caspar’s blood – his hands like those of a butcher. He took his rifle, slinging it around his neck; checked that the chamber of Caspar’s revolver was fully loaded; then he hoisted the maimed body across his shoulders, carrying it as he would lift a sack of turnips.

So Billy took his subaltern down from the ridge at Le Cateau.

At a jog trot, he carried the shattered body for over two miles, with only one incident. As he approached a copse, near the fighting below Le Cateau, Billy heard the crack of a bullet passing near; then the thump and flash of its rifle ten yards away, in long grass on the copse’s perimeter. He fired twice with the revolver, and a German soldier half rose from the grass, stumbling and falling on his face. A comrade stepped openly from the trees, calmly bringing his rifle to his shoulder. Billy shot him once, through the stomach. A third broke cover, his face anxious, and hands uncertain on his rifle. But there was no uncertainty about Billy. Without pausing in his steady run, he fired the revolver again, from across his body. The German did not shoot. Billy had but one thought: Caspar Railton had to be brought safe home.

He did not notice the flesh wound in his own right upper arm, where a bullet
– spent and stray – had lodged. And, when he got Caspar to the comparative safety of a dressing station near Corps Headquarters, he refused treatment until Mr Railton was seen to.

Even then, Billy would take no rest or food until the medical officer assured him that Second Lieutenant Railton was still alive, and they would do all they could for him. Only then, and after being ordered
– by a bristling Major – to receive medical attention, did Billy Crook leave Caspar Railton.

Chapter Four

At a little before six o
’clock in the evening, Charles Railton climbed the steps to the front door of the Cheyne Walk house. It was the first Friday in September, and already the leaves were turning to red and gold. Summer was draining away, as were the chances of a quick, decisive victory in France.

It was indicative of Charles
’ sense of guilt that, on entering the drawing room to find Mildred sobbing, he immediately became concerned lest she had, by some feminine intuition, delved into the darkest secret on his conscience.

‘
Oh, Charles,’ she ran to him – eyes red, nose running.

For a second, Charles was too shaken even to inquire into the reason for this outburst of tears. Gently, he led her to the Chesterfield, and there she told him about Caspar.

‘Oh, my God.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘How bloody awful. Only just twenty. Arm and leg?’

She nodded, sniffing in a way she would never have done had there been servants about.
‘Andrew sent a note from the Admiralty, and I’ve been with Charlotte all afternoon.’ She paused, swallowing. ‘Had to hold myself together with her. Let myself go when I got back here. I keep seeing him as he was at that last dinner party in June.’

He gave a small shake of the head, then asked how Charlotte had taken it. The question seemed stupid.

‘Desperate, of course. Caspar was such a… well, so active… He was… so… so…’

‘
They say he’ll live, though?’

Mildred raised her eyebrows, making her face a spoiled mask of tragedy.
‘He’s out of shock; miraculously there’s no gas gangrene. Apparently the signs are good. They’re bringing him back tomorrow.’

‘
Poor wretched young man, and he’s only one of hundreds.’ Charles looked away. ‘Perhaps it would be better if he died. A lad like that crippled for life.’

Mildred did not reply, and Charles asked how Andrew was bearing up.

‘You know Andrew.’ Her nose still ran like a village pump. ‘As always. Strong. Silent. He said at least they did not have to mourn – which, I suppose, gives the lie to you. The casualty lists are terrible: from Mons, Le Cateau, Guise. Thank heaven William’s only four years old. I couldn’t bear…’

Charles continued to comfort her, his mind taking in the reality of the golden Caspar being a cripple for all time.

‘The most wonderful thing…’ Mildred started.

‘
Yes?’

‘
His servant saved his life. His batman! You know who? Martha Crook’s son – Billy. Martha Crook who saved my life and delivered William Arthur at Redhill.’

‘
I didn’t think that lad was old enough to be serving.’

‘
Old enough? None of them are old enough. Brave enough, though.’ She told Charles the story of Billy Crook, and how he had brought Caspar down from the ridge. ‘He’s already home. They’re sending him to some training depot, according to Uncle Giles, so he can be promoted to sergeant. It’s apparently very secret, but Andrew says Billy’s been recommended for the Victoria Cross.’

Charles could not shake the image of young Caspar from his head; and since hearing the news, he was unaccountably more aware of the guilt nibbling away at his own conscience.

‘You’re in to dinner?’ Mildred asked, and the true reason for guilt rose to the surface of his mind. He hesitated, knowing the time to turn back had long passed, then quietly told her that he had to go out again. She did not question him, knowing his profession of secrecy.

Charles knew what was destined to happen almost before Madeline Drew
’s arrest, and his life had now become even more secret and dangerous than before.

After their return from Cromer, Charles was summoned with Kell to Winston Churchill
’s office at the Admiralty. The First Lord thanked him profusely. ‘You have saved my wife from great danger and humiliation.’ The small, dynamic man’s eyes glittered. ‘For that I shall ever be in your debt. But you have also saved your country from that same danger and humiliation. For that, your country will forever be in your debt. As this is so private a matter, the facts will, alas, never come to public light; yet I shall see to it that you, Railton, are suitably rewarded with some fitting decoration.’

Few people, apart from half a dozen members of the Special B
ranch, and three or four from MO5, knew of the existence of Hanna Haas, alias Madeline Letitia Drew. She had become the secret within a secret almost before Charles, with Wood, had brought her back to London.

Vernon Kell saw no reason for taking Charles off the case. He was to control the
girl; become… Father, uncle, brother and priest to her,’ Kell said; omitting the one relationship which now plagued Charles’ conscience.

Kell saw to it that she was put into what he called a
‘safe house’: a small, pleasant villa in Maida Vale, purchased from the Service’s meagre funds, and watched over, in turns, by officers under training, and men from the Branch.

Charles
’ briefing had been precise. ‘She is an important and valuable resource,’ Kell said. ‘But we mustn’t forget, whatever she says now, Miss Haas
allowed
the German service to send her on a dangerous mission to England. Until you caught her, she was quite prepared to carry out that unspeakable kidnap plot. So beware. Miss Haas could easily take you for a dupe, promise you the earth, and then disappear – or go on working for the enemy. In plain talk, she could lead you up the garden path.’

Charles was instructed to spend much time with Madeline.
‘Get to know her, lure her to our cause. Only when you’re absolutely certain she’s with us, should you let her out into the wicked world. Make her – what’s the word I want? – make her dependent on you.’

Knowing Kell was a confirmed and practising Christian, Charles Railton was aware that his superior meant nothing more
than mental or ideological dependency, though he knew that a sexual dependence between him and the attractive Miss Haas was both professionally, and privately, of importance.

It happened almost immediately.

During the first few days in Maida Vale, Charles established the girl’s background: questioning her about her father – the German, Frederick Haas; her dead mother; the time she had spent as a nursery maid and governess in England; and facts concerning the aunt in Coventry, and the uncle and aunt in London itself.

The backgrounds of these relations were investigated by Special Branch, in particular Brian Wood, assisted by David Partridge who had been quickly seconded from Cromer to the Branch.

Within four days of Charles beginning the interrogation, it appeared that the aunt in Coventry, a Miss Lottie Drew, and the other relations, George and Netta Terrill of Hammersmith, were all good, loyal British citizens. They were, however, embarrassed into a certain reticence concerning Miss Drew’s and Mrs Turrill’s sister who had, as Lottie Drew of Coventry put it, ‘Gone off, with child by a murdering Jerry.’ The child would undoubtedly be welcome in their homes, but never classed as a true relation.

Each day they talked in the prim little Maida Vale house, Charles attempting to make the long conversation as natural as possible, putting the girl at ease, in an effort to know and understand her as a person, without bias. Behind the innocuous questions, however, were queri
es designed to draw her out concerning her life in Germany – in particular, her dealings with Colonel Nicolai and his Service.

The Maida Vale house was spruce, tidy, neatly furnished, and looked after by a woman well-known to both Kell and the Branch, acting as guard-companion. Madeline Drew ate well, was shown every possible consideration, and provided with all things needed to make life more than tolerable. It was in this tranquil atmosphere that Charles sought to build up a genuine rapport.

By the third day of the interrogation he had discovered that his consuming sensuality was certainly reciprocated. The lithe figure with its small almost retroussé breasts tantalized him. Her movements, and looks, all gave off unmistakable signals.

He chose his questions carefully that particular morning, and they were at ease, using the comfortable stuffed armchairs in the small sitting room, looking out onto a trim, well-hedged garden complete with trellis-work, a handkerchief lawn and tiny arched bower covered with climbing plants.

The first two questions – about her private interests and how the German Intelligence Service had looked after her – had been answered, and now, just before luncheon, Charles leaned forward and began hesitantly, ‘Madeline…’ they had been on Christian name terms from the outset, ‘Madeline, this is not the easiest of topics, but there is something we must get out of the way now, before going any further. I have to ask you about friends…’ Charles paused, seeking the right, inoffensive, words. ‘I’m talking about close men friends. Do you follow what I mean?’

She lowered her head, sunlight sparkling through the window highlighting the go
lden hair. Then she moved, turning the full power of her eyes into Charles’ face. ‘I have never had a lover.’ She spoke softly, the gaze steady, eyes showing only innocence. ‘I am a virgin – physically at least.’

‘
What do you mean exactly?’ Charles remembered the woman companion-guard’s comment, ‘Your Miss Drew has, some time or another, lived a pampered life.’ The pouting lip and clear-eyed look gave the comment credence.

‘
She’s been spoiled silly,’ the woman had told him. ‘Seldom washes a glass or plate, leaves her soiled linen where it falls. I’m a lady, Mr Rathbone, not a lady’s maid.’ The woman had been quite sharp about having to clear up after Madeline. Like most of the Branch and MO5 officers, she knew Charles only by his work name – Mr Rathbone.

‘
What do you mean exactly?’ Charles repeated. A full minute passed; then, ‘Someone wrote that a virgin is a fine steeple without bells. Well, I am without bells, Charles; yet, for some reason they are there, and ringing Grandsire Triples, even though no man has touched my body.’

She rose slowly, walking to the window. Charles saw her body move inside her clothes. She must have very long legs, he thought; and a picture of her
nakedness flooded his imagination – the legs reaching high to her buttocks, then the gently rounded stomach, and breasts like virgin moons, with upturned nipples. Madeline Drew clambered into his mind tearing concentration to shreds.

‘
I do not know what love is,’ she still spoke low, not moving from the window. ‘I do not know what love is. I have never known. But if it is a desire to share everything – mind and body – with a man, then I have found love in the last few days.’ Another pause. A count of ten before she asked, ‘Or is that forward of me, Charles?’ She turned, and the spark passed between them, as it was meant to do.

He hesitated, looking at her and feeling the leaping flame. Then, one step took him close against her legs, open wide under her long skirt, his right th
igh between them, one hand dropping to her buttocks, enclosing, pressing her close so that she could feel his hardness against her. They searched each other’s faces, as though half-debating what should be done. Their mouths touched, her lips opening as though she would devour him, one hand going to the buttons at her throat.

Charles
’ fingers clamped around her wrist. ‘No. No, Madeline, not yet.’

‘
When? Please, when?’

He knew they could not be seen by the watchers outside, and the trusted woman was out, not due to return until late afternoon.
‘Tonight.’

She gave a little laugh,
‘But “Edwin” will be here tonight.’

Charles smiled. It had already become a private joke. The trusted lady, once a great socialite, and with many military connections, was a Mrs Drood
– hence the nickname. ‘I’ll arrange matters,’ he nodded. ‘If we go on working this afternoon, today’s report can be done. I’ll tell her we’ve lost some time; send her out for the evening. We can have dinner here, and…’

She regarded him gravely.
‘Tonight then,’ disengaging herself. ‘You’ll have to work hard this afternoon… er…’ he wanted to use some endearment, but did not know what to say. Long-married people are not skilled in the art of courtship.

During the afternoon, she concentrated, and co-operated well, as he questioned her concerning the instructions received from Nicolai for action to be t
aken following the kidnap attempt. It was old ground, but Charles felt it necessary, both to test her and to bring possible trivial incidents back to mind. From tiny details larger information often comes to light.

Whatever the outcome of the kidnap attempt, she had been instructed to go to the cathedral city of Coventry. There she would be contacted, towards the end of September. However difficult, the orders were for her to be in Coventry by the end of the month. Nicolai
’s people were taking no chances. She had nothing from the German service – no addresses; no names. They would come to her.

Mrs Drood, a smart thin woman whose every move was one of efficiency, returned shortly after four; and Charles went into the kitchen where she was setting out a tea service, her face registering disgust at doing the menial duty.