Beginning, Section II, Next Section
"My Lord, there is a Mr Angel to see you." Davids voice positively dripped with outrage and supressed disapproval as he spoke from the doorway.
"Show him in Davids." Parker grinned to himself, obviously Chris' outfit was still not suitable for a night on the town. Davids was the elderly family butler, and he had very definite views on who was and wasn't to be admited into the house, unfortunately he had not been trained to deal with the likes of Chris Angel, so Davids had first admitted into the house, then escorted into the stately library where Parker sat by the fire with his port, that previous inhabitant of the pavement.
"Evening Parker." Chris sat down in one of the chairs by the fire.
"Evening Chris. That will be all Davids." Parker's expression was pained as he inspected his friend's attire, and Davids sniff was clearly audible as he passed out of the door. "Chris?"
"Well you didn't like my other suit, and all James' stuff was too small."
"But a cheap bookie?"
"Not at all." Chris stroked the loudly checked tweed sleeve gently. "It is the attire of a very affluent Bookie."
"I don't care, you are changing before you depart. Bad enough being in the war office, I don't need my aunt finding out that I've had Bookies calling in person. Have some port?"
"No thanks, I bit my tongue when you kicked me and I don't think that it will approve of alcohol."
"Good, I now get an extra week before I run out."
"Nice. I'm sure you didn't invite me to call for no reason. You never did before, and I doubt this war has caused you to start it."
"What are you intending to do once you leave up the past time of heating the pavements?"
"Probably join the army. I dislike being at great heights, and James is already in the Navy."
"Liar."
"James is in the Navy. Lieutenant James Angel."
"I was refering to your supposed dislike of heights. Can you possibly continue warming the pavements for another week?"
"I can continue warming them until I die if you want. A week will make little difference to my fate, I'm bound to die within the next hundred years."
"Shut up Chris, Flash Harris isn't welcome in this house."
"Isn't he?"
"No. Can you come visit me on the twenty-first?"
"I can visit when ever you like. Same time?"
"Yes. Now let's get you some decent clothes before we start discussing Grey's diplomacy." Parker had finished his port, and now he stood up and led the way from the library.
Author's note: My thanks to Tineke for this bit of translation, and her very nice coping with my lack of coherence :)
Chris carefully inspected the building that stood before him, before he entered it. It had probably once been a largish hotel, and it was in South London, but now it had been leased out as a series of offices. Chris stopped once more as he entered the foyer, Parker had said to go to the third floor, but until he found either stairs or a lift, getting to the third floor was a little beyond his abilities.
"Flash Harris, now what might you be doing here?" The familiar voice sneered condescendingly from behind him, Chris turned to see Josiah Vavasor Bott, attorney of law, standing in the entrance to one of the ground floor rooms.
"Possibly minding my own business, as you should be minding yours."
"Not if your buiness is what we goaled you for two years back. Now if I had been the judge you would have swung for that."
"How unfortunate you were merely the secretary for the prosecution." Chris noted Bott's angry flush with satisfaction, and having finally found the stairs he went across to them and climbed swiftly up to the third floor. But the third floor was where his problems began, it took him nearly ten mintes to find the outer office of one Malcolm MacIver, and it was nearly forty minutes after that that he was finally escorted by the pasty looking clerk through another network of dim and dusty corridors into the actual office of Malcolm MacIver.
"So you're Christopher Angel?" For all the scottish name, the man who looked up from the desk was undoubtedly a Jew.
"You should know, not many people spend a whole fortnight as frontpage news."
"Not too many people manage to forge 30,000 pounds and pass the stuff off as real."
"So we now know me, what about you?"
"We don't know you, I take it that Old Kate was suitably grateful for what you did for her?"
"Now where did you get that idea from?" Chris looked curiously across at the Jew.
"I got it from a number of sources. Call me Uncle Mac."
"Very good Uncle Mac, but saying you got the idea from a number of sources does not help me at all."
"You are a wise one. How many languages do you speak?"
"Other than english? Two or three fluently, a few others not so fluently, and a couple are simply atrocious."
"Which are they?"
"German, French and Italian are fluent. Turkish, and Russian are not so fluent, Polish a little, and what Greek I possess lies either in the New Testament, or can't be found in a dictionary at all."
"Dus ge spreekt deze taal wel vlot?" So you are fluent in this language are you?
"'t Vlaams dialect vooral, hoewel ze wel wat platter spraken waar ikhet geleerd heb." Chris didn't even hesitate before answering. That is the form from North Belgium, Flanders, though the accent is slightly flatter where I learnt it."
For the next few hours Uncle Mac steadily quizzed Chris about Europe and a variety of lifestyles and occupations which might be found there using a variety of different dialects, accents and languages. Some Chris responded to fluently and without hesitation, others he hesitated over, and a couple of times he just shrugged and looked very blank. It was quite late by the time Chris was finally shown out of the office and back to the stairs by the pasty faced clerk. As Chris descended to the ground floor, then exited the building and went in search of food, his mind was steadily considering what he had seen and heard that afternoon. He wasn't yet positive about what he was being roped into, but he had a pretty good idea. It had been utterly damnable that he had run into Bott, the poisonous prig who had been very instrumental in giving Chris a hellish fortnight two years previously, though that hell had nothing to do with what he was in court about. Bott just happened to excel at either ingratiating himself with people, or the more subtle forms of insult and torment.
After two more visits to Uncle Mac in the space of a fortnight, Chris received his first instructions.
"Tomorrow a Lieutenant Ellis McKenna will call for you at six o'clock. You will go with him. Wear clothes you can run in." Uncle Mac turned back to frowning at his papers, as Chris gave a nod then left the room. So Lieutenant Ellis McKenna was to call for him tomorrow. Interesting. Having left the block of buildings Chris hesitated briefly before turning and heading for the poorer regions of South London. His pace was quick and his movements were definite, Chris knew exactly where he was going and he did not intend to waste any time getting there. About a block or two before he reached his destination Chris suddenly turned and entered a house, as he passed through the kitchen he threw a few coins onto the table before passing out into the alley at the backdoor, he repeated the maneuvre twice before he entered a house and climbed the rickety stairs instead of walking straight through. At the top of the stairs was a door that looked like a breathe of wind would blow it open, but Chris knew better, that sad looking door could take a lot more of a pounding then he could give it. Chris hesitated briefly before giving the door a sharp rap.
"Yeah?" An eye peered out of a small apperture that suddenly appeared in the door.
"Harris."
"When you get free Flash?" The apperture closed when he had identified himself, and now the door swung ponderously open.
"About four months ago."
"'Ow'd the place suit you?"
"Not very well. How's business Fingers?"
"Not bad." 'Fingers' Clay grinned knowingly.
"Glad to hear it. I need an outfit."
"What sort? Gen'leman of Leisure? Gutter Snipe? VAD uniform per'aps?"
"Fingers, I want a pair of dark slacks and a grey turtle-neck sweater."
"In otherwords you want Mr I'm-borin'-don'-look-at-me. What shoes Mr borin'? Canvas, patent leather dancin' shoes or wellin'tons?"
"Canvas shoes Fingers. I am neither going farming, or dancing."
"Geez, you're no fun today Flash."
"I'm in a hurry."
"A'righ' a'righ'. 'Aircut to match?"
"Please."
"One 'aircut comin' up. 'Ere take a seat when you've changed."
"Thankyou." Chris vanished into a small room to change, then returned in the new clothes, and took a seat on the chair Fingers had indicated.
"Now let's see what I c'n do with this stylish mop o' yours." Fingers fell to swift and confident work, reducing Chris' shaggy mop of uncut hair into the stylish trim of a gentleman of leisure. "Now you looks like a crim'nal 'gain. Should I fix that?"
"No thankyou Fingers. How much?"
"I'll put it to your credit account. Be'n nice seein' you Flash."
"I might manage to return the cordial farewell, but first I require that you return the contents of my pockets."
"Geez, and 'ere I was 'opin' you'd 'ave fergot." Fingers made a disgusted sound, then pulled Chris' pocket book, embossed slate, note case and small change case back out of his own pocket and handed them over.
"Thankyou, now I will say in all sincerity that it has been nice to see you Fingers."
"Ge'ou'to'fere afore I belt'cha." Fingers turned and busied himself at a small pile of silver and leather.
"Good-bye Fingers." Chris let himself out of the room and descended the stairs. His departure was similar to his arrival, and forty minutes later he was letting himself in his own frontdoor, only to hear an odd bump from his kitchen. With a frown Chris quietly slipped over to peek into the kitchen, on his table reposed a naval cap, and with a sigh Chris pushed the door open.
"'Ello Chris." The greeting followed a loud crash, and the speaker now stood by the larder rubbing his head ruefully.
"What are you doing here James?"
"Looking for food."
"I thought you knew I never keep it in the larder."
"I do know that, but I couldn't find it in any of the other places. Say why are you looking so dapper?"
"I needed to get some clothes."
"Oh. How's Fingers?"
"Surviving quite comfortably it seems."
"Good-oh. You got any food to feed me?" James saw the warning flash in his brother's eyes and dropped the questions over his new attire.
"No. I'm being picked up at six tomorrow."
"You're up at six?" James' jaw dropped.
"Quite frequently, and what's more, so are you frequently up at that hour."
"Not when I can avoid it." James closed his mouth and lounged against the wall. "What are you doing brother?"
"I've spent several weeks at the profitable task of pavement heating, and for my pains I had my ribs kicked-in at regular intervals."
"In otherwords, don't ask or you can pay for your lodging and food?"
"Correct."
Lieutenant Ellis McKenna eyed the apartment building with dislike, he had been in several locations of dubious quality, but this was by far the worst. Why on earth had Uncle Mac sent him here. With a shrug McKenna climbed the stairs and knocked on the door which had the number he had been told to go to. The door opened almost immediately and he found himself being sharply inspected by a Naval Officer.
"What do you want?"
"I have come to speak to a certain Mr C. Angel."
"You're early. But come in, I'll go dig him up." It was with reluctance that McKenna followed the officer into the flat, but inside he was in for a surprise. The last time he had been sent to collect someone, the person had still been in bed, this time the only other occupant of the apartment was ingrossed with a sheet of paper and a heavily embossed slate.
"What's he doing?" Ellis was puzzled by the total ingrossment of the worker.
"Couldn't say." The Officer handed McKenna a mug of tea. "What's the name?"
"McKenna, Ellis McKenna."
"Right-o." The Officer dumped his mug and another mug on the table. "CHRIS!" The worker drew a few more lines, then looked up.
"What James?"
"McKenna's come for you."
"Oh. 'Morning Officer, I'll be with you in a minute."
"Where are you going?"
"Where?" McKenna stopped inspecting Chris and returned his attention to James.
"Yes. Where are you and my brother going?"
"Somewhere north of London." McKenna waved vaguely.
"You waved in a southerly direction."
"Shut up James. Ready when you are McKenna." It was with a start that McKenna realised that Chris had finished whatever he was doing and was now on his feet. "Stow that one with the others James. See you tomorrow." Chris then ushered McKenna out the door and didn't even bother to close it behind himself.
"Settle yourself, we're going clean out the otherside of London."
"That's fine with me." Chris settled down in the seat and maintained silence until they stopped at their destination, he then stood up and stretched stiffly.
"Glad to see you in suitable clothes, we're going to be running for most of the day."
"We're in Hertfordshire aren't we?" Chris looked curiously at McKenna.
"Correct, but I suggest we get moving." With out waiting for an answer McKenna turned from the car and set off at a long-legged stride up the road, Chris hesitated for barely a second then followed him up the road, and began what had been to date, one of the most intriguing days of his life to date. After approximately one mile McKenna had climbed into a paddock by aid of a style, and they had continued running 'cross-country. After a while, Chris guessed at the time being around eleven o'clock in the morning, they paused briefly.
"We're near our first stop. This man is a retired Army Colonel, he came through the Boer War. He has five daughters and one son. His wife is both a matchmaker and hysterical, so watch your step." McKenna continued running, and soon Chris found himself running across trimmed turf and approaching a small manor house. McKenna approached the front door and knocked loudly.
"Colonel Bennet?" McKenna addressed the elderly butler who answered the door.
"If you will follow me." They were led into a dim hall and then conducted into the library, a comfortable leather and oak affair with many bookcases filled to the limit. Seated in a comfortable armchair by the window was a man who was at the late end of middle-age, also in the room was a young lady. The man looked up as the two men were admitted.
"Elizabeth, if you'll excuse me?"
"Yes papa." The young lady immediately stood up an left by the window.
"Gentlemen, please take a seat, I will order some tea." A bell was rung and silence reigned supreme until the tea had arrived and the servant had retreated. "So you've come to takepity on me again have you McKenna? I take it you are still unfamiliar with the war?"
"Correct, sir, but my friend here is quite familiar with it."
"Is he?" Chris found himself being scrutinised by a shrewd pair of laughing grey eyes. "Tell me...." And much to Chris' bewilderment he found himself swept into a highly complex and technical conversation about the current war. The Colonel drew diagram after diagram of various battle fronts and the positions taken in each case, asking for Chris' opinion on each occasion as to what he thought of the placements, and which placement he considered to be favourable. He also discussed the current equipment and how it compared with the German, Turkish and Austrian supplies. Chris' head was spinning by the time McKenna finally signalled that they needed to depart, and after the hour of intense thought Chris was more than a little thankful for the run.
"You managed Colonel Bennet quite well."
"My head has been spinning since he started."
"I didn't show up. Now come on, we have another couple of visits to make yet." McKenna then proceeded to lead the way away from the medium sized manor. Chris guessed it was propably two to three hours later when they stopped again, and he was quite relieved for the moment to catch his breathe.
"We're now going to visit a parson, he is unamrried." McKenna then resumed his run, only to stop when he climbed a fence and walked across a neatly trimmed garden to a small white-washed house. McKenna knocked quite loudly on the door but Chris was not quite close enough to hear who he asked for this time and as a result he still knew not who they were going to visit when they were admitted into a dim study.
"Ahh, Lieutenant McKenna, come to repent of your sins have you?" The black clad individual who stood up from the desk reminded Chris of someone, but for the life of him Chris could not remember who.
"No I haven't, but my friend here has."
"What have you done my son?" Chris jumped at the question, and bit back an immediate retort.
"I beg your pardon, I was admiring the architectural structure of this building and of your attached church and as a result missed your question. Would you mind repeating it?"
"Oh yes, it is a most fine church, why Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself complimented it most highly when she was here last summer. Would you like a guided tour?"
"Uhhh, sure." Chris took a deep breath, what was it he had learnt in those architectural appreciation classes his aunt had insisted upon.
"....Of course the chimney is not nearly so fine as the one in the parsonage at Hunsford, but I find it satisfactory for the duty it is required to do. What do you think, sir?"
"I quite agree, the chimney at the parsonage of Hunsford is indeed a vastly superior one to this one, but this one is still quite an admirable one."
"Yes that is exactly what I said. Are you familiar with the parsonage at Hunsford?"
"Yes, I was in Hunsford for several summers when I was younger."
"Ahh, that must have been most enjoyable, though I am sure that it would have been even more enjoyable had you been acquainted with Lady Catherine. Such a delightful woman." Chris had his doubts about the delight one might have had being acquainted with the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but neither was he about to voice them, and it was with relief that he saw McKenna's signal for them to depart.
"Have you ever been to Hunsford?" McKenna looked curiously up at Chris.
"Most unfortunately the answer is in the affirmative. I suggest you do not follow the parsons advice if you ever go there. Lady Catherine is a person to be avoided if possible."
"She's that bad?"
"She's the one dragon that St. George missed when he was tidying up England. Where to now?"
"You know you are full of surprises. We now go to visit a very interesting character, I will say no more on the subject." McKenna turned and started running again, and after one final breath Chris followed him. This time it was not long before they stopped again, but the stop was only for a couple of seconds, then McKenna dove into a clump of bushes, Chris immediately followed.
"What the..." Chris fell silent immediately as McKenna waved an agitated hand, and soon Chris found himself worming through bushes, running, bent almost double, between clumps of bushes, and frequently doubling back as McKenna led him on a dance that resembled that of a hunted hare. It did not cause Chris much difficulty to find the reason for this peculiar mode of travel, for after their initial plunge into the bushes, Pheasants had risen squaking loudly on several occasions and irate yells were clearly audible, along regular discharges from a shot-gun.
"Sir George's Keeper's are more than usually active. Stay as close as possible behind me." It was another ten minutes before McKenna finally led the way out of the preserves and across the trimmed lawns to some open french windows.
"What the devil do you mean by coming through my preserves?"
"I do appologise Sir George, any damage will be paid for."
"Like hell it will. Okay, come in, I'll send a boy to tell my keepers that they can call off the chase." Chris soon found that for all his noisy and belligerent greeting, Sir George was for the most part a mild individual with an intense interest in all things theological. It was an hour after they arrived that once more McKenna signalled that they would depart, and with relief Chris departed from the discussion of Buddism as comparable to the christian faith. An hour later they reached the car and Chris was quite thankful to sit down in it.
"Okay, I'm now going to leave you at the Merriweathers. Thankfully you have stayed quite respectable in appearance." McKenna cranked the car over and jumped into the driver's seat.
"Are you staying to?"
"No way, I'm getting back to camp." McKenna fell silent and remained silent until he pulled up at a small country mansion. "Hop out, I'll call for you tomorrow morning." Chris watched the car depart, then feeling very self-conscious he approached the house.
"You Mr Chris?" A servant suddenly appeared at his elbow.
"Yes."
"If you will please follow me, there are clothes laid out for you in the spare room." Chris thankfully follwed the servant and soon found himself attired in a dinner suit of magnificent cut and perfect fit.
"If you will now follow me, sir." As before, the servant arrived exactly when he was wanted, not a second to early and not a second to late. Chris was escorted down into a crowded parlour, he felt like he could drink a gallon of water and eat the better part of an ox, but all he received was a single cup of weak tea and a couple of biscuits. Chris rapidly discovered that he was being deliberately spoken to by every person in the room. Some of them stayed and talked on a variety of subjects for several minutes, others only spoke for a few seconds before moving off again.
"Mr Chris?" Chris turned to find himself being addressed by a young woman of neat build and quiet beauty.
"Yes."
"I am Miss Anne Marshall, how do you do?"
"Very well thankyou, and you?"
"Oh I am enjoying myself, I so rarely get out to social functions."
"You have an occupation, Miss Marshall?"
"Oh yes," she laughed softly. "I am a private secretary."
"That must be most interesting."
"It is for the most part. What do you think of Sir Edward's stance?"
"It is interesting, but I do not think that it will pass."
"No?"
"No. It is faulty." Chris then proceeded to clarify his reasoning.
It was with relief that Chris finally went to sleep that night, though he knew he would be abominably stiff in the morning. McKenna came for him at eight, and by eleven he was in Uncle Mac's office.
"Take a seat Chris." Uncle Mac finished reading through a file before he looked up again, and then he steepled his hands and stared seriously across at Chris over the top of them. "How did you find yesterday?"
"Tiring, but most interesting."
"McKenna, made an interesting remark concerning mr Collins." Uncle Mac briefly indicated the file.
"Mr Collins?" Chris looked blank for a minute. "Oh, you mean the parson."
"Yes, who did you think I meant?"
"I didn't have the faintest idea, but I assumed you were referring to someone I had met yesterday, and the Parson was the only person whom I did not get the name of." Chris chuckled softly. "So that's why he was familiar."
"You know mr Collins?"
"Not at all before I met him yesterday, but I met his father on several occasions."
"Interesting. How did you think you went?"
"Well my head was in a spin the whole time, so no, I don't think I can have gone to well."
"Are you serious about that?" Uncle Mac stared piercingly at him.
"Definitely, why should I tell a lie like that." "Because no one makes any reference to your showing even the slightest bit of discomfort, even though you discussed every single last topic from ancient religions and religious similarities between the various forms of religion right through to the latest politics and society figures."
"Didn't I?" Chris looked startled. "Well I suppose my education was a success then."
"Your education?"
"Oh, my aunt dreamed of my becoming a great politician and social figure. Unfortunately I disobliged her."
"You are an interesting person Chris, and I would greatly like to talk to you at greater length, unfortunately we lack the time right now. I'll see you tomorrow." Uncle Mac returned to his files and Chris let himself out of the room and left the building in a distracted frame of mind, but he was not so distracted that the automobile that suddenly accelerated towards him could hit him. Chris frowned after the retreating car, then took a very roundabout route home.
Over the next three months Chris found himself studying maps until he knew them inside out, upside down and back to front. The map sessions were intermingled with intense language sessions, from which Chris emerged his head spinning with idioms and accents and grammar structures. There was also lifestyles to be conned, and disguise to be practiced. Chris' moment of triumph was three days before he left for Europe when he spent a week as Davids, Parker's elderly butler, giving that gentleman the week off without Parker being aware of it. The last day came suddenly, and Chris found himself standing one afternoon in Uncle Mac's office. By the door stood Miss Anne Marshall, whom Chris had met on numerous occasions since the night at the Merriweather's.
"Anne, get the box from the other room. Chris, come tell me what you think of this." Uncle Mac stood by his desk, but Chris waited 'til Anne had left the room before he ventured across to the desk.
"It looks like the sentry station on the Dutch/Belgian frontier."
"That is precisely what it is. This is the only border through which you will need a pass to get through. You will be informed if you ever need one where to find them." Uncle Mac finished just as Anne re-entered the room. "Thankyou Anne. Chris, on occasion it may be difficult for me to identify you." Uncle Mac pulled a small, carved metal medallion from the box. "This will pass as a peasant charm or as a decoration from a ladylove. Keep it either on your watch chain, or on a string around your neck." Uncle Mac handed him the medallion, and at the same time he handed him a thick envelope. "These are your orders and necessary papers. Read them tonight then burn the orders. I bid you good day."
"I will respond with a similar gift." Chris handed Uncle Mac a heavy envelope, then turned and walked from the room. Uncle Mac did not even look into the envelope 'til Chris had gone for some minutes, and then only under persuasion.
"Uncle Mac."
"What is it Anne?" He didn't look up from the file he was reading.
"I would suggest you look and see what mr Chris left you."
"Why?"
"Because I know that if you do not inspect it now you never will." Anne spoke quietly, but her relief was visible when Uncle Mac picked up the envelope and opened it. The contents were many pages, all closely written. Anne watched quietly as Uncle Mac scanned swiftly over the pages, his countenance steadily whitening.
"Hmmm." Uncle Mac continued rapidly through the pages. "Anne, come tell me what you make of these?" Anne stepped up to the desk to look.
"I would say that they are papers from many of your files."
"And you would nearly be correct. They are copies."
"It looks like you have written most of them, Uncle Mac."
"And that is what worries me. Anne, we could well have a problem on our hands."
"I do not think so." Anne shook her head gently.
"And why do you think that?"
"Because he gave them back to you. Mr Chris does not look or behave like a person who gives warnings, and we do know that he was an expert forger."
"Hmmm. Never the less, I think we will keep half an eye on him."
"That would be dangerous, both for us and him."
"Why are you so sure about how far we can trust him?"
"Because I have found out who his aunt it."
"You did better than I managed. How did you find it?"
"I inspected a couple of files. His aunt is the Dowager Countess of Clarrington."
"Nephew to the Countess of Clarrington is he. Well I'll take your word for it, but only because he should have no way of getting important information of ours back to Germany where he is going."
"I think it much more likely that you'll get a whole mass of letters written in the hand of any high military official whom he sees write." Anne nodded quietly and left the room, quickly descending the stairs and heading back to Queen Anne's gate.
"How'd it go?" Isabelle pounced on Anne the minute she came through the front door.
"Uncle Mac certainly hasn't cancelled the instructions and tipped the germans off to his arrival, but that's about it."
"Well it seems we'll have to thank James next time we see him. I always knew that Maisie Clarrington was a twit, but I never realised it was so bad that she would deliberately train someone up to that degree."
"Well obviously she is. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm catching the early train back to Chatsworth and I need to sleep."
"Sleep well Anne." Isabelle watched as her friend ascended the stairs and went into her bedroom, before turning to the library where she found Parker with his glass of port.
"How'd it go Izzy?"
"Anne says that the Earl of Clarrington is now out of the country."
"Any comments in the sudden increase in her work load?"
"None at all. Anne misses remarkably little."
"If she had been blind I would most certainly have never allowed you to hire her as my private secretary."
"IZZY!" Emma came storming into the apartment, and slammed the door behind herself.
"What's up Em?" John Knightley looked up with a slight grin from the sofa where he was reclined.
"What are you doing here, John?" Emma scowled at him, then turned away.
"I'm here to flirt with your sister, I'm hoping she'll marry me tomorrow." For his pains John got a very sour look.
"Izzy, have you heard about the Ottomans?"
"Well if you mean the sofa, no this will be new news, but if you are refering to the Turkish Empire that was in the newspaper a week or so back."
"Aaargh!" Emma threw her bag across the room, then stormed from it.
"Oh dear." Isabella handed John his cup of tea and sat down in a nearby chair. "Still determined to carry her off to dinner?"
"She will do the job even better if she is cross about something. But," John frowned for a minute, "what was she raving on about the Turks for?"
"They declared war on Britain on the 11th of November....what on earth do you do, I should have thought that working in a news building you'd know all about this."
"Oh." John blinked then grinned. "So that's what so upset her, tonight will be so much fun. Come on, we ignore what is around us as much as possible."
"What are you two plotting John?" Isabella eyed John suspiciously.
"Nothing, nothing at all." John's attempt to look innocent wouldn't have fooled anyone, and Isabella frowned.
"Well I'm coming to, she has a hard enough time without you two baiting her along."
"But she makes it irresistable."
"Is Knightley in on your plan yet?" Isabella lifted a knowing eyebrow, a move which brought a flush to John's cheek.
"N-o-t di-rectly." John's response was slow and hesitant.
"Explain?" Isabella folded her arms.
"I can't." John hurridly finished of the rest of his tea, and stood up. "I'll see you this evening then?"
"Don't count on it, but I'll see what I can do." Isabella stood up and approached John. "And if I don't like what happens, I'm going to take it out on your hide."
"She'll enjoy it, I promise you she will." John gave one last sweet smile then ran from the room, leaving Isabella to consider how to break the news to Emma.
"Why did he come?" Emma returned to the room the minute the door closed and now leaned her shoulders against the doorframe.
"We got invited to one of the famous 'Knightley Dinners', John came in person in hopes of arguing the case for why we should come."
"He's hopeful."
"He's more than that, as per usual we have not a crumb in the house. I for one am taking up the invitation, since the food is invariably good at the Knightley table."
"But Izzy...." Emma sank down into one of the chairs, then scowled again. "Why should we?"
"Because we were very politely asked, because Knightley is a Senator, and thirdly because you know as well as I do that a 'Knightley Dinner' is about the only place where rational conversation is held these days."
"Great, debating Wilson's stand for neutrality and analysing the war movements."
"Not at all, John assured me that war was not even going to be mentioned, though I will admit that he never said precisely how they intended to manage this."
"But..."
"Oh just go and get changed Emma, you know perfectly well that you're going to enjoy tonight a lot more than I will and that you're only arguing because you are bored."
"I'm not!" Emma leapt out of her chair and stalked from the room, leaving Isabella to chuckle delightedly.
"Oh Emma." Isabella sat back down in her chair for a minute, then got up again and also went to change, for not only were the 'Knightley Dinners' good in the conversation and culinary aspects, but they were also very known for the required sartorial elegance. Isabella made a small grimace as she remembered the description which Emma had given it after the first one she had attended, sartorial elegance was indeed a point of importance at these functions, 'Tails 'n tie affair' is what her father would have called them.
No one actually knew when the first 'Knightley Dinner' occured, but it was beyond doubt that this dinner was now a fixed item in the social agenda of D.C., they occured precisely twice a year and there was very rarely another function on the same night. Isabella shook out her skirt as she exited the taxi they had caught, then turned to watch Emma descend. There was only one word to use when trying to describe Emma in her formal attire, and that was angelically stylish, and it was with more than a touch of envy that Isabella realised for the umpteenth time in her life that she could never match Emma for appearance and poise, no matter how hard she tried. At times it seemed unfair since they were sisters, but the fact remained that while Emma drew all eyes, she Isabella was frequently overlooked. As always the Knightley house was semi-full, there were approximately one hundred people milling through the various rooms, chatting to each other, many called it a 'small affair' but there was absolutely no doubt this same affair also held the key to social success.
"Isabella, Emma." John came hurrying over as the butler led them into the room.
"John." Isabella nodded politely, then grinned as Emma gave the totally formal 'Mr Knightley' greeting.
"Stunning dresses, Em, marry me tomorrow and put me out of my agony."
"Dream on John. Izzy, I'm going for a drink, make sure he doesn't follow me."
"Lovely." John had watched in silence until Emma was out of earshot.
"What is?" Isabella took the arm he offered.
"Your dress for one, but I was actually referring to the fact that Em is doing precisely what I was hoping she'd do."
"Who is in the other room, John." Isabella stopped walking and looked inquisitively at John.
"Knightley and our Great-aunt."
"You don't have a Great-aunt."
"Don't I?" John looked surprised. "Oh dear, I had best warn Knightley then, I could have sworn she was our Great-aunt."
"Who is this supposed Great-aunt?"
"You'll know her when you see her, but I advise you not to meet her. And I'm counting on Knightley to prevent Emma from introducing her to you."
"Why?"
"Because I can't."
"Oh, no." Isabella's soft murmur had John turning sharply.
"I observe that you do indeed recognise our Great-aunt. Do you want to be introduced?"
"No thankyou." Isabella was dragging John away as fast as she could without being conspicuous. "Why didn't you tell me it was her? I'll never get Em to leave now."
"Well at least she will enjoy herself."
"And so will Knightley. You lied earlier didn't you?" Isabella turned suddenly to face him, a challenging expression in her eyes.
"I admit I'm guilty of the charge, but you really couldn't expect me to sit in on the battle of the titans without some moral backup."
"You consider me moral backup?" Isabella gave him a warning look.
"Yes I most certainly do. Besides which, Em would never come if you didn't, and Knightley wouldn't get half as much fun if Em weren't there to challenge him and argue every point."
"Such a pity. I'm glad I never decided to go into journalism, the lot of you are blood-thirsty scavangers."
"We survive off what the White House offers." John responded with the smile which had long been known as 'The Knightley Smile' and was famed throughout the country. A smile which had become even better known since the eldest son had become one of the youngest Senators in history.
Captain Pepel Fordingham scowled gloomily over the bow at the dark land mass just visible off the port bow. The moon had set several hours earlier and now the visibility was minimal, a matter not improved by the fact that the ship was under enforced blackout.
"Captain Fordingham, sir!"
"Dakota?" Fordingham squinted in annoyance at the dim shape which stood saluting behind him.
"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Pieter de Smet was of Belgian/Dutch extraction and had been born in South Africa, and as a result a more incongrous figure was rarely to be found on a ships foredeck.
"What's up?"
"Starboard watch reports a sighting."
"How far are we from the pickup?"
"About another hour if we aren't interrupted."
"Keep all watches at full alert, no action will be taken unless no other option is available." Fordingham watched in silence as Dakota nodded then vanished silently into the darkness, he then resumed his scowl over the bow. It was not from choice that he was in this highly obnoxious corner of the Aegean, infact, had he been given the option, he would not have come anywhere near here. But the Admiralty had given orders that HMS Asp, probably the oldest and most unsafe ship in the entire Navy, was to go to this obnoxious corner, and since HMS Asp was currently still a member of the Royal Navy she had to go. Excuses were never made, and explanations were about as common, so all Fordingham knew was that they were being sent here to pick something up, he didn't even know who, or what, it was. Infact knowing the Admiralty it was probably a chicken coop. Fordingham scanned the horizon once more before he turned and returned to the bridge, for all that the British controlled the Med., unexpected visitors were still an entirely possible occurance. Fordingham had nearly reached the bridge when Dakota came hurtling out and cannoned violently into him. As Fordingham extricated himself from the signal wires, he emitted some well chosen oaths before looking with an inquisitively raised eyebrow at his suboardinate officer.
"Going somewhere, Dakota?"
"As a matter of fact I was just coming for you,sir. The wireless officer is getting very excited about something, but he won't say what." Dakota eyed his superior officer nervously, not quite sure what would happen next.
"Lead on MacDuff!" Fordingham bit back a grin as Dakota mumbled something incoherently. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. I did not hear what you said."
"I said nothing at all, sir, I was cursing Shakespeare."
"Read him have you?" Fordingham followed Dakota onto the bridge.
"No, sir. But one needn't have read Shakespeare to know that line."
"I found that I did." Fordingham walked over to the wireless officer, leaving Dakota to gape at his back. "You have need of me?" Fordingham glanced thoughtfully at the piece of paper the wireless officer immediately handed him.
"It only just arrived, sir."
"Thankyou." Fordingham grunted as he strode to the intraship communicator. "All hands on deck, it appears we may expect our pickup any second now." Fordingham then turned and left the bridge again. He stopped by the signal halyards and listened to the hustle and bustle as men manned their positions. It was ten minutes later when Dakota finally approached him, Dakota was followed by five other people, of which three were midshipmen.
"Captain, these two men wish to speak to you."
"Thankyou Lieutenant. Gentlemen?"
"The term hardly applies to us Captain Fordingham. May we speak to you in private?"
"Lieutenant, escort these men to my cabin. I'll be down in a minute." Fordingham watched as Dakota escorted the two men and their guards away. He then re-entered the bridge and took Commander Tarleton aside for a moments discussion. Having given the commander specific instructions, he then calmly descended to his cabin, dismissing Dakota as he entered. They stood in a corner, a mixture of blood, grime and water dripping from their sodden clothes and onto the floor.
"I thankyou for granting out request Captain Fordingham." It was the same one as had previousy spoken on deck, but Fordingham could now see which one was speaking. Both men were tall, but the one who had yet to speak came into the category of massive, a trifle over six foot, and of very broad proportions, he was a man whom Fordingham would not be to keen to come to blows with. The first man, and the man who was speaking, was not as tall as his companion, and nowhere near as broad, and was infinitely more aristocratic in appearance and in behaviour. Of the features of both there was nothing to be seen, so obscured were they by blood and grime.
"It was not a difficult request to grant, you wished to speak to me in private, I can assure you that this is as private as we get."
"Permit me to introduce ourselves. I am the Count, and this is Andréa."
"Well I would probably respond with a similar introduction, but you seem to be already well acquainted with my name."
"First things first. Would you please peruse this letter?" The Count handed over a small envelope which he had just unwrapped from several layers of oilskin. "And then could your wireless operator please send a C.E. to London."
"London?"
"London."
"Your names are not of much use to me." Fordingham continued to talk abstractly as he read down the pages.
"They are not meant to be of much use. If they were of much use we would most certainly not use them."
"That being the case, and this letter having been read. If you'll excuse me, I'll get the C.E. sent to London and request the Lieutenant to see to your quarters."
"The Lieutenant?"
"We lost our Quartermaster a few days ago and someone has to do the duties." Fordingham shrugged as he passed out the door and headed for the bridge. He sent Dakota down to deal with the guests, he cancelled his instructions to Commander Tarleton, and then finally instructed the wireless officer to send a C.E. to London. Having dealt with all that, Fordingham went forward to the bow and resumed his scowl out to sea. With his duty done and the Asp heading at top speed for safer waters Fordingham could relax and let his thoughts flow, and his thoughts flowed directly back to the early months of his naval career and his first leave home, when Captain Fordingham's thoughts turned in this direction not even Dakota was prepared to interrupt him for anything less than a dire emergency.
"Papa!" Elizabeth finally looked up from the large map that dominated the main table in the library, the only other table was Mr Bennet's chess table.
"What is it, Lizzie?" Mr Bennet looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
"Can you come check all this is right?"
"I didn't realise it was I who was supposed to do this job. Give me a moment Lizzie, then we will check out your latest effort." Mr Bennet resumed his perusal of the newspaper, and Elizabeth returned to chewing on the side of her thumb. This particular project had been started by Folin on the fourth of August directly after Britain declared war, and now that he had gone, Elizabeth had decided to keep it going.
"Papa." Elizabeth frowned down at the map, then hurridly shifted one of the markers.
"Alright Lizzie, now let's see what we have." Mr Bennet frowned down at the map for a minute, then shook his head. "You haven't labelled a thing, takes us back to the first marks."
"These red ones are the initial line up of the Imperial Prussian Armies, prior to the invasion of Belgium. Five Armies were stationed on the Belgium border, two were stationed on the Alsace-Lorraine border. Correspondingly, these blue markers are the French armies, which you very accurately stated before were badly positioned. We have four of the five french armies stationed on the Alsace-Lorraine border, leaving the fifth army to deal with the five Prussian armies coming through Belgium. This grey marker is the position of the British Expeditionary Force when it arrived on the front. The strings show the movements of each of the armies, as you can see all five of the German armies came through Belgium, being delayed only by a day or so by the Belgian army, and that chalk mark is to show where the outermost army should have gone, by your analysis of the set up. So we have the four french armies attacking here, and they were pushed back by the two Prussian armies to Verdun, Toul, and Belfort. Then on the 22nd of August we have the B.E.F. and the Fifth French Army coming in contact with the main part of the Prussian army just north of the Meuse River, and this leads to the battles of Charleroi, and Namur on the 22nd of August, with the battle of Mons on the 23rd of August and the Battle of le Cateau on the 25th of august. We now observe the retreat of the Anglo-French armies South and East to the southern side of the Marne, and for some peculiar reason we observe that the Prussian Army has followed them in that course, Paris was not captured though it was a mere 48 miles from the front." Elizabeth pointed from mark to mark, tracing the criss-crossed network of threads.
"And this blue marker?" Mr Bennet indicated the blue marker which was situated in Paris itself.
"That blue marker is the Sixth French army, formed as the other armies retreated, it was compiled of the civilian reserve forces and certain parts of the Alsace Army."
"Continue."
"We now observe that the French left wing, composed of the B.E.F. and the fifth french army, retired with everyone else to Marne, it is also to be seen that the Prussian right wing, comprised of the Prussian First Army, in an endeavour to retain contact with this Anglo-French left wing, turned south-east with the retreat which is why Paris was ignored. We now observe that the Prussian right wing is vulnerable to an attack from the Sixth French Army." Elizabeth stopped for a minute and frowned up at her father. "I assume everything is accurate so far?"
"For what the newspaper tells us, it is indeed accurate, continue, or it won't be finished before supper."
"We now have the Battle of Marne, which began with an attack by the sixth french army on the flank of the first prussian army near the Ourcq River. The first Prussian army turned to deal with this unexpected attack, causing a break in the communications between the first and second armies. At the same time, the Fifth French Army halted its retreat, turned and attacked north, back across the Marne River, this attack was coordinated with an attack from the B.E.F. to the west and an attack by the Ninth French Army to the East. Also on the same day, at the fortress town of Verdun, the French right wing put up a spirited defense against the Prussian second and third armies. Now we see that the french right wing has engaged the second and third Prussian Armies, the Ninth french army has also engaged the second army, and it is to be seen that the French fifth army and the B.E.F. has penetrated the gap which was created when the Prussian first army turned aside to deal with the attack from the French sixth army. So the situation is fighting on all fronts with the first and second armies both vulnerable to attacks from behind, and there is a threat that the first army could be cut off entirely. The Prussian first and second armies now retreat back to the Aisne River, where they took up a defensive position. After a battle at Aisne, there was a patch of quiet until the Battle of Ypres."
"Lets see." Elizabeth sat on her bed with a long sheet of paper on her knees, Jane sat on the floor with two trunks. "Coat, one in number, with unbuttonable collar or turn-down cloth. To be placed in....sorry, to be worn."
"Present and correct." Jane indicated the two coats at the end of the bed.
"Good. Hat, bonnet or head cloth, one in number and to be worn."
"All present and correct."
"Cap, six in number, one for wearing, four for the trunk and one for the handbag?"
"All present and correct."
"Vest, cloth or knitted scarf, one in number. To be worn in enclement weather, otherwise it is to be in the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Wash clothes, two in number, one to be worn and one for the trunk."
"All present and correct." Jane laid the articles in the appropriate positions.
"Wool dress, one in number, and it is for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"I hope we can pull them out in winter, what a bore if we can't wear them."
"Lizzie."
"Sorry. Collar or neck cloth, six in number, one to be worn, four for the trunk and one for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Aprons, white, three in number, and all three for the trunk. There is also a reference about nightshirts as a possible alternative."
"We have three white aprons Lizzie, now do continue."
"Aprons, coloured, four in number, three for the trunk and one for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Night jackets, three in number, two for the trunk and one for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Shirts, five in number, one to be worn, three for the trunk and one for the handbag. This is very boring Jane."
"Patience Lizzie, if you would stop commenting and just run down the list it will be finished much sooner. All present and correct."
"Woollen undershirt, two in number, one to be worn and one for the trunk. Either that or three pairs of bloomers. The undershirts go with two petticoats, one for wear and one for trunk or trousers, four in number, one for wearing and three for the trunk."
"Can you run that by me again Lizzie?"
"Check for two woollen undershirts, one to be worn and one for the trunk. In a small exceptions note it says that these go with either the four pairs of trousers, or with the two petticoats or three sets of bloomers."
"Well we don't have any bloomers, but from what you say they are not necessary. All present and correct for the two woollen shirts."
"Corset, or reform corset, two in number, one to be worn and one for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Petticoat, two in number, one to be worn and one for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Dust-skirt, two in number, one to be worn and one for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Trousers, four in number, one pair for wearing three pairs for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Lord how boring can it get." Elizabeth turned sharply when she heard Lydia's voice at the door.
"Lydia!"
"Yes Lizzie?"
"I did not invite you into my room, so kindly depart immediately."
"That's not fair." Lydia flounced away calling for their mother, and Elizabeth let out a sigh.
"Stockings, six in number, one pair for wearing, four pairs for the trunk and one pair for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Leather laced boots, high. one in number, for wearing."
"All present and correct."
"Leather shoes, half height, double heels; pair. One in number and they are for the trunk."
"All present and correct. Of dear, here comes mama."
"Shoes, warm, pair, one in number and for the handbag. Who cares."
"All present and correct."
"Galoshes, on pair, for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Handkerchiefs, pair, nine in number. Yes mother, just a minute let me finish. One to be worn, six for the trunk and two for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Now what was it you wanted mama?" Elizabeth turned with a suitable expression on her face to look at her mother who stood gaping at the door.
"Lydia just said you threw her out of your room."
"She had entered uninvited, she was making rude comments about what we were doing and this is my bedroom where I like my privacy."
"But she is your sister! Oh my poor nerves, I work so hard to make this family into a good one, but no one has any sympathy for my nerves, ohhhhh!"
"Mother please! Jane and I are busy and I would prefer some quiet." Elizabeth ushered her mother from the room and firmly shut the door. "She will now sulk, but at least we have peace." Elizabeth returned to her bed and picked up the list again. "Gloves, two pairs, one for wearing and one for the trunk."
"All present and correct. That was not very polite of you Lizzie."
"I wasn't feeling polite. Umbrella, one in number and it is to be worn......Jane how does one wear an umbrella?"
"All present and correct. Stop being foolish Lizzie." Jane smiled affectionately, recognising Elizabeth's attempt to make the tedious task interesting.
"Toilette kit, inclusive of toothbrush, nail brush and comb, one in number and it is for the trunk."
"All present and correct." Jane paused for a minute to stretch her back.
"Hand towel, one in number and it is for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Mirror, small, for the trunk. We better make sure our trunks look nice then."
"All present and correct. Lizzie."
"Yes Jane? Clothes brush, one in number for the trunk."
"You know exactly what I mean. All present and correct."
"Oh dear, the toilette kit, the hand towel, the mirror and the clothes brush were all meant to be in the handbag. I'm sorry Jane."
"Well better late then never." Jane swiftly repositioned the mentioned articles. "What next?"
"Shoe cleaning kit, one in number and it is for the handbag."
"Sure Lizzie?" Jane teased gently.
"I'm sure, see." Elizabeth handed the list over to her sister.
"Oh we don't have much further to go do we. The shoe cleaning kit is all present and correct."
"Not really. Sewing kit, one in number and it is for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Mending bag, one in number for the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Knife, fork and spoon in case, for the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Drinking cup, one in number. Canteen, one in number. Pocket knife, one in number. They are all for the bread bag."
"All present and correct. Bread bag Lizzie?"
"Breadbag, Jane. Pouch with writing implements, one in number and it goes into the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Change purse, one in number, and it is to be worn."
"All present and correct."
"Travel inkwell, lantern and lighter, one of each item and they are to be carried in the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Sterine candle for lantern, one pack and it goes in the trunk."
"All present and correct."
"Rubber basin, collapsible, one in number and it goes in the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"This is a very large handbag. Military Hymn book, one in number, for the trunk."
"All present and correct. Yours are always large so don't worry."
"New testament with Psalms, for the handbag. Not this large."
"All present and correct. I wouldn't be sure."
"Neutrality insignia, three in number, one to be worn and two for the trunk. Afterall we can't have the german's shooting at our trunks by accident."
"All present an correct." Jane smiled a bit tightly.
"Expenditure book, one in number and the trunk gets that as well."
"All present and correct."
"Oops, there was an Identity card that came before that, and it goes in the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Bandages according to number seventy-five, one in number and they go into the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Bandage packets, two in number, and both go into the handbag."
"All present and correct."
"Identity disc, one in number and it is to be worn at all times under the clothing."
"All present and correct, assuming you have yours on?" Elizabeth responded by digging it out briefly.
"And our iron ration, to be carried in the handbag when it is issued. Now except for the fact that we're going absolutely nowhere we have everything."
"Then I won't tell a lie and say it is present and correct." Jane sat back with a sigh and stretched cautiously. "You mean that all this was for nothing? Elizabeth Anne Bennet you are atrocious!" Jane tried to glare at her sister, but for the life of her, all she wanted to do was laugh. "What are you going to do Lizzie, you have very carefully avoided the subject since we signed up."
"Ahh!" Elizabeth grinned cheerfully. "I've signed up to be an ambulance driver if they have a vacancy in Meryton."
"But you can't drive, Lizzie!" Jane looked worried, then astonished as Elizabeth grinned and nodded.
"Ben taught me two summers ago in mr Bingley's car, we have since exchanged estate work and car time with the steward."
"Lizzie, you must be teasing me?"
"I'm not, I would be teasing you if I said I could not, but Ben taught me." Elizabeth stood up and stretched stiffly.
"Lizzie, mama would like to speak to you downstairs. Jane as well." Lydia stood in the doorway looking very important.
"Thankyou Lydia, tell mama that Jane and I will be down in a minute, we need to change." Elizabeth waited until Lydia had left, then with a grin she selected her high laced boots, a pair of trousers and a suitable top and apron. "Change Jane, we are going down in professional capacity." Elizabeth hurridly changed, then sat to wait while Jane changed into a skirt and apron. "Very nice." Elizabeth nodded her satisfaction then turned and led the way from the room and down to the downstairs parlour where Mrs Bennet sat waiting.
"Elizabeth what on earth do you think you're doing in the strange clothing? Oh I feel faint, oh my poor nerves, where are my salts, ohhhhh!"
"Mrs Bennet will you please be quiet for a minute!" Mr Bennet came into the room looking annoyed. "I have important guests." Mr Bennet spared a brief glance for his daughters. "I see." He then gave a soft chuckle. "Lizzie, I'd like to see you and Jane in an hour." He then turned and left the room, Jane and Elizabeth retired with him, but climbed immediately up to Elizabeth's bedroom. An hour later had them descending the stairs again, Elizabeth knocked softly on the library door.
"Enter." Mr Bennet's voice came clearly through the woodwork, and with a quick breath Elizabeth pushed the door open and entered the room, with Jane right behind her. Mr Bennet was seated, reading in his usual chair by the window.
"You requested us to come in an hour papa."
"An hour up already is it?" Mr Bennet glanced at his watch in surprise, then gave a nod and closed his book. "Thankyou for being prompt. Please take a seat." Mr Bennet stared down at his hands. "I foresee a slight re-arrangement in this house in the none to distant future. How was the trip to London?"
"Comfortable enough." Jane answered quietly, forestalling one of Elizabeth's frequent tirades about the hard seats.
"What do you intend to do?" Mr Bennet frowned slightly as he saw a brief expression flash across Elizabeth's face, but decided to leave it alone until he had Elizabeth alone.
"I have become a nursing assistant, Lizzie says she is going to drive ambulances if they have a vacancy."
"That should be interesting." Once again the strange expression flashed across Elizabeth's face, leaving mr Bennet in a state of serious disquiet. "Well I hope you do your jobs properly and do me proud for letting you do this. And please, try not to annoy your mother more than you must, we are still required to live with her."
"Papa! Yes we will try, papa." Jane stood up to kiss her father before turning to leave the room.
"I'll be up in a minute Jane, I need to discuss something that.....that came in one of Folin's letters." Elizabeth spoke up as she saw Jane pause by the door. With a simple nod Jane had gone and Elizabeth was left alone with her father.
"Do you really want to discuss something from one of Folin's letters?" Elizabeth shook her head mutely in response, her eyes focussed on her hands. "What's the matter Lizzie?" Mr Bennet's mind immediately flew back to the strange expression that had passed twice over Elizabeth's face.
"They wouldn't accept me into the ambulance service, and infact I'm not even going to be at the Meryton Hospital." Elizabeth stopped as if unsure of her position. "Meryton is a shell-shock hospital, I'm going to the Weatherton Hospital eight miles away.
"I take it you are not becoming a nursing assistant?" Once again Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes fixed on her hands.
"I'm to be an assistant in the 'front door' squad, with the possibility of rising to becoming head of the 'front door' squad."
"What, or who, is the 'Front door' squad?" Mr Bennet frowned in perplexity.
"The ambulances come to the front door with who ever they have in the back, the front door squad work through every last person, deciding whether they can wait for their surgery or not. If they can wait they go into one room, if they can't they go into a second..." Elizabeth paused. "And if they are not going to make it, even with surgery, they are put in a third room."
"I see." Mr Bennet spoke slowly and whistled gently between his teeth, and he did see precisely what the problem was. "Lizzie, when I was down in South Africa there were many things I did that I had no wish to do. People speak of the glamour and prestige that comes with being an officer, but they never tell the otherside of the story. I did it many times, Folin will probably have done it many times now, but no matter how many times you do it, you never feel any happier with the decision, you just have to learn to live with it as a fact of life. Go to the 'Front Door' squad, follow your instincts and know, that by sacrificing this very unstable flame of life, you are probably saving a flame which is steadier and much more likely to survive if it gets into one of the theatres." Elizabeth nodded slowly as she digested this.
"Papa, what was it that you referring to? saying that you had done it, and Ben would be doing it."
"I am referring to a specific form of warfare where, even though you know there is little to no hope of them coming back alive, you send your men out in a charge. These are perfectly healthy men we are condemning to death, or life in pain because we consider something to be of greater importance. The higher you climb up the ranks merely means you can condemn more men to death. It is not pleasant to consider."
"Why did you stay so long in the army then?" Elizabeth looked curiously up at her father.
"I stayed because I believed that I was more use to my country while I condemned men to die and be injured, then if I were to stay here at Longbourn and farm. On the otherside was the knowledge that your probability of survival was just as high as that of your men. Lizzie, your life will also be at risk while you work in those wards, it is no strange thing to humanity that our own unhealthy carcase can cause great harm to those that come near us. Remember, even the most senseless rules usually have a reason, and to violate them will probably endanger you or another human being. You can have no emotions in a hospital, and I'm very proud of you if you have joined the 'Front Door' squad."
"Thankyou papa." Elizabeth stood up and approached her father slowly. "Ben never writes about what life is like out there and what he has to do, he just bewails his wet shirts."
"I could believe he would, the truth of the battle front is not a thing for young ladies to read about, and I am sure that your brother is ecstatic when he receives one of those inane letters you write habitually, they will help him forget the ugly reality around him. I certainly know that I appreciated the most inane letters I ever got sent. But now the summer offensives have ended the letters will probably increase in length."
"Thankyou papa. I think I will go to the roof now. I'm glad you don't disapprove of my joining the 'Front Door' squad." Elizabeth gave her father a quick kiss on the forehead before retreating to the refuge on the roof.
The mechanic, or ack-emma as they were more commonly known as, on the tarmac watched in puzzlement as an unfamiliar 'plane made a tight turn and before side slipping in a most amaturish style towards the tarmac, though the skill shown when the 'plane flattened out to land showed the ack-emma that the pilot was not an amature. Then suddenly the answer clicked and the ack-emma hustled over to where the 'plane had now rolled to a halt, since the landing skill displayed wasn't amaturish, then the pilot must be a test pilot, and to say the least the test pilots at this base were still total strangers to Geordie, and he was more than a little bit interested in meeting them. Geordie also had to admit that he would not trade places with the test pilots if you paid him to, he preferred flying planes which were relatively reliable when it came to getting off the ground and staying there. The pilot was seated, slightly slumped forward in his harness, in the cockpit still and had not even removed his goggles or helmet, and momentarily worrying that the pilot might be injured the ack-emma tapped him gently on the arm. The head turned and the pilot pushed up his goggles to inspect the person who had interrupted him.
"Is there a problem?" The question was quite reasonable, since Geordie had leapt back a full foot when the goggles had lifted.
"N-n-no, sir." It had taken Geordie less than a second to realise that he had made a serious error, for Colonel James Thomlin was famed throughout flying circles, and as scum as the pilots might consider the ground staff, not even the pilots themselves ever desired to draw Colonel Thomlin's attention to his person. He was equally famed for two reasons, the first being his unquestionable proficiency with any machine that could leave the ground, the second being the bloodless militarity of his nature, everything had to be perfect and may G-d have mercy on your soul if something was not perfect and 'Old Icey' was doing the rounds, for 'Old Icey' most certainly would not. "I appologise, sir, you had not moved, I thought there might have been a problem."
"No problem Sergeant, just finishing up." Thomlin finally unstrapped his helmet, and dumped both helmet and goggles into the bottom of his cockpit.
"A good 'plane?" Geordie felt more than a little daring asking the question, for most of the ack-emma's avoided 'Old Icey' like the plague after he had landed.
"You might say so." Thomlin came scrambling out of the cockpit and took a moment to stretch as he sat on the back of the cockpit. "But this particular 'plane doesn't spin, and what's more it doesn't dive to well either." With a nod Thomlin reached down to retrieve his helmet and goggles before sliding down the far side of the plane and heading for the barracks.
"Cor!" Geordie scratched his head and eyed the retreating figure with respect.
"What's got you Geordie? and what in hell possessed you to go near 'Old Icey'."
"What's got me is that 'Old Icey' just told me that this particular 'plane doesn't spin, and it's none to good at diving." Geordie scratched his head again. "And as I see the matter, there is only one way you can find that sort of thing out."
"Well if you're going to decide to worship the man you can take over his 'planes, I'm to damned fed up with his exacting demands." The ack-emma who had accosted Geordie then strode away, leaving Geordie to frown after the Colonel who had now been stopped just short of the barracks.
"Thomlin!" Thomlin turned to see who called him, and let a vague ripple of annoyance cross his face.
"What do you want, sir."
"They're sending up a two-seater for testing, it should arrive tomorrow. How's the 'Piper' coming?"
"It's going no where. It doesn't spin and it's damnably difficult to get out of a dive once it has got into one, nearly lost the starboard wing."
"Well get the report done, then hustle across and see if you can borrow some callow recruit from Eddie."
"Very good, sir." Thomlin turned and finally entered the barracks, just his luck, with a double-seater coming to be tested he now had to face General Fforbes of the lame leg and persuade him that he could risk losing one of his recruits.
Thomlin had quietly entered the noisy mess and sat down in one of the back corners, he had then proceeded to light a cigarette and totally ignore the room around himself.
"All right you bloody hair-witted turkeys, let's have some quiet here." Fforbes came storming into the room causing everyone to jump and fall silent. "Now, whether you know it or not, there is among us tonight, one of those bird-brained parasites who put on all manner of airs, and strut around, while in reality they do is sit around on their rears all day doing precisely nothing. And here I am of course referring to our Royal Flying Corpse....sorry, corps, and if the lot of you bloody stiff-necks takes a gander at the back of the room, you'll see one of them perched there." Thomlin had the fun of having the entire contents of a very full mess turning to look at him, he ignored the lot of them, choosing to continue smoking peacefully. "Okay, now you've all had a suitable gander at that particular turkey, and let me now say that he floats around the atmosphere at regular intervals in a two-winged liability...."
"General Fforbes, it is called a bi-plane."
"My thanks for the correction Colonel Thomlin, but it is still a two-winged liability. Now you turkeys, face up and listen, I'm asking for a volunteer. The volunteer is Lieutenant Ellis McKenna."
"Sir." Thomlin eyed the young Lieutenant who had risen and saluted intently. McKenna was some twenty years of age by Thomlin's guess. McKenna's face was pleasantly smooth and uncreased, though the softness was tempered by a strong tan and deep creases between mouth and nose, and the chin was cleft squarely.
"What do you want McKenna?" Fforbes' voice sounded annoyed.
"What have I volunteered to do?"
"To sit around on your rear for a day. Colonel Thomlin will explain the rest later." Fforbes turned and left while McKenna sat down with a frown on his face. After a bit of time passed and the talk had resumed, Thomlin stood up and departed as well, but he had not got far when the Lieutenant came flying passed him, skidded to a halt and saluted stiffly.
"Colonel Thomlin, sir."
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Thomlin acknowledged the salute and motioned McKenna to relax.
"I thought I had best ask what I'm meant to do and when."
"Report to the Farnborough airfield at seven tomorrow."
"Seven?"
"Well you're no good 'til we have verified the damn 'plane can get off the ground with a pilot first."
"Very good, sir." McKenna saluted stiffly again and watched in silence as the Colonel continued his departure from the base, as little as McKenna liked to admit it, there was an uncomfotable knot in his stomach, what precisely had he been volunteered into doing? For crying out loud, he got vertigo by climbing a tree. What was it going to be like in an aeroplane?
The next day dawned fine and found McKenna fifty minutes early, standing on the edge of the tarmac feeling remarkably lost while a small army of ground crew bustled around a remarkably flimsy looking construction of plywood and fabric.
"You're rather early." McKenna jumped when Thomlin's voice spoke at his elbow.
"Sorry, sir." McKenna saluted stiffly. "They had a marchout today, which meant the day started earlier."
"You were not one of the marchers?"
"No, sir." McKenna's tone was a bit disgruntled. "The War Office has chosen to delay my departure yet again."
"So that's why Fforbes volunteered you. Oh well, you can use the mess if you want anything to eat or drink, just charge it to Thomlin, I've cleared you already."
"Thankyou, sir." McKenna was sure his eyes would fall out of his head if he opened his eyes any further, it seemed that the rumours about Colonel Thomlin were incorrect.
"Those rumours are quite correct, Lieutenant, but it never does to starve and dehydrate the man you are quite probably going to kill. And on the same note, if you're dead, then I'll probably also be dead, which means I won't have to pay the bill. And if we're both alive, then I'm more than willing to foot such a minor bill." Then with a brief nod Thomlin turned and marched over to the flimsy construction that McKenna had been eyeing distrustfully, a coat, helmet and goggles were hurridly donned and Thomlin vanished into the body of the construction. A hand waved, there was some shouting that made no sense to McKenna, then one of the small army spun the propeller and the lot of them dove for the sides of the tarmac.
McKenna continued to watch, his head was already starting to ache from the deafening bellow that the flimsy construction produced, five minutes passed and then finally the machine started to move, slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed, it made a few hops, which sort of left the ground, then it slowly came to a halt. Thomlin immediately appeared beside it, and the small army of men appeared either side of it and it was dragged back the way it had come, they stopped for a brief consultation at the point where it had originally rested, then dragged it a couple of metres further back, then the process repeated, only this time the machine left the ground, it climbed slowly, then with a rending crash and the sickening sound of splintering wood it plowed into the trees that lined the far end off the airfield. It hung there for perhaps a minute, then with aching slowness it swung on an axis, as the wings gave way, and started to fall, bouncing from branch to branch, each bounce brought the sound of more splintered wood, and to McKenna it felt like nearly a year later when the mangled wreck of canvas and plywood finally came to rest.
The small army had immediately set out for the wreck when it hit the trees, they were still only halfway there when it hit the ground, and what surprised McKenna was the immediate appeance of Thomlin as soon as the wreck finally came to rest, had anyone asked him, he would have sworn that Colonel Thomlin was no longer among the living. There was more conversation when the Colonel met his small army, and then the small army hurried into one of the nearby sheds.
"They're getting the 'Betsy' out of the hangers for us, I only got half way through testing it." Thomlin's voice came from directly behind McKenna and caused him to jump, for McKenna had been watching the small army of mechanics as they had started wrestling a new plane out onto the tarmac.
"What happened?" McKenna was fully aware that these recent happenings had not made him feel at all encouraged about his continued survival.
"Oh, it just needed a lot longer run then we could afford for it to take. It lacked flying speed and climbs like a fish, the ack-emmas will go retrieve it this evening. You got a coat?"
"No, sir."
"What size do you take?....oh forget it, we only have a few spare kits."
"Oh." McKenna felt rather blank as Thomlin vanished into a nearby shed, he reappeared only five minutes later with a bunch of leather hung over one arm.
"Try this for size." Thomlin watched critically as McKenna struggled into the stiff clothing. "Hmm, looks like it fits well enough. They've got the Betsy out now, come on." Thomlin lead the way over to where another machine stood, if anything, this one looked even more flimsy than its predecessor. "Now, remember three things. One, I won't hear no matter how loud you yell, so don't bother trying to communicate. Two, you touch anything or endanger the 'plane at all and this will be very firmly applied to the back of your skull." McKenna jumped slightly as Thomlin waved a massive spanner under his nose. "Three, if you're going to be sick, do it down wind and lean as far out as you can before opening your mouth." McKenna nodded nervously. "Good, front cockpit and don't put your foot through the wing." The latter was a yell as McKenna started to climb in, he felt a strong hand grab his left ankle and yank it away, almost immediately it was repositioned, and McKenna soon found himself sitting on a hard piece of wood that served for a seat, then a hand grabbed him and yanked him back before another hand proceeded to strap him to the seat with a most complex looking combination of wires and ropes that McKenna had ever seen. "NOW DON'T TOUCH 'EM. YOU'RE NOT THE SLIGHTEST GOOD IF YOU FALL OUT." McKenna felt a hand push his goggles down, then there was some more yelling which made as much sense as it did the previous time, then there was an earsplitting roar.
McKenna fiddled with his goggles trying to see, but as soon as he managed to see out them he wished he couldn't. They were now hurtling forward at what seemed to be a terrifying pace, jolting and lurching, McKenna was positive his life was about to end. Then there was a sudden, extremely vicious jolt and McKenna saw the tree tops come flying towards him, then they vanished and all McKenna could see was blue sky.
What followed after that was very vague for McKenna, he remembered seeing sky, he remembered seeing the earth as a dull blur of swirling grey, green, and brown, he rembered hearing Thomlin's voice on a couple occasions, but he never knew what was said, or even if he did anything, and he remembered feeling rather ill, then suddenly they were back on the ground standing by the machine and unlike when they had taken off, there was not an ack-emma in sight.
"Why is there no one around?" McKenna looked around thoughtfully.
"It's lunchtime, besides which, only a fool hangs around after I've been up in a dubious 'plane."
"Was that 'plane dubious?"
"Very, we nearly lost the wings on four occasions, it consumes gas like....like a tapeworm, and it has the worst setup for all the controls imagineable."
"Oh." McKenna shook his head, trying desperately to rid himself of the rather blank feeling he had.
"You did remarkably well for a beginner, we'll be going up again after lunch."
"The Betsy again?" McKenna followed Thomlin's lead in pulling off the flying leathers.
"Probably, but it depends on the weather." Thomlin then turned and lead the way into one of the long dusty sheds. "Go order some lunch, I'll be with you in a minute."
"But...." McKenna stopped as Thomlin had already walked away, McKenna was wondering what he should do, for he did not feel in the slightest bit hungry. After a moments consideration McKenna decided to go to the mess and sit down, he wasn't hungry, but neither did he want to continue to look very conspicuous by standing around.
"Who are you?" The voice sounded rather bored, and McKenna was startled to find it addressing him.
"Lieutenant McKenna." McKenna nearly saluted, but then he saw that the move was not required, whoever it was had no apparent rank.
"You stupid bugger."
"Why?" McKenna felt a flash of annoyance at the condescending arrogance in the other man's voice.
"Only a stupid bugger would go flying with 'Old Icey'."
"And why's that?" McKenna looked curiously up at the man, then man responded by staring intently at him.
"You mean you've been out with him all morning and you don't know why I'm calling you stupid?"
"The aeroplanes must be tested somehow." McKenna shrugged indifferently, wondering in a back corner of his mind what would happen if he hit this man.
"Wiggins." The sound of Thomlin dry tones had the man spinning around.
"S-sir." The man saluted stiffly.
"I believe your flight has already left for the afternoon's exercises." Thomlin made not the slightest move to acknowledge the salute, and said nothing until the man Wiggins had departed the mess. "I take it he caused you no serious annoyance?"
"N-no, sir."
"Had some lunch?"
"No, I'm not actually hungry." The aroma that arose from Thomlin's piled plate drove McKenna's appetite even further away.
"Well you're doing better than most." Thomlin gave a dry chuckle as he made short work of his plate. "How'd you like to learn to fly?"
"F-fly, sir?" McKenna blinked and stared.
"Yes."
"I don't know, sir."
"Well think about it, you're one of the few I've ever taken up in this sort of weather without them getting sick."
"The weather isn't good?"
"Heavens no." Thomlin gave him a most peculiar look. "It's nearly bad enough to make me think twice about going up."
"But what about the exercises you sent Wiggins off to?"
"They're ground based, aeroplane maintenance, recruits only fly in the very early morning and evening if the weather is quiet enough." Thomlin shrugged, and finished off the last on his plate. "Let's get moving, I doubt I'll get you out of Eddie for another day running."
"Oh." McKenna watched as Thomlin disposed of his plate and then trailed him out onto the tarmac, there was a brief struggle while he resumed the flying leathers and boots lined with sheep-skin.
The afternoon wasn't much better than the morning, though McKenna did exert himself to attend to what was happening, not that it made much difference everything was still very much of a blur.
It was nearly evening when they finally landed again and several aeroplanes of unfamiliar make were climbing and diving and weaving through the atmosphere near the aerodrome, but sooner than McKenna would have thought possible they were back on terra firma and stripping off the stiff flying leathers.
"Have you considered the offer I made?" Thomlin possessed himself of McKenna's kit and headed for one of the sheds.
"Well, ummm, I guess so. It gets a bit boring to keep repeating the initial training stage times without end."
"Good, I'll see what I can arrange, but frankly you're commiting suicide. I'll see you again as soon as something happens." Thomlin nodded then headed towards the mess, leaving McKenna to stare around himself in bewilderment. What, precisely, had he got himself in for now?