Half a Crown (22 page)

“I think he was,” Carmichael said. “I don’t have any proper evidence, or he’d be in the Tower, but it’s a pattern of things, how he was talking, what he’s been doing, that riot.”

“What did he say?” Sir Guy asked.

“He said that some great countries became less great when they were run by women and weaklings,” Tibs said. “Mark won’t like that.”

“Mark won’t like that at all. There are people slowly starving in the death camps of the Reich for saying considerably less than that.” Sir Guy shook his head. “Still, he was the King, you know, even if he wasn’t crowned. We can’t just pack him off to be made into soap like Joe Bloggs.”

“We can’t just let him go around saying whatever he wants, either. Carmichael thinks he’s involved with a conspiracy.”

“Do you?” Sir Guy looked at Carmichael intently, suddenly seeming almost sober. “Why?”

Carmichael couldn’t tell them about Abby. The trouble with knowledge, he thought, just like power, was applying it in the right place with the right degree of force. “He’s supposed to be under tight watch by the Watch,” he said. “How did he come to be on
This Week
without anyone asking me, or even telling me? Then is it a coincidence that we have a riot at an Ironsides rally just before he arrives? He has connections with this British Power thing. I’m sure of it. He was saying the same things the British Power spokesman said. And the thing that worries me the most is that he
is
the Duke of Windsor, he
was
the King of England, even if only for five minutes, never mind all that old nonsense about Queen Victoria. The fact is that he knows people and has old connections and we don’t know where they run. A lot of people will agree to do things for him because of who he is. He knows top people in organizations. I’m not
saying they’re traitors, even if he is; I’m saying they’re his friends, and they’ll do him a favor.”

“I put a bit of a spoke in his wheel by mentioning the new Gravesend facility!” Tibs said, and giggled. “British death camps for British Jews!”

“Oh honestly, Tibs,” Sir Guy said, disgustedly. “Do grow up. Three of the most powerful men in the country ought to be able to have a serious conversation without one of them giggling like a girl.”

“I’m glad you agree we need to clamp down on the Duke of Windsor,” Carmichael said, in the awkward silence. “Do you think one of you could talk to the Prime Minister about it?”

“I will, tomorrow,” Tibs said. “And as soon as this peace conference nonsense is open, we’ll pack him back off to Bermuda. Wednesday, isn’t it?”

“The procession is Wednesday—and we’re essentially shutting off Central London for it, nobody will be able to be there who hasn’t been checked six ways from Sunday,” Carmichael said. “The actual conference opens afterwards, with a speech from Her Majesty, followed by formal speeches from the major delegations. The whole thing’s being televised.”

“I hope the Jap general doesn’t come out with the kind of thing he was spouting tonight,” Tibs said, taking a large gulp of his whisky. “Britain and Japan should divide America between them. I didn’t know where to look.”

“Not such a bad idea,” Sir Guy said. His glass was empty.

“Maybe worth consideration, but not to say it out loud and frighten the horses! And he said he knew we had the bomb.”

“We can’t keep that secret forever. The Germans already know,” Sir Guy said. “I told you those Japs were trouble. We want a pretty big buffer zone there, I think. They’d be taking it all if they could, Burma, Malaya, India even. We need as big a Scythia as we can talk them into.”

“He was certainly talking as if he had no discretion at all,” Tibs said.

“Shall I get the other half?” Sir Guy asked.

“I really should get home,” Carmichael said.

“Wife waiting for you?” Sir Guy asked. “My wife, Marjorie, she doesn’t like it when I’m late. Wonderful woman, Marjorie. I have two sons too, Philip and Benedict. Wonderful boys. At Eton now, of course.”

“Commander Carmichael is a confirmed bachelor, just like me,” Tibs said.

“Lots of you buggers in politics. But there’s no need to rush off then, Carmichael, stay and have the other half,” Sir Guy urged.

“I do have somebody waiting at home,” Carmichael said, standing. He had said all he wanted to say to these men. He wanted to be home, to be shut away from the world, away from conspiracies and innuendos and the problems of power.

“Well, then,” Sir Guy said. “Nice chatting with you like this. Doesn’t make any difference if it’s a man or a woman, I suppose, keeping them waiting.”

“How unbearably tolerant you are,” Tibs said, and rolled his eyes at Carmichael, who stood.

“I’ll see both you gentlemen soon, no doubt,” he said. “Goodbye, thanks for the drink, Tibs.”

He walked back to where his car was waiting. “Home,” he said to the driver, luxuriating in the word.

The guard at the door of his flats looked uncomfortable. “Any problem, Mike?” he asked.

“Not here, sir, but I’m hearing reports of riots at different places around the country. Bristol, Liverpool, Newcastle.”

“That’s all we need,” Carmichael said. “Thanks, Mike, I’ll check into that.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Mike said, and opened the door.

Carmichael took the stairs two at a time. He felt overheated and exhausted. Jack greeted him at the door with a whisky. “I saw the program,” he said, and hugged him.

“How did I look? Not making a frightful fool of myself?”

“You did very well, I thought,” Jack said. “Do you want this, or should I make you a cup of tea?”

“I had a whisky with Tibs and Sir Guy, after. It was ghastly. I’d love some tea, though. Thank you, Jack. You drink that whisky, now you’ve poured it.”

Jack went off to the kitchen, and Carmichael went into the sitting room and sat down with a sigh. He was just taking his shoes off when Jack came back with the tea tray. “That was quick!”

“I had it ready too,” Jack said. “Mrs. Maynard phoned. Twice. The second time she sounded very agitated.”

“I don’t suppose she said what was wrong?”

“No, just asked for you and asked if you’d call her back urgently.”

Carmichael sighed, and dropped his shoes onto the carpet. “The stupid woman didn’t call when Elvira was arrested in the riot, and now she wants me urgently and it’s probably something ridiculously trivial about dinner on Tuesday or what flowers Elvira’s going to carry to be presented.”

“I think you’d better call her, P. A.,” Jack said, hovering in the doorway. “She really did sound bothered.”

“She always sounds bothered,” Carmichael said, but he was reaching for the receiver even as he grumbled. All of the things that might have happened to Elvira went through his mind as he dialed, from falling through ice, unlikely on a mild evening in April, to being burned up in a fire.

Mrs. Maynard snatched up the phone on the first ring. “Commander Carmichael?” she asked. “Oh, I’m so glad you called. The most ridiculous thing has happened. Elvira has been arrested again,
and so has my husband. They came and took them away just after dinner.”

Carmichael heard himself making reassuring noises as if at a long distance. This had not been one of his imaginings. He listened to Mrs. Maynard, assured her he’d leave no stone unturned. “And she’s got herself engaged to Sir Alan Bellingham, too …,” she said, reproachfully and almost as an afterthought.

“I’ll do what I can, and let you know if there’s any news,” Carmichael said, and put the phone down.

“P. A.?” Jack was still in the doorway. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve been struck by lightning.”

“They’ve arrested Elvira again,” Carmichael said. “And they’ve arrested Mr. Maynard. And I think this has to be aimed at me. But they left Mrs. Maynard and Betsy there, so they know I’ll be told. I mustn’t do whatever it is that they want me to. Oh, and Elvira seems to have got herself engaged to some idiot baronet who may be mixed up with this nonsense.”

“Who’s
they
in all this?” Jack asked, coming forward into the sitting room.

“I’m not sure,” Carmichael said. “Not Normanby, for once, I don’t think. It might be the Duke of sodding Windsor’s lot. But if it is, her blasted baronet ought to be able to help her.”

“Would Normanby help us if it is them?”

“I’ll ask. But I don’t know if he can. I don’t know what he’d risk for me. Not much. I’m a useful tool, he could get another.”

Jack put his arms around Carmichael. He was still standing, and Carmichael sitting, so his head was pressed to Jack’s belly. The warmth and the closeness and the familiar smell of Jack made him feel safer, and he embraced him back tightly, arms around his waist. “What does Elvira know?” Jack asked. He loosened his grip, moved away a step, and sat down on the footstool.

“Nothing,” Carmichael said. “She doesn’t know about you and
me, or about the Inner Watch, none of it. I asked her if she knew why I’d sent her to Switzerland rather than France or Germany and she had no idea. She went in all innocence to an Ironsides rally as a fun evening out.”

“If she doesn’t know anything, they can’t get anything out of her. And you have an organization—two organizations. You can get her away.” Jack looked very earnest. “Or do you think it’s time to get out?” His eyes went to the wall where a safe was hidden underneath a watercolor of Hagia Sophia. “We have the passports and the money. We could get away if we need to.”

“It’s not that bad yet,” Carmichael said. “You’re right. I have two organizations. I can get her away one way or the other. It might just be bureaucratic incompetence somewhere. And if not, we can get her away too.” He reached for the telephone again. “Thanks, Jack.”

“I hear Turkey’s very nice at this time of year,” Jack said.

“More Byzantine ruins than South America, certainly,” Carmichael said. “But let’s find out who’s got her and what’s going on before we panic.” He dialed the Watchtower. “Carmichael here. Have any news on Elvira Royston, who was at home but in Watch custody?”

The night sergeant grunted. Carmichael could hear him turning the pages of the log. “Yes, sir, routine demand from the Met, looks like. Four o’clock, or sixteen hundred I should say. It got passed on to Sergeant Evans, who was the arresting officer, and he gave it the nod at seventeen-ten. It was all over before I came on at six.”

“Thank you, sergeant,” Carmichael said. “The Met are treading on our toes again. Don’t let them have anything else without consultation, however routine it looks.”

“Yes, sir. You give them a rocket, sir.”

Carmichael put the receiver down and stared straight ahead. Jack got up and poured the tea. “Did Sergeant Evans by any chance try to reach me earlier this evening?”

“No,” Jack said, handing him a cup of tea. “Are you sure you don’t want that whisky?”

“I need a clear head,” Carmichael said.

“Why did you ask about Sergeant Evans?”

Carmichael sighed. “You never quite get used to your subordinates selling you out, no matter how often it happens. I wonder what they have on Sergeant Evans?”

“You can’t blame him—”

“I don’t blame him. I don’t have the standing to blame him. When it comes to it, there’s always something you care about enough that they can use it against you. For me that was you. For Evans, I don’t know. There’s not even much point talking to him about it. But we know the Met have her.”

“If the Duke of Windsor is attacking Normanby through you, then surely Normanby would help you stop him. It would be a coup,” Jack said.

“I’ll try that if I have to,” Carmichael said. He dialed the number for Scotland Yard, and waited while it rang. “It’s Watch Commander Carmichael here,” he said, when they picked up. “Can I have a word with the Chief?”

“At this time on a Sunday night, sir?” The desk sergeant sounded dubious. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Shall I ask him to call you in the morning?”

“Then can I speak to whoever is on duty and in charge of the Elvira Royston case?”

“I don’t know who that would be, sir,” he said.

“Is Mr. Bannister there?”

“I’ll see, sir. Hold the line.” There was a pause. Carmichael sipped his tea. “I can’t get hold of Mr. Bannister for you now, sir. Shall I leave a message to call you in the morning?”

“Yes, please, sergeant,” Carmichael said. He put the receiver down. “Bannister’s the man from Paddington,” he explained to Jack.
“If he wasn’t there, the sergeant would have said no straight away. He’s there. What in heaven’s name do they think they’re doing? This has to be a move on me, but if so, why aren’t they here?”

“Is it worth you going there?” Jack asked. “Or would that be putting your head in the lion’s mouth?”

Carmichael glanced at his watch. “I’m going to call Normanby,” he said. He took a deep breath as he reached for the receiver.

Now I know what you’re thinking I did next, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Even if he was a poof, I knew he wasn’t a traitor. It was impossible. He was
Uncle Carmichael,
he was practically the definition of integrity. These men, who I didn’t like and didn’t trust, were in some way out to get him. It’s true that I’d been told for years it was my patriotic duty to report anything I happened to come across, and I’d paid lip service to that—literally, chanting it at Arlinghurst the same way I chanted prayers in chapel. But under that was an older code, one learned in childhood on the streets of London, a code that said you didn’t rat out your friends no matter what. Uncle Carmichael had been a friend to me. He had come into Paddington to rescue me. I knew he’d be trying to rescue me again the moment he knew where I was. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference to him what I’d said, and that made me more determined not to say anything at all. Besides, that meeting with Mrs. Talbot was such a little thing, and probably perfectly legitimate Watch business. If there was ever going to be a moment when I’d have thought it right to have ratted on him it would have been right then, when I was shaken up, but even then I knew better.

“I don’t know anything,” I said. “I don’t believe he has any seditious activities. Don’t you know he’s the Commander of the Watch?”