The Secret Generations (13 page)

I fear, though, she does not get on well with Jack Hunter. Yesterday, Hunter was giving instructions to the gamekeeper for the setting up of man traps in the spinney near the road. People have been getting in there, and Hunter said it should be discouraged once and for all. As it turned out, Sara arrived with Bob Berry, just as the wretched things had been laid out in the stable yard. At first, Sara could not tell what they were, but when she learned I thought she would have a fit. She sent for Hunter and really gave him what for: told him he would have to wait for your return before any inhuman instruments of torture like that were set up on the estate.

Hunter got quite angry, b
ut she told him to mind his manners, and won the day. You would have been proud, I think.

Please come soon, Papa. I know Sara misses you. Our great American aviator arrives again on Tuesday. We are to fly on Wednesday morning, so he has agreed to come over a day early and dine with us. Sara has ordered a feast. She has been on at Cook, and had some capons brought up from the Farm. We are to have hare soup, soles a la creme, the capons, and one of Mrs Bolton
’s superb puddings. I wish you could be with us, as it is really to celebrate my ‘Further’.

Come soon,

Your loving and affectionate son,

James.

John Railton, ever conscious of the age difference between himself and Sara, had wanted to bolt from his club, skip the sub-committee meeting and take the first train to Haversage – for it was now Tuesday. Never would he suspect Sara of any infidelity, but both Richard Farthing and Bob Berry were handsome, virile young men and women of Sara’s age were so easily tempted into flirtation.

There was much to worry him. People gossiped; Bob Berry was still unmarried, and only the farm manager. There could be a whiff of scandal, particularly if she had made an enemy of Hunter, who could be a vindictive man
– especially when you considered his sexual proclivities, about which John had always been uneasy.

For the first time, John wondered if he had made a terrible error in accepting his parliamentary seat, let alone the Cabinet appointment.

In the meantime, all he could do was head for Downing Street, where he would wait for the Prime Minister. After making his report he could, perhaps, ask Asquith if he might take a week away from Town, to spend time at Redhill Manor. He could, at a pinch, get there tonight.

*

At the clinic in Neuweissensee, Steinhauer gave ‘The Fisherman’ his first operational briefing. In a few weeks’ time, his agent would be setting off on his acclimatization mission – to take a look at England, and the English, at close quarters; to test himself, and merge into the landscape. Then he was to spend time in Ireland, making contact with the Fenians.

He was ordered to engage himself in no espionage, but could offer any assistance to the Fenians.
‘If they should require you to use any of your particular skills, then you will do as they wish,’ Steinhauer told him. ‘However,’ he wagged an admonishing finger, ‘take heed. No whoring, no drinking. You are on active service for the Fatherland.’

‘
You think I’m going to drink my head off in London pubs and Dublin bars, and screw all their women?’

‘
I think it quite likely, yes. And if you do, then you could become insecure. My neck’s on the block as well as your own. Just go, and bring back a good report to me.’

‘
The Fisherman’ merely nodded his big head. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Chapter Eight

The Director of Intelligence Division Admiralty made a habit of calling into Andrew Railton
’s office when he returned from the sub-committee meetings chaired by Andrew’s father. Being a courteous man, he liked to think this was a small sign of his confidence in Andrew.

Andrew
’s new job, in the Division, was to set up a special section dealing with all aspects of codes and ciphers, including their valid use, by the Royal Navy and its, possibly, paid agents; together with the way ciphers were being handled by the other great maritime nations of Europe.

‘
Well,’ the Admiral said, on this evening, ‘looks as though this damned new Intelligence Service will eventually take over everything. Thank heaven we gave them the head of their Foreign Section – at least we’ll be able to keep an eye on him.’ He spoke of Commander Smith-Cumming, now in charge of the Secret Service, known as MI1(c). ‘Time to shore up, though. Weakest points, Andrew, weakest points?’ The Admiral glared at him.

‘
The new chain of W/T stations along the coast, sir.’ Andrew had no doubts.

‘
You think we should press for that?’

The plans for a chain of stations along the British coastline had
‘lain on the table’ for a long time. Too long. Both the Army and Navy had dragged heels.

‘
Sooner the better, sir. I believe we should, as Shakespeare says,… “put a girdle round the earth”.’

‘
I’ll have a word. Talk to their Lordships. Meantime, get me a report on the other priorities.’

So, when Andrew returned home, his head buzzed with
the report upon which he would have to start working in the morning.

There was a letter from his nephew James lying on top of a small pile of correspondence on the silver tray in the hall. Andrew recognized it instantly, from the way in which the boy added reckless flourishes to the otherwise beautiful handwriting.

Charlotte was in the morning room talking to Mildred, the detritus of tea not yet cleared away. As Andrew entered the two women stopped talking, as though caught in some clandestine conversation.

In fact, they had discussed Mildred
’s pregnancy for most of their tea – Charles’ wife, at thirty-four being naturally anxious. Charlotte, with her experience as the travelled wife of a naval officer, appeared to have taken over the role of confidante within the family, and was able to cite chapter and verse on a number of her friends who had given birth to perfectly normal children relatively late in life. The subject exhausted, they began speaking of Sara.

Railton women, their menfolk often observed, had a knack of picking up family gossip, even at long range. Already, Mildred knew of the American called Richard Farthing, and James
’ scrape at Farnborough. Charlotte knew more.

‘
Sara’s a darling, and I love her dearly, but she is so very young.’ Andrew’s wife had a quick, animated manner of speaking. When she talked now, the tone became flat as though sincerity was being strained.

‘
The American is visiting Redhill while John’s away?’ Mildred still had the somewhat ‘Churchy’ way of indicating that, while shocked, she could not wait to hear more.

Charlotte sighed.
‘It is not correct, even though James is there. Sara’s left to her own devices in the country, and that must be difficult after the social whirl of London. Everyone expected her to be dashing up to Town on the.slightest excuse, but she stays at Haversage with little complaint.’

‘
Surely you don’t think…?’

‘
A woman like Sara requires attention.’ Charlotte became emphatic. ‘Heavens, Millie,
you’re
a long-married Railton now. You know what all our men are.’ Her lips formed a half-kiss, half-pout. ‘We can speak plainly, my dear. The women in the Railton clan also soon learn to enjoy that side of things…’

‘
Charlotte!’ Mildred sounded shocked.

‘
Millie, come along. We’re experienced enough. The men have a reputation. You’ve been married what? sixteen? Seventeen years? I’d be surprised if your desire isn’t lit at least twice a week, even now. I’m not ashamed of it. Oh, I sometimes wonder if, at our age, we should be so wanton. I’ll tell you, my dear, there are days when I long for Andrew to come home and plough me. I even lure him.’ She paused, as though for a moment savouring a delicious thought. ‘So what of Sara? John’s older, much older, and, therefore, an expert, I should imagine. I doubt if young Sara can do without it. He leaves her alone too often, and the Devil makes use of idle hands – though it’s not the hands I’m concerned about.’

‘
I don’t believe she’d be so foolish,’ Mildred said, primly. Her sexual experience with Charles had been somewhat different – a delicious, sudden and beautiful time in the first years, then nothing but guilt and unpleasantness.

Charlotte turned her lovely profile, catching sight of herself in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantelpiece.
‘In the country things are, well, different. Look at The General. He managed, and not one member of the family, or the servants for that matter, ever acknowledged anything was wrong morally.’

‘
I still can’t believe that Sara…’

‘
No. I agree. But there is danger if she’s left with young men. She’s so very attractive.’ Charlotte added, almost wistfully, ‘and young.’

It was soon after this that Andrew returned. He kissed both women, and Charlotte took the opportunity to whisper that their eldest son, Caspar, was waiting anxiously in the study.
‘It’s good news,’ she smiled, and Andrew, after a quick exchange with Mildred, made his excuses.

Thank God, he thought, that it was good news. Andrew had been the one Railton who, since boyhood, longed for the sea, and service in the Royal Navy. His most earnest hope had been that Caspar would inherit his obsession, but that was not to
be. The boy had chosen the Army, surrounding himself with things military from the age of ten.

When Andrew entered his study, Caspar got to his feet, and Andrew smiled, though his mind registered a slight shock, for the full realization struck him that Caspar was no longer a boy. He would be seventeen next week, and looked it. His skin had changed to a rougher, more masculine texture; while the boyish softness had gone from his eyes.

‘Well,’ Andrew closed the door. ‘Your Mama tells me you have news.’

‘
Yes, sir.’ Caspar handed his father an envelope. It was addressed to
Caspar Railton, Esq.
, and the coat of arms showed it was from the Royal Military College at Sandhurst.

Andrew gave a deep satisfied grunt.
‘I don’t really need to read it, do I? You’ve passed your “Further”. Right?’

‘
Yes sir, I go in September.’

Andrew offered congratulations, taking Caspar
’s hand, noting anew the firmness of the handshake. They talked for some minutes, then Andrew turned his attention to the letters he had brought from the hall, saying that he really must deal with the post before dressing for dinner.

There were two bills; the news from James (so both boys would be at Sandhurst together
– no bad thing); a short, polite letter from Ramillies, still at Wellington; and another from his twin, Rupert.

Rupert and Ramillies had been born six hours apart, and were not identical, which probably accounted for the marked difference in their characters.

Now, at the age of fifteen, the twins were well on their way along different paths. Ramillies was determined to enter the Diplomatic, for which he was obviously suited. Like most Railtons, he took easily to languages, and also had the ability to write in the terse, truncated manner of the Whitehall men.

Ramillies
’ letter was typical:

Dearest Papa and Mama,

Promotions announced today. I have taken over the House as House Prefect.

Also colours up on School Board. Awarded Fencing
Colours which I know will please you.

Nothing else appears to alter. The same old round and
common task.

French and German well up to standard, according to
M.R. and Herr B. English also, by word of Mr H.

Must go and see House is well turned-out.

Deepest love to you both. Please tell Rupert that he really should write to me.

Fond affection

Your obedient son,

Ramillies.

Andrew read over the concise note twice, putting it to one side so that Charlotte could also read it.

The longer letter was from the son
– though he would never admit or show it openly – whom he loved the most. Rupert, who, after his preparatory school, had broken tradition and gone to Osborne, for the statutory two years of basic and academic study. Then to the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, where he would leave, as a midshipman, to join his first ship at the end of this present year. Andrew was well aware that his feelings for Rupert stemmed mainly from the boy’s love of the Royal Navy, and all things naval.

Dearest Pa and Ma,

Make do and mend, which includes the writing of letters to one’s wives, sweethearts and loved ones, and as I have neither wife nor sweetheart (though I would not tell you if I had), I sit here scribbling to my loved ones. That includes my beastly brother, Ram, safe and tucked up in bed at Wellington and my eldest brother Caspar.

The word here is that those of us to become Middies at the end of the year are to go to
Dreadnought
or
Invincible
,
Indomitable
or
Inflexible
. Do not know the truth, but it would be tremendous. I think the story derives from the fact that we now have a full mock-up of a Dreadnought type 12 inch turret, and learn the drill daily.

I find it difficult waiting to get out of here and into one of the Fleets now, and I do not honestly care which. To be in the Royal Navy, as an officer, even a lowly Snotty, is the greatest adventure for which a man can hope.

Everything else is shipshape and in good order. Discipline remains tight, with many scorched backsides; but that is the only way to run a ship. Must finish now as Duty Watch has just been piped – and that’s me.

My love to you both,

Your affectionate and loving son,

Rupert.

Andrew was cheered, for the boys were doing well. His personal life was good; and there was not a cloud on the horizon.

Andrew Railton rose, then went upstairs to dress, and await the dinner gong.

*

James, having eaten all too well, pushed back his chair. The dizziness, he reasoned, was due to alcohol.

‘Don’ know about you, Dick old man,’ he grinned at Dick Farthing, looking positively stupid. ‘Don’ know about you, but if I’m to soar like a bleedin’ eagle tomorrow, then I’d best be off to bed.’ He swallowed, shook his head like a soaked dog, then pulled himself together and very carefully enunciated, ‘We had best join the lady,’ collapsing into a giggling fit at the idea of there being only one lady for them to join in the drawing room.

Sara, always precise in these matters, had left the two young men to their port wine and cigars. When they came into the drawing room she was also laughing, holding a book.

She swallowed her mirth. ‘I can’t believe this man Le Queux is serious. Just listen to this.’ She was reading William Le Queux’s
Secrets of the Foreign Office
. Through giggles she now read aloud:
‘
Before I could utter aught save a muffled curse, I was flung head first into an empty piano case, the heavy lid of which was instantly closed on me… I had been tricked!’

James clung to Dick, hardly able to breathe, while his American friend merely smiled. At last James managed,
‘Whacked, Sara. Just tol’ Dick I’m whacked. For me – bed.’ He swept his arm in a dramatic circle. ‘I have been tricked.’

‘
By the wine, no doubt. You’re as tipsy as a fiddler, James. Off with you.’ Sara smiled at Dick Farthing.

James nodded gravely, backing unsteadily to the door.
‘Tricked,’ he repeated, now raising a hand in farewell. ‘’Night, Richard Farthing.’ Stumbling forward he bent clumsily to kiss Sara’s cheek. ‘And ’night to you dear sister, stepmother. Slayer of estate managers. Parting is such sweet sorrow – something like that.’

‘Bed, James,’
Sara laughed. Then, as the door closed, she turned to Richard, ‘He will be all right to fly in the morning?’

Dick slumped into a chair.
‘The boy’s not used to liquor.’ He snorted. ‘Didn’t have very much, if you noticed. Guess if he gets to sleep straight off he’ll be fine. It’ll be clear and sharp up there in the morning. That’ll blow the cobwebs from his brain in no time. The heart starts to pound when you’re in charge of an airplane. It’s like the man said, concentrates the mind wonderfully. Death always sits on the aviator’s wing, my dear.’

Sara was silent, staring into the fire. She had not seen or looked for faces in the fire since childhood. Now she saw several. Ugly, dancing, misshapen.

Presently Dick said, ‘Sara, what are we to do?’ and she knew what he meant.

Still staring into the fire, feeling its warmth flush her cheeks, a whole army of images walked through her mind.

Though Dick Farthing had visited on only a few occasions, they had spent much time together, often talking late into the night. More and more, Sara had a terrible and disconcerting desire, wishing that she could become two people – one who continued to care for John, and be a good wife; the other to love deeply, and give herself completely, to this huge, attractive American.

He moved across the room to sit beside her, repeating
– ’Sara, what are we to do?’

Desperate, trying to evade the truth, she asked,
‘Do? About what?’

His large hands were tender, the long fingers tracing down her hair.
‘You know very well, Sara.’ Then, after an unbearable pause, ‘Last week, I tried to arrange for James to meet me somewhere other than here. I don’t think I can come to Redhill any more.’

‘
Not come…? You can’t just…’

‘
No. No, maybe I can’t,’ he almost whispered. ‘All I know is that I shouldn’t come here. I’m more than fond of you, Sara. I want you. You understand?’

She could not drag her eyes from his: they were the colour of rich earth, part of her realized, as though her thoughts tried to focus on something else. Rich, brown earth in the spring, tilled and ready for the first glint of green. Far away she heard her own voice say that of course she understood.

‘I wonder if you really do.’

‘
Oh, I do.’ Conscious of her own folly, she placed a hand lightly on his thigh. The cloth of his suit felt rough, like putting her palm flat into a well mown and rolled lawn.

His hand closed around her wrist.
‘No, Sara, I don’t think you do understand. Yes, of course I want you in that way – what man wouldn’t? But I want you in the impossible way. Completely. As a wife.’

Her brow creased, real pain in her mind.
‘Please, Richard,’ very level, not a whining, pleading voice. ‘Please, have me in the only way you can. Yes, I’d like you in all ways, but please, as that can’t happen, would it be so wrong to be…?’

‘
Lovers? Yes, I think it would be very wrong. That’s why I shouldn’t come back here. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for it not to happen.’

‘
Then don’t talk of going away.’ She felt unnaturally controlled, and her voice remained calm. ‘We’ll do no harm to John. Please take me, Richard. At least…’

Out in the hall, the telephone started to ring. For no reason she thought of The General, who had installed the instrument only a year before his death. Dick Farthing moved back to his chair. The ringing stopped, and, presently, Porter tapped at the door.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Madam.’ He said that Natter had been called out, and the cart harnessed. The telephone call had been from John’s club. He was arriving on the late train.

Sara thanked the old man, asking if there was food left, and ready, for her husband.
‘I was actually just going to bed, Porter. I’ve a slight headache.’

‘
I’m sorry, Madam, is there anything…?’

No, no, she said quickly. She would go up, and could Porter ask Mr John to come and see her when he arrived.

The silence following Porter’s departure was as violent as an assault by a footpad. Dick Farthing rose and poured himself a brandy, while Sara slumped on the settee, still staring into the fire. Irrationally she felt her husband to be the intruder.

*

Sara did not appear at breakfast the following morning, and when John came down, his son James was startled to see that, so suddenly, his father looked tired and older. He greeted Dick warmly, thanking him for all he had done for James.

‘
Sara’s not too well, I’m afraid,’ he told them.

‘
Lord, nothing frightful is it, Pa?’ from James.

Dick, not able to look at John, remarked that she had seemed well enough over dinner. Then,
‘No, she had a bad head and went to bed soon after James.’

‘
Bit of a cold coming on, I shouldn’t wonder.’ John was not unduly concerned. ‘She isn’t feverish, but sends apologies. Now, what about this flying?’

Asquith had given him a week.
‘You are on the telephone down there after all. We can get hold of you if necessary.’ John was at Redhill determined to set all things right: to let Dick Farthing see that he did not neglect his wife; to give Berry some kind of warning; and make peace between Sara and the estate manager, Hunter.

After breakfast, the men went up on the downland, and John was impressed with his son
’s progress. James had now been given more freedom with the Farman, and did four trips that day – circling high over the estate and town, making several low runs over the area they used for landing and taking off: demonstrating his confident ability and control.

Dick left at about three in the afternoon, while there was still sufficient light for him to get the aeroplane back to Farnborough safely. Father and son stood together, watching the great biplane dip its wings, setting course south-east towards Hampshire. Then the pair turned and made their way slowly back to the house.

Sara was waiting for them, composed, and in brighter spirits. She did, in fact, feel better, even though the terrible confusion still raged inside her. Her feelings for Richard Farthing, she knew, would probably never change, but she would remain a true and faithful wife to John, no matter what heartache she had to hide.

Of one thing she had become convinced as she lay, red-eyed, on her bed during the afternoon. If only she could have a child, a son preferably, then perhaps the uneasy bond would be strengthened. She even said it aloud while Vera Bolton brushed her hair.

‘Well, M’m, if all else fails you should talk to Martha Crook…’ Vera suddenly blushed, thrusting a hand to her mouth as though to push back the words. Martha Crook was Billy’s mother, and worked as seamstress for the Manor. Mother and son lived in the very pleasant Glebe Cottage which stood about half a mile from the main house, and a mile or so from the Glebe House which was occupied by the surly estate manager, Hunter.

Sara pressed Vera as to what she meant, but the girl was embarrassed.
‘I shouldn’t have said nothing, M’m.’

‘
Well you have, Vera. What do you mean about seeing Martha Crook?’

‘
Please, M’m. Please forget I said anything.’

Presently, seeing she would get no further, Sara changed her tack.
‘At least you can tell me one thing. Glebe Cottage is a nice little place, and Billy’s a help around the house and estate. But isn’t it unusual for the seamstress to have her own cottage? What happened to Martha Crook’s husband?’

Once more Vera coloured and said she really should not have spoken of Martha Crook.
‘I think you’d better ask Mr John, M’m. Really I do.’

After dinner, sitting in the drawing room, her mind still occasionally blurred by the guilt of what might have been on the previous night, Sara asked her husband outright about Martha and Billy Crook.

‘I suppose I should have told you,’ John began slowly. ‘Damn it, everybody else knows. Remiss of me.’

So Sara quickly learned that Martha Crook had been the last in a long line of The General
’s mistresses. ‘He was a virile old man.’ John stared into the fire, his voice odd, as though apologizing for something.

‘
Like
all
Railtons,’ Sara did not intend to sound coquettish, it was more a word of reassurance.

James, who was with them, guffawed and received a sharp look from his father.

It was a kind of family tradition, which began after John’s mother had been killed. Always the seamstress – ‘Always had one, and never a bad needlewoman among them.’ John did not look at her as the story came out. ‘The tradition was that The General chose the seamstress himself, just as he imposed the conditions.’ Now he laughed. ‘I know of two who walked out pretty smartly, when they came to be interviewed. After that, The General went hunting on his own account.’

Martha Crook had been the last.
‘We thought it’d be the usual. None stayed for much more than a year, but Martha was different. It seems she was once a midwife and nurse: so they say anyhow. Well, the rest follows. The General spawned a child of her. Billy’s my half-brother, but he does not know, and there’s a family pact. Martha still does the work of a seamstress, and she has Glebe Cottage, rent free, plus a handsome salary. In due course I shall see that Billy’s looked after – should be thinking about that now, for he’s a growing lad. Martha demands nothing, and remains silent.’