The Secret Generations (50 page)

‘Even a week’ll do.’

‘
I’ll try, my dear, but every man’s needed there at the moment. Things aren’t particularly bonny. If he’s out of the line, there’s a chance.’

As they were saying goodbye, Giles said he was sorry not to have been in earlier.
‘I had to be out with Malcolm.’

‘
Malcolm? Malcolm’s with you?’

‘
Nobody told you? You hadn’t heard? I’m sorry, Sara. Yes, he’s been in London with me for a month now. He’s better, but it’s been a tragic loss to him.’

‘
What?… What’s been…?’

Again Giles apologized.
‘I can’t think why nobody’s told you. It’s Bridget. Malcolm’s come back to England. Bridget died in a terrible accident. A fire in their farmhouse. Razed to the ground, I fear. He’s been hard hit.’

Only much later did Sara discover that
nobody
had been told either of Bridget’s death, or Malcolm’s return, until that very day.

*

On the night Malcolm returned to Eccleston Square, the first cheery greeting quickly evaporated. Within a very short time, he was sitting in the Hide weeping over the horror at Glen Devil Farm, and the loss of his wife.

H
is father excelled himself in the role of comforter, giving orders for a bed to be warmed and broth to be made, and sending for a discreet doctor.

Only later was Malcolm able to tell him the full story of that night at Glen Devil, and his subsequent attempt to get to Dublin Castle which had failed, as he had spotted men he knew to be in the Brotherhood, set at vantage points.

He lived rough for a few days, allowing his appearance to become that of a tramp. Finally, he stowed away on the Kingstown boat. But by the time he had slipped off at Holyhead, his condition was that of a man who could trust nobody. He had walked, and hidden in railway freight vans, to get to London.

Giles was proud of him. It was exactly what he would have done.

The doctor said the young man was in a state of shock; needed rest, and building up. He should be treated gently. As it was, Malcolm slept for forty-eight hours. Then, his father sat on the edge of his bed, like he had done when Malcolm was a child, and talked to him, showing only kindness and concern.

‘
I’m slowly disengaging myself from official activities,’ Giles said. ‘We can’t all live for ever…’

‘
Oh, come, Papa, you’ve got a good few years left to you yet.’ So Giles hoped. With great luck he might even manage another twenty, into a very ripe old age. There were things he had to do, which could take him a long time. He had, first and foremost, to make his peace with the world, and for Giles making peace was not something that could be done easily. To make peace, he had to make guile.

He told his son that he would be safe in Eccleston Square,
‘Until you’re sufficiently recovered to talk to others. I’m going to give the servants their orders. Not a word about your return must get out yet. Nobody but your nephew, Ramillies, comes here, and he only keeps specific appointments. Until you’re ready, nobody else need know.’

And nobody did know, until much later.

When Malcolm was fully himself again, it was Giles who invited people to the house to speak to him – Vernon Kell was the first, because Giles knew Malcolm could, if he continued to work, end up under Kell’s jurisdiction. Then he had ‘Blinker’ Hall to dinner, springing Malcolm on him as a surprise.

Last, Basil Thomson was given a similar invitation, and, among them, all Malcolm
’s knowledge was passed on. But, with collective information, they were all agreed ‘The Fisherman’ was still at large. Probably back in England.

As for an Irish uprising, it was Malcolm
’s opinion that it would be put down with exceptional speed once the balloon went up.

*

Charles knew nothing of Malcolm’s return, even though he still worked close to Basil Thomson. It was one of Giles’ stipulations that no immediate family were to know until he was ready. So Charles went on as before, reporting to Kell, and doing as good a job as he could with Thomson.

It was not easy, for, as the weeks passed, it became more and more apparent that Mildred was a very sick woman. Her changes in mood were now more sudden, and even violent. In her lucid moments, Mil
dred became concerned about herself, for the flashes of memory had returned with a vengeance. They usually came when she was in need of more laudanum. She was afraid of them, for they had become more than mere ‘flashes’, they were things she definitely recalled as having taken place.

As yet she could not fit the entire jigsaw into the chronology of her life. Yet, deep down, Mildred knew something had happened, at some unspecified time
– something so loathsome that she did not really want to know about it.

The result was that she began to take more and more of the drug in order to forget, and push the
‘flashes’ deeper out of sight. Dr Fisher was delighted to supply her with measured quantities – at a price.

And Charles anguished at the situation to the extent that he finally told Kell at one of their regular meetings.

Vernon Kell was his usual good self, and suggested a doctor whom Charles could use. ‘I’ll make the introduction, and perhaps you can arrange something – an invitation to dinner, possibly. He’s an excellent man. In fact, I believe your uncle, Giles Railton, has used him.’

But before such a meeting could take place, Charles received another of the odd messages. This time it lay with the rest of the day
’s post, on the silver tray.

It had been posted in London, and even the address was printed in the same manner
as the previous message. In précis, the note reminded him of his child by Hanna Haas, and told him there were things he would very soon be required to do if the child was to remain alive, and if he wanted the whole business to remain confidential. On no account should he go to the authorities. There followed an address and time. He was to go to this place, following an exact formula, including the method of transport, and the route he should take. There, he would meet a contact called Brenner. He might recognize the contact, but he was not to show surprise, and he must use the name ‘Brenner’ at all times.

The time appointed was six-thirty the following evening. It was now the last week of March.

The place turned out to be a nondescript room in a part of London which Charles did not know well. Ladies of easy virtue approached him – and, if he was honest, tempted him – in the street near the house. He had a feeling, built from his now not inconsiderable experience, that people had watched him throughout the entire journey.

‘
Brenner’ was certainly known to him. Charles would have said he knew him like the back of his hand, but the realization was only now coming to him that no man can ever have full and intimate knowledge of another. At this moment of meeting, Charles felt the edifice upon which his life had been built begin to crumble. The man he now faced brought with him a sense of erosion.

‘
Bit of a shock?’ Brenner laughed.

‘
A shock? I can’t…’

‘
Believe it? No, I don’t suppose you can, Mr Rathbone – best we stick to your street name. You call me nothing but Brenner. Now is that understood?’

He nearly spoke the real name, but quickly fell in with Brenner
’s suggestion, asking what this was all about. ‘Are you a blasted traitor, because…?’

‘
No, you will refrain from the melodramatic horsewhipping ideas, Mr Rathbone. We go back a long way, my friend. You must listen to me, because we are both playing a double game. Have no doubts about that. You’ve been foolish, and all fools have to pay, one way or another. This is your way of making amends.’

‘
But these people…’

‘
These people will probably ask much of you. They will want certain pieces of information. It will be confidential, secret. They will want to know about ships and troops, about some of the operations being run by the Special Branch. The thing is, they imagine I can control you more easily. All you have to do is obey their instructions. Look up, steal, listen, seek out what they require – for they will always contact you direct. I am but a clearing house. You bring the information to me. Your conscience can be clear, because you should know me enough to realize that I am not going to give them exactly what you pass to me. They will receive half-truths, flawed gems only.’

‘
You swear to me that anything I provide will go no further than you?’

‘
In the main, yes, of course I swear it. This meeting is merely to establish contact. No more. I am supposed to be lulling you into false security. Consider yourself lulled. Don’t worry, we’ll get them all in good time.’

Two days later, Charles had another note. Now it was a request. How much did the authorities know about Sir Roger Casement
’s whereabouts?

Charles had, by this time, been present at several meetings between Thomson and the DNI. He knew exactly where the man Casement was at this very moment
– waiting to be taken to Ireland from Wilhelmshaven.

Dutifully, Charles passed the information to Brenner.

As far as Ireland was concerned, to use Malcolm Railton’s words, the balloon was about to go up.

Chapter Five

It was almost Easter. During the previous week, both Andrew and Charles were privy to information which could have a bearing on the rebellion which they knew had been mooted for Easter Sunday.

Charles, now very close to Thomson, and reporting daily to Vernon Kell, heard at Scotland Yard on the Saturday before Holy Week. A German ship, the
Libau
, had sailed, six days earlier, from Lubeck, with a cargo of arms and ammunition for the Sinn Feiners. She was disguised as a Norwegian merchantman,
Aud
, and there was no doubt of her intentions. Three days before this intelligence came, they knew Sir Roger Casement himself had departed from Wilhelmshaven in the U-20 – the same U-boat that had torpedoed
Lusitania
. What followed caused grave embarrassment to Andrew.

Because the Irish situation was serious, the DNI stipulated that any new important decodes should be passed on to him directly, no matter what time of the day. A set of rules had long been established for this kind of thing. As Head of Liaison, Admiralty Intelligence Division, all confidential signals now went through Andrew.

At the moment that a new, and seemingly vital, decode was produced, Andrew could not be found.

The Watchkeepers at Room 40, on Friday 14 April, passed what appeared to be exceptionally important information to the Officer of the Watch. His job
was to hand this-decode personally to Andrew, who, in turn, would contact the DNI.

It was almost seven in the evening. Andrew had left at five. The Officer of the Watch telephoned his home, and was told he was not there. Charlotte was puzzled. Andrew had said he
would be working until midnight. The Officer of the Watch said that Andrew should be contactable at his home.

He was at that very moment lying in the arms of Miss Grizelda Greatorex who was in a state of semi-nudity, in the bedroom of her apartment in Mayfair.

The real embarrassment was caused by the fact that ‘Blinker’ Hall himself had decided to visit the Watchkeepers, some thirty minutes later, and saw the signal. He demanded to know why Commander Railton had not been informed.

During the evening, Charlotte received four telephone calls, one from Hall himself, trying to contact Andrew. The last gave explicit, tight-lipped instructions for Andrew to report to the Admiralty Old Building at the soonest possible moment.

So, when Andrew returned to King Street, Charlotte met him with a seemingly bright, ‘You must be tired, my dear.’

Andrew replied that it had been a devilish day at the Admiralty, that he was sorry to be so late. Hall was in a filthy mood, and he had been held up all evening.

Still with an air of sweetness, Charlotte told him that indeed ‘Blinker’ was in a filthy mood. He had been trying to get hold of Andrew all evening and wanted him back at the Admiralty Old Building as fast as his ‘Jolly Jack Tar legs’ (Charlotte’s words) would carry him.

Andrew went grey, turned about and left the house.

On the next morning, the 15th, Charlotte went to see a private detective.

The reason that the Room 40 people had become anxious on that Friday night became apparent as soon as Andrew arrived back at the Admiralty. A signal had been intercepted indicating that U-20 was in trouble and had returned to Heligoland. For a time, many people wondered if Casement had abandoned the plot. The possibility was short-lived. Hard on the heels of the information regarding the gunrunning
Aud
came the news that U-20 had rudder problems. Casement was now aboard U-19, once more at sea.

‘
What,’ Charles asked of Thomson, ‘will be the next move? I realize it’s up to the Admiralty, but what happens?’ He already knew, from being present at meetings between Thomson and Hall, that any arms shipments were regarded as a priority.

‘
With any luck, they’ll pick up the arms boat.’

‘
And Casement?’

Thomson gave him a blank look.
‘I don’t think we need to trouble ourselves too much about him,’ he said, turning away.

*

Mary Anne was not what you would call a religious girl. Certainly she believed in God, and loved the language of the Bible. She seldom prayed, though she did like Anglo-Catholic services.

The hospital padre was not, however, an Anglo-Catholic. If anything, he was a shade to the left of Martin Luther, and, therefore, when Mary Anne needed religious comfort, she would slip into one of the local Roman Catholic churches in Rouen. She did find an emotional need for comfort these days.

Casualties came in regularly, and they had been told to expect them in very large numbers once the spring was really under way. There was talk of a new offensive, to take pressure off the terrible fighting around Verdun. Mary Anne was prepared; she was also in a dilemma, for her mind constantly strayed to her German saviour, Otto Buelow. They exchanged letters, in which they shared much of their personal past, and views. The German had spoken to those for whom he now worked in England, and there was no problem about the couple meeting if Mary Anne got leave.

That she wanted to see him was without doubt; her problem was that she now believed herself to be in love with him, and she found herself questioning how this could be. He was still a German, the enemy. Like her mother, Mary Anne was still concerned about what other people thought. When the war ended her family could well ostracize her if she announced her true feelings for the man; and if she married him
…? Yet the feelings persisted.

On the Monday of Holy Week, feeling confused, Mary Anne slipped into the hospital chapel where the Padre conducted Matins and Evensong each day. The Lesson that night
– The Lamentations of the Prophet Jeremiah – only brought home the horror of what she saw daily in the wards. Words from the Lesson echoed through her mind,
I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of his wrath
.

On Good Friday, she walked down to the little Catholic church in the Place St Vivien
, joining the throng of worshippers as they lined the aisles, moving one at a time to kiss the cross, in a ritual act of veneration.

Was God dead? she wondered as she came out into the weak spring sunlight. How could He, if He existed, allow all the slaughter to continue? She did not realize then that the butchery was on the brink of getting worse.

*

‘
They have Casement’ Thomson looked up cheerfully when Charles came into his office on the Saturday morning. ‘Well, that just about does it then.’

Thomson nodded with some glee.
‘Yes. They had him yesterday, but the idiots didn’t realize it. Shaved off beard and hair, I gather. Hall wishes to keep the thing under the counter. They’re taking him to Dublin today. He’ll be here tomorrow, which means no Easter holiday for us, Charles.’

Charles asked about the reaction in Ireland. Thomson gave a sly smile.
‘No reaction, because nobody knows, young Railton. You want to be in on the interview?’

So it was that Charles sat in Thomson
’s office, together with a Special Branch shorthand writer, when they brought Sir Roger Casement in on the following morning. It was not surprising that they had failed to recognize the man, with his beard and head shaved. Even so, this potential traitor behaved with a dignity that Charles could not but admire.

Thomson, though cool in manner, was slightly differential. Casement barely acknowledged him, sitting down, and glaring at the shorthand writer.

Basil Thomson introduced himself, and then Charles, styling him, ‘Mr Rathbone of one of our intelligence services’. Casement continued to stare at the writer.

‘
You are Sir Roger Casement?’ Thomson began.

Casement studiously looked away.

‘In the early hours of Friday last, 21 April 1916, you were landed by canvas boat, from an enemy submarine – namely the U-19 – at Ballyheige Bay, Ireland. Is that correct?’

Casement examined his own hands.

‘Sir Roger, your companions in this foolish, though serious, venture are already in custody. They have said a great deal. I put it to you that you have collaborated with the enemy; that you have been active in obtaining arms and ammunition in order to foment open rebellion against the King in Ireland; and conspired to bring about an armed rising and breach of the peace; you have also solicited and incited British prisoners of war to turn and fight against their own country. These are acts of treason.’

Still there was silence.

Thomson laughed. ‘At least say something, Sir Roger. Even laugh at the mess everybody’s made so far. They’ve scuttled the arms ship; and if that wasn’t enough, the man who was supposed to drive you to Dublin took a wrong turning, and ended up in the River Laune.’

Casement raised his head, speaking for the first time.
‘I wish to talk with you, Commander Thomson, but I’ll say nothing while this fellow’s taking down every word.’

Thomson hesitated for a moment, then nodded to the clerk, who left the room. No sooner was the door closed than Casement began talking.

‘I’ll not waste time, sir. Naturally you’ll bring charges against me, and I shall refute them all. My main object at this moment is to see the record is publicly put straight, and quickly, before there’s any bloodshed. Certainly I came back to Ireland, it’s my home; but I came for a particular purpose – to put paid to any planned rising or use of force in an attempt to overthrow the government. For heaven’s sake, man. I came to
stop
a rebellion, not to lead one. Please, in the name of God, let me make a statement; let me speak out to the Irish newspapers. Let the Irish people know of my arrest, and my true reason for returning to Ireland.’

Thomson said quietly that it was not within his power to allow what Sir Roger asked. However, he would speak to one who could give a ruling.

‘Well, do it now! Before it’s too late.’

‘
You don’t really think any Fenian is going to do anything now the consignment of arms has vanished?’

‘
I think it’s very likely, unless they know why I tried to return.’ The man appeared agitated and concerned.

‘
See what I can do.’ Thomson rose and left the room. Charles made three attempts to speak with their prisoner, but he sat, perfectly still, silent and now composed.

After some ten minutes, Basil Thomson returned. When he spoke, it was with quiet gravity.
‘I’m sorry. Your request has to be denied. There will be no statement to the effect that you have been arrested. You will not be allowed to speak to the Press.’

Casement let out a long sigh.
‘Then be it on your own heads. I’ll answer the charges laid against me in a court of law and nowhere else.’

‘
Why?’ Charles asked when he was alone with Thomson.

‘
Why what?’

‘
You presumably went to “Blinker” to get permission for a statement. Why was it refused?’

Thomson appeared to think for some minutes.
‘I suspect that Hall, like myself, is hoping for the impossible. That they’ll be stupid enough to try some kind of insurrection. I feel that “Blinker” Hall wants nobody, least of all Sir Roger Casement, to tell them to call off any plans. Certainly, I wish they would try it on, because, if they do, it can be put down with the utmost severity. Once and for all, these Irish lice can be squashed and hit damned hard. They would be taught a lesson they would never forget.’

Which is what happened, starting the very next day, and much to the surprise of most people.

On Easter Monday morning, the rebels, without any deep support from the Irish people in general, seized strongpoints both to the north and south of the Liffey and cut communications with Dublin Castle. Barricades were set up, trenches dug on St Stephen’s Green, and at Boland’s Flour Mill, covering the approach road to Kingstown to prevent reinforcements reaching Dublin, if landed at that harbour.

The fighting lasted for less than a week. There was to be no appeasement.

When it was over the courts martial and executions were secret and brutal, to the extent that Irish men and women throughout the country were repelled by their barbarity. Even the severely injured leader, James Connolly, was shot seated in a chair. The same squad shot an eighteen-year-old boy, Willie Pearse, simply because he was the brother of the outstanding Patrick Pearse.

One of the many to escape was Padraig O
’Connell, who, during the thick of the battle, fought by the side of Michael Collins in the Post Office, scene of horrific and heroic action.

Lying in a loft belonging to one of his many friends in Co. Wicklow, Padraig, for the second time in his life, swore vengeance on the English. The time would come again, and soon, he considered. Now the bulk of the Irish people were behind them in the cause, and next time nothing would stop them.

He thought about his own contacts in Germany. They would need information about the English secret police methods to enable them to fight fire with fire.

And he wondered what had happened to the big German who Malcolm Railton had almost killed. Presumably he had got out of the country during the confusion, for his burns were almost healed.