by Simon Brett
‘Not even the Lagonda?’ asked Blotto breathlessly.
‘Standing in the middle of the courtyard without a single one of the tinkety-tonkers in sight.’
‘Hoopee-doopee! So long as my cricket bat’s still there it’ll all be creamy éclair!’
‘Come on, we must put a jumping cracker under it!’ urged Twinks. ‘The guards won’t be prepping the seaplanes for ever.’
‘Good ticket, Twinks. Let’s shift our shimmies and get off the prems before anyone gets a whiff that the Stilton’s iffy! Have you got a plan, Jerome?’
‘Yes, me old propeller-winder – and a booming good one! We’ll twang off the tarmac soonest and I’ll fly down to a private aerodrome two o’clock north of London. And when the Crimson Thumb’s seaplanes approach, I’ll be ready for the tinkety-tonkers. We’ll have the crumpetiest dogfight since records began!’
‘There are over thirty of them,’ cautioned Twinks.
Jerome Handsomely twirled his moustache. ‘Kind of odds I like! And if I end up as Pilot Flambé . . . well, at least I’ll have had the satisfaction of laying down my life for you, Twinks.’
It wasn’t the moment for her to argue this point again, so all she said was, ‘How many can you take in your crate, Jerome?’
‘Three top weight, as you know from our little flip to Wales.’
‘Four?’
He shook his head. ‘You know how cramped we were that time.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Blotto. ‘I’ll drive the Lagonda!’
‘Oh, wonderful!’ simpered Laetitia Melmont. ‘You’ll drive me back to Snitterings – and from this moment on we’ll continue to be together for ever!’
Blotto realized he had yet again somehow given further proof of his non-existent love for the girl, but now wasn’t the moment to start the difficult process of disillusioning her. ‘Come on, we’ll all get in the Lag,’ he cried, ‘and I’ll take you and Twinks to your plane, Jerome!’
When they reached it, the courtyard remained as silent as the pilot had described it. He and Blotto moved quietly towards the Lagonda. Cautiously they pushed the magnificent car out through the main gate of the castle and some way down its approach road before they both leapt in and Blotto fired the engine.
‘If I drive through the night,’ he said, ‘I should get to the House of Lords just about the time the peers are all quaffing their pre-prandials. I’ll warn the poor old thimbles that the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels are on their way!’
‘Hopefully,’ said Jerome Handsomely, ‘I should have taken most of the stopcock-twiddlers out by then.’
They had just arrived by his Accrington-Murphy Painted Lady Biplane. It stood at the end of a flat field.
‘Booming crumpety of you to find this natural landing strip – and leave the kite to mark it,’ said the pilot.
Blotto caught his sister’s eye and vouchsafed her a smile of superiority.
Jerome Handsomely pointed out the pair of Accrington-Murphy machine guns he’d had mounted on his plane’s fuselage either side of the cockpit. ‘Those two little jujubes’ll prove more than a match for that shoddy Continental Frimmelstopf technology,’ he asserted.
‘Toad-in-the-hole . . .’ said Blotto suddenly. His triumph over Twinks in the matter of using the kite as a direction-finder had boosted his confidence sufficiently for him to have had another of his rare ideas. ‘Jerome, I’ve just had a spoffingly brilliant notion that’ll really come up with the silverware.’
‘What is it, me old propeller-twiddler?’
‘It’s what they call a presumptive strike.’
The pilot looked confused until Twinks explained, ‘I think Blotto means a pre-emptive strike.’
‘Oh, trucky-trockle. Well, me old poached egg, tell me what your notion is zappity-ping.’
‘My notion is,’ said Blotto, slowly and with considerable pride, ‘that you fly in to where the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels are being prepped and you machine-gun the lot of them before they’re even in the air.’
‘Yes, I can see that would tick the clock . . . but there is one small wasp in the jam.’
‘What?’ asked Blotto, affronted that his brilliant scheme was not being accepted straight away.
‘The Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels,’ Jerome Handsomely explained gently, ‘are seaplanes. My Accrington-Murphy Painted Lady is a biplane. There’s no way I could manoeuvre my crate in through that narrow entrance, destroy the fleet and get her out again. I’d end up in the briny. It’d be a case of not so much Pilot Flambé as Pilot à la Marinade.’
Blotto was reluctant for his brilliant idea to be so summarily thrown aside. ‘But if by ending up in the briny you were effectively laying down your life for my sister, then surely –’
‘No,’ Twinks interrupted firmly. ‘If Jerome insists on laying down his life for me, then I don’t want it to happen until we know that we have thwarted the Crimson Thumb’s plans to bomb the House of Lords.’
‘Oh, broken biscuits,’ said Blotto disconsolately.
So they stuck to their original plan. Blotto and the adoring Laetitia set out for London in the Lagonda, while Jerome and Twinks flew south in the Accrington-Murphy Painted Lady Biplane to the secret airstrip that he knew.
It might have been thought that the series of dogfights in which Jerome Handsomely shot down most of the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels of the Crimson Thumb would have been proudly recorded in the annals of our island history, but in fact no records of the encounters exist. This was due to the sensitivity of the then government, which had no wish to expose its own frailties to the general public.
The fact that the League of the Crimson Hand should have got so close to destroying the entire aristocracy of the British Isles was not one which Downing Street wished to advertise. It reflected badly on the security they had in place at the time.
Nor did they wish the general public to be aware that the threat had been averted, not by their own air defences, but by the efforts of one amateur in a private plane, assisted only by a beautiful young woman with a title. It has been the ambition of governments through the ages to maintain – frequently in the teeth of the evidence – that they are in control.
Suffice it to say then that, when the Crimson Thumb’s thirty Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels approached London in a ‘V’ formation, they found Jerome Handsomely’s Accrington-Murphy Painted Lady Biplane ready for them. His tactics were carefully planned. The Crimson Thumb, sitting gleefully in the cockpit of the leading plane, did not anticipate any opposition to his attack, and was therefore surprised to see Handsomely’s kite coming straight towards his seaplane. By the time the League’s gunners were in position, the two planes were on collision course, and the distance between them was diminishing at electric speed.
At that moment Jerome Handsomely’s Accrington-Murphy machine gun began to spit out deadly lead to the left and Twinks’s Accrington-Murphy machine gun did the same to the right. Their actions showed up the impracticality of having planes flying in a ‘V’ formation. Given the exceptional firepower of the British-designed and made Accrington-Murphy, bullets ripped into the Seefeuer-gewehrfliegflügels on either side of the Crimson Thumb’s, and as each one dropped down, it revealed the target of the next plane in line. And so on, until twenty-six of the enemy fleet were spiralling down in flames to embed themselves in the open countryside of Hertfordshire.
By then of course a head-on crash between the biplane and the Crimson Thumb’s kite seemed inevitable. But with a cry of ‘Quick tickle of the button-box!’, Jerome Handsomely flicked a control and his kite lifted above the leading Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel, taking a bit of the enemy’s propeller with it as a souvenir.
‘This is booming good fun!’ crowed the pilot. ‘Now let’s take out the stragglers!’
This was a tougher task, because the biplane was flying away from its targets and had to turn round to catch them. And all the time they were getting closer to their destination of the House of Lords, where t
hey would unload their cargo of death.
But Jerome Handsomely and Twinks did a tidy mopping-up operation and by the time the Houses of Parliament hove into view, only two of the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels remained in the air. The crippled one which contained the Crimson Thumb was still aloft, but had been slowed down, so that the other flew ahead of it, getting ever closer to fulfilling the criminal mastermind’s evil plans.
This leading plane now became Jerome Handsomely’s primary target. Time enough to deal with the Crimson Thumb when the more immediate danger had been dealt with. He could see the approaching Thames with the tower of Big Ben rising up beside it. The thought of all that Perpendicular Gothic splendour being destroyed was more than his true-blue British heart could stomach (if a heart is actually capable of stomaching anything).
‘The chicken-livered ballcock-twiddler’s getting a bit too close for my liking! I’m going to knock the slimer off his bearings!’ Handsomely roared at Twinks as he set his biplane on another collision course.
The pilot of the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel saw the danger and slightly changed direction, so that he was no longer going straight towards the Houses of Parliament. But disaster was only deferred for a moment. The enemy kite swung round in a wide circle to position itself on a course which in seconds would be directly over its target.
Jerome Handsomely took his biplane in a mirror image of the same manoeuvre, so that the two aircraft were once again approaching each other at furious speed. The spot where they would meet was directly above the House of Lords.
‘Twinks, give them everything we’ve got with the Accrington-Murphys!’ bellowed her admirer.
The pilot of the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel must have had the same idea, because deadly fire blazed from its barrels as the two planes roared towards each other. Twinks heard the sound of the cockpit glass shattering around her.
‘Nothing else for it, me old iced bun!’ roared Jerome Handsomely. ‘I’m going to have to bounce the tinkety-tonker!’
As he had done with the Crimson Thumb’s plane, he waited until collision seemed inevitable, then made the deftest of flicks to the controls. ‘Hang on to your hairdo, Twinks!’ he shouted.
Whereas he’d avoided the previous clash by flying over the approaching plane, this time he diverted to one side. There was a sickening impact as the biplane’s wings smashed against the single wing of the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel. Handsomely’s kite shuddered as he fought to regain control, screeching low over the roofs of Westminster.
But, bad though the effect had been on them, Twinks, looking back, could see how much worse their enemy had suffered. Knocked off course and crippled by the crash, the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel was spinning down towards the Thames. It must have dropped its bombs because loud bangs were heard and columns of water shot up in the air above the ridge of the Houses of Parliament’s roofs.
Then their opponent’s spiralling plane disappeared in flames over the same roofs. There was a moment of silence, followed by a huge detonation, and a high column of steam rose up to the air.
‘Now to get the Crimson Thumb!’ Jerome Handsomely gasped, as if in pain.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Twinks anxiously.
‘Trucky-trockle!’ he assured her.
Somehow managing to get his damaged biplane back on course, he flew back to the House of Lords, expecting to face a new attack from the remaining Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel. But there was no sign of the Crimson Thumb’s plane.
Then they heard an engine roar from behind them. With difficulty Jerome Handsomely looked round. ‘Oh, wingless biplanes!’ he screeched at Twinks. ‘The slimers are making for Buckingham Palace!’
31
Regicide?
Blotto’s Lagonda had driven like the wind from Glenglower Castle, stopping only for necessary refuelling. He had hardly spoken at all, not wishing to say anything that his passenger might interpret as further proof of his undying adoration for her. But Laetitia Melmont had sat quite happily beside him, knowing from extensive reading of romantic fiction that some loves were too great for words.
Leaving behind a trail of other cars, farm carts and cyclists forced into ditches, they made good time till they reached the outskirts of London. Here the inevitable buildup of traffic slowed them down, but only a bit. Blotto didn’t change the style of driving which he adopted when speeding through the narrow lanes of Tawcestershire. His attitude was that there probably wouldn’t be anything coming in the opposite direction and, if there was, the approaching vehicle should recognize his superior status and get out of the way. This caused a good few other vehicles to smash into each other, but the Lagonda retained its pristine, undented beauty.
The trouble was that, though Blotto knew the Tawcestershire lanes like the back of his hand, he was an infrequent visitor to London and his sense of geography in the capital was a little vague. Possessed of the instinctive male reluctance to ask for directions, he tended to find his way by driving round aimlessly in the confidence that he would eventually reach his destination.
It was due to this hit-and-miss approach that one thirty – the hour when the Crimson Thumb’s attack on the House of Lords was expected – found him frustratedly parked with a road map unfolded all over his steering wheel.
‘Are you telling me you don’t know where the Houses of Parliament are?’ asked Laetitia Melmont, unable to believe that the man she was about to marry could be capable of such ignorance.
‘Well, I sort of vaguely know,’ said Blotto, warming to the coldness in her tone. If Laetitia was disappointed to find him deficient in geographical skills, she might be less keen on marrying him. Then if he demonstrated a few other skills that he was deficient in, which wouldn’t be too difficult . . .
But the smile that she bestowed on him strangled that hope in the cradle. Though he didn’t know it, Laetitia Melmont was encouraged to find flaws in her future mate. That meant he could become a project for her, that she could mould him. Blotto was not aware how much women relish such challenges.
But the situation was serious. They’d made good time all the way from Glenglower Castle and now they were within a few minutes of their rescue mission’s destination and Blotto didn’t know how to get there. He turned back to the confusing jumble of streets on his map.
But his attention was snatched away by the sound of an approaching aircraft. He looked up through the Lagonda’s windshield to see a Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel flying low towards him. He turned to see a familiar building and for the first time realized that he had chosen to park outside Buckingham Palace.
The plane was very close. It seemed to be using the Mall as a guide to lead it straight to the palace. By the time Blotto was out of the Lagonda the kite was directly overhead, then just shaving the top of the recent Queen Victoria Memorial, and doing the same to the palace roof before shooting off into the distance. Just a sighting trip. The plane would return.
Blotto rushed to the palace gates, having thoughtfully taken both his second-best cricket bat and his precious original one with him. The red-coated guardsmen with bearskins stood unmoving in their sentry boxes; they were trained not to react to anything. But inside the gates there was a confusion of policemen and soldiers running around in panic.
Why the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel had not released its load of bombs on its first foray no one knew (well, no one actually knew till later that it had a load of bombs). Perhaps its minor collision with Jerome Handsomely’s biplane had caused some jamming of the bomb bays. The only thing certain was that the plane was already circling for another attack on Buckingham Palace. It was wheeling around, again seeking out the Mall as a directional aid.
With no thought of danger – or, as usual, of much else – Blotto began to climb the main gates of the palace. This time the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel was flying even lower. Its intention was no longer to bomb its target, but to crash into it. Blotto looked back to see that the Royal Standard was flying. The King was inside the building. The Crimson Thum
b’s plan was now neither more nor less than regicide.
Blotto reached the high point of the gates. Clasping his legs round the central uprights to give him a firm footing, he waited with one cricket bat in each hand, his beloved one in the right and the second-best in his left. The approaching plane’s guns were blazing. He felt bullets shave through his thatch of blond hair and take chunks of tweed from his suit.
But he held his ground with the pride that the Lyminsters had shown on innumerable battlefields. The Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel was getting lower and lower; in a second the propeller would have his head off.
But Blotto stiffened his sinews and stayed put, feeling the same excitement as he did before that final six which had given him his unbeaten hundred and seventy-six when he clinched the Eton and Harrow match.
Just at the moment when death seemed inevitable he threw up his second-best cricket bat to tangle into the plane’s propeller. Instantly he seemed to have both hands on the other bat and with that he made a glorious upward shot which clanged against the plane’s fuselage.
It was not much, but it was enough to change the plane’s trajectory. The nose flicked upwards and the kite again missed the palace roofs by inches. A few seconds later from Green Park came the loud report of the Seefeuergewehr-fliegflügel smashing into smithereens. A plume of dark smoke rose behind Buckingham Palace.
‘Well,’ said Blotto, as he got into the Lagonda, ‘time we went and checked on the bizz-buzz at the House of Lords.’
Laetitia Melmont’s eyes were swimming with admiration. ‘My hero!’ she murmured.
Oh, broken biscuits, thought Blotto. How am I going to get this chock out of the cogwheel?
32
Twinks Takes Control
In the crippled Accrington-Murphy Painted Lady Biplane Twinks and Jerome Handsomely heard the explosion from Green Park and he flew over to see what had happened. Though they did not know then of Blotto’s part in the plane’s destruction, they were both satisfied that the threat from the Crimson Thumb had been finally thwarted.