by Elin Gregory
"Very well, but if our vehicle arrives early I'll come and find you. Just - tell Briers... " He tried to think of a message that could be passed on safely, but Falk just smiled at him. This was not a derisive grin or a smirk or any of the other borderline insulting facial expressions Falk had levelled at him; this was a real smile and - well, Miles could see how Briers had fallen, and fallen hard.
"I know," Falk said. "He's the moon and stars to you. So I'll tell him you want to know where the heck he is. He'll understand."
Miles chuckled. "That will do nicely. Thank you Falk."
Miles watched him walk away, his long rangy stride fast, and wasn't surprised when he looked back, just before he turned a corner. He wasn't looking at Miles but up at the corner room of the Szarka house where Ari was being comforted by Ma and Diana.
"Well, there's food for thought," Miles muttered.
The street was quite busy with concerned locals mingling with rescuers and the passengers who had been able to walk away from the wreck. Miles didn't try to speak to anyone, knowing the value of eavesdropping. In this way he gathered that some of the more important people had already been taken back to Budapest so that their journey could proceed by other means. This included Miss Baker. He had never been lucky enough to see her perform on stage but she had done a lot to help last night, the warmth and humour of her voice singing saucy French music hall songs drawing in the walking wounded, keeping them calm and showing the rescuers where to go. "Next time we're in Paris... " he promised himself.
Outside a church he heard that communists were definitely to blame for the train crash. Near an inn, that it was bandits disappointed when the railway wouldn't pay a ransom. By the bridge over a stream, boys threw stones into the water and said they had heard that a deadly plot by some foreign power was afoot. Miles made mental notes of what he heard, and who said it, to pass on to Naylor. He was just about to go back into the house when he heard another voice speaking softly in the local accent.
"Come on, sir. You can't stay there. At the very least let me call you a doctor." The response was just a mutter. "I don't understand you. Come on, sir. Please get up."
Miles thought the reply been in English. Miles knew that Smethwick was reasonably fluent in Romanian, but didn't recall that he had any other Eastern European languages in his repertoire. It had to be worth a look.
Down the side of the building was a lean to shed and Mr Szarka was peering inside it.
"Hello," Miles said. "Is there a problem?"
"I do not think so," Mr Szarka said. "I found this gentleman in my shed and he is reluctant to come out."
"Is he hurt?"
"I don't think so." Szarka touched the side of his head. "Not his body."
"Oh?" Miles stepped around the corner of the shed. "Oh, Mr Smethwick!"
Smethwick glanced up at him. He was seated on a bucket with his back to a wall stacked with logs and had a filthy handkerchief tight in one hand. He didn't look as though he was injured, but his face was pale and damp and his eyes were red.
"Come to gloat, have you?" he asked.
"No." Miles came a little closer. "We've been concerned about you. I thought I saw you just before dawn, but then I lost track - I imagine we were both busy. I hope they found you something to eat?"
Smethwick looked away and shook his head. "No, I've only just got here." His voice was hoarse, scratchy. He sounded as though he had spent the whole night crying.
Miles nodded. "It was a terrible thing, but I think you should come inside now. Diana was asking about you. So was my mother."
"They are both - "
"Unharmed. Well, Diana's arm is broken - but it's been treated, and she was drinking tea and happy enough when I last saw her. Ma and I both have black eyes. We were lucky."
"You have no idea how lucky." Smethwick sighed. He applied the handkerchief to his forehead and Miles caught a faint whiff of vomit.
"There's a vehicle of some kind coming for us," he said. "We have a couple of hours. Enough time for you to clean up a bit, have something to eat and put Ma and Diana's minds to rest."
"Rest." Smethwick drew in a deep breath then looked at Miles with some of his old air of impatience. Miles offered a hand to pull him to his feet and he scowled. "I don't need your help, thank you very much."
That was a relief, much more like his normal demeanour. Miles took a couple of paces back and pointed along the lane. "To the right then," he said. "And right again. Mr Szarka has been incredibly kind."
Hearing his name, Szarka bowed a little and made a gesture of welcome. Smethwick swayed on his feet, but at least he followed their host around the corner and into the house. Miles stayed outside, but still heard Diana's shout.
"John! Where have you been? We were worried sick!"
Miles bit his lip. Smethwick had been a stick-in-the-mud and generally dismissive and unhelpful, but what had Miles expected? Someone of Smethwick's generation and upbringing would be bound to find Miles unsavoury at best and dangerous to the well-being of the embassy at worst. That, however, was no excuse for Miles having ignored or forgotten him; every family had a curmudgeonly uncle who could be counted on to say the worst possible thing at the worst possible moment, but they still invited the miserable old goat to weddings.
And it seemed as though Smethwick hadn't just absented himself because he was 'checking perimeters' - a favourite excuse - but due to a nervous attack of some kind. If so, Miles felt great sympathy for him.
"Right, that's it! Mrs Carstairs!" Ruby was marching towards him with Janice hurrying along behind her. "I've decided on a change of plan. I'm not going to Paris, I'm going straight to London."
"The shops are just as good," Miles said. She looked formidable. Beautifully presented and dressed as ever, but the mass of hair she had forced into a bun was doing its best to break free and she had a martial glint in her eye. "What's brought this on?"
"Rudd," she snarled. "Some nonsense about contracts and appearing at premieres. I can do that just as well in England as I can in Hollywood."
"Isn't breaking a contract both hard and very expensive? I'm sure I read about - "
"If you don't have any money it's both." Janice grinned at Ruby. "But if you're rich and you don't give a fig about 'you'll never work in this town again' it's very much easier."
"Rich?" Miles looked Ruby up and down. "I would never have believed that you were poor."
Ruby snorted then glanced at Miles with a very slight air of shame. "You weren't the only one who's not what they make themselves out to be. My name's not Ruby Aston."
"I never thought it was. What kind of monster would name their red-headed child Ruby?"
"The studio thought Ruby Aston would fit more easily on the posters and be more memorable than Maeve Shaughnessy." Janice said. "And I think she looks like a Ruby."
"As in 'Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above - '?" Miles asked.
"Ruby's, yes." Janice giggled and nodded.
"Well, who's feeling cheeky?" Ruby gave Janice a gentle poke. "You should never believe what our press offices say. All the Shaughnessy ranch grew was scrub and rattlesnakes and a few scrawny cows, until the day my grandpappy discovered we had oil, so Rudd better not mess with me. We're going back to Budapest and I'm going to charter a plane."
"A plane? An aeroplane? Can - can you do that?"
"Well I'm sure as hell not walking to London and," Ruby touched the darkened skin under Miles's eye, "I don't know about you, but I'd sooner never get on a train again."
Miles followed her into the house, feeling that she had a point.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Briers
Briers, Falk and Gervaise Hayman were on their way back to the little town when they got word that their transport had arrived. That it was Harry Cross who brought it was a surprise, likewise that Hayman immediately stepped up to offer his condolences.
"I only spoke to Utkin a couple of times," he said as they walked back to town, "but he impres
sed me as being a really decent chap. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Harry nodded. "He was, I'll miss him."
"Has his family been informed?" Hayman asked
Harry shook his head. "He has no family that he knew of. He lost track of them during the war."
"He said he was from Odessa," Briers said. "I expect there were a lot of orphans in that city."
"I've arranged that he be buried here, at the local church," Harry said. "I'm not going to stay for the service. Miss Aston has organised a way for us all to get to London quickly and Nik wouldn't have wanted me to miss that any more than I would if the circumstances were reversed. Does - does that seem cold?"
"Not at all," Falk said. Briers didn't add a comment of his own, just nodded and reflected that - if he was burying someone he cared for as much as Ari seemed to care for Nik - he wouldn't want to do it all alone in a strange place and then have to find his own way out of the country.
"I am rather intrigued by the nature of Miss Aston's arrangements," Falk added.
Briers snorted. "Don't tell me - she's chartered a private train."
"Not quite," Harry said, but refused to fill them in with any more information.
"What do you think?" Briers muttered to Falk. "Train? Fleet of cars? Horse-drawn omnibus?"
"I'm sure that young lady would be capable of just about anything," Falk said.
They hurried back to the house to find some of the pieces of baggage they had been able to retrieve on the edge of the road beside the Grand Hotel's charabanc in all its dusty glory. Pritchard was heaving the baggage around and, for the first time Briers could recall, he actually looked tired.
"Sir," he greeted Briers with a tense smile. "We will be leaving imminently. It appears that Miss Aston has resources denied to the average traveller."
"So I hear," Briers said. "Let us give you a hand?"
"That would be appreciated, sir."
"We'll fetch the rest of the bags," Falk said, and led Harry and Hayman inside.
Voices, some arguing, others just chatting, were audible from the house, but Miles came trotting down the stairs and out through the open front door. He gave Briers a sunny smile but his hands were in the pocket of his coat, his shoulders hunched up around his ears and he was standing far more like Miles than like Millie, despite the glorious length of silk clad calf he was flashing, so Briers knew something was up.
"Come here, gorgeous," Briers said and slung an arm around him. Miles giggled, rolling his head back as Briers swooped in for a kiss, but the hand that had slid into Briers's jacket gripped tight to the back of his waistcoat. He leaned into Briers's arms and murmured, "John Smethwick came back. He's having a bit of a disagreement with Diana inside."
"Is he now?" Briers scowled. "What did he say? Or has she suggested that he might have liked to do his job last night rather than finding his own way out and devil take the rest of us?"
"It wasn't like that," Miles said. "I think he had - I don't know - a sudden breakdown. You know - like shell-shock. The bangs and the fires. Maybe they brought back some memories. He looks devastated."
Briers still felt annoyed. He had his own nightmares, of course - he'd woken sweating from a vision of Bela stooping over Miles in the cellar more times than he cared to remember - but didn't let them interfere with his work. On the other hand he'd been told he was an insensitive bastard enough times to think that maybe the people with more imagination had it much worse. "Oh, well then. In that case I'm astonished he's in the job he's in but - "
"I'm astonished he could bear to get on a train," Pritchard murmured. "Not after Quintinshill."
The name was vaguely familiar to Briers but must have meant something to Miles because he went very still.
"What was that then?" Briers asked.
"May 1915?" Pritchard said. "I don't remember the exact details, but a sleeper train collided with a troop train packed with Royal Scots and the whole bloody lot caught fire. Smethwick got out, most of the troops didn't. Some of the soldiers shot themselves rather than burn. He told me about it one night when he'd been on the whisky."
"Oh." Miles's voice was very small. He was one of the imaginative ones, Briers thought, and needed distracting. Briers kissed him again, a soft press of lips against his hair, and tightened his arm.
"I was busy trying not to get gassed at Ypres at the time," he said. "But even we heard about that. Yes, I can understand why he did what he did. Why's he arguing with Diana?"
"As long as I've known him Smethwick has never travelled by train if there was any alternative." Pritchard glanced towards the house where the voices were still sharp. "He's either driven himself or, as soon as it was feasible, he flew. My guess is that he's devastated that he's let himself down so badly - he thinks - and is desperate to fly back to Bucharest and get on with his job. I think it would be best if we let him. He thinks a lot of the master and mistress, does Smethwick, would do anything for them, otherwise - "
"Otherwise he would never have come after us," Miles finished. "How bloody awful it must have been for him. Very well," Miles patted Briers back under his coat and straightened up, "I'm going to settle the argument."
"Don't say anything to him," Pritchard advised.
"I won't." Miles turned on his high heels and marched towards the door. Briers raised his eyebrows at Pritchard who grinned.
"Not that I have any doubts about our young person's abilities, but you'd best go after him to pick up the bits if something unfortunate happens."
"Good idea."
The combatants had the corner room upstairs to themselves, with Emily to referee. Briers caught up with Miles at the door and watched him bounce into the room, about as welcome, from Smethwick's sour expression, as an extra ball on a rugby pitch.
"Millie, dear," Emily began, but Miles spoke over her ruthlessly.
"Smethwick, I have a job for you," he snapped, his voice dropping to its usual register. "I need you to carry a message to my father, one that I don't want to go through usual channels and that I certainly don't want intercepted. Can you do that?" He didn't allow Smethwick to reply but added, "Allerdale and I will take it from here - unless, of course, you are so blinded by appearance that you think I won't be capable of looking after my own mother."
"I... There are people after you who are prepared to kill," Smethwick growled.
"And so are we," Miles put in. "Do you trust me or not?"
The room went very quiet. Diana looked as though she might speak, but Briers caught her eye.
"I trust you," Smethwick said, as though every word was coated in broken glass. "I'll take the message."
"Thank you," Miles said.
"If we can get to Budapest within the next couple of hours you should be able to get on the six o'clock plane," Briers suggested. "Then you can go and find out who murdered that lad you mistook for Miles."
Smethwick's lips were drawn into a thin line, but there was a loosening in his stance that suggested he was relieved. "I'll go," he growled. "Now we finally have this settled, I'll wait in the charabanc."
He stalked from the room but made a slight inclination of his head towards Miles as he passed - which was, for him, as good as a clap on the back.
"Well, well," Briers said, "Diana - you look so much better than when I saw you last. And Emily - in the pink I see."
Emily patted her rose-coloured suit and gave him a little curtsey. "We both are, thanks to you, Falk, poor Mr Utkin and Mr Lacroix - who I must remember to call Mr Cross. Are we almost ready to go? Miles, have you prepared the message to send to your father?"
"Um... "
"Miles! Did you lie to Mr Smethwick?"
"Only a little bit," Miles admitted in a stage whisper. "I'll write Pa a full report on the charabanc in our usual cipher, and no, we won't want that to fall into other hands. I just needed to make it sound really official and important. I just think Smethwick might be better on home ground."
Diana sighed. "You're right. John needs to be in contr
ol of what happens. This whole affair shook him up badly. We'll be having a lot more security drills."
"Oh no, not more time in the cellar." Emily fished in her handbag and took out a little notebook and pencil. "I must buy more knitting wool. Briers, what colours would you like?"
"Ma knits in Fair Isle," Miles said. "If she's offering to knit for you she must like you."
"Of course I like him. What colours, Briers?"
"Something extravagant and eye-catching," Briers said.
"Don't be silly, dear. If you can't be sensible you'll just have to put up with my choice, won't you?"
Briers chuckled and shooed them all down the stairs. "Anything but pink," he said tolerantly.
#
It was astonishing what one could achieve if pretty enough, rich enough and ruthless enough. All three, Ruby Aston organised getting out of Hungary with vicious efficiency, but only a small party took to the skies - selected, Briers was sure, for entertainment value. For instance, Ruby had offered a place to Cynthia ffoulkes-Collinson and her swain, but Hayman had spoken up.
"We're going back to the hotel to face the music," he said. "Maybe they'll believe it was a misunderstanding? Maybe they'll make us wash dishes for a few days?"
"Good for you," Briers said. "I'm a bit hazy why you felt a midnight flit was necessary in the first place; if you really were hard up, you could always have pawned something."
"Pawn my diamonds?" Cynthia stared at him, aghast. "Over my dead body. It's all Emily's fault she made everything sound so exciting! I just wanted a bit of excitement too."
"I didn't." Hayman glanced at Briers. "You must think I'm so feeble."
"You weren't last night," Briers said. "You worked like a dray horse getting those poor souls out before the fires really took hold and, for what it's worth, you have my respect."
Hayman flushed. "It's worth a lot. And so was our hotel stay, so we're going to be responsible and pay them - aren't we, Cynthia?"
"If we must be totally boring about it... " Cynthia rolled her eyes, but when she looked at Hayman Briers thought he detected a little less complacency in her gaze.