The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Outside his window he could see the street full of people walking on the pavement, some cars were on the roads. The people seemed like ants scurrying to and fro. For a moment a frightening image entered his mind of the impact a bomb, from an anarchist, would have on the street below. The immediate carnage followed by the fear, the terror for people in cities. Jellicoe had often wondered why anarchists had not used such weapons. It would’ve been all so easy. It was not like they were trying to win the hearts and minds of people. They just wanted to kill.

  His thoughts returned to the murder in Oldham. What was the reason for killing Herbert Yapp? With a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he realised more murders would need to take place before he could answer this question. As it turned out, Jellicoe didn’t have too long to wait

  Chapter 16

  Sir Montagu Forbes-Trefusis had been knighted at the age of twenty-seven. This was a record for the Forbes-Trefusis family. The previous record holder was his grandfather, Spires Forbes-Trefusis. Nobody then nor now could, if pinned down, quite give a reason why he had earned this honour at such a young age other than possession of an impressively upper-class name. Envious colleagues at the Foreign Office, where Forbes-Trefusis worked, agreed that the honours list of 1889 had not been a vintage crop.

  Whatever question marks existed on the Forbes-Trefusis line’s hereditary right to be knighted, there could be no question over the work ethic of the current family patriarch. Like his forefathers before him, he rounded off an outstanding career at Eton, followed by Oxford Balliol, with an immediate entry into the Foreign Office. He had risen through the ranks by dint of connections, intelligence, hard work and yet more connections to become a deputy under-secretary in national security. This was a position occupied by many previous Forbes-Trefusis men.

  He took to his role with an enthusiasm bordering on fanaticism. Doubt was not a word that existed in his vocabulary. Britain was a force for good in the world. What was good for Britain was good for the world. The advancement of British interests was a proxy for the advancement of mankind. It just needed clear-sighted men, like him, to advise and guide policy that ensured Britain was at the forefront of international diplomacy, not an order taker from those nations, many as they were, who looked on with envy at the empire.

  Over the period in which Forbes-Trefusis worked in the Foreign Office, he had been vocal in advocating a foreign policy that did not so much border as inhabit the idea that attack is the best form of defence. From the Far East to Africa, he was instrumental in asserting Britain’s desire for peace through the agency of a strong military.

  Notwithstanding his purview of the need for a muscular Britain, Forbes-Trefusis had a wide circle of friends including the Bloomsbury set. He enjoyed close friendships with Duncan Grant and John Maynard-Keynes. Although both men disagreed with him on policy, the combination of hawk and dove provided mutual comfort from time to time.

  On those occasions when asked if he had any regrets or, more specifically, any failures, Forbes-Trefusis was surprisingly candid on the subject, albeit within the confines of his private club in St James’s.

  Russia.

  The failure of Britain to prevent the October Revolution, rankled. For many years he had pointed out the risks that lay with Britain’s indecision on whether to view Russia as a future enemy or potential ally. The craven attitude of the politicians over Tsar Nicholas’s more extreme repressive measures resulted in a lost opportunity to build on the common interests that resulted from having heads of state, Nicholas, and George V, who were cousins. Had this been done early enough Forbes-Trefusis believed Britain could have avoided entanglement in the Great War and averted the overthrow of the Romanov family.

  The Great War had changed Forbes-Trefusis, however. The loss of one son at Passchendaele had caused an almost Damascene conversion. For the first time he began to question if policy ends could be achieved by military means alone. He opposed military intervention in post-revolutionary Russia. This brought him into conflict with former allies, such as Churchill, putting him into the orbit of more diplomatically-minded Foreign Office officials, doubtless relieved to have the vigorously argumentative Forbes-Trefusis batting for them.

  The Forbes-Trefusis epiphany had not made him a pacifist overnight, but he did become a voice within the National Security office arguing for accommodation with the Bolsheviks rather than the overthrow favoured by Churchill. They remained good friends as they were aligned on most other topics of the day such as Ireland. Forbes-Trefusis could never forgive the Irish for having started an uprising whilst many of their countrymen were dying in France, and later, his own son. About Russia, Churchill and he agreed to differ; they rarely discussed the subject face to face.

  As Forbes-Trefusis skipped down the steps of the Foreign Office, for what would be the last time, he looked up at the sky. Against the chaos and confusion of commuters on the street, it seemed so calm with the ever-consistent grey clouds drifting lazily towards, well, wherever clouds go.

  Pulling up the collar of his coat against an icy wind, he stepped forward briskly into the waiting car at the bottom of the steps. The big driver was new, which was not new. He was used to this. The drivers seemed to change more frequently these days. He missed, Asif, his driver of many years greatly. Now, he rarely bothered to learn the names of the new drivers, such was the turnover.

  ‘Whites,’ said Forbes-Trefusis, before opening his leather satchel and taking out some papers. After a few minutes, Forbes-Trefusis became aware that the car was travelling in the wrong direction.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ asked Forbes-Trefusis irritably.

  The big driver responded in a foreign accent, ‘The road was blocked.’

  Forbes-Trefusis looked sceptically at the driver. Unfortunately, as he had not been paying attention he could not really argue. This changed when the car stopped suddenly, and a small man leapt in unexpectedly. At this point Forbes-Trefusis realised that he would not be going to his club any time soon.

  -

  ‘I never thought I’d be reading the Daily Herald every day,’ said Kit, glancing over to Esther and Bright. ‘This chap Peel seems to be covering my match and the Yapp murder.’

  Bright laughed, ‘Do you think there’s a connection?’

  Kit laughed but did not reply. He was wondering about this also. On the surface there was nothing obvious to connect the two but, it was a coincidence, and this always acted like a stone in his shoe.

  ‘The Times is covering your match now, I see, and I noticed yesterday the Telegraph also,’ said Esther looking up from the newspaper, adding teasingly, ‘You’re becoming quite famous. Well, even more famous.’

  ‘I’ll bet that’s Bergmann sending details through of the moves,’ responded Kit with a grin. ‘I think that’s what they want, publicity. Let it build slowly and then a high profile, public execution.’

  Esther and Bright glanced at one another; both raised their eyes to the heavens. This time Kit noticed the eye rolling.

  ‘You may laugh,’ said Kit with a grin, ‘I’m the one in the firing line here.’

  ‘Who is this Bergmann anyway?’ asked Bright.

  ‘I’ve never met him funnily enough. I’ve spoken with him on the telephone once and the other times it’s been via telegram or letter. My guess is he’s part of a Russian drive to re-establish diplomatic links or even an embassy. Possibly, he’s Cheka, who knows?’

  ‘Never thought to investigate him?’ continued Bright.

  Kit put his paper down and looked reflective. ‘I suppose this would’ve made sense but with Mary and everything, I lost interest. I’m just doing what my old commander asked me to.’

  Kit paused as a sense of sadness overwhelmed him. Esther saw the change in his manner and came over to hug him.

  ‘We understand, Kit.’

  The mood became sombre again. Any mention of Mary usually changed the atmosphere for all of them. It made thinking, breathing even, more difficul
t. Finally, Kit finished his thought.

  ‘I really don’t care about the blessed match. It’s a distraction. I’m at the point now where I’d be happy if Serov wins. I say “if”, I mean when.’

  Sam sensed the downbeat tone of his master and leapt up onto the sofa to offer a supportive nuzzle. This broke the mood of despondency as everyone smiled at the little dog’s efforts to improve his master’s mood.

  Kit returned to his paper and scanned various headlines. Nothing captured his attention. He glanced down at the Court Circular. The King and the Queen would be visiting the Teddington and Hampton Wick Memorial Hospital, near where Kit was playing Serov at Hampton Court, the same afternoon as his match. He mentioned this to Esther and Bright. Of the three of them, only Esther had any recent brush with the Royal family, but this had been before the War with her grandfather. The memory of it brought a tearful smile to her face. She felt, once more, an emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

  A knock at the door broke the sombre mood. Miller went to answer, reappearing moments later with a telegram. This was the latest move from Serov. Kit reviewed the telegram and made the move for Serov. It did not involve taking a piece, but it made Kit look at the board for a short period before speaking.

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘’Why?’ asked Esther looking at the board also but without any idea of what she should be seeing. She looked back at Kit expectantly.

  ‘By moving this pawn into a position where it will be sacrificed, he wants to open up the left side of the board. This is an invitation for me to develop this line here,’ said Kit indicating a vertical line of squares on the board, ‘And it will put me a pawn to the good.’

  ‘That’s good, surely,’ pointed out Bright.

  ‘Yes and no. Yes, because it’s always good to have an advantage, however slight. But it introduces a new variation to the game which I haven’t seen before. He’s probably tested out its evolution. I haven’t.’

  ‘So, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t take the pawn,’ said Bright beginning to understand where Kit was heading.

  ‘Correct.’

  Kit shook his head in consternation. Getting up from his seat he went to a set of drawers and took out a small rectangular tea box. Inside was another chess set. Setting it down alongside the main board he arranged the pieces to mirror the latest stage of play in the game with Serov.

  ‘It looks like a child’s play set’ said Esther. The smile on Kit as he looked back at her confirmed her intuition. ‘Must be dreadfully old then.’

  Both men laughed at this. Then Esther and Bright watched in fascination as Kit moved the pieces around the board at lightning speed, experimenting with different permutations. Kit looked up and smiled at the rapt couple.

  ‘The thing is Serov can probably do this in his head. He’ll certainly have had time over the last few years to work out the strongest moves. I’ve a matter of a few days. I wish I’d someone who could help me a bit on this,’ Kit looked up at his two friends suddenly, ‘Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to cause offence’

  Bright laughed, ‘None taken. I’m sure we both wish we could help more. When are you playing this blighter anyway?’

  ‘Less than a week now,’ said Kit before adding ruefully, ‘If I last that long.’

  ‘Don’t worry old chap,’ said Bright with a grin, ‘I’m sure he’ll toy with you long enough to deliver the knockout blow in as public a setting as possible.’

  ‘Richard!’ exclaimed Esther, turning to Bright in shock.

  Then she turned to Kit, who was lying back in the sofa laughing heartily before asking, ‘I have a question, and it is a serious one: do men ever grow up?’

  ‘No,’ said Bright.

  ‘Miss,’ added the other, suitably reprimanded, schoolboy.

  This finally brought a reluctant smile from Esther, but she accompanied it with a shake of the head to indicate her unwillingness to relinquish disapproval quite yet.

  Kit returned his attention to the two boards. ‘Damned if I do, damned if I don’t alright. I’ll pass on the opportunity to take his pawn now.’

  ‘Good man,’ encouraged Bright, ‘He who runs away etcetera. Delay the inevitable, that’s the ticket.’ This caused more mirth for the two men and another reprimand from Esther.

  ‘These are worrying signs of regression, children,’ observed Esther sternly, ‘I’ve marked your card as a bad influence, Lord Aston.’

  ‘You could be expelled Kit,’ warned Bright, desperately trying to avoid smiling.

  Miller reappeared once more wheeling a trolley with tea and pastries. This brought an end to the ribbing. As he served the tea, Kit asked him to deliver the latest move to the telegram office. Miller looked at the board and then at the message.

  ‘He’s has him on the run Harry,’ said Bright, smiling.

  ‘I’ll dig out the bunting, sir,’ replied Miller.

  Miller went to grab his coat and went out to the corridor. As he opened the front door, he found a man standing there about to knock. The man took off his hat. His hair was dark, flecked with grey. He was slightly taller than Harry, but it was his eyes that drew his attention. They were a piercing blue. Deep frown lines rose vertically between his eyes. The deadly serious face spoke of a troubled life.

  ‘Is Lord Aston in?’ asked the man in heavily accented English.

  ‘Yes sir, who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Alexander Kerensky.’

  Miller gave a start. He knew all about Kit’s connection to this man and explained his solemn appearance. It was the first time Miller had met a Prime Minister before, albeit a former one. As he returned to the group inside, he, once again, reflected on how much his life had changed since the day he crawled out into No Man’s Land and rescued Kit Aston.

  Kit and his friends looked up in surprise as Miller reappeared followed by Kerensky.

  ‘Alexander Kerensky, sir,’ announced Miller.

  Kit rose from the seat and went over to Kerensky, arm outstretched.

  ‘Alexander, what a wonderful surprise. Can I introduce you to my good friends, Lady Esther Cavendish and Doctor Richard Bright?’

  Kerensky went over to Esther and gallantly kissed her hand before shaking hands warmly with Bright. Turning to Esther he said, ‘I was sorry to hear about your sister. I hope that she will recover soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Prime Minister,’ said Esther looking up into the eyes of the exiled Russian. They were hypnotic both for their colour but also because of the sense of deep sadness that lay behind them. This was a man who had led the Russian nation following its near collapse, due to the incompetence of the Tsar. He’d tried to keep Russia in the War. Eventually the people turned on him also.

  Following the Revolution, he had been unable to resurrect support against Lenin. As the Bolsheviks imposed a ruthless grip throughout the country, violently eradicating any opposition, he had to flee the country.

  ‘We’ve seen sign of progress. We’re very hopeful,’ added Esther.

  Kit invited Kerensky to sit down and served him some tea.

  ‘How did you and Kit meet Mr Kerensky?’ asked Bright.

  Kerensky glanced at Kit who merely laughed in response and shrugged his shoulders. This made Kerensky smile also and return his gaze to Bright and his beautiful fiancée.

  ‘I shall take that as a yes.’

  Part 2: Middle Game

  Chapter 17

  Petrograd, Russia: 25th October 1917 (November 7th, 1917) -Early morning

  Kit burst into the room without knocking. Two men looked up at him in surprise. This was partly due to his unusually dishevelled state but also because of the look of alarm on his face. The room was sparsely furnished. A table and five chairs and a bottle of vodka with some empty glasses. It felt like there had been no heating in the room for months. Outside sounds of men shouting filled the cold night air.

  ‘It’s over. Two of the bridges have gone. The other two,’ Kit stopped and shook his head in incredulity.
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  ‘What of the other two?’ asked Roger Ratcliff, confused.

  ‘Troitsky Bridge and the Palace Bridge are being held; are you ready for this? They’re being held by the Women’s Death Battalion and some cadets.’

  ‘Good lord,’ exclaimed Colin Cornell, ‘What’s Kerensky thinking?’

  ‘Not sure he’s many options left, Colin. The Cossacks have abandoned him. What’s left of the army is at the Winter Palace. Some of them have erected barricades, the rest are waiting for their moment to desert. It’s hopeless. More than that, it’s finished.’

  ‘We need to make sure Kerensky gets away,’ said Ratcliff.

  ‘Yes, that’s why I rushed back,’ replied Kit. He looked around the room. ‘Where’s Olly?’

  Ratcliff looked at Cornell then back to Kit, ‘He went out to look for Kristina, would you believe? The revolution starts, and our lover boy abandons ship. Young fool. Can’t say I blame him though.’

  Turning to Cornell, Ratcliff asked, ‘Can you and Kit go to the Palace. See if you can get Kerensky to see sense? He has to escape.’

  Cornell nodded but Kit looked sceptical.

  ‘What’s wrong Kit?’ asked Cornell.

  Kit sat down at the table before saying, ‘They’ll be looking for him. Checkpoints are already being set up around the city. We need cover.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ asked Ratcliff.

  ‘The American Embassy. If I can get a car from them, we can use that to get Kerensky away. Even the mobs will think twice about stopping a diplomatic car.’

  Ratcliff looked at Cornell, ‘What do you think?’

  Cornell replied, ‘Worth a try, I’m out of ideas. So, I’ll go to Kerensky and meet you in the west side of the courtyard. I know Lieutenant Vinner well. He’ll make Kerensky see sense.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, Kit,’ said Ratcliff. I can use my influence with Secretary Whitehorse. He’ll help, I’m sure. We don’t have time to use official channels; Ambassador Francis would never allow it.’