Over and Out

by Michael Gilbert

  As a counterpoint to his thinking, something that Sergeant Sullivan had been reported as saying in his defence of Casement was running in the background of his mind.

  ‘What men do in war is unpredictable’. And then, ‘Perfectly decent men do perfectly shocking things in the prevailing hysteria’.

  On the following morning, when Tom Braham arrived, he had a budget of news important enough to shift Luke’s mind away from his own doubts and fears.

  He said, ‘I wonder if you remember what that trades union man, Leonard Trench, said when he was addressing a meeting of politicians and reporters in Béthune.’

  ‘Certainly I remember it,’ said Luke. ‘Sound common sense, I thought. Didn’t he say that when the war stopped jobs were going to be scarce, and would have to be fairly shared out, giving some preference to men who had been at the sharp end longest?’

  ‘Right. Now let me tell you—though you’ll find it hard to believe—what has actually been done. Under the official scheme the first men to be released are so-called “key men”. Men doing important jobs. Men that industry had hung onto until the last possible moment.’

  ‘I see. So the last to come out are to be the first to go home.’

  ‘Exactly. And the ordinary soldier, who may have been fighting for three or four years, has to stand by and watch newly joined men who’ve scarcely been out long enough to get their feet wet, hurrying home to pick up the few jobs that are going. Can you imagine the result?’

  ‘Spoken dissatisfaction, or active protest?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’d class as active protest. In the first week after the scheme was promulgated there were thirty reported cases of insubordination—suppressed or appeased for the most part by the men’s own officers. But in a number of cases the men were out of hand for some days. There was a regular mutiny at Calais where the RASC and RAOC refused to obey orders.’

  ‘Units,’ said Luke bitterly, ‘that had seen precious little of the fighting.’

  ‘Certainly. Also they were the units that were in closest touch with political trades unionism. That was what really scared the government. They weren’t frightened of scattered outbursts that could be controlled, but they knew that if the malcontents could combine behind a single acceptable leader, then they were heading for real trouble.’

  ‘I can think of one man who seems cut out to play that role.’

  ‘You mean Leonard Trench.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Clearly our lords and masters thought so too. And took appropriate action. I’ll be able to tell you more about that later, when certain decisions have been taken. But I didn’t come here solely to give you my deeply pessimistic views about the mess the government has got itself into. For the moment I want to talk about a more important matter. About our prospects.’

  ‘Nice of you to say our. Are mine linked with yours?’

  ‘I was proposing to link them, if you agree. But first let me tell you where I stand. Believe me, I took no step in my own case. The steps were all taken for me. The head of my old chambers, Martin Brayne, put up a strong argument to the demob people. He carries a good deal of weight. He’s been an MP for some time now. He pointed out that four of the nine men in his chambers had been killed in action – you remember Jack Remington and his brother, Tony?’

  ‘Vaguely, yes.’

  ‘And now we were being asked to shoulder the work of a dozen men. Important, government work, both prosecution and defence. In short, would they agree to releasing me, which they very promptly did. And also could our chambers be allowed to inspan suitable men into their team—men already qualified, or, who would qualify as quickly as the law allowed. And so—does this surprise you?—I put your name forward.’

  Although Luke had suspected what was coming the surprise was enough to take his breath away. He could only say, feebly, ‘Very good of you, I’m sure, but—’

  ‘No buts. I’d spotted you as a promising performer even before you took on the impossible defence of Sergeant Britain.’

  Luke said, ‘If I said that I was pleased and astonished in equal parts, it would only convey a feeble sense of my gratitude. But there’s a difficulty. Or, to be precise, two difficulties. I’m not afraid of the exams I’d have to pass. I’m good at exams, mainly because I’ve been blessed with a phenomenal memory. I found that out when I was swotting up nay Russian. I could take in a page at a time, and remember it. But the point is, if you got me out right now and I sat straight down to my books, how long would it all take?’

  ‘If you started at once, the so-called first year’s exam—it covers four subjects—could be taken in September, Normally you’d have to wait until the following May before starting on part two, but there’s a concession for ex-servicemen, and if you could manage to cover the ground, you could start on part two in October, which would mean taking your Bar Final in June 1920.’

  Luke, who had been scribbling down these dates, said, ‘So if I get through, and the other members of your chambers agree to my coming—’

  ‘They’ve already done so.’

  ‘Then I could start to earn some money—not much, no doubt—after midsummer next.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘That brings me to difficulty number two. What are I and my wife going to live on meanwhile?’

  ‘Your wife being the delightful nurse who cleared out hurriedly as soon as I arrived?’

  ‘Correct. And please don’t suggest that we borrow the money from you. I refuse to start my professional life with a load of debt like a bloody albatross hanging round my neck, and I’m sure Sheilagh will think so too.’

  ‘Then why not ask her? Talk if over. You’ll have your gratuity. It may not be a lot, but it’ll be something. Don’t make up your mind in a hurry. I’ll be back in about a week’s time. You can give me your answer then.’

  Sheilagh, when consulted, agreed with Luke.

  ‘Even if you felt you couldn’t ask Tom for the money—’

  ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘There probably are other sources you could tap. Funds set up for people in your position. But whatever you did it would mean falling quite heavily into debt. Which is unthinkable. A pity, because I agree with Tom, I think you’d make a splendid barrister. You adore argument, and you’re as obstinate as all come—’

  ‘Thank you for those kind words,’ said Luke. And spent the next five minutes thanking her properly.

  It was exactly a week later, and Luke was in the garden resting after the most ambitious walk that he had, as yet, undertaken when he was told that a visitor had arrived.

  He was certain that it was Tom and, as he waited for him to get past Madame de La Bruyère, never a speedy matter, he had plenty of time to rehearse the words in which he had to refuse the magnificent offer that Tom had made him.

  Only the visitor was not Tom: it was Frank Millbanke, the Rector of Lavenham.

  Before Luke could do more than shake him by the hand and say how glad he was to see him, the rector had embarked on a wordy and totally unnecessary explanation of his presence.

  He said, ‘As you probably know, Advent and Christmas are our busiest times. We get as little rest as poor old Father Christmas with his trips up to your roofs and down your chimneys. But when Christmas is over we are allowed a few days off, so I got Oliver Spencer-Wells to fix me a travel permit. I expect you’ll have guessed the news I have for you, and why I thought it kinder to deliver it in person.’

  Luke knew, then, what the rector was going to tell him.

  ‘Your father died on Boxing Day. He had insisted on going out, although it was a filthy night—showers of sleet and the temperature well below zero. He was visiting a line of traps he had set. “You wouldn’t like to be tethered by one leg in the open on a night like this”, was all he would say. He collapsed on his return and managed to crawl into bed. Mrs Goodbody, who looks after him, found him there when she came round next morning. She sent for the doctor, who saw that your father was on his way
out, and sent for me.’

  ‘He died as he lived,’ said Luke.

  He and his father had never been close and recently he had seen him only rarely, but absence had done nothing to abate his respect for the tough and self-assured old villain.

  The rector said, ‘It was only during that last hour when I was with him, and he was fighting a hopeless rearguard action against the combined assault on his lungs and his heart, that I began to realise that you were the centrepoint of his existence. He showed me a sort of diary he’d compiled—not a proper diary, rather a scribbling block. He’d used it to record your progress in life. First constable, then sergeant in the police force. Your attachment to M.I.5 and your commission into the Intelligence Corps. Most of the entries were in ordinary ink, but that last one was in red ink and capital letters.’

  ‘I’d no idea he felt like that about me.’

  ‘He was proud of you. Prouder than he’d ever admit. He’d made his Will, on one of those printed forms you can buy from a law stationer, leaving everything to you, and appointing me his sole executor. I talked to one of my lawyer friends about that. Seems there’s a procedure by which you can go to the court, and get another executor added, if you want it.’

  ‘Why should I want it? I’m more than happy to leave the whole thing in your hands.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best. To tell you the truth, what made me a bit nervous was the unexpected amount of money involved. You’d be surprised how much he’d accumulated.’

  ‘Not really surprised. He spent next to nothing on himself. I always suspected that he had a nest egg tucked away somewhere. Where did he keep it? Under his mattress?’

  ‘Not on your life. He had a deposit account in the bank, who paid him interest on it. And informed the Revenue, who charged him tax on the interest. He was outraged by this sneaking and meddling with his private affairs and promptly took the money out of the bank, and transferred it to a safe deposit in Chancery Lane. It was Julian Spencer-Wells who put him up to that dodge. I’m busy sorting it all out now. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay some tax when the figures are agreed. But there will be an appreciable balance over.’

  ‘How much? Roughly.’

  ‘At a guess, between four and five thousand pounds.’

  ‘God in Heaven! As much as that? Are you sure?’

  Luke could see a gate that he had thought tight shut opening in front of him. He said, ‘Then there would be enough for me and my wife to live on for a year or so.’

  ‘Certainly. If you lived modestly, as I’m sure you would. But I’d no idea—’

  ‘We’re not actually married yet, but now that you’ve removed the financial obstacle that was holding us up, why not complete the good work?’

  ‘You mean marry you? Here and now?’

  ‘Why not? There’s a Protestant church in Montreuil. The diplomatic and service people use it, and the incumbent’s a friend of the lady who runs this place. I’m sure he’d co-operate.’

  ‘Might it not be a sound idea to ask the young lady for her ideas on the subject?’

  Sheilagh, summoned from the house, was introduced to Mr Millbanke, heard the news he had brought, and listened to Luke’s suggested rush programme.

  She said, ‘Certainly not. I want a proper village wedding, with two bridesmaids for me and a best man for you, and a huge wedding cake and the choir singing “Leaders”—’

  ‘Hymns Ancient and Modem two hundred and eighty-one,’ the rector explained. ‘“Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us o’er the world’s tempestuous sea”. An excellent hymn. And particularly appropriate in your case, I’d surmise.’

  ‘I’ll go along with all of that,’ said Luke.

  ‘Excellent. I’d much rather do the thing properly. Leave it to me. We can lack off as soon as you get home. How long will it take you?’

  ‘Tom has worked the oracle. I can get my demob from the army—always supposing I’m still in it—there’s some confusion about that. Anyway, I can be released as soon as I’m pronounced fit to be discharged from hospital.’

  ‘And where were you planning to live?’

  Luke and Sheilagh looked at each other. Minor matters like a roof over their heads were not yet a feature of their dream landscape.

  ‘I see,’ said the rector. ‘Nothing settled. Good. Then you can both come and live with me until you’ve found something better. There’s a lot of spare room in my rectory, and I’d love to have you there, so don’t start raising objections.’

  Neither of them could think of any objection to such an excellent plan.

  ‘Only let’s do it quickly,’ said Luke. ‘Quickly, quickly.’

  It all took a bit longer than they had expected.

  Obstacles were overcome or circumvented, as their plans went forward, like a canoe bobbing down a rock-strewn stream.

  It took a month to square the hospital, and the various bodies that had claims to Luke’s services, and a further week of string-pulling to organise transport back to England. Once they were settled at the rectory, together with Joe who was either on extended leave or, Luke feared, absent without leave, they all got busy.

  Sheilagh made lists of possible bridesmaids. Joe scoured the bakeries for a suitable wedding cake. Luke, who had been ordered to stay in bed as much as possible, disregarded this caution and suffered a deserved relapse.

  When Tom turned up, he propounded one piece of good news, and one possible snag. He said, ‘I only hope you’re grateful to Colonel Fleming for looking after your affairs when you were out of action. It’s just as well that I did give him that power of attorney. He was able to take up a number of bonus shares in Century Insurance that were on offer to existing shareholders. I imagine you’d forgotten you held them. Since they went straight to a premium, Fleming very sensibly sold them. Which put four hundred pounds into your account.’

  ‘Good,’ said Luke. ‘That should pay some of our wedding expenses.’ He supposed he ought to be grateful, but found it difficult to love the colonel.

  ‘Have you fixed a date yet?’

  ‘Provisionally, about a fortnight from now.’

  ‘Then here’s the snag. If I’m to be best man you may have to postpone your wedding for a few days. I’ve been offered a brief in my first important case. I’m being led by Brayne. We’re acting for Leonard Trench.’

  ‘The metal workers’ man?’

  ‘Right. And, as you said yourself, if anyone was capable of uniting and heading the malcontents it was Trench. The government thought so, too, and naturally they snatched at the first opportunity to knock him off his pedestal.’

  ‘I see,’ said Luke. ‘So what’s he charged with?’

  ‘I can’t give you any details. We’re not fully instructed yet. But the charge relates to the time he came to France with that deputation. You remember?’

  ‘I do indeed. And Routley got me a copy of the things he’s supposed to have said. I shouldn’t have thought that any of them could be the subject of a charge now.’

  ‘It wasn’t what he said, it was what he did. If you’ve seen the official report you’ll remember that he was with the other members of the deputation for most of the time, but they lost sight of him for four hours on the Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘I remember that no one seemed to pay much attention to it at the time.’

  ‘The authorities have changed their minds now. It’s become a mighty important four hours. According to them—and they have a witness who happened to catch sight of him—he slipped away from the others and paid a quiet and unobtrusive visit to a house in the back streets of Béthune where a character called Henri Racouf was lodging. Henri had already caught the eye of the counter-espionage people, being suspiciously well supplied with money, but without visible means of support. A short time after that delegation got back to England they raided his lodgings and found papers which showed that he was being paid by the Germans for information about shipping; departure and arrival of merchant ships and their escorts. The facts in a number
of the cases clearly came from English sources, and it’s quite possible that some of them would have been available to Trench. Members of his union were working in the ports, doing repairs. They had to know when ships were going to sail.’

  As Luke listened to this, it rang not one, but two bells in his mind.

  The first was the confidential report that Sergeant Britain maintained had been faked and placed in his kit. The second, a much louder peal was the Casement case, as Sheilagh had presented it to him. For was not the government using against Trench precisely the same smear tactics that they had used so successfully against Casement? The shipping losses had reached a deadly peak. Let it be proved that Trench had in any way helped the Germans to locate and sink our ships and the relatives of men lost at sea would have sought to lynch him.

  He said, ‘How has the case gone so far?’

  ‘We reserved our defence at the preliminary hearing. We haven’t got a fixed date yet, but looking at the calendar we should be opening at the Old Bailey in about a week’s time. That’s why I suggested that if you really do want me as best man you might have to put off your wedding for a few days.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Luke. He said it absently. He was concentrating on what Tom had told him.

  He said, ‘Has Trench explained what he was doing that afternoon?’

  ‘He has. And it hasn’t helped the defence a lot. Apparently he went to the zoo.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘No. As he was passing the gate he spotted two kids. A girl and a boy. They were being refused admission, because they hadn’t got enough money to pay the entrance charge. So he produced the necessary cash, and took them in. “Great company”, he said, “for a lonely man”. He took them round the lions and the tigers, and offered them a ride on the elephant, but they said they were afraid of falling off, so he took them to the monkey house instead.’

  ‘Did he get their names?’

  ‘Yes. The boy was called Pierre and the girl was Marie.’