Which was easier said than done.
Brother Chamberlain came back from his errand. “Nobody up there,” he said. “Quiet as a bleeding nunnery.” He laughed; it had been a joke. Brother Peter laughed too, sycophantically, and wriggled his bottom. Brother Chamberlain contemplated the wriggle and said, “Don’t you go giving me ideas, you little pouf.”
“Oooh, I never!” Brother Peter flounced away, making towards the exit to the open air above.
*
“Mr Sedge, how are you? And where are you? And what is going on? Why are you and not the Foreign Secretary ringing me?”
“Prime Minister —”
“Yes, it is I. What have you to tell me, Mr Sedge?”
“Prime Minister, I’m currently unable to tell you where I am or indeed very much else. I don’t know if you understand.”
“I don’t believe I do, Mr Sedge. Perhaps you can explain.”
“I can’t do that either,” Hedge said desperately. “Not fully that is. I am — er.”
“You are what?” Mrs Heffer shook the telephone; it was probably a bad line, so typical of British Telecom, she would speak to someone about it. “What did you say, Mr Sedge?”
There was a pause, quite a long one, and clicks and clanks as more money was fed into the system. Hedge, though this Mrs Heffer was not to know, was in conference with Reverend Father. Hedge was asking what he was to say, having forgotten his precise orders under the battering of Mrs Heffer’s inquisition. Reverend Father hissed, “Tell the old trout you’re under duress, but don’t give away any clues.”
“Yes,” Hedge said, and Reverend Father took his hand away from the mouthpiece. Hedge, once again in communication, said, “I’m under duress, Prime Minister.”
“Under what?”
Hedge shouted, “Duress.”
There was an indistinct sound, one of horror, incredulity and great anger. “Do you mean you’ve been captured, Mr Sedge?”
Hedge said, “Yes, Prime Minister.”
“How absolutely monstrous. I’ve never heard of such a thing, I must say, an official of the Foreign Office … who by?”
“The neo-Nazis, Prime Minister. The German —”
“Those people.” There was immense contempt in Mrs Heffer’s voice. She said scornfully, “Fancy letting such wicked people get their hands on you! I suppose you were overpowered, though.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“How very terrible. Now, tell me if you can why you’re ringing me, Mr Sedge. Are your captors present?”
Yes, Hedge said, they were. He had a message for her and he must pass it quickly before his change ran out and because of other considerations, by which he meant before a tap could be put on the line, or rather (since Whitehall lines were always tapped) before the call box could be located. And he urged her to listen very carefully indeed to his message and to be sure to act upon it because his captors meant every word they said. Hedge was so terrified that he sounded very convincing indeed. And afterwards Reverend Father seemed quite satisfied.
*
After a preliminary telephone call to the Home Secretary, Mrs Heffer called an emergency meeting of her cabinet.
“A call from your Mr Sedge, Roly. He was in distress. Such a very brave man … he was overpowered by these wicked men after putting up a staunch resistance, I expect. One would expect no less, of course. We’re all British, as I told the Queen only recently and she agreed.” Mrs Heffer paused. “Mr Sedge had a message. A message from these desperadoes. The message was quite simple. It concerns the aspirations of the desperadoes. As we have already suspected, of course, their aim, their ultimate intention, is to take over the government of this country, the duly elected government of this country of ours.”
“A coup d’état, Prime Minister?”
“No, Roly, not a coup d’état. Only foreigners have coups d’état. South Americans and so on. I prefer to call it a dastardly and cowardly attempt to seduce our people from their loyalties. And,” Mrs Heffer added vehemently, throwing out her breasts, “they’ll not succeed.”
There was a chorus of of course nots, who do they think they are. Mrs Heffer nodded vigorously throughout this response. It was the Secretary of State for Defence who put the sixty-four thousand dollar question: “What is the nature of the threat, Prime Minister?”
“I’ve already told you that,” Mrs Heffer said coldly.
“I beg your pardon, Prime Minister. I’ll put it a different way. What is the threatened alternative, if their demands are not met … by which I take it they’re demanding that you step down? Without bloodshed.”
“That is exactly what poor Mr Sedge said. And of course I shall never step down as you put it, Defence Secretary. And, as I said, as Mr Sedge put it. They ought to know me better than that I would have thought.”
The Defence Secretary gave a discreet cough. “Prime Minister, what I’m anxious to elucidate is this: what if you don’t stand down? What do they do then?”
“I was coming to that,” Mrs Heffer stated. “It all has to do with that explosives dump up in Yorkshire. The one that’s been in the news recently because of the fuss made by the farming people, the sheep and so on,” she said, giving the impression that the livestock had themselves joined in the row.
Rowland Mayes, his face pale, asked, “Are they threatening to blow it up, Prime Minister? Is that the alternative? Because if so, then a very considerable amount of destruction will be caused, and a lot of casualties, and I …” His voice tailed away under the sheer violence of Mrs Heffer’s look in his direction.
“What pusillanimity, Foreign Secretary! Naturally, I would be the first to deplore any casualties among our people, but really! One does not collapse at the first fence, Foreign Secretary. As I’ve said before, we’re British and like poor, brave Mr Sedge it’s up to us, to me anyway, to stick it out and fight back in defence of the realm. We are a proud people, Foreign Secretary, and we never surrender. I believe Mr Churchill said that once and he was right.”
“Yes indeed, Prime Minister.” Rowland Mayes, acting bravely himself, pressed his point. “But are we in fact to take it that an explosion really is on the cards?”
“Yes,” Mrs Heffer said. “That is precisely the case. And now, I suppose, somebody is going to suggest an evacuation of the area. I forbid any such thing — there will be no evacuation. The reason being that Mr Sedge made it quite clear that at the very first sign of an evacuation, or indeed of any other precautions such as the movement of troops or police, the whole area will be immediately blown up.”
“But only if you refuse to accede. Refuse to stand down.” This was the Home Secretary, who spoke in the flat tones of defeat, Mrs Heffer having already said she would never surrender. She said it again.
“Exactly, Home Secretary. And stand down I shall not. The people trust me. There is, however, what one might call, I suppose, an escape clause.” She paused, jaw set and eyes flashing her determination. “It is one I propose to take advantage of.”
There was an air of expectancy, also of relief. An escape clause was good news and it might get the cabinet off the hook of having to make a decision or even, which God forbid, the worse hook of having perhaps to oppose Mrs Heffer. They all waited with bated breath.
Mrs Heffer said, “Mr Sedge was precise and left me in no doubt that these people mean what they say.” There was another pause. “Mr Sedge spoke of the forthcoming visit we’re to make to the threatened area. To reassure the farming communities. That is known to the desperadoes, you see. And it is to take place tomorrow.”
The Home Secretary gave an apologetic little cough. “Tomorrow is Tuesday, Prime Minister —”
“Yes, I know that, thank you, Rufus.”
“The Women’s Institute, Prime Minister —”
“Not the Women’s Institute, the Townswomen’s Guild I believe —”
“But surely —”
“Kindly don’t interrupt me, Home Secretary, and whoever they are, they’ll
have to wait. The security of our country comes first and I shouldn’t have to remind you of that. In any case we must go along with Mr Sedge who is the man on the spot. And he stipulates tomorrow. There is to be what Mr Sedge speaks of as a parley. That is what I regard as an escape clause.”
No-one else did. “A parley with the desperadoes, Prime Minister?”
“Yes. Naturally, I shall concede nothing. But nothing will be lost by talking to the ringleader. So we shall go. Rufus, you shall make the arrangements. And remember, there are to be no special precautions — I’ve already explained that.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. But is there not an element of extreme danger? To the persons including yourself —”
“No, Rufus, I rather think not. If there had been, I’m quite sure Mr Sedge would have found a way of putting the information across. And I believe that it will be seen to be my presence that will prove the guarantee of safety for us all. These vile persons would never, quite obviously, take the risk of injuring me. They are well aware of the esteem … they would never risk alienating our people, never risk jeopardising their plans in advance. I should have thought that would be obvious. And in any case, I at any rate will not be put off by thoughts of danger.”
There was nothing further to be said. Firmly, Mrs Heffer brought the cabinet meeting to a closure and walked out of the room with her head high. She left dismay and disbelief in her wake. The Defence Secretary was heard to mutter that it was a very curious escape clause, one that appeared to offer no escape at all in fact. When the parley ended as it would in vehement rejection from Mrs Heffer, the desperadoes would go into action. Another minister was heard to say that the desperadoes obviously had Mrs Heffer weighed off to a t. “Too bloody obstinate to resist a challenge of that sort,” he said. “And that being so … God help us all.”
Fourteen
The next move was made by coach; the one belonging to the firm in Ely that had brought the main party from Stockbridge to Fountains Abbey. In the early morning of Tuesday this coach parked in the car park opposite the gate into the grounds of Jervaulx, parking close to a peacock that seemed not to mind the intrusion. The driver walked across the Ripon to Leyburn road and entered the grounds of the ruined abbey. Once inside the second gate, the one where the honest paid their entry fee into the waiting box, he gave a whistle. As if from nowhere Brother Peter appeared. “Oooh, it’s you. Isn’t it ever such a lovely day?”
“Right, it is. Where’s Reverend Father?”
“In the ablutions.”
“Ablutions?”
“Behind the hedge.”
“Oh, ah.” At that moment Reverend Father appeared from behind a large bush, zipping up his fly. “Good man,” he called to the coach driver. “No problems?”
“None at all, Reverend Father. Everything’s set. Should be where you want by eight-thirty latest, all right?”
“Yes,” Reverend Father said, and vanished as suddenly as Brother Peter had appeared. Brother Peter followed after and the driver ambled back to his coach, where the peacock had been joined by his mate and half-a-dozen hens. In the fissure beneath the ruins the monks made ready for departure under the general direction of Brother Werribee who was something of a regimental sergeant-major.
“Get a bloody move on, right? Shower of useless bastards,” he remarked to Shard as he squatted alongside and untied Shard’s wrists and ankles. “Don’t let freedom go to your head, cobber. It’s just because we don’t want to attract any attention … I’ll be right behind you with a gun. Or someone will. So don’t try anything we don’t like.”
“Where are we going?”
The answer was the standard one: “You’ll see.”
Brother Werribee went away and his place was taken by Brother Peter, who repeated the warning about not trying anything funny. “Only rub off on me,” he said rather pathetically. “I’m the one what always gets the bloody blame, specially from that blooming Brother Werribee. He’s such a bully and me, I’m all for peace and quiet.”
“Like an explosion?”
Brother Peter wriggled in what looked like embarrassment. “Don’t blame me. I got let in for this lot. I didn’t want to, honest I didn’t.”
“Peace and love,” Shard murmured, flexing wrists and ankles, getting the blood flowing again. “And it’s nice, isn’t it, to be back in Yorkshire again?”
Brother Peter nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, that’s ever so nice.”
“Home territory, Brother Peter. Worth thinking about, isn’t it?”
Brother Peter looked at him suspiciously. “Not suggesting anything, are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh.” Brother Peter looked a little disconcerted. “What?”
“What I’ve suggested before. Get out from under, the first chance you get. You’ve never been happy in the monastery, you know that.”
“No. It’s not really me, that I will say … all them prayers and bloody Brother Werribee, it’s been a right pain it has and if I’d never bloody gone into the Triar Fuck, beg pardon, the Friar Tuck — you know, the caff in Amesbury, I told you —”
“Yes, you did, Brother Peter. So take that first chance. You don’t want to risk being blown up, do you?”
“Well, no. No, I don’t.” Brother Peter sat on the ground of the cave and looked very thoughtful. “I don’t suppose you do either.”
“No. So if it’s any help, I’ll come with you.”
“With me?”
Shard said, “When you scarper, Brother Peter.”
“Would you really?”
“If you insist,” Shard said gravely.
“Oooh, you’re having me on, you know you are. Reverend Father’d never let you go.”
*
Tuesday — this very day — having once been rejected in favour of Mrs Heffer’s other engagement, there was now a considerable degree of last-minute panic among the local authority and the police. It was all very well that Mrs Heffer had ordered no extra precautions: she would nevertheless expect the minimum of dignity to be attendant upon her visit and with Mrs Heffer minimum dignity and deference was a pretty large undertaking. Her car would of course require a police escort with outriders, there was nothing ‘extra’ about that. The Lord Lieutenant of the county of North Yorkshire was at first briefed (mistakenly) to be there in his uniform, plus the chairman of the Rural District Council and various sheriffs and so on together with their acolytes and of course the National Farmers’ Union, local branch, would be there in force to put their views to the Prime Minister, none of them, naturally, knowing that at any moment their cause and their land as well might go sky high, taking themselves along with it. No word of the threat had been released by Downing Street and therefore everything was to be beautifully laid on including a big luncheon in a vast marquee to be erected on some more or less flat ground near the Ribblehead viaduct that carried the Skipton to Carlisle railway on its scenic journey through the fells and dales.
At the last moment there had come a decree from Durham that the bishop intended to be present so that he could put certain points about the wickedness of armaments to Mrs Heffer in person. With him would come the Dean and those members of the chapter that were not required for duty elsewhere or who were not on holiday. This complicated the seating arrangements for the luncheon in the marquee and books of reference giving the Order of Precedence were hurriedly consulted. It was later intimated that no royalty would be present and this intimation caused the Lord Lieutenant to indicate that his presence would be superfluous and indeed unconstitutional. However, as a special mark of respect to Mrs Heffer, who was known to appreciate such gestures, the Lord Lieutenant was prevailed upon to attend though not, after all, in uniform. This was seen as a fair and reasonable compromise.
Mrs Heffer and her entourage would leave King’s Cross by train for York, and at York railway station she would be met by a red carpet, the Lord Mayor, and a limousine to carry her into the northern dales. The luncheon would in fact, on account of t
he time factor, be held before, not after, the tour of inspection and the confab with the farmers’ union. And (although this was known only to the cabinet) before the parley with the desperadoes.
*
“Mr Sedge,” Mrs Heffer said before leaving Downing Street at an unaccustomedly early hour, “said nothing about how these persons are to make contact with me. His telephone call was a hurried one and of course I was unable to call him back. What do you think, Roly?”
“About what, Prime Minister?”
“Oh, about how they’ll make contact, of course!”
“Well, Prime Minister.” Rowland Mayes, never at his best in the early morning, thought hard as to how he was to answer an unanswerable question. “It’s hard to say. With foreigners, you —”
“Of course they’re foreigners. It’s because they’re foreigners,” Mrs Heffer said snappishly, “that I asked you the question. You’re supposed to be my Foreign Secretary.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. Well, it’s very hard to say. A direct approach …”
“Or an indirect one?”
“Precisely, Prime Minister.”
Mrs Heffer gave a snorting sound and turned her back on him. Rowland Mayes wriggled in forlorn embarrassment; he had always tried to do his very best and it wasn’t always appreciated. Mrs Heffer thereafter addressed the Home Secretary. “Let us hope,” she said, “that it’s not done too publicly. Well, are we all ready?”
The Abbot of Stockbridge Page 16