Afterwards, Adrian had been as satisfied as he cared to be that he had identified the man Chatterton had stagily called Mr X and that there was nothing more to be expected from that quarter. He wished only, and that not very ardently, that he could have known the whereabouts of the house he had been taken to in a drugged state and brought back from with his head, however willingly, in a bag.
But there was one more thing. With the obstinate punctuality of the unwelcome, Jack Brownlow arrived no more than a couple of seconds after the agreed hour, full of fraudulent apologies for taking up the firm’s valuable time. He settled himself down in a chair by the window with a self-importance suggesting his conviction that, in the years that lay ahead, visitors to this office would be told in hushed tones that that was the self-same chair Jack Brownlow used to sit in. No doubt for a similar reason he wore his usual archaic suit.
‘Did you manage to glance at those rough xeroxes I dropped in the other day?’ he asked when he was ready to.
‘Yes I did.’ Instead of going on to say that he had thought he recognized them as the opening pages of Brownlow’s last novel, and had had to check to make sure they were not, or not quite, Adrian went on to say, ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
Luckily Brownlow made no offer to explain how. He said, ‘That’s a relief. I just thought it was time I made a clean break with the sort of thing the public expect from me.’
Adrian made some reply. This time what he did not say was that he had got an idea for a sort of thriller that began with a kidnapping, something he would gladly part with if Brownlow thought it was time he made a clean break with the sort of thing the public expected from him. Another lecture on how novelists should stick to their own experience might be too much to bear.
Captain Nolan’s Chance
A Play For Radio
Principal Characters (* denotes a fictitious person)
CAPTAIN LEWIS NOLAN
In his late twenties. An upper-crust Irishman brought up in Milan.
LORD ROBERT CECIL
In his mid-twenties.
[later Lord Salisbury]
CAPTAIN IVOR MORRIS
A few years older than Nolan. I see or hear him as a fairly posh Welshman. ‘Ivor’ is my invention. I cannot find Morris’s true Christian name nor much about him, but a Capt. Morris certainly led the 17th Lancers at the charge, which he survived though grievously wounded, and was certainly a close friend of Nolan’s and a fellow-enthusiast for cavalry.
COUNT ROGACHEV*
In his thirties or forties.
LORD LUCAN
Mid-fifties.
LORD CARDIGAN
Late fifties. A ‘plunger’, an aristocrat who spoke with a distinctive jargon or accent, pronouncing R as W and interlarding sentences with loud and meaningless exclamations of ‘Haw haw’.
JOSEPH*
In his forties or fifties. Speaks with an accent differentiating him from Russians, e.g. Polish or Ukrainian.
LORD GEORGE PAGET
In his mid-thirties. A gallant soldier, later a general.
SIDNEY HERBERT
’Secretary at War’ in the 1852 cabinet of Lord Aberdeen.
Sequence 1 – London
We are in Pall Mall in the year 1854. A cab draws up.
CABBY: Here we are, gents. Retrenchment Club. Oh, thank you, captain. You two gentlemen going to be off to fight them Rooshans?
NOLAN: One day, maybe.
CABBY: Well, give ’em a bang on the boko from me. Good night, sir.
The cab moves off. During the exchange NOLAN and his companion have alighted. They cross the pavement, mount some steps and enter the lobby of the club. A porter approaches.
PORTER: Good evening, gentlemen.
NOLAN: We’re here to see Lord Robert Cecil. We are Captain Lewis Nolan and Captain Ivor Morris. His lordship is expecting us.
PORTER: If you’ll be good enough to wait a moment, sir, I’ll inform his lordship that you gentlemen have arrived.
NOLAN: Thank you kindly. (A moment.) Ivor, for God’s sake: this fellow is younger than you or me. Sure he comes from a grand family and they say he’s a coming man, but there’s no side about him at all. He’s always been interested in the Eastern Question, that’s Turkey and Russia and the rest of it. And the lad’s fond of horses, do you understand.
PORTER: (Approaching) Would you come this way please, gentlemen.
They walk through part of the club.
PORTER: Captain Nolan and Captain Morris, your lordship.
CECIL: Thank you, Hawkins. Thank you for coming, Nolan. So this is the estimable Captain Morris. All I know about you, sir, is that you’re a childhood friend of Lew Nolan here, and that you share some of this mad Irishman’s delusions.
MORRIS: I’m afraid there are one or two subjects, my lord, on which neither Lew nor I is quite sane.
CECIL: That’s a relief. I pass my days with sane people and believe me it’s hell. Now sit down and let’s have a drink. The sherry here can just about be swallowed if you grit your teeth, or you might prefer a little brandy.
Fade down and fade up in the main dining-room of the club. CECIL, NOLAN and MORRIS are at a table by themselves.
CECIL: What’s being said about the appointment of Lord Lucan to lead the cavalry?
NOLAN: Well, unlike the other generals he has seen active service.
CECIL: Oh, I didn’t realize that.
NOLAN: Twenty-six years ago. He did well enough then.
MORRIS: And then, on April Fool’s Day, if you please, it’s announced that Lord Cardigan is gazetted Brigadier-General in command of the Light Brigade. Now Lucan’s a difficult fellow, but the word is he’s a good tough officer. But Cardigan, he’s . . . may I speak plain, sir?
CECIL: Please do.
MORRIS: Lord Cardigan is a lunatic, that’s the kindest thing you can say of him. Arrogant, reckless, obstinate, brooking no opposition, a damn fool, and unfortunately as brave as a lion. And in the 17th Lancers I’m to be under his command. The thought of that frightens me.
NOLAN: Which doesn’t often happen to Ivor Morris. And my lord Cardigan wants me as his personal assistant, his A D C.
CECIL: Are you going to take the job?
NOLAN: I’ll see the fellow in hell first. You know, my lord, when I think that the British cavalry list is full of brilliant and experienced officers in the prime of their careers, not one of whom has been given a command in this expedition, because their service has been in India – well, I want to weep.
CECIL: Before you collapse altogether, Nolan, you’d better have a glass of port.
We have moved to the port-drinking room of the club. NOLAN is well away.
NOLAN: It’s my belief that, properly led, cavalry, especially light cavalry, can do anything.
CECIL: Is it your belief that cavalry could break an infantry square?
NOLAN: Yes, even that – sir. There’s not just the one key to it, but two. The first is the man; well, the British army knows about him and how to train him. The second is the horse, and the British army needs a lesson or two about how to train a horse.
MORRIS: You mentioned leadership, Lew.
NOLAN: That comes later.
CECIL: When we talked before, Captain Nolan, you mentioned kindness as the basis of your system.
NOLAN: That’s it, my lord. A horse should never be punished or startled, but shown he can trust the man on his back. I’ll see if I can find you a copy of my book, Nolan’s System for Training Cavalry Horses, it’s all in there.
MORRIS: I’m afraid Nolan is something of a fanatic on the subject, my lord.
NOLAN: Ah, to hell, you’re as bad yourself, Ivor.
MORRIS: All right, I may be pretty bad, but I have to admit in all honesty that my lads in the 17th are second to none as cavalry soldiers, and even some of the Hussars are pretty fair.
NOLAN: Oh, they’re not all hopeless.
CECIL: You think they’ll give a fair account of themselves against the Russians?
MORRIS: I think so, my lord, yes.
NOLAN: If they get the chance.
CECIL: M’m. I hope you’re right.
We are in the same place but time has passed. All three men are slightly foxed.
CECIL: I think one more glass, don’t you? Well, no doubt we could go on about horses all night, but I didn’t invite the two of you along here just for that. Let me put it briefly. Now perhaps Lew Nolan has told you, Captain Morris, I concern myself greatly with the activities of Russia in the Near East. I scent a grave threat to our interests there and further afield. This affair now in the Black Sea, it may prove to be no more than a skirmish, a preparation for something larger. There’s a devilish crafty fellow in St Petersburg called Count Rogachev whom I don’t care for the sound of one little bit. Very powerful in an underhand way and a deadly enemy of England and jealous of our possessions overseas. I see in him a grave danger to our country.
MORRIS: Lew and I promise to throw this Count Rogachev into the Black Sea as soon as we set eyes on him, my lord, but what can we do meanwhile?
CECIL: I’m sorry, I think I was a little carried away. What the two of you can do for me meanwhile, my dear Morris, is to compile a report for my eyes only on the fighting qualities of our troops – morale, state of training, whatever may signify. They haven’t fought a serious war for forty years – how would they resist a powerful and determined foe? You’ve told me something already; I need to know more. Will you do it?
NOLAN: We’ll do all we can, sir.
CECIL: As it comes to you, nothing fancy. The telegraph would be quickest, but you’d have to resort to code.
NOLAN: We’ll find a way, my lord, never fear.
Sequence 2 – St Petersburg
We are in a reception room in a palace. Men and women are chattering and laughing, eating snacks and drinking. JOSEPH, a dignified butler, is supervising the serving of drinks.
JOSEPH: A glass of champagne, my lady? Your excellency?
EXCELLENCY: Thank you, Joseph. Always on hand when you’re wanted, eh?
JOSEPH: (In undertone to SERGEI, waiter) Two champagnes, Sergei, quick. And a napkin.
SERGEI: (Nervous) Yes, Mr Joseph.
EXCELLENCY: Splendid stuff. Yes, my dear, I always say it’s a blessing the French can’t fight half as well as they make champagne.
LADY: They fought well enough under Bonaparte.
EXCELLENCY: Until our Russian lads broke their spirit. Before you were born, Tania. I was just a young subaltern then. Yes, and Wellington finished Bonaparte off at Waterloo. I doubt if any British army could manage such a thing today.
LADY: Have you visited the Crimea yourself, uncle?
EXCELLENCY: Not as yet. I hope to go in a week or so . . .
COUNT 1: Well, as for our armies in the Crimea, they have only to wait for the British and the French to die of cold and fever and thorough incompetence, especially at the top. Their Lord Raglan and the others are drunk from morning to night.
COUNT 2: As I see it, Prince Menschikov need only hold firm and use his guns whenever he can. Our Russian artillery will settle things, as always.
COUNT 3: Allies? The flower of England, France, Turkey and Sardinia, if you please. A pitiful polyglot rabble, sir.
ROGACHEV: (Calling imperiously) Joseph, over here.
JOSEPH: (Calling) At once, my lord count. (To SERGEI) Come, Sergei – when Count Rogachev calls, you move fast.
ROGACHEV: Yes, colonel, I think this news makes the prospects for our little scheme look quite encouraging. (To JOSEPH) Some vodka for the colonel. No, just soda water for me.
JOSEPH: Here we are, sir. (To SERGEI) Some vodka for the colonel . . . Oh, bless my soul.
ROGACHEV: Joseph, if you’ve got a moment . . .
JOSEPH: (Gamely) Of course, your honour.
ROGACHEV: . . . just find my secretary, would you, and tell him to start assembling the select company straight away in the small parlour. And Joseph.
JOSEPH: Yes, my lord.
ROGACHEV: Of course we shall need refreshing there too, you know.
JOSEPH: Of course, your honour, I understand. (To SERGEI) Get those glasses changed at once, they’re filthy.
SERGEI: Yes, Mr Joseph.
Fade down and up to small parlour. Half a dozen men are talking in low tones, ROGACHEV comes in and all fall silent.
ROGACHEV: Most honoured, your royal highness.
PRINCE: My dear Rogachev, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
ROGACHEV: That’s kind of you, sir. Well . . .
All sit.
ROGACHEV: Thank you all for leaving the party to come along here. I’ll keep you away for as short a time as I possibly can. In fact I have only two points to bring before you for the moment. The first is that I’m now in possession of what I think is conclusive evidence of the low state of training and the very poor morale of the British forces fighting – if that is the word – in the Crimean peninsula. That’s more important than—
GENERAL: Count Rogachev, may I put in a word here?
ROGACHEV: Please, let’s hear your views, general.
GENERAL: Thank you. Well, fighting is certainly the word for what the English infantry were doing on the 20th of last month at the battle of the River Alma.
VOICES: Oh, that. Yes, we’ve heard a lot about that. Oh, the Alma.
GENERAL: Yes, the Alma. Those men showed not merely courage but blind courage in the way they went on advancing over the river and up those slopes in the face of withering fire from our guns, roundshot, grape and canister. They fell in masses but they kept advancing. Does that indicate very poor morale? Count Rogachev?
ROGACHEV: No more, general? Thank you. Accounts of that engagement seem to vary. Major?
MAJOR: My information is that the ‘heroism’ of the British has been somewhat exaggerated and misinterpreted. We should not forget—
ROGACHEV: The British so-called heroism is something of a myth called into being by way of excuse for the incompetence and timidity of our own commanders.
GENERAL: Nonsense, they’re both fine soldiers. I’ve served with ’em.
ROGACHEV: It’s touching, isn’t it, the way the army always stands together, no matter what. If I may just finish this point, the state of an army’s infantry is a far less telling indicator than that of its cavalry, who are likely to be a little less brutish by nature. Of course I speak myself as a cavalry soldier . . .
VOICES: Quite right. Of course. Hear hear. About time too.
ROGACHEV: Thank you. And – the British cavalry is in such a state, despite its fine uniforms, that their generals dare not use it, it seems. Major.
MAJOR: Yes, my lord. At the battle of the Alma, which has made such a profound impression on the general here, the famous British cavalry stood by and did nothing. The previous day at the valley of the Bulganek, their Lord Raglan ordered their cavalry to retire before they had even drawn their sabres. What humiliation!
A handbell rings.
ROGACHEV: I beg your pardon, major. Please continue.
MAJOR: The rest is detail, my lord. The theme that emerges is that their cavalry are frightened of our guns.
Voices express assent. Double doors open and JOSEPH and SERGEI come in with drinks.
ROGACHEV: Ah, Joseph, quick about it, now. Champagne for His Highness, vodka, and for me I think a small glass of still white wine. Well, gentlemen, this comes at a timely moment. Consider the victory our Cossacks will win over the British lancers and hussars and dragoons when they meet on the great plains below the Himalayas! A toast – your royal highness, my lords, gentlemen, I give you – the imperial conquest of India!
VOICES: India! We’ll show ’em! To victory! Long live the Czar!
ROGACHEV: Joseph, my trusty friend, you shall join our toast! Pour yourself a glass of wine and raise it on high!
JOSEPH: Thank you, sir, but I beg your lordship to excuse me. My wretched stomach . . .
Pause.
ROGACHEV: Oh, very well.
But you should see a doctor about those insides of yours, do you hear me?
JOSEPH: Oh yes, your honour.
ROGACHEV: See to it. (Raises voice) Is it your wish that I put our plan before the High Command at their next meeting?
VOICES: Yes! As soon as may be! Don’t let’s delay any longer!
GENERAL: Have you a date for this Indian escapade of yours?
ROGACHEV: I soon will, general.
We are in a smallish office with an open window overlooking the Neva. Hooter noises, etc.
PEMBERTON: (Friendly) But you didn’t manage to get the date.
JOSEPH: Not yet, Mr Pemberton, I’m afraid. It’s not easy.
PEMBERTON: I imagine not.
JOSEPH: Especially not since Count Rogachev became watchful. I was a fool to get out of drinking that toast. I just couldn’t . . .
PEMBERTON: What does he suspect, Joseph?
JOSEPH: Not the truth, or I wouldn’t be here now. No, he merely thinks I don’t love him, which is true. I must be more careful to prevent him from seeing what I really feel about him.
PEMBERTON: How can you be sure nobody’s watching you?
JOSEPH: Because I don’t trip over a little man in a mask every time I turn a corner. It’s strange how a people as deceitful as the Russians should be so bad at anything to do with spying. Don’t worry, Mr Pemberton, I’ll get you that date.
PEMBERTON: Well, it can’t be for a few months yet, with winter coming on. In fact now I think of it . . .
He shuts the window.
PEMBERTON: That’s better. What is it?
JOSEPH: I just hope you’re right about those few months. I wouldn’t trust Rogachev not to get troops over the Himalayas in dead of winter by balloon. Well, a little bit of judicious eavesdropping should settle the matter.
PEMBERTON has opened and shut a drawer and now tosses a packet of banknotes on to the table between them.
PEMBERTON: I’ll look forward to it. You’d better count them.
JOSEPH: No need, Mr Pemberton.
PEMBERTON: Very well. You know, I think you’d do this work for nothing.
Dear Illusion: Collected Stories Page 51