‘Lord Edward!’ Ferguson exclaimed, pretending for no reason Edward could imagine that bumping into him like this was just some happy accident. ‘Much has happened since we last met.’
He was referring to the Abdication of the King and the murder of two people connected with him. ‘Your investigation was commendably thorough and you got to the bottom of it all with the minimum of fuss. Congratulations.’ He shook Edward’s hand with unexpected vigour.
‘Very kind of you but . . .’
‘But what am I doing here? Shall I tell him, Lord Benyon, or will you?’
‘You go ahead.’
‘Right you are.’ Ferguson was playing the hearty ‘good fellow’ you might meet on a racecourse but Edward was not deceived. This man, despite his insignificance, was dangerous. ‘Cigarette?’
Edward was about to take one and then remembered Ferguson favoured a particularly noxious Egyptian brand. Ferguson laughed to see him hesitate. ‘I had a small bet with myself that you’d remember.’ He replaced his cigarette case in his breast pocket and they all sat down.
‘Major Ferguson hasn’t got long. He won’t lunch with us so I knew you wouldn’t mind if we disposed of our bit of business before eating,’ Benyon said apologetically.
Edward nodded, rather bemused. ‘Business? What business?’
‘Not business exactly,’ Ferguson said airily. ‘A week from now Lord Benyon is going to the United States ostensibly to accept an honorary degree from New York’s Columbia University. He is also giving two lectures – one to the New York Press Club and another to a group of influential businessmen. He then goes on to Washington and will have a meeting with Mr Lauchlin Currie, the President’s chief financial adviser, and will give two more lectures there before returning home.’
‘I see. And how does that . . .?’
‘Affect you?’ Ferguson had a habit of completing people’s sentences. ‘I’ll tell you, but I need hardly say that this is all in the strictest confidence.’
‘Except certain people already seem to know!’ Benyon broke in.
‘Yes. There’s a leak somewhere right enough, at the very top of government, but we haven’t yet put our finger on who the wagging tongue might be. Anyway, Lord Benyon has a much more important object in going to Washington than giving a few lectures, interesting though they will no doubt be,’ he said, smiling insincerely at Benyon. ‘The real purpose of the trip is a private meeting with President Roosevelt and two of his closest advisers. The Prime Minister has, as you know, begun to strengthen our armed forces in the light of the international situation . . .’
‘Too little and too late!’
‘Probably, Lord Edward,’ Benyon agreed, ‘but there’s no point in crying over spilt milk. The fact is that millions of pounds are being spent on rearmament but Britain is no longer the financial power it used to be. Neville Chamberlain – and, whatever I think of him as a human being, he’s a sound man to have as Chancellor of the Exchequer – has said that the fifteen hundred million pounds the government plans to spend on the Navy and the Army in the next five years is almost certainly inadequate. The Chancellor will have to raise taxes and borrow at least two hundred million. That’s not going to be easy. Most people are quite unaware of it but, to be blunt, Britain is bankrupt, so far as a country can go bankrupt. Most of our foreign investments had been disposed of by 1918 and it’s little more than sheer bluff that we can sit as equals at the same table with our North American friends.’
‘And your object is to borrow money off the United States?’
‘Beg, borrow or steal,’ Benyon said emphatically. ‘We cannot fight another war without American financial support. Roosevelt has made it plain that the United States will not come in on our side if there is a war. Fifty thousand “doughboys” were killed on the Western Front. It may not be many compared to our losses but American public opinion is absolutely firm in its opposition to any policy other than isolationism. No more young Americans will die on the battlefields of Europe.’
‘I understand and I wish you good fortune, Benyon. You have clearly got a Herculean task ahead of you but I don’t see how I can be of any assistance.’
‘We have it on good authority,’ Benyon went on as if Edward had not spoken, ‘that the German government knows the real purpose of my visit and Major Ferguson says they will do anything . . . anything to ensure its failure.’
‘Meaning?’
‘We have definite information that they would not stop at murder,’ Ferguson elaborated.
‘Oh really, Major! Are you asking me to believe that agents of the German Reich would resort to murder to stop Lord Benyon reaching Washington? With respect, surely that is pure John Buchan.’
‘Not at all!’ Ferguson said a little huffily. ‘Our agent in the German Chancellery is adamant that this threat is to be taken seriously and his information, gained at great personal risk, is not to be dismissed lightly.’
Edward felt himself reproved. ‘Well, I am sorry, but you must admit it seems preposterous. The new Germany is not to my taste and I have been convinced for some time that war is inevitable but surely no European government will resort to murder. They are not a bunch of thugs.’
‘But that is just what they are, Lord Edward,’ Ferguson said fiercely. ‘Hitler has never had any compunction in murdering even his closest associates when they have outlived their usefulness. Think of the Night of the Long Knives in June 1934. Röhm and all his Brownshirts were murdered at a word from their Führer. You have heard of these prison camps they have set up? There’s one near Munich about which we are beginning to hear frightful stories. Without trial, without possibility of appeal, the Nazis imprison their enemies in these places and most are never heard of again.’
‘Jews . . .’ Edward began.
‘Not only Jews. Communists – anyone who causes them any trouble.’
‘And the German public knows about this?’
‘They know something of it but it is dangerously “unpatriotic” to object . . . to speak out in defence of the country’s “enemies”.’
‘I am not naive about the Nazis, Major Ferguson. I do understand what you are saying but to put it another way – and I am not meaning to belittle Lord Benyon’s mission – would they bother to attempt to kill him? Are there not many more obvious . . . targets?’
‘I don’t think you fully understand, Edward.’ Benyon unconsciously dropped into an intimacy which his listener considered a compliment. ‘My mission is of the utmost importance. If war was declared tomorrow, we might stave off defeat for a week, a month or – at the most optimistic estimate – three months. We cannot win – we cannot survive – without American aid.’
Benyon was deadly serious and a cold shiver ran down Edward’s spine. ‘The French?’ he offered up.
Benyon was contemptuous. ‘A “busted flush”, as our American friends would say. I believe they could not withstand a German invasion even as long as we could. They have no English Channel to “serve it in the office of a wall”.’
‘But I still don’t see how I come into this. I am flattered you have taken me into your confidence but surely, Ferguson, you have Lord Benyon protected?’
‘On British soil Lord Benyon has protection day and night but out of England . . .’
‘How are you travelling to the States, Benyon?’ Edward asked.
‘On the Queen Mary.’
‘That is almost the same as being on British soil.’
‘Not so, Lord Edward,’ Ferguson said. ‘We have a passenger list but who is to say if it is accurate or complete? The Queen Mary carries some seven hundred First Class passengers and an equal number in the other two classes. Lord Benyon will keep himself to himself as far as is possible without arousing comment but there is always a chance . . .’
‘. . . someone might take a pot shot at me.’
‘Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,’ Edward quoted. ‘I have always considered that to be a particularly insidious lie.’
&nbs
p; ‘Sweet and honourable to die for one’s country?’ Benyon said thoughtfully. ‘But don’t forget that Horace’s next line, if I remember it aright, is mors et fugacem persequitur virum – Death hunts down the man in flight.’
‘Our agent believes that it is on the ship they are most likely to attempt to . . . do their dirty business.’
‘But, Ferguson, you can surround him with your people on board.’
‘It is not that easy, Edward,’ Benyon said earnestly. ‘The difficulty is that I do not wish to draw attention to my mission. If it is to succeed, secrecy is of the essence. If the press were to get hold of the real reason for my trip, it would be a disaster. Our enemies would make hay with our obvious weakness and the American public would imagine they were about to be duped by “perfidious Albion”.’
‘One of my men will pose as Lord Benyon’s manservant,’ Ferguson said, ‘but what we really need is someone who can mingle easily with the other First Class passengers and keep an eye out for any potential threat.’
‘And you want me to be your homme de confiance?’
‘Don’t be offended,’ Benyon said hurriedly. ‘It would be a great pleasure for me to have you on the Queen Mary as my guest – or rather the government’s guest. I will have a great deal to worry about and to feel that you were there to . . . well, to keep an eye on me, would be a great relief.’
‘Are you taking anyone else with you?’
‘My secretary, Marcus Fern. I call him my secretary but really he is my assistant – a brilliant young man. I don’t know if you have met him?’ Edward shook his head. ‘He’s a very able young banker and one day he’ll be Governor of the Bank of England, I’m convinced of it. It’s very pleasing he has consented to accompany me on this trip. He’s at Samuel Montagu – David Keswick spotted him. Fern is one of the new breed of City men – self-made – his father was a schoolteacher. We need more of his kind, in my view, if London is to retain its position at the centre of the financial world.’
‘My dear Benyon, as I have said, I am very flattered to be asked and I don’t underestimate the importance of your mission but, to be honest with you, I am determined to find myself a real job – a permanent position where I can put my shoulder to the wheel. There’s a war coming and I want to be in a position to make a contribution . . .’
‘I appreciate your patriotism. I must tell you I am fully informed of what you have achieved in the past two years. I know it is a fault of yours to undervalue yourself. You are building something of a career as a “trouble-shooter”, as the expression is. You may think you are unknown in government circles but I assure you that this is not the case. I happen to know that only the other day Vansittart was speaking of you to the Foreign Secretary in the most complimentary terms.’
‘May I think over what you have told me?’ Edward said at last. He had a feeling he was being ungracious. Benyon was not a man to overstate the importance of his mission. ‘When exactly are you sailing?’
‘In five days.’
‘Good Lord! On Saturday? Oughtn’t you to have dealt with all this weeks ago?’
‘Although my lectures were planned some time ago, the extra element was only added a few days ago.’
‘And the warning from our agent,’ Ferguson added, ‘came through the day before yesterday.’
‘I see,’ Edward said doubtfully.
‘Twenty-four hours. We need an answer not later than Wednesday to permit us to make other arrangements if you decline to accompany Lord Benyon.’ Ferguson spoke stiffly as if he had expected Edward to have agreed immediately.
‘There’s one other thing, Edward,’ Benyon said, looking at him anxiously. ‘I thought it might be useful to take a young man with me to run errands and carry my briefcases, make sure I catch trains and so on, and I wondered if your nephew Frank would take the post. You said he was rather at a loose end. Of course, I would have to meet him and see if we would get on but he obviously has pluck and determination. I like the sound of him.’
Edward smiled. How clever! Benyon had offered to solve a problem which only minutes ago had seemed intractable. He was being offered the gentlest of bribes but could hardly take offence. He said, ‘You know Frank considers himself a Communist? In fact I believe he’s a member of the Party.’
Major Ferguson grinned. ‘We know but we believe, under his uncle’s watchful eye, he will do nothing to embarrass Lord Benyon. However, I must emphasize that neither he nor anyone else can be told the real purpose of the mission. Only Mr Fern and yourself know that. Even my man, Barrett, who will act as Lord Benyon’s valet, does not need to be told. You understand?’
Major Ferguson was suddenly grim-faced.
‘I understand,’ Edward said.
2
Verity Browne looked up into the smiling face of the young American and smiled back. His name was Sam Forrest and he was the emissary of John L. Lewis, the United Mineworkers chief.
Lewis was the most powerful labour representative in the United States. When asked by a reporter what he believed, he said without hesitation, ‘The right to organize, shorter hours, the prohibition of child labour, equal pay for men and women and a guarantee that all who are able to work shall have the opportunity for employment.’ When the reporter added, ‘And a living wage?’ Lewis roared, ‘We demand more than that: a wage that will enable the worker to maintain himself and his family in health and modest comfort, purchase his home and educate his children.’
Lewis was not a Communist, nor was Sam Forrest, but they did believe in the reform of capitalism and Forrest had been sent to England to meet workers’ leaders and see what the two labour movements could do to help one another. Forrest’s three-week visit was almost over. It had been a considerable success and he was returning home on the Queen Mary in five days’ time thoroughly pleased with himself.
‘Why don’t you come with me, Miss Browne? You could report on our struggle and meet some of our leaders. Maybe go to Chicago. There’s a major move going on there in the meatpacking industry. Maybe you could sell your book to a New York publisher and give some lectures on the war in Spain. Anyways, I’d sure be glad of your company.’
Verity was taken aback. She liked this young man a lot – his open smile and lazy drawl had got under her skin – but she had never contemplated prolonging the acquaintanceship. She had followed Forrest from meeting to meeting, reporting for the Daily Worker, the official organ of the Communist Party, and had even managed to get a small paragraph into the New Gazette about a meeting in Coventry which had been broken up by the police.
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m supposed to be giving a lecture in Scarborough next week.’
‘Where the heck’s Scarborough?’
‘My employer, Lord Weaver – he’d sack me.’
‘Well, who cares? Get a job on the New York Times. Don’t be so defeatist.’
‘I’m not being defeatist,’ Verity said indignantly. ‘I’d have to get permission from the Party.’
Forrest could sense she was weakening. ‘No problem there. I was talking to one of your people and he was saying they ought to have better liaison with their friends in the United States. Got any more reasons not to come with me? I could introduce you to some useful people.’
‘I need to be back in Spain. Madrid can’t hold out much longer.’
‘Look, Miss Browne . . . Verity,’ the big man said, taking her by the arms, ‘I guess Madrid can fall without your help. You’d only be gone three weeks, a month at the most. It would be good for your career. This is our century. Europe’s finished. Come with me. You won’t regret it.’
Lord Weaver, Verity’s employer and the proprietor of the New Gazette, was enthusiastic. ‘I like it. We should have more people in the States. Hopkins is a good man but he can only cover so much. He reports from Washington and Washington isn’t America. Write some pieces about how ordinary people live, about the way machines are transforming the lives of housew
ives.’ He held up his hand as he saw Verity open her mouth to object. ‘I don’t mean report on women’s topics. It’s simply that what happens in America happens over here five years later. You know, “I saw the future and it works.” ’
‘That was said about Russia. But you really mean it, Joe. You want me to go?’
‘I think it’s a great opportunity. Godber will have a fit,’ he laughed. Godber was the paper’s editor. ‘He really can’t stand you. I can’t think why.’
Verity grinned. ‘I suppose it won’t cost too much. I can go steerage.’
‘Certainly not! The New Gazette’s prestige is at stake. I don’t suppose Sam Forrest is going steerage.’
‘No,’ Verity agreed. ‘First Class.’ It had surprised her that this representative of the people was travelling in such style. When she had asked him if there wasn’t a contradiction there, he smiled and said. ‘My union’s one of the most powerful in the country. I wouldn’t be taken seriously by the employers or anyone else if they think I can’t afford to travel with the high-hats.’
The Party, too, as Forrest had forecast, was enthusiastic. Verity was summoned to meet Ronald Kidd, her area organizer, a man of about fifty with a flowing mane of white hair and black eyes which burned with ardour for the cause. Verity liked him but was rather more afraid of him than she was of her other employer, Lord Weaver. Kidd was emphatic. Of course she must accept Forrest’s invitation.
‘Get to know as many of the union leaders as you can and write about the class struggle for the Daily Worker. We’ve neglected to build up strong ties with our friends in the United States. That was why we were so ready to welcome Mr Forrest. It’s important we don’t let this opportunity pass just because we have so much on our plate here in England. I’ll give you the addresses of friends of ours in the Youth Congress, young people with the right ideas – not all Communists. And here are some back issues of New Masses – that’s the official journal of the Communist Party in the States.’
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