by Jodi Taylor
Mr Brown sighed.
‘The Stirrup Charge. It did happen after all.’
‘Yes, it did.’
‘But not quite as we thought.’
‘We frequently find that although things do happen, they don’t happen quite as we expected them to. However, the important thing here is not that it happened, but that you, Mr Black, now know that it happened. You may find that you look at your prints with new eyes.’
‘I think, from now on, I shall look at everything with new eyes.’
‘Then the day has not been wasted.’
‘I hope those young people made it safely to wherever they were going.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they will. Have. Did. And now, if you are quite ready, I shall open the door.’
Major Guthrie collected his gun. ‘Thank you sir, a most interesting experience.’
Mr Brown and Mr Black stood in the doorway, looking out into the darkening evening.
‘Are you ready, Mrs Green?’
‘One moment, if you please, I would like to speak with Dr Bairstow. Please do not let me keep you.’
Mr Black turned back for a moment, almost as if he was about to say something, and then the two of them, together with Major Guthrie, exited the pod and set off across the car park.
Mrs Green stopped at the door and looked back at Dr Bairstow who was shutting things down.
He paused and said quietly, ‘Is there a problem? You seem … upset.’
She seemed to be groping for words. ‘I did not expect it to be so…’
‘What? Magnificent? Tragic? Wasteful? Horrifying? Spectacular?’
‘Yes. No. That such courage, so many good qualities, courage, spirit, and dedication, should be wasted on something as futile as war.’
‘You are perfectly correct, madam, but those qualities are not used solely for war. And even field marshals are human. Have you never heard the story of the Duke of Wellington and the toad?’
She managed to laugh a little. ‘No, I’ve never heard the story of Wellington and the toad.’
‘Well, it tells us that the Iron Duke was walking along the road one day when he came across a small boy in tears. Rather to his own surprise, I suspect, he stopped and enquired what was the matter. The little boy, not knowing to whom he was talking, told him that he was going away to school the next day and was worried that no one would look after his toad properly. The Duke offered to take the toad under his own care. A week or so later, while at school, the boy received a message which read, “Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington presents his compliments and has the pleasure to inform you that your toad is well.”’
Now she laughed.
‘And even those considered villains do not invariably display villainous qualities. Napoleon himself was moved to tears by the sight of a soldier’s dog standing guard over his dead master. He frequently said he was haunted by the memory for the rest of his life.’
She sighed. ‘War is such a dreadful waste.’
‘Can I assume you lost someone in the recent civil unrest?’
‘Most of my family. Everyone, except for my youngest son.’
‘My sympathies for your loss.’
She said in sudden anger. ‘They call it civil unrest because it sounds better than civil war.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I am usually more controlled than this.’
Dr Bairstow smiled sadly. ‘I said before that the act of observing changes that which is observed. It is also true to say that the observer does not remain unchanged, either. You look very pale. May I fetch you some water?’
She sipped it slowly. ‘It’s always all about war, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all. Yes, we observe battlefields – they are generally important events – but it’s not all about that. We will investigate coronations, social conditions, industrial events, legends – the list is quite long. I’m sorry today’s demonstration was not to your taste.’
‘Oh no, no. It was…’ she paused.
‘Horrible?’
‘I was going to say fascinating.’
‘Horribly fascinating then.’
She laughed.
‘What would you like to see, Mrs Green? With all of History out there … If you could choose – what would you choose?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, it’s not so far from what we saw today. I’d like to see the Duchess of Richmond’s ball in Brussels. When the cream of European society was gathered together and Wellington received the news that Napoleon had outwitted him. To see his face. And the faces of those around him. Excited young boys off to war. Sweethearts saying goodbye and trying to be brave. Mothers hiding their tears and fears. Fathers – proud and afraid at the same time – so yes, still Waterloo, but the other side of Waterloo.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘I always think History is more about people than events, don’t you?’
‘Yes – and no. Yes, we study the events but it is people who are the cause of those events. It always comes down to cause and effect.’
They both fell silent, not looking at each other.
‘Would you – perhaps one day – would you like me to…?’ he paused and visibly squared his shoulders. ‘Mrs Green – you shall go to the ball.’
She laughed. ‘Very well. I shall look forward to it.’
‘It won’t be for a while, I’m afraid. There is much for me to do.’
She smiled. ‘I can wait.’
‘Not for too long, I hope.’
‘No, I hope not. And Mrs Green is not my real name, you know.’
He affected astonishment. ‘Really?’
‘And I suspect Bairstow is not yours.’
‘My name is Edward.’
‘Angela.’
Back at Britannic Enterprises, three hugely important civil servants, one young major, and the future Director of St Mary’s were being ruthlessly ministered to by Mr Strong who was fussing gently with teacups and messages.
‘Let me see, sir. Section Four rang. Normal service will recommence at 1800 hours tonight. The PM has been informed. And I’ve passed that other matter over to Section Two, sir. It did appear to require immediate but discreet attention and I considered them the best able to deal with the job. I trust all this is acceptable?’
‘Thank you, Mr Strong. All perfectly acceptable as usual.’
Dr Bairstow, stirring his tea, watched all this with quiet attention. Standing to take his leave, he took advantage of Mr Strong helping him with his overcoat to request a quiet word with him.
‘Of course, sir. My shift ends in twenty minutes.’
‘I shall wait outside for you.’
‘You don’t want to hang around in the cold, sir. I’ll meet you in The Flying Duck.’
The Flying Duck was easily located, situated as it was in the shadow of Battersea Power Station. Inside was steamy and warm. The evening trade had not yet begun and Dr Bairstow was easily able to find a quiet corner table. He ordered two pints and waited patiently.
But not for long. Mr Strong shrugged off a shabby mac and sat down. Seen up close, he displayed all the traditional signs of pride and poverty. His shirt spotless and the cuffs frayed. His shoes ancient and well-polished. His jacket had one or two small holes in the sleeve, which had been very carefully mended. He wore a military tie. His hair was neat and brushed. It was easy to picture him in some cold, damp lodging somewhere, carefully laying out his shabby clothes every night, brushing his shoes, trimming his moustache, all ready for the next day’s work. Clinging to old standards because they were all he had left.
Conscious that the silence had gone on too long, Dr Bairstow sought for an opening to the conversation.
‘The Flying Duck? I had not realised that was an actual name. I thought it was just an expression.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that, sir, but I do know you heard it around here a lot a couple of years ago. Especially in connection with the old government, if you get my drift.’
‘I do indeed. Of course, this was the site of the f
amous Battersea Barricades. Were you present at the time?’
‘I certainly was, sir. Did my bit on the East Wall.’
‘I understand the fighting was particularly heavy there.’
‘You got that right, sir. Saw a lot of friends fall, I did.’
‘Tell me, would I be right in thinking the East Wall was commanded by Theresa Mack?’
‘That’s right, sir. Stood shoulder to shoulder with her at the end. Don’t mind telling you, I thought my last hour had come. But it hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Do you know where I can find Miss Mack?’
‘Mrs, sir. Mrs Mack. Went back to Cardiff, I believe.’
‘Interesting. Now, Mr Strong, you must be wondering why I have asked you here. I have a proposition for you.’
He spoke for some time while Mr Strong sat quietly, sipping his pint, and listening. At the end, without saying anything, he picked up both glasses and went to the bar. Returning, he put two glasses on the table and seated himself again.
Neither man spoke for some time. Dr Bairstow sat waiting.
Eventually, Mr Strong sighed quietly and returned from wherever he had been. A light shone in his eyes that had not been there before. He said quietly, ‘I’d have to give a month’s notice, of course.’
Dr Bairstow lifted his glass and silently toasted him. He left Mr Strong snugly ensconced in his corner with a third pint in front of him and made his way through the cold streets back to the pod. Once there, he pulled out his notebook and reviewed the list of seven names contained therein. Key personnel, all of them. To be hunted down – he mentally crossed out ‘hunted down’ and substituted ‘located’ – and persuaded to join him. Some would be easier than others, but he had the first.
One.
And yet another meeting. One in a series of many as Dr Bairstow inched his way towards achieving his aims. As always, the office and its occupants seemed unchanged and unchanging. An acute observer, however, might have noticed that Mrs Green had a new hairstyle.
Dr Bairstow, while aware that by normal government standards, events were proceeding at the speed of light, could not help just the occasional twinge of what, in a lesser man, could be classed as impatience. Today, however, was different. There was a definite feeling that, after the jump to Waterloo, a corner had been turned.
‘Dr Bairstow, arising from our last meeting, we have given some thought as to where you and your organisation should be situated. After a great deal of discussion, we would like to offer you a choice of properties we feel would be appropriate for your needs.’
Dr Bairstow arranged his features into something that might, in the dark, resemble an expression of anticipation. ‘A choice? How exciting.’
‘We have here,’ Mr Black passed over a folder, ‘a disused castle in Scotland. Very remote. Security would not be an issue. Or here,’ another folder was pushed across the table, ‘St Mary’s Priory, just outside of Rushford. A little dilapidated, but easily reclaimable. Or,’ he produced a third folder, ‘a modern warehouse complex just outside of Barnstaple, although that would need extensive refurbishment to be suitable for your purposes.’
Dr Bairstow made no move to pick up the folders. ‘While each property has its own merits, I believe St Mary’s Priory can offer me exactly what I need.’
Mr Brown blinked. ‘Don’t you want to inspect any of these properties before making a decision?’
‘Thank you, but no. I have been familiar with St Mary’s for some years now.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course. I should warn you however, the premises are in a state of some disrepair.’
Dr Bairstow sighed. ‘They always are, sir. They always are.’
On his way out, Dr Bairstow requested the pleasure of a few words with the major. In private.
‘If you would care to step into my office, sir…’
Major Guthrie opened a door to yet another small, dusty room and offered his guest a chair.
Dr Bairstow settled himself. ‘Please do not construe this as any sort of criticism, but you’re very young to be a major.’
‘Promotion by attrition, sir. There weren’t many of us left at the end.’
‘So I have heard.’ He regarded his stick for a moment and then said, ‘Well, Major, at long last, it looks as if my unit will have a home.’
‘Congratulations, sir. It’s been a long time coming.’
‘It has indeed, but I think I am now well on my way, and arising out of that, I wonder if you might like to consider alternative employment.’
‘Another office job, sir?’
‘Oh dear me, no. Rest assured this would easily be as hazardous as anything to which you have been accustomed. Unit security will form part of your duties, but your main function will be to prevent a group of gifted but not always very sensible young people from killing themselves, levelling their immediate surroundings, and destroying the fabric of space and time as we know it. There will be days when you are not sure whether to shoot them or yourself. I beg that you will do neither. You will frequently operate away from the unit and must rely on your own judgment and abilities to see you through. As will everyone around you. Rely on you, I mean. The responsibilities will be enormous and the pay in no way commensurate with them.’
‘How incommensurate?’
‘Meagre.’
‘How meagre is meagre?’
‘More meagre than you have been accustomed to.’
‘I’m a serving officer in His Majesty’s Forces, sir. You’d be amazed how familiar I am with meagre.’
Dr Bairstow smiled, but said nothing.
‘This is about what happened the other day, isn’t it, sir? When we went off to Waterloo?’
‘It is. I am, I think, very close to securing my funding but one of the many conditions, I am sure, will relate to security. I hope to allay any fears by being able to assure the authorities that all security issues are in your capable hands. I have seen your files, Major, and your achievements are impressive. I have no hesitation, therefore, in making you this offer.’
‘And my current employers?’
‘Your current employers will, I think, be reassured that security issues will be handled by one whom they know to be trustworthy.’
‘Well, I’ll confess, Dr Bairstow that while peace is very pleasant…’
‘It’s not very exciting. Major, if excitement is what you’re after, I believe I may have the very thing.’
‘Could I choose my own team?’
‘Almost certainly. Do you have anyone in mind?’
‘One or two, yes. Including that young man you met the other day.’
‘Mr … Markham?’
‘You would not object?’
‘Is there any reason why I should?’
‘Perhaps you should read his file first.’
He unlocked a filing cabinet and passed over a folder.
Dr Bairstow read quietly. ‘A most unfortunate start to a young life.’
‘He’s just beginning to find his way, I think.’
‘He certainly found his way rather quickly through officer school.’
‘The blaze was soon contained, sir. And it was rather an ingenious solution to the problem in hand. And as he himself argued, who knew the flames would spread so quickly?’
‘Well, we both saw him the other day, large as life and twice as dirty, so we must assume, therefore, that I say yes.’
‘He was part of the team I brought with me when I was transferred to London and I would like to keep him with me.’
Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘I believe I can provide an environment in which he can thrive. I should perhaps warn you both, however, that I am very much a “one strike and you’re out” employer. You will find that while I am prepared to walk through fire for my people, I have no hesitation, should they cross me, in using their bodies to feed the fire through which I should be walking.’
Major Guthrie closed his eyes briefly. ‘Please don’t mention fire and Markham in the same sentence.’
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br /> Dr Bairstow smiled politely and returned the file. ‘Well?’
‘Count me in, sir.’
Two.
One month later, a coach drew up outside the locked gates of St Mary’s Priory. After a while, the driver turned off the engine and waited patiently while everyone blamed everyone else for not having the keys.
Dr Bairstow sat quietly in the front seat while Major Guthrie’s small team milled around outside the bus. As far as he could ascertain on such short acquaintance, their names were Weller, Ritter, Markham, Murdoch, Evans and Randall. They represented the entire spectrum of shapes, sizes, and colours, from the big rumbling giant imaginatively named Big Dave Murdoch, to the small, scruffy individual at the back who, at a nod from Guthrie, bent over to inspect the padlock. In a disturbingly short space of time, he had pulled the chain free and handed it to the major.
‘Sorry sir. Came off in my hand.’
They climbed noisily back into the bus. Carefully blank faced, Major Guthrie handed both chain and padlock to Dr Bairstow who accepted them without comment.
St Mary’s Priory was a long, low building, not more than three storeys high at its tallest point. Small windows caught the sunlight as the coach zigzagged slowly up the potholed drive. The remains of formal gardens could still be seen. To one side, a reed-smothered lake hosted an impressive number of swans who had no idea what was about to hit them.
Markham said, for the first and last time in his life, that he liked swans.
Tall chimneys rose from a shallow roof and the whole building was smothered in Virginia Creeper, just beginning to show new green leaves in the spring sunshine.
From the back of the bus, Markham could be heard enthusiastically comparing the building to a haunted house and enquiring whether there was a ghost.
Alighting carefully, Dr Bairstow stood quietly looking around. A man gazing at the unfamiliarly familiar. He was recalled by creaking hinges and a dragging noise as finally, with some effort and bad language, the front doors were persuaded to open.
Markham, surging forwards, was restrained by Major Guthrie. ‘After you, Dr Bairstow.’
Slowly, Dr Bairstow mounted the shallow steps, paused for a moment, and then stepped from sunshine into shadow.