Rule Britannia

by Daphne Du Maurier

  He started walking back the way he had come, turning off by the path down the center of the plowed earth towards the grazing ground below and the cliffs beyond. As he walked the package bobbed on his back and the hanging legs dipped the ground. They stood there watching him until his figure vanished out of sight. Jack Trembath jerked his head at Joe and the pair of them moved towards the Land Rover. In a moment or two he had started the engine, and the Land Rover began to circuit the field, keeping close in to the edge. The lights from Mevagissey across the bay continued to flicker, with those of the warship steady and bright.

  “That’s it,” said Mad, “we must leave it to them.”

  She turned away from the wall, back through the garden to the house. They took off their boots in the cloakroom.

  “I think,” said Mad, “I might have that brandy now. Only a splash, mostly soda.”

  “Do you think,” said Emma, “I ought just to slip through and see if Andy is all right?”

  Mad considered the matter. “He will be,” she said, “but go if you like. Just tell him everything is under control and give him a kiss from me.”

  Emma went through the kitchen to reach the middle boys’ bedroom. Dottie was standing by the stove cooking supper.

  “Everyone gone down like angels,” she said. “Peace be upon this house, that’s what I say. It’s not often like this.”

  Emma softly opened the door of the boys’ room. It was in darkness. One of them stirred.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, “it’s only me.”

  Andy sat up in his bunk and flashed his torch in her face. “Sam’s asleep,” he whispered back, “don’t wake him up.”

  Sam with his eyes closed looked quite different, his expression calm and serene. The pigeon in the lair close to him was also roosting, feathers fluffed, head hunched. The squirrel had rolled itself into a ball.

  “Everything’s all right,” said Emma. “Mad said to tell you. Under control. And I was to give you a kiss from her.”

  She did this and Andy patted her shoulder. “Sorry I gave you a fright,” he said. “I hope you won’t have nightmares. Is Joe still with Mr. Trembath?”

  “Yes. And the beachcomber turned up with Terry’s pullover. He took charge. Joe will tell you about it in the morning.”

  “That was good. I’d trust Mr. Willis with anything. He’s really Sam’s friend, but now I shall make him mine too.”

  He looked suddenly thoughtful, and Emma, anxious, wondered if possibly, deep down, the realization of what he had done was at last breaking through.

  “You know,” he said, “I was thinking just now, before you came in, it’s very sad my father isn’t alive, so I could tell him about this.”

  Emma took hold of his hand. “Why, darling?” she asked.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “After all, you are a girl. I think Madam realizes, but then she’s old.” The slow smile that was Andy’s most endearing feature spread across his face. “A boy likes his father to know when he’s made his first kill,” he said.

  He put out his torch and turned on his side.

  11

  There was nothing about any missing marine on the local news the following morning. Newspapers, radio and television featured as the big story of the day a new monetary arrangement between USUK and its allies, pointing out that the trade implications of this wide association of nations would be enormous. A new defensive alliance between the English-speaking peoples, to be known as ESPDA, would play the role that NATO had attempted to do in the past, but in a far wider context, having nuclear bases on both sides of the Atlantic from north to south, as well as in the Pacific and Indian oceans. The actual method of defense and attack, should war ever come between ESPDA and foreign powers—which, editorials and spokesmen fervently hoped, would never happen—would probably be by nuclear-powered submarines, carrying missiles of tremendous range.

  Plans for Great Britain herself would take some little time to formulate. It must be recognized that her heyday as a great industrial nation had now ended, but a new future lay ahead for her as the historical and cultural center of the English-speaking peoples. Just as some years previously people on holiday had gone in their thousands to the Costa Brava in Spain for sea and sunshine, so now tourists would flock in their millions to explore the country that had given birth to Shakespeare, Milton, Lord Byron, Lord Olivier, Nelson (the order of priority seemed rather odd), Florence Nightingale and others. The scope was literally tremendous. “There is not a county in England or Wales,” wrote an enthusiastic supporter of the scheme, “that is not steeped in history. King John signing the Magna Carta at Runnymede… Richard III losing his crown at Bosworth Field… the Wars of the Roses… all these scenes and countless others could be enacted for our visitors. Hotels and restaurants could be transformed into old coaching inns as a further attraction. Bear-baiting, cock-fighting, jousting, dueling, masked highwaymen on horseback—the tourist could watch them all from the comfort of a roofed-in stadium, or even from his car.”

  This was one of the extracts that Mad read aloud to her granddaughter. She threw the paper across the room and took up the local weekly. The message was the same, if slightly less enthusiastic. “We have suffered from a high level of regional unemployment for some time,” said the editorial. “Possibly becoming members of USUK will help us to solve this problem. Our partners from across the Atlantic have pointed out that the Cornish china clay industry is on the decline. Therefore we must turn to tourism in a far more concentrated way.” There was a brief report on the explosions in various parts of the country. Lawless elements would be stamped out, and all members of the community must go quietly about their business. If the weekend passed off without incident the schools would open again on Monday.

  “Well, that’s a relief anyway,” said Emma. “We shan’t have to wonder what to do with the boys from nine till four. The only trouble is…” She was wondering about Andy. Could he really be trusted to hold his tongue, or would the desire to show off to his school companions prove too much for him?

  “Don’t worry,” said Mad. “I know what you’re thinking. I shan’t talk to him but Joe will, if he hasn’t done so already. Have you seen Joe yet?”

  “No, he wasn’t in the kitchen when I went to breakfast. Dottie told me he had had it early and gone out.”

  “My instructions,” said her grandmother. “I sent him down to the farm to check that our story and the Trembaths’ are one and the same, remembering, of course, that Myrtle and her mother know nothing. Everything else has been taken care of. Joe reported to me when he got back last night.”

  So that was why the light from Mad’s corner of the house had remained on until nearly midnight. Emma, who had gone early to bed, had seen it from her own bedroom.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Ask Joe,” replied her grandmother. “Taffy disposed of his burden. I knew he would.”

  The telephone rang and Mad reached out for it.

  “Wait,” said Emma, “don’t forget you had a heart attack yesterday. We don’t know who it is.”

  Mad handed over the receiver. “Take it easy,” she said, “and be careful. If it should be someone asking after me tell whoever it is that I’m much better. The heart attack served its purpose, but I don’t want to be stuck up here all day.”

  Emma nodded. “Yes?” she said. “This is Trevanal.”

  A strange voice the other end saying, “One moment, please.” She raised her eyebrows at Mad, shrugged, and listened again. Then a familiar voice came on the line, demanding, slightly imperious. It was Pa.

  “Oh,” said Emma, “it’s you.” (She mouthed the information to Mad.)

  “Can you hear me, you sound very faint,” he said, and, not waiting for an answer, went on, “What’s all this I hear about Mad getting up and making herself objectionable at some meeting or other and insulting your local M.P.? Oh, never mind how I found out, I have my informers. She’s made a great
deal of trouble. You really must stop this sort of thing. And that’s not all. Weren’t you all conspicuous at a firework party down on Poldrea beach? If she’s not damned careful she’ll be put under house arrest for attempting to disturb the peace, or worse, bunged into a looney-bin. Is she there? Let me speak to her.”

  “Hold on,” said his daughter. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Go on, you’d better,” she whispered, “he sounds very angry. Knows about the meeting and the fireworks.”

  She handed the telephone to her grandmother. Mad smiled and settled herself against her pillow.

  “Vic darling?” she said indulgently. “How sweet of you to ring. I’m a lot better, thank goodness. Bevil came out and gave me some pills. It was rather unpleasant while it lasted, all the same. A horrid stabbing sensation under the heart.”

  Emma could hear a torrent of questions at the other end of the line. It sounded like a tape-recorder being played backwards very fast.

  “Oh? Oh, I thought that was why you were ringing,” Mad continued. “You seem to get the news so quickly. No, as I said, I’m much better, Bevil advised rest for twenty-four hours. I hardly think a second opinion is necessary. Well, naturally, should I have another attack… Yes, I’ve masses of pills.” (She made a delighted face at her granddaughter.) “Doing too much? No, I’m taking life very easy. More than you seem to be doing. But we have had one wretched accident that has upset us all.” (Emma’s heart missed a beat.) “Darling Terry has had to go into hospital with a broken leg. Such a stupid thing to happen. Bevil turned into the drive too fast on his way to attend to me and his bumper hit Terry, who was waiting for him at the gate. Yes, I suppose it was careless, but it was only his concern for me that… No, darling, there’s absolutely no necessity for you to come down and sort us all out, as you put it… Well yes, of course we want to see you. How can you say such a thing…” (She’s done it, thought Emma, she’s gone too far, she’s made Pa hot and bothered, and as he’s as determined as she is, we’re for it.) “Well, of course, any time you like, you know your room is always ready for you, we’ll expect you when we see you… No, I shan’t be staying in bed…” The tape-recorder continued at the other end of the line and Mad raised her eyes to heaven. “Yes, yes, you’ll come by car… roadblocks won’t prevent you, you have a special pass? You’re lucky, it’s more than we have…”

  The session ended, Mad turned to her granddaughter with a gesture. “What was I to do?” she said. “He insisted on coming, you know how he can be. Turn on the electric blanket in the spare room, Em, there’s an angel, and tell Dottie to ring up Tom Bate and see if he has any lemon sole.”

  It wanted but this, thought Emma as she went about her duties, that we have a missing boy one moment and a deliberate killing the next; and now, to crown all, Pa, who knows nothing of any of it and is obviously hand-in-glove with the authorities, the government, Members of Parliament, USUK, the lot, is about to descend upon the household, today, tonight, tomorrow—he was in such a fever of pressure he hadn’t even said when. Life is too complicated, she decided as she drove the car down to Poldrea to do the necessary shopping, showing her pass at the roadblock and casting a furtive glance at the wired-in beach. She had not yet seen Joe, she knew nothing of what had transpired between him, the beachcomber and Mr. Trembath after they had all disappeared the evening before, except that her grandmother had told her all was well. The boys, Andy and Sam, whom she had glimpsed for a brief moment during the snatched meal of breakfast, appeared perfectly normal, and talked of letting the pigeon out to try his mended wing. The little boys had decided to enact David and Goliath, which on second thoughts held sinister overtones of the true events of the preceding day.

  The first person Emma ran into in the supermarket was Polly Trembath. Her instinct was to dodge out of the store to avoid questioning, but she moved too late, Mrs. Trembath had seen her.

  “Have they been up to your place yet?” she asked, putting her hand on Emma’s sleeve.

  “Who? What?” replied Emma, startled.

  “That marine officer,” said Mrs. Trembath, lowering her voice, “with two of his men. They’ve been up asking us all sorts of questions, poor Myrtle was in tears until her father took over and spoke to the officer straight. ‘You bully my girl,’ he said, ‘and I’ll go right to your commanding officer. All I can tell you is that if one of your corporals has gone missing it’s because he doesn’t want to be found. He knew better than to hang about here after a girl under age. Myrtle’s not sixteen, you know.’ Well, after that I took Myrtle upstairs and came away down to do the shopping. But I heard the officer tell Jack they were going to Trevanal after he’d made a thorough search of our fields.”

  It was happening much too soon. Emma had believed herself prepared, but it wasn’t so. Her heart began to beat more rapidly.

  “We can’t tell them anything,” she said. “We’ve had our own troubles. You heard about Terry?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Trembath. “Knocked down by the doctor, wasn’t he? Joe was helping Jack round up one of the sheep last night and told him. Whatever made him stay out and hide, though, after the fireworks?”

  Emma swallowed. She had forgotten, Mrs. Trembath knew nothing of Terry’s real accident and the night passed at the hut in the wood.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “just silliness. Look, my love to Myrtle, and tell her Terry’s O.K. I must get on…”

  She walked through the supermarket like an automaton. Meat, bacon, cheese, sugar, she consulted the list Dottie had given her, and nodded or smiled to familiar faces milling about her, without recognition but from force of habit. Then she walked along the narrow pavement to the fishmonger. Tom Bate was alone in his shop. There didn’t seem much demand for his wares.

  “No lemon sole, my dear,” he said to Emma. “Some nice fresh plaice.”

  Plaice was the end, thought Emma, but it was Pa’s fault, he always demanded fish. Dottie would doll it up somehow. She waited while he filleted the fish.

  “Was it the boys’ idea or your gran’s to dress up that guy?” he asked her.

  Emma stared. The firework display seemed a long while ago. She forced a smile. “I think it was a bit of both,” she told him.

  Tom Bate chuckled. “Best darn thing I ever saw,” he said. “We won’t forget that in a hurry. Nor her speech at the town hall neither. You tell your gran from me there’s plenty more in Poldrea thinks the way she do, and who’ll back her up, what’s more, if need be.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bate, I will,” replied Emma.

  “This new idea,” Tom Bate went on as he handed over the wrapped plaice. “Turning us into a fairground, with all this talk about going back to the old days. Before we know where we are, they’ll have us all dressed up as smugglers and pirates and the like. I tell you one thing. If I catch any Yankee tourist in a frog-suit after my lobster-pots when the season comes around, I’ll use him as blinkin’ bait.”

  Them and us, thought Emma as she left the shop, them and us… There seemed to be more marines about in Poldrea than there had been on Tuesday, when she had come shopping with her grandmother. It’s no good, she decided, it isn’t just a visit from friendly allied forces, it’s occupation. And on the return journey she wondered if it was imagination only that made her feel the marine on duty at the barricade scrutinized her pass more closely. It was either imagination or a guilty conscience.

  “O.K.?” she asked, smiling pleasantly.

  “O.K.,” he said, and waved her on. He didn’t smile.

  She turned down the drive and put the car away. Colin and Sam were playing behind the disused stable block and came running out to greet her. Colin, whether in the guise of Goliath or a commando, was wearing one of Dottie’s colanders on his head. He had a piece of bamboo stuck in his belt. It looked uncomfortably sharp.

  “Hullo, Emma,” he said, “your lover’s waiting for you.”

  “My lover?”

  “Yes, lootenant Sherman,” he mimicked. “He’s back a
t the house, talking to Madam. Ben and me were in the kitchen getting our elevenses and he rang the bell and said to Dottie, ‘Is your Miss Emma at home?’ ” Colin smiled. The inflection in his voice was perfect. “So you’d better get along quick and see what he wants.” He touched the bamboo at his waist. “If you find yourself in trouble, call on me. Come on, Ben.”

  “F…” smiled Ben, and the pair ran off again behind the stables. Emma walked slowly across the yard and into the house by the back door, and dumped her purchases on the kitchen table.

  “That Lieutenant Sherman is here,” Dottie said. “I told him you were out shopping and he was going away, but Madam called through from the music room and said she would see him. So I had to show him in, though I could see he didn’t want to go. Whatever’s this? Plaice? I can’t do much with plaice.”

  “You’ll have to. Where are Andy and Sam?”

  “In the kitchen garden with Joe, being useful for once,” she replied.

  Emma took a quick look at herself in the cloakroom mirror. A bit disheveled, but no matter. A flick of the comb and she was ready for action. More important, had Mad remembered she was supposed to have a heart condition? She went into the music room. Lieutenant Sherman was sitting on the edge of a chair, patting Folly, who wore a sly grin on her spotted face, salivary tongue lolling from her open jaw. Mad had not forgotten her heart condition. She was lying on the sofa, propped up with cushions. Her face seemed different. Intuitively Emma realized she hadn’t put on her usual foundation cream and powder, but was wearing one of a much lighter tone, to make herself look pale.