The Twisted Patriot

by Pirate Irwin

  She flashed an angry look at him and crossed her arms, refusing to reply.

  “I would ask the witness that she is bound to answer the question, whether she likes it or not,” the judge said gently.

  “Yes, but what about the previous question. I didn’t answer it as I should have been allowed,” she muttered.

  “Well, I am afraid you have lost your chance and it is the defence’s right to direct his examination as he likes. So please proceed,” Mainwaring said.

  “That question doesn’t really dignify a reply and is merely an evasive ploy by the defendant,” she replied snootily.

  The judge having retained his charm and been gentle with Victoria did not appreciate being challenged and raised his voice to display his irritation. “I will not be contradicted on the law in my courtroom by a witness. Whatever you may think of the merits of the question, you are compelled to answer it. So for the last time I am commanding you to reply.”

  Victoria nodded sulkily back to the judge and responded without deigning to look at Sebastian, who was feeling marginally better at the interchange between the witness and Mainwaring. “No, I didn’t then and even now I don’t think they were. They were fighting an unpleasant war but they had volunteered and could not choose their theatre. If you don’t accept the rule of law laid down by a government and that you must obey the orders of the state then the whole fabric of society will unravel, particularly if you are in the army. If the army rebels then that will provoke anarchy throughout the country,” she said evenly.

  “So are you suggesting that the Nazis had such a thing as rule of law, similar to the one that you are living under now where everybody is given a free and fair trial and where the laws are predisposed to protect the citizens of Germany?” asked Sebastian.

  “Well, they are obviously different from then but yes, I would say that in their judgement they had a rule of law. It was strict, but people abided by them and if you didn’t then you were punished.”

  “Yes, you can certainly say that as I know first-hand,” said Sebastian quickly trying to make his point before being upbraided by the judge. “So obviously the Jews, gypsies and homosexuals to name but a few strands of pan-European society were mass offenders to the Nazis rule of law?” asked Sebastian with an appropriate dose of sarcasm. That provoked Steiner into leaping to his feet to object that as a mere observer of the machinations of the Nazi regime by being married to a diplomat Victoria was not qualified to answer such a question. The judge concurred. Sebastian sighed in exasperation and decided one more question would suffice. “Tell me Baroness, for I take it despite having remarried, you have retained your title, why haven’t you come forward before? It seems strange that you waited all this time while I was carving out my career in politics and then made a minister that you didn’t try and exact your revenge for this one-man crusade of destruction I inflicted on your family. So why now?”

  “Well, Major Murat, who would have bothered to listen to a whore of the Soviet Army? You a high and mighty minister, me a disgraced outcast of society. I didn’t want you to have your final victory over the von Preetz family in ridiculing me and having me take my own life, for that is what it could have descended to. Instead I vowed that should you ever be brought to book for the crimes you committed against Germany, England and my family then I would be present to help in that. It has been the only thing that has kept me going for the past 13 years,” and with that she flashed him a smile of such malice that he almost put his hands across his eyes to shield him from such hatred. Her depth of feelings had completely shocked him, though there was something gnawing away at him that made her testimony not seem right – not just in content which was false but in the style and angle she had taken. He could not work it out but he was going to do his damnedest to get to the bottom of it. Now was not the time, but surely if he had to he would be allowed to have her recalled even if she was back in Germany at the bedside of her ill husband, which he doubted the veracity of in any case. He brusquely added no more questions and she prepared to step down from the witness box, but was brought to a halt by Steiner.

  “Just before we release you, Baroness, to return to your sick husband, and I can understand your impatience to leave after such a personally traumatic reliving of history, I require one more answer. Could you amplify on the question of the defendant’s involvement in the death of Eric. I know you are keen to and unfortunately were diverted from that by a pointless series of red herrings by the defendant. However, I am prepared to give you the time,” said Steiner with a hideous smile. She leapt back into the box with surprising agility for a woman of her age and withdrew from her red leather handbag a tatty looking letter, which with shaking hands she raised and laid on the ledge, while she withdrew a pair of glasses and placed them tenderly on the tip of her nose. “If the court will permit me, I would like to read the following letter that was sent to me and I am led to believe that the defendant was given but declined to keep on account of its bitter truth held inside it.”

  Sebastian could feel the air being sucked out of his lungs as he realized that Eric’s suicide note had been returned to Victoria, by Johns or whomever it didn’t really matter, because the damage it would do to him, with no doubt sanitized passages about her part in the affair would be hard to recover from. At least he was not on trial for his hand in Eric’s death but the impression it would give would be harmful enough to condemn him in many people’s eyes and from the look of the jury as they filed out at the end of the day he could tell that the noose was being prepared for his neck. He needed that famous luck to return but he was starting to have the nightmare thoughts of the spiral staircase return and allied to the obvious guilt he felt for Eric’s death he was beginning to find it hard to operate and think clearly and that was the thing causing him the most concern. Any more surprises like Victoria and he would collapse completely and harm his own evidence that he would have to give eventually, because he needed to be in his most confident form to put up a convincing performance and at the moment he didn’t fancy his chances of pulling that off.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Fortunately for Sebastian the weekend intervened to give him some time to revive himself, though the press coverage was enough to start another anxiety attack, as they reported only the most lurid details, allegations of homosexuality, his all but murdering his best friend and his rape of his host’s wife, all, of course, versed in language of legalese lest, perish the thought, this damned traitor should pull off a miraculous victory and think of suing those august bodies of freedom of speech. He hadn’t really expected much more of them than that but he had hoped for some leeway from papers that had been favourable to him prior to the scandal breaking. However, if anything they were more anti him than those who had never found any time for him in his powerful speeches against the ogre of Communism and the evil of “Uncle Joe” Stalin and his acolytes. He spent most of his time lolling around his study reading the limited papers that Steiner had seen fit to pass onto him. While he surmised that part of this was due to his former best friend’s personal animosity he also saw the hand of the government behind it as they sought desperately to secure the guilty verdict that would get them off the hook. The papers for all they were worth included appraisals of him as an officer and recommendations for bravery in fighting the “Bolshevik menace”, less praiseworthy ones from von Kluge, which came as little surprise, complaining of his constant insubordination and the bad company he kept with von Tresckow and von Schlabrendorff which gave a lie to the Field Marshal’s tacit support to the plotters and explained perhaps his presence in the car with Hitler that day at headquarters when they lay in wait for him. Well, fine and good, but the fact he had been a disruptive force was not enough to prove he was an unwilling participant in the Nazis’ war and the company he kept could also be interpreted that he just was not trustworthy to whatever side he was on.

  There was a list of witnesses to be called, though most had been scratched from the list as it was di
scovered they were dead or had simply disappeared, leaving just one name, a General Otto Dickensen, and to what purpose he could serve, Sebastian wondered, as he had never come across him and without personal recognizance he could not understand what extra information he could provide. Steiner obviously knew what he was about so it was with some apprehension that he waited for Monday and the arrival of the General. Before that, though, he at least had a dinner at his mother’s to go to. She had rung him to ask him over, which was the first time in two months, and he had gladly accepted as it was a rarity these days that he was invited out by anybody, such was the fickleness of those around him, and the proud assertion that in England you were innocent until proven guilty rang hollow in his eyes given his experiences.

  Across town, Butler was having a drink in his club with Darbyshire and Smithers, who like him had been drawn to each other by their lack of reward from the party and for the younger two’s part their friendship with Sebastian. All three agreed that there looked to be little hope for the former minister, but Butler had come up with a plan, which could help the beleaguered Sebastian. Hence why he had called the two younger men to have drinks with him at the Carlton Club in St James’s where staring down on them hung the portraits of former Tory Prime Ministers including the faux jocular one of Churchill and Eden, the man that Butler felt he should have replaced, which only added to the conspiratorial air surrounding this trio’s meeting. Butler, in his typical classically educated style, equated it to Caesar meeting with the young Octavian and the weak but politically useful Lepidus, though he doubted the other two would appreciate such a comparison.

  “Well, gentlemen, the case is going to plan pretty much, apart from that hilarious interchange with that fairy Ponsonby. What a joke that was,” laughed Butler. Both Darbyshire and Smithers concurred, though the latter opined that some of the jury had not taken to the Baroness.

  “Maybe, Smithers, but all in all she made a pretty good case against Stuart. I mean, there was not a hint of compassion in her but the charges she laid at his door made out that he had inveigled his way into their affections and then for some bizarre reason made it his life’s goal to return and destroy them and by extension undermine the resistance to Hitler. Pretty powerful, and while it was emotional, it also was very powerful and carried a certain logic to it,” answered Butler.

  “Enough to convict, certainly,” added Darbyshire mournfully. They stared into their crystal glasses for a minute or two before Butler decided the time was right to put his idea to them. “Now gentlemen, there is no need to be so depressed, because I have a plan that can at least ease the pressure on Stuart and even out the playing field, which you can imagine is not being helped by the hidden hand of most of my fellow government ministers. However, being a man of fair play, I am willing to help, though distinctly third party and not to be revealed at any time. Agreed?” Both nodded assiduously, knowing that it was less fair play that Rab was after but more something that could hurt Macmillan and usher him in as the saviour of the party. They couldn’t care less and were delighted to have such a powerful ally within the cabinet. Butler ordered another round of whiskeys and delayed his speech while they were brought over by the septuagenarian barman, who looked so old he could have served Pitt the Younger back in the early 1800s.

  “Well, in my eyes there is only one way that Stuart can save himself, no matter how well he conducts himself in the box, for he, of course, will have to testify and that is if he has some witnesses of his own. Now, he was, for obvious reasons, unable to leave the country – two Communist agents escaping is bad enough, but a former Nazi army officer, well, that just wouldn’t do, would it? So, he has not been able to make even the most rudimentary search for anyone who may still be alive and capable of at least helping in some way. The well appears to be dry here as far as material witnesses go, though the officer who gave him the orders to bring up the rear on the retreat to Dunkirk is willing to put in a good word for him and the resoluteness of his defensive actions for which, for God’s sake, he was awarded the Military Cross, something conveniently forgotten in the hysteria of the headlines. However, that is not strong enough, so Darbyshire, I suggest you devote yourself to investigating deeper the British Army contacts he would have had prior to his conversion on the road to Berlin or Dunkirk for that matter and Smithers, I hear that you are taking your summer holidays in Germany this year,” smiled Butler at a rather startled looking Smithers.

  “Am I, Home Secretary? I believe my wife booked us a holiday in Umbria,” replied Smithers, before grasping the point of Butler’s statement. He laughed and winked mischievously at Butler, who looked rather proud of his Machiavellian machinations. “You can take it as read, Minister, that we will be diverting to Germany, perhaps a spell at the spas of Baden Baden would do Anita some good,” said Smithers.

  Butler leaned forward over the round brightly polished wooden table allowing the other two to bend forward as well. “I have a list of men that he fought with on the Eastern Front, supplied with their usual fervent attention to detail by the Germans. Now, there is no final information on their fate, save von Preetz who we know committed suicide and Beckmann, who was shot on the night of the July 20 plot, but there still remains a good 100 or so, though again, many may have already died by the stage that the papers were drawn up. It is a tough task, Smithers, and you do not have a great deal of time, but I would urge you to bear the brunt of your wife’s ire for one summer and put your efforts into saving your friend. I have a feeling that should one favourable witness from the theatre of war be produced, that the obnoxious Steiner will find his back against the wall and Stuart will regain enough momentum to put up a decent defence when he comes to testify, and then in his summing up. All right, gentlemen?” asked Butler, though it was with such a tone of finality that it didn’t appear he was countenancing no as an answer.

  Darbyshire, though, did need reassuring on one matter. He stroked his prematurely greying hair nervously and slugged back his drink, shifting the melting ice cubes from side to side before asking Butler: “What happens, Home Secretary, should we find witnesses not so favourable to Stuart but who until now have preferred to keep their silence? Couldn’t we be in danger of stirring up a hornets’ nest and instead ensuring Sebastian ends up hanging?” Smithers nodded his agreement at Darbyshire’s concerns, but Butler merely smiled. “That, my bold knights, is your problem and one you will have to sort out if you come across it. Remember, I am not involved in any way; once we are outside this door then you are on your own and in search of the Holy Grail, or more blandly, for the truth. I cannot offer you Camelot on your return but perhaps, should I end up PM, there may be ministerial vacancies,” and with that the burly, well-dressed figure of one of Britain’s most talented but unlucky politicians left, leaving his two fellow conspirators to plot on how best to go about their mission to save Sebastian Stuart.

  *

  “Hello Sebastian, you’re late,” said Mirabelle after opening the door to his mother’s house. She turned on her elegant heels and receded into the background towards the drawing room, leaving Sebastian open-mouthed in astonishment on the doorstep. What stunt had his mother pulled off this time, bringing him over to see a girl he had left high and dry nearly 20 years ago and whose husband was prosecuting him for his life? He dawdled on the doorstep, deliberating whether he should go in or simply flee back to his house, but instead, receiving a glare from Mirabelle from the doorway of the drawing room, decided he would stay, even if it was just for five minutes. He threw his jacket lazily onto the banister and walked into the room and was surprised not to see his mother there. “Where’s mother?” he asked, to which Mirabelle, looking ravishing with her hair done up at the back of her head, laughed and pointed towards the drinks cabinet. “Why don’t you fix us a drink, a rather large one on your part, I would imagine,” she purred.

  Sebastian frowned and raised his arms to his hips demanding an answer.

  “She’s had to go the country, and asked me to
step in for her. Which I was only too willing to do,” she smiled. Sebastian didn’t believe a word of it and said as much. “You can believe what you want, Sebastian, or is it Rupert? Frankly I cannot believe half of what I have heard in the courtroom, I thought you were a danger to yourself but I didn’t realize the lengths that you would go to, to prove it,” she said with a note of pride in her voice. Sebastian was completely non-plussed by the warm welcome, considering the circumstances they had last seen each other under, and thought there must be a catch somewhere. After he had given her a gin and tonic and served himself a large Scotch he moved warily to the far side of the room putting as much distance between their respective chairs as possible and settled back, expecting some explanation.

  Five minutes of silence later, he realized he was going to have to pursue his own course of questioning. “So, Mirabelle, as I have become accustomed to asking the questions of late, why have you chosen to see the man who betrayed you and left you with a bastard child and consigned you ultimately to marriage with one of the coldest creeps of our time? That is saying a lot, considering the company I kept during the latter part of the war,” he said acidly.

  Mirabelle raised her glass to her lips and made a mock toast. “Here’s to the three of us of 20 years ago. To love, faithfulness, children and war that takes your loved ones away but keeps your husband at home making his career out of others’ miseries and misplaced beliefs and loyalties,” she took a large slug and made a face as the gin hit the back of her throat.

  “You’re drunk,” Sebastian said.

  She laughed again, one of her throaty specials hardened and matured with years of smoking and several drinks a day, inspired by the loveless marriage and the love she had lost when Sebastian had walked out that night in Earls Court. “Oh no, Sebastian, I’m perfectly sober, that’s the point. You have kept such a hold over me these past years that I have been unable to escape your curse and have always dreamt that one day you would be reported dead and I would be freed from it, but no, instead my husband’s vanity and inability to forget past slights drags me back into your sphere. Call it fate or destiny, Sebastian, but you and I are linked inextricably. Though when I see the type of woman you forsook me for then I really do have to wonder,” she said, smiling. Sebastian squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, not knowing where to look and cursing his interfering mother, as he didn’t need an added problem. Similarly he didn’t know whether to trust Mirabelle and if this was one of Steiner’s ruses.