Mr. American

by George MacDonald Fraser

  'I'm not worried about the money,' he said. And it was true. He would gladly have thrown ten thousand pounds on the fire to avoid the whole incident, to be spared the knowledge that Peggy was deceiving him. And to avoid the unhappiness that she surely must be feeling - oh, she must have some reason, and it must be a good reason. She was straight, and she wouldn't lie unless she had to. That was the thing he had to remember, that whatever dishonesty was being forced on her by circumstances that he couldn't imagine, underneath she was one hundred per cent. Whatever she was doing she was almost certainly doing for Arthur, and he couldn't blame her for that.

  Honesty and straight dealing were ticklish things anyway. People didn't say everything that was in their minds, and was suggestio falsi any worse than suppressio veri? He would not tell Peggy, for example, that a week ago he had held Pip in his arms, when they kissed good-night, and felt sensual, unfaithful pleasure in it - who knew but that, if Pip had been willing, he might not have been unfaithful in fact? No - he knew he would not; at the same time, it was something he was keeping from Peggy, and however innocent and trivial it was, it was best it should be so kept. Could he blame her, then, for keeping something from him, if it seemed good to her to do so? And in the scale of married trust, money secrets were surely the least important.

  'I'm not worried about the money,' he repeated. 'But I am worried about seeing you look unhappy. Forget it - I'll find out from your father exactly where the big hunk has gone, and then we'll see what he's up to.'

  But Sir Charles, when approached, was little help. Arthur had spoken of visiting Germany; indeed, Sir Charles thought he remembered the Hamburg boat being mentioned. But where in the Fatherland he was to be found was anyone's guess; he had taken wandering continental holidays before, drifting where the spirit moved him, so unless he chose to write home while he was away there would be nothing for it but to wait until he turned up after a couple of months. Which was unsatisfactory, and yet in a way Mr Franklin welcomed it. Better to leave things as they were, at least for the time being, than have Peggy made miserable - and he had a shrewd idea that the secret concealed was better than the secret revealed. He did not want to see Peggy forced into a position where she had to admit to something which, whatever Mr Franklin thought about it, would almost surely lower Peggy in her own self-esteem, would make her feel that she was smaller in his eyes. Anyway, the whole thing might be perfectly harmless - or he might have misread Peggy entirely and been doing her a great injustice. And if in the end he finished up ten thousand pounds (dear God, that was fifty thousand dollars!) poorer ... well, if it spared unhappiness, it was cheap at the price.

  So he let it lie, and was cheered to see Peggy going on her way undisturbed; by next day, in fact, she seemed to have forgotten the matter, or else had decided not to mention it again. By the week-end she was back in her London routine of calls, parties, dances, teas, and Mr Franklin, determined to do all in his power to improve their relationship, stifled his dislike of polite society, and squired her about whenever the opportunity arose. To his delighted surprise, she seemed pleased, and April that year now and then approached the happiness of a second honeymoon; they went to the theatre (and heard the stunned silence followed by the shocked buzz and stifled giggles which greeted Miss Doolittle's first public rendering of 'Not bloody likely!' in what one critic described as Mr Shaw's sanguinary play), they went to numerous tea dances, and even gave one themselves in the garden behind their Wilton Crescent home, with boards on the lawn and covered trellis overhead; they rode together in the Park and dined out several times on their own, apart from attending dinner parties.

  And in the meantime more and more news filled the papers of Volunteers massing and drilling in Ulster, as the time for the third reading of the Irish Home Rule Bill in May drew nearer, and while the gaiety of the London scene seemed brighter than ever, and long hours

  of sunshine gave promise of a brilliant summer ahead, in Cabinet rooms and newspaper offices and Ministry corridors there was an air of tension growing as men realised that the time was approaching when the Lambeg drums would thunder and the flags of white horse and red hand would take the breeze in Ulster, and the ranks of the stern-faced men would close as the gates of Derry had closed two and a half centuries earlier. Two and a half centuries in recorded time, yesterday in the minds of the Scotch-Irish who saw their freedom threatened and were ready to die in its defence. 'A clean break or come and fight us'; no one could doubt that Carson meant exactly that, and that unless some compromise was reached at the eleventh hour, there would be civil war.

  The blow, when it came, fell on Belfast Lough one night in late April, and on Wilton Crescent the following evening.

  They were quietly at home for once, in deference to Sir Charles, who was staying with them on his monthly visit to Town; dinner over, the three of them were in the billiard room, Peggy and Mr Franklin playing bagatelle while the baronet stretched himself comfortably in a chair beside the scoreboard, and shook his head as his daughter, who was uncommonly good at the game, tinkled the bright metal balls into the 500, 1,000 and Replay pens.

  'Now we see how the young matrons of Belgravia beguile their time,' he remarked. 'You should keep her on a tight rein, Mark. If she ran up this kind of score in a public hall she would be arrested.'

  `Just for that, I'll give you fifty up at billiards presently,' said Peggy, intent on a shot. 'At a penny a point - that should teach you.' She pushed her cue, watched the ball curve round the long slate board, rebound from pin to pin, and finally settle in the 2000 cup. 'Now then, Mark, let's see you beat that.' She took a cup of coffee from the tray which Samson had just brought in, and sauntered to the open French windows, looking out at the dusky garden. 'What a gorgeous evening! It's like summer already. Coming for a stroll in the garden, Mark?'

  'Hold on,' said Mr Franklin, concentrating on the bagatelle cue. 'I'm going to make three figures or die in the attempt.' Sir Charles, lounging in his chair, had picked up the evening paper which Samson had brought with the coffee, and was scanning it idly; they heard him give a soft whistle of astonishment.

  'Well! That's the cat among the pigeons with a vengeance!'

  'Essex beaten by an innings again?' wondered Peggy, from her position by the window.

  'Rather more than that. Listen to this.' Sir Charles read aloud: 'In the hours of darkness a merchant ship, the Fanny, ran the naval blockade off Belfast Lough, and landed the largest cargo of illicit arms ever seen in Ireland. It is estimated"' - his voice altered in astonishment " - that fifty thousand rifles and three million rounds of ammunition were put ashore from the vessel, which was manned by Ulster Volunteers".' He lowered the paper. 'That is almost incredible. A rifle and sixty rounds of ammunition for each of fifty thousand men - why, it's enough for an army! Well, if anyone thought Carson was bluffing, they know better now. He can start his war whenever he likes - and win it, too, so far as the Irish Nationalists are concerned.'

  'Or lay a hand of aces on the conference table,' said Mr Franklin, his eyes on the bagatelle board.

  'Indeed he can. And the Navy seem to have known all about this arms ship, but simply let it through. Well, well - first Curragh, and now the senior service show their hand - they won't stir a finger against Carson, either.'

  'So Mr Asquith is going to have to think again,' said Mr Franklin, laying down his cue. 'Fifteen hundred, Peggy; I admit your female superiority.'

  'Good heavens!' Sir Charles was intent on the paper. 'No - I can't take that. Listen: "The rifles are of the latest Mauser pattern, and it is reliably reported that they were recently purchased in Germany by Loyalist agents, who received every assistance from the German government. A German diplomatist of rank is said to be arriving in Belfast shortly, and is expected to confer with Loyalist leaders."'

  Peggy set down her coffee cup on the table by the window. 'Coming, Mark? It'll be too chilly in a moment.'

  'Well, we know Carson is capable of almost anything, but that's not to be believed.'
Sir Charles was still with his paper. 'Nothing could injure him more than to drag a foreign power into the Irish question - and Germany, of all countries! It's unthinkable - inviting the Kaiser into a British quarrel? Not that he wouldn't love to stir up mischief for us, but Carson couldn't be so foolish, surely. German arms, German diplomats!'

  Mr Franklin picked up a coffee cup and was carrying it across to join Peggy. 'It doesn't sound likely,' he said. 'If the guns happen to be German, that could give rise to all kinds of wild rumours, but it doesn't mean they were supplied by Germany. I imagine you could buy Mausers anywhere.' He stopped halfway to take a sip of his coffee.

  'These came from Germany, all right,' said Sir Charles. 'The report says the ship sailed from Hamburg. Well, if that's true, and Carson is supping with that particular devil, he'd better look for an outsize spoon.... '

  But Mr Franklin never heard the end of the sentence. He was standing like a man frozen, the cup poised above its saucer, staring at his wife, stunned by the thought that was beating in his mind. It was impossible - but one look at Peggy's face told him it was true. She was standing stock-still by the French windows, watching him; her eyes were open with apprehension, and the colour had left her cheeks. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, and then she turned abruptly and went into the garden. Mr Franklin remained still for a few seconds longer; then he carefully set down his cup, and said in a quiet, conversational voice:

  'I think I'll just join Peggy in the garden.' '

  `Forgive me if I don't come, too.' Sir Charles smiled up from his paper, but Mr Franklin was already out of the room.

  She was beside the conservatory, turned to face him; he stopped short in front of her.

  'Hamburg,' he said. 'You knew, didn't you? That's where Arthur's gone - that's where ten thousand pounds has gone! To buy guns for the Ulster rebels!'

  She looked at him steadily, apparently composed; she certainly did not look guilty - if anything, there was an assurance in the lift of her head that was almost defiant.

  'Yes,' she said. 'I knew. I'm sorry about it, Mark.' But there was no contrition in her voice.

  'Sorry?' For a moment he was at a loss for words. 'How long have you known? Did you know before you went to Switzerland - when you told me that cock-and-bull nonsense about Arthur's quitting the Army, and needing capital? Did you know then?'

  'Yes, I knew then. But it wasn't cock-and-bull, at the time. He thought he would have to resign. It was only after Curragh that he decided it would be more useful if he stayed on in the Army. But it wouldn't have made any difference about the money, anyway; that was in Germany a week after you gave it to me.'

  The cold calmness of it took his breath away. He stood facing her, and she saw him look as she had not seen him since the first moment of their meeting, when he had faced the huntsman across the trapped fox, and she had seen that blaze in his eyes, and known this was a dangerous man. But she stood her ground, while he controlled his anger, and when he spoke his voice was deliberately soft.

  `Why the hell didn't you tell me? Why did you have to cheat it out of me? If you wanted the money, why in God's name didn't you tell me what it was for? Peggy! I'm your husband, aren't I?'

  It was hardly the reaction she had expected from him, and she, in her turn, was taken aback: her voice faltered a little.

  'Arthur,' she began, and hesitated. 'Arthur said we couldn't take the risk of your refusing. We had to make sure. There was no other way of doing it.'

  'No other way except to lie to me, and trick the money out of me, like ... like . . .' He stopped, struggling to keep his temper. If he was closer to losing it than he could remember, it had nothing to do with the money, but with the fact that she had felt it necessary to lie to him, to use her sex to pluck him like some bunco artist's moll. `Spinning me that bill of goods about not knowing the details, and Arthur's friends wanting to keep it secret - by God, they wanted to keep it secret! And you knew! I can't believe it, Peggy! Giving me that little-girl stuff, and doing your Delilah in your negligee! Dammit, couldn't you have come straight out? Why should you think I wouldn't give it you, if you asked fair and square?'

  Anger on her face was followed by surprise, and then doubt hardening into certainty. 'You wouldn't have. I knew you wouldn't. I've heard you talk about Ireland, when it's been mentioned. It means nothing to you, you've no interest in either side.' The little curl of the lip was showing at the corner of her mouth. `You wouldn't have given ten thousand pounds, to me or anyone else, to smuggle contraband guns to the Volunteers. I don't believe it.'

  It dawned on him that she was perfectly sincere, and the irony of it shook him. She had complete trust in his honesty; in her eyes he was the hundred per cent. straightforward American of the novels and cartoons, the law-abiding pillar of rectitude and integrity who would never stoop beneath his own steadfast Republican ideals. That was how she saw him, and all the more so because they were of different generations; that was how he must seem to her - and why not? That was what he had been for the past five years; for all she knew, it was how he had always been. She had no way of knowing that the man she had married was an ex-Hole-in-the-Wall gunslick, a rider of the Wild Bunch, the man who had broken Kid Curry out of Deadwood jail and outshot Deaf Charley Hanks on the Cheyenne boardwalk. He had taken extreme care that no one should ever know, to bury the wild youngster who had followed the happy-go-lucky Cassidy in escapades that had seemed more like high-spirited games than the crimes they were. That was all behind him - except for the one horrific moment when Curry had come back like a ghost from another century - and she had never guessed. It would have been comic, if it had not led to this, but he was still too angry to see the irony of it.

  'I wouldn't, wouldn't I? You're right, I don't care about Ireland, except as any man cares who'd rather see people live at peace than killing each other. But I do care about you - about us! Didn't that occur to you? And if you wanted something - wanted it bad enough to lie and deceive me - don't you think I'd have given it you? For heaven's sakes, people drop pennies in collecting boxes every day for Free Ireland and the Citizens' Army and Carson's Volunteers and the Empire Fund, don't they? Did you think because it was ten thousand pounds, I'd be a piker? Sure, I know nothing about Ireland, or the rights and wrongs. But you do, apparently, and Arthur goes around like King William incarnate, and your father says he sympathises with Carson - well, what made you think I wouldn't? If you believe in the ... the cause, or whatever it is, that much - don't you think I would have been for it? Just because it was your cause?'

  He might have expected remorse or contrition when she realised that she could have attained her end straightforwardly, but hardly the cold, unemotional expression on the beautiful face.

  `There was no reason why I should believe that,' she said. `It's a crime, in the eyes of the law. Why should I think you'd lend yourself to it - even for me? Anyway, most Americans' sympathies lie on the other side, don't they?'

  'Most Americans?' The flatly-stated assumption was a gall to his subconscious Anglo-Saxon pride. `What d'you think I am, Peggy? Some shanty Mick from Boston who sleeps with his hat on? What has being American got to do with it, anyway? I'm the man you married - the man you're supposed to love and trust! And what you're saying is that you didn't believe I'd give you the money, didn't believe I'd help you if you asked me - so you just went about cold-blooded to swindle it out of me! Is that it?'

  He thought he saw her flinch, but when she spoke again her voice was steady.

  'If you choose to regard it so ... I've said there was no other way, and that we could not risk making a mistake. I didn't like doing it - swindling, as you call it - '

  `Well, what else is it?'

  'Very well, you married a swindler. Now you know. I have told you that I'm sorry - I certainly did not like deceiving you.' She managed to convey that what she had disliked was not any offence against him, but the violating of her own principles. 'And if, as you say, it was unnecessary, then that doubles the regre
t - '

  'Peggy!' He came a step closer. 'For God's sake! Anyone listening to this would think you were the injured party! I'm the one who has been deceived - but all I'm asking is why? You knew I loved you, that I'd do anything for you, give you anything within reason - '

  'That's just it, isn't it? I assumed that you would not think this within reason. Apparently I was wrong - very well, I was mistaken. That being so, I had to swindle you - '

  'Oh, drop that! It's just a word - '

  'An appropriate one, as you've pointed out. It happens that I didn't do it lightly; indeed, I nearly didn't do it at all.' There were tears in her eyes suddenly, and instinctively he reached towards her, but she stepped back against the glass of the conservatory. 'But there was no other way.'

  'Did it matter all that much?' He shook his head. 'More than our marriage?'

  'It mattered to Arthur. It mattered to me. Perhaps you don't understand how much these things can matter. You probably think Sir Edward Carson is a fanatic, that freedom of religion and law are unimportant '