Authors: David Roberts
‘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.
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 housewives.’ 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.’
‘I didn’t know they allowed Communists in the United States.’ Verity remarked.
‘I have a pamphlet here somewhere on the history of the Party in the States,’ Kidd said, opening a desk drawer stuffed with leaflets. ‘It’s very different from ours. The Party spent many years trying to establish separate unions and organizations but, in the last year or two under the leadership of Earl Browder, a magnificent man – from Kansas I believe – the CPUSA has changed tack. The new directives from Moscow mean we co-operate with any group opposed to Fascism. In the States, Party workers have joined the CIO, the Committee for Industrial Organization, whose president is John Lewis, young Sam’s boss. Ah, this is what I was looking for.’ Kidd produced a small stapled pamphlet from a cardboard file. ‘This will tell you all about it. But don’t spend too much time trying to meet Party members. As I say, your task is to develop relationships with the union bosses. For the most part, they are as capitalist as their employers but, in their struggle for workers’ rights, they are our allies. Our enemy’s enemy is our friend. You understand?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Kidd opened the pamphlet and began to read. ‘“The IWW” – that’s the Industrial Workers of the World,’ he explained, ‘the Communist Party in industry, you might say – “was founded with a statement that the working class and the employing class have nothing in common. Instead of the old slogan: a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s toil, the IWW says abolish the wage system. An injury to the members of one industry is an injury to the whole working class and has to be met with strikes and sabotage.” ’ He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked sternly at Verity. ‘That is what we believe even if for the moment we have to compromise. Never forget it.’
Verity left Kidd’s office – a modest affair over a garage next to a church in Bermondsey – confused but excited. Her restless spirit was stimulated by the promise of a new world to explore. She decided she would drop in on her friend Edward Corinth and show off a little. It did not strike her as odd that she chose to talk over her orders with a member of the despised ‘upper class’ rather than another Party member.
‘Miss Browne, my lord.’
‘I do wish you would sound a little less funereal, Fenton. Miss Browne would be very hurt if she could hear you.’
‘I did hear him,’ Verity said, sweeping into the bedroom uninvited and kissing Edward on the cheek. She turned to Edward’s valet. ‘I sometimes think you don’t trust me, Fenton.’
‘Madam!’ The rebuke, if on the chilly side, was not totally humourless. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her which, since she was small and very thin, was a considerable distance.
‘I know, Fenton,’ Verity sighed theatrically. ‘You are being protective, but surely you can’t blame me just because, whenever Lord Edward comes to any event in which I have a starring role, he always gets himself a bloody nose?’
She was referring to the Cable Street riots and a lecture she had given in the East End the previous autumn which had ended in fisticuffs. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I bring you tidings of great joy. I am leaving the country. I shall trouble you no more. I am off to the United States of America – on the
Queen Mary
, no less.’ With a sweep of her hand, very much in the Isadora Duncan mode of expression, she swung her arm sideways, knocking a china ornament off the mantelpiece. ‘Oops, sorry,’ she said, bending to pick the pieces up off the floor.
‘Please, miss, let me do that,’ Fenton said, with an implied sigh of forbearance. ‘I shall return shortly with a dustpan and brush.’
Verity looked around her and noted the suitcases open on the bed and on the floor beside it.
‘But you, too, look as though you are about to take a trip. Are you off to Mersham?’
‘A little further actually. Please put down my hairbrush. It’s a particular phobia of mine not to allow anyone to touch my hairbrush. And that goes for my shaving tackle too,’ Edward added, deftly removing the razor from Verity’s outstretched hand.
‘Oh, that’s what it is, is it? I thought it had to be the exhibit marked C – the murder weapon.’
‘Please, Verity, I’ve got a lot to do before I leave. I really don’t have time for idle chatter. I have to be at Southampton not later than one pip emma tomorrow and I’ve only just started to get everything together.’