Half a Crown (27 page)

“One feels so helpless,” she said, pouring the tea, and not looking at him. He realized she was blinking away tears.

“One does,” he said, gently. He took the tea.

“I suppose,” she said, “these people, these protesters who want to free the people arrested at Hyde Park, they feel the same as we do about Elvira. It’s always been criminals, before, or people associated with outrages, bombs and sabotage. But anyone could be caught up in something like that Hyde Park thing, someone’s daughter, or husband, or friend.”

“You’re right,” Carmichael said. “I expect that’s just what they do feel.”

“Do you think dear Mr. Normanby might be persuaded to change his mind?” she asked.

Carmichael sipped his tea and burned his tongue. “No,” he said, thinking of Normanby and the dog Fang. “I think he’s afraid to change his mind, in case he looks weak.”

“But it would be an act of strength, to admit to a mistake,” Miss Duthie said.

“You might see it that way, but he wouldn’t.”

“He ordered them sent off because the agitator called him a cripple, didn’t he, and that hurt him and made him angry. That was a mistake, and I suppose if he admitted that, he’d have to admit why he did it, and he’d have to face up to being hurt and angry about being crippled. I think it would be very brave to do that. And he is a brave man, a man who has done so much for the country over the years. I’ll pray that his eyes are opened by all these protests and that God gives him strength to face what he has to do.”

Her serene faith in both God and Normanby shook Carmichael. “Let me know when Sergeant Richards calls me,” he said.

She went back to her post, and he drank his tea and read the
Times
article about the delegates coming for the conference from so much of the world. At last, the telephone shrilled. “Everything’s ready, sir,” Richards said.

“I’ll be right up,” Carmichael said.

He put on his hat and coat, nodding at Miss Duthie in what he hoped was a resolute way. “Good luck,” she said. “Oh, the very best of luck!”

He ran up the stairs and found what seemed a procession waiting. There was a radio car, an armored van, two marked police cars, and one plain black Bentley. “How many men did you decide on, Sergeant Richards?” Carmichael asked.

“Enough to do the job properly, sir,” Richards replied. He was wearing a flak jacket, and he held one out to Carmichael. “Bulletproof, sir?”

“Thank you, sergeant.” It wouldn’t fit over his coat, so he put it on underneath, like a waistcoat.

The convoy drove off and waited in Russell Square, on the most likely route. The wait was interminable. Every half hour, the radio car contacted the Watchtower briefly, to make sure everything was still in working order. Carmichael sat beside Richards in the Bentley,
wishing he’d waited in his office. The flak jacket dug uncomfortably into his side. Passersby looked at them curiously, and one man walking a dog scurried off down a side street rather than pass them. “We’re not inconspicuous, sergeant,” he said.

“No, sir. Did you want to be, sir?”

That was unanswerable. “I suppose not,” he said.

Later, Richards asked, “When we have secured the hostage, where do we take her, sir? Back to the Watchtower?”

Carmichael started. “No, that won’t do. I’ll take her. But you’ll have to stop them following me.”

“Yes, sir.” Richards got out of the car and walked along the parked convoy, giving or adjusting orders. “That’s sorted, sir,” he said when he came back. “Constable Black will be moving up to be your driver, and I’ll stay and direct the operation. He’ll keep his eye out for anyone following.”

“Not Black,” Carmichael said. “Can I have Collins?” Black was driving one of the marked cars and Collins the other. The only real difference between them was that Collins was a member of the Inner Watch.

“If you prefer, sir,” Richards said. “I’ll tell them. Now when it happens, sir, if you don’t mind, you just stay in this car. You don’t need to get out unless I signal you, or anything happens to me.”

“Very good, sergeant,” Carmichael said. “I won’t come across you, this is your operation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Richards got out and went over to Black, and then Collins. He went to the van and had a word with the men inside. Carmichael didn’t see how many were in there, but they looked crowded. Then Richards came back and folded himself into the driver’s seat beside him. “That’s all sorted, sir. Collins will drive you.”

“Well done, sergeant,” Carmichael said. They settled down again to wait. It was some time before a signal came from the radio car.

It all went with strange dreamlike precision, as the Yard van drove up Great Russell Street. It came on without hesitation, and as it came alongside the convoy, almost before Carmichael was aware what was happening, the Watch van skewed across the road in front of it, forcing it to a stop. The two marked cars immediately flanked it, and all of them were instantly bristling with armed Watchmen. Sergeant Richards got out of the Bentley, which hadn’t moved. “We want your prisoner,” he called. “Hand her over and nobody gets hurt. This is a Watch operation. Everybody out.”

Bannister got out of the Yard van, followed by three bobbies in uniform and Elvira, in a prison paper dress and with her hands cuffed behind her. He felt a huge wave of relief on seeing her. He felt hot tears prickle at the back of his eyes and blinked them away fiercely.

“Let me see your papers,” Bannister said, taking a step towards Sergeant Richards.

“You’re seeing our guns, matey,” Richards said, though Carmichael had given no orders against showing papers. “Now unless you want to see them a lot closer, like inside your head, stop right there and hand her over. We’re the ones who ask to see papers. Nobody messes with the Watch.”

Carmichael felt proud of him, of the Watch, of all of them. Not a gun barrel hesitated. Bannister looked around, then said something in a low voice to one of his constables, who gave Elvira a little push towards Richards. Richards didn’t take his eyes off Bannister. Constable Collins came up and put his jacket around Elvira and led her over towards the car where Carmichael was waiting. A huge snarl of traffic was building up behind them.

“I’ll take her papers. And the keys to those cuffs,” Richards said.

“We don’t have the keys, they’re standard transfer cuffs,” Bannister said. “As for her papers, this is what I have.” He held out a packet to Richards, who nodded, and another constable took it.

Elvira looked pale and cowed. “Uncle Carmichael,” she said, as he opened the car door.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said. The constable with her papers handed them to Carmichael, who tucked them inside his coat. Elvira collapsed against Carmichael’s side, shivering and crying. He put his arm around her.

Collins got into the driver’s seat. “Where to?” he asked.

At first I hadn’t the faintest idea what was happening. Nothing was further from my mind than the idea of rescue. From the time when Bannister had said they were investigating Uncle Carmichael, I’d assumed he wouldn’t be able to help me, and as time had gone on and on I’d come more and more to believe that he wouldn’t be able to. I’d resigned myself to torture, or anyway extreme methods, as Sergeant Evans discreetly put it, followed with being shipped off to the knackers. In that van, on the way to Finsbury, with my hands cuffed and Bannister beside me, I almost felt as if I was already dead and forgotten. When it suddenly screeched to a halt, I fell forward and bumped my chest into the side of the van. Then Bannister got out, and I could hear confused shouting. I couldn’t think about running or anything, because there were two bobbies in the van with me, as well as the driver, both keeping a close eye on me. Then Bannister opened the door and told us all to get out. He didn’t sound surprised at all by what was happening, so I still didn’t realize. One of the bobbies gripped the top of my arm and I stepped out.

They’d given me back my shoes for the trip, but no stockings, so the wind hit my legs hard. The daylight—quite ordinary April afternoon daylight, sun filtered through clouds—seemed terribly bright.
I stood there blinking for a moment. We were outside the Russell Hotel, where I’d once been taken for tea years before with Elizabeth Mitchell and her grandmother. The road was full of cars and flashing lights and Watchmen and rifles, all pointed in my general direction. I felt like a grouse on the Twelfth, and it was only then I realized that they weren’t attacking me, they were here for me, to rescue me. I recognized Sergeant Richards, a great giant of a man, and several of the others. One of them winked at me. I couldn’t believe it.

I should have known Uncle Carmichael would have been able to come for me, I thought, feeling terribly guilty that it was too late. Bannister exchanged some conversation with Sergeant Richards, and then the bobby holding my arm let me go, and a Watchman put his jacket around my shoulders, and took my elbow, quite gently, and just like that I was walking away, out of that ring of guns and eyes towards an ordinary black Bentley with Uncle Carmichael in it.

“Uncle Carmichael,” I said. I was feeling quite stunned. It was all so abrupt. I got into the backseat beside him. My hands were still cuffed behind my back, so it was hard to get in properly. The jacket slipped down off my shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said. One of the Watchmen passed him something, and the other got into the car. I started to cry, and Uncle Carmichael put his arm around me and just held me.

I didn’t think at all about what Penn-Barkis and Bannister had said about the beastliness and all of that. I just cared that he was my beloved uncle and he had come for me. “Make sure we’re not being followed, and then make for Ambrose Gardens,” he said to the driver.

“Yes, sir,” the driver said. “Is this Inner Watch business?”

“As soon as you’re sure we’re not being followed it is. If Sergeant Richards asks, I gave you directions and you took us to somewhere behind Claridge’s. Thank you, Collins, that was very well done.”

“Nothing, sir,” Collins said. “Can’t have them snatching Miss Royston like that.” Yet as far as I knew, I’d never seen him before.

“Where are we going?” I asked, through my sobs. “And what’s the Inner Watch?”

“Sorry, sir,” Collins said.

“The Inner Watch is an organization within the Watch that helps innocent people who might otherwise be in trouble,” Uncle Carmichael said. I couldn’t see him, because I was tucked up under his arm, but I could feel him tensing as he spoke. “Did you know about it before?”

“No,” I said. “You mean they were
right?
You really are doing something seditious and criminal?”

“I suppose so,” Uncle Carmichael said, tightly.

I didn’t know what to think. I’d only half believed it about Mrs. Talbot. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. I pulled away from him and sat up.

“So you couldn’t tell them,” he said. “The less you know the safer you are. This should never have touched you.”

“Why do you do it?” I asked. I couldn’t believe he had put me at risk this way.

“You’re not the only innocent girl ever to be swept up by the system,” Collins said, looking at me in his mirror. “Your uncle rescues a lot of people who never know who to thank. You shouldn’t be accusing him, miss.”

“Thank you,” I said, stiffly. “Where are we going?”

“We’re taking you somewhere safe, where you’ll be passed along to another safe place, where you’ll have to stay for a few days until it’s all right for you to come out again. You’ll be in some of our Inner Watch safe houses,” Uncle Carmichael said.

“I’m being presented on Tuesday night,” I said, absurdly.

Uncle Carmichael laughed. “Don’t worry about that now,” he
said. “Do you have a cuff key, Collins? She’ll look funny being presented to the Queen with the handcuffs as accessories.”

Collins snorted, and the next time we stopped at a red light he handed back a key on a chain, which Uncle Carmichael used to undo the handcuffs. I rubbed my arms, where they were sore from the cuffs, and my chest where it had bashed into the van. This made me realize I was still wearing the paper dress and Collins’s Watchman’s jacket. “I need some proper clothes,” I said.

“They’ll have something where you’re going,” Uncle Carmichael said.

“It might be better if she put your coat on, sir,” Collins suggested. “It’s long and it’ll cover her up. Nobody would pay any attention to a girl in a macintosh, and what she’s wearing is very conspicuous, even if she’s only on the street for a minute.”

Uncle Carmichael took off his coat and handed it to me. I put it on. It was much too big in the shoulders, of course, and I’d never normally wear a beige coat, but the height was just right to be fashionable. I buttoned it up and belted it around my waist.

“Why did they arrest me now?” I asked.

“There really is a plot against the government, by the Duke of Windsor, and British Power is part of it. They thought you being at the riot was suspicious, since apparently Sir Alan is a part of it.”

“They asked me a lot of questions about Sir Alan,” I confirmed. “And I think he is involved. He was hoping you could help him.”

“He can keep hoping,” Uncle Carmichael said. “What possessed you to get engaged to him?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “It was all a mistake. A misunderstanding. I never said I’d marry him.”

“Thank goodness for that. He’s a cad, and I refuse permission.”

I wasn’t sure whether he could refuse permission for me to marry, but it didn’t seem like a good time to have that argument, as I didn’t
want to marry Sir Alan anyway. “So they were afraid he was involved with British Power, and I was, and therefore you were?”

“That’s about it. But also, Penn-Barkis took you to see what I’d do, Elvira, and I wasn’t prepared to put up with it. When he sees that I won’t, especially as he must know by now that I have nothing to do with British Power, then it’ll all be all right again. If not, well, if not then you and I will have to get out of the country. But if it comes to that, I have plans, don’t worry.”

“There’s nobody following us now, sir,” Collins said. “If I go round the block to Ambrose Street, I can drop you at the curb.”