Death and the Dreadnought Page 16

  My focus shifted back to the ladies. The world had survived – surprisingly, in my company – and we were in.

  37.

  I’ve seen chaos in my time: the great bazaar in Constantinople; the retreat after Magersfontein; Frenchmen trying to put up a tent. They had nothing on the collected trade unionists, radical philosophers and anarchists of Europe on their annual ice-cream-and-conspiracy jamboree to Birmingham.

  I hadn’t known Birmingham at all – I tend to avoid cities and, as much as possible, Britain – but they’ve done a damned impressive job of it. Grown ten-fold in the last century – Bliss had read this from a guide book during our train journey – and there’s solid business prosperity wherever you look.

  Raikes’s Army had felt the need for a parade, and the city had agreed. Presumably it was a good chance to show off their grandeur, and to get a bit of credit with the workers whose work had paid for it. And because Birmingham was determined to show its modernity, they had laid on motor cars for all the foreign delegations. The parade started up at the Law Courts building, where they’d have been better finishing. It’s one of the jewels of the new city apparently, a great red fairy castle of a building, and when I wandered up to have a look there was an enormous scrum of bewildered radicals outside. They were milling around the cars, and joking a bit, and arguing a bit, and flustered union officials were pushing through the mob with handfuls of paper shouting for their lost Luxembourgers or ticking off the Germans for trying to get too many people into a 40/50 Rolls or swearing at the French for refusing to get into one.

  Eventually, everyone was squeezed in, and the convoy set off down Corporation Street. That’s another of the wonders of the city: they cleared acres of slums to create it, and now it’s a grand boulevard of Edwardian splendour: gothic facades and high-end ladies’ underwear shops wherever you look. What they haven’t yet done is work out how to fit in all the different kinds of traffic, and the addition of a couple of dozen motor carriages over-filled with excitable foreigners brought the whole business to a standstill. Fifty yards along there were two cars and a tram jammed into space enough for one of them, because the French delegation had decided that the universal promotion of the rights of the worker didn’t extend to letting a carful of Germans in ahead of them, and in the middle of Old Square I found half a dozen Swiss sitting haughtily in a Darracq while their chauffeur wrestled with the driver of a milk cart. Between the unfamiliar motor vehicles, their increasingly grumpy local drivers, the delegations shouting bright ideas from the back seats in any of a dozen languages as yet another tram threatened to crush them, the regular traffic of horse or foot, and the throng of local workers who’d wanted to escort the foreigners the whole business was more like the charge of the Light Brigade. Anarchy it may well have been. A new order it was not.

  Then, miraculously, all was transformed into order. They got down past the railway station and round into Victoria Square. And there the motor vehicles stopped, crashed or blew up in one great scrum and, with the old Queen gazing down pretty grimly from her plinth, everyone filed into the Town Hall – a grand Roman-looking business. Suddenly they were quiet, and dignified. The delegations stood in murmuring groups, exchanged polite greetings across the hallways, waited their turn to be guided into the main chamber.

  And I watched them all. A small part of my brain was guessing nationality, from face and dress and speech. It was a pretty rich mix: the richer skins of Spaniards and Italians; distinctive collars that meant French and jackets that meant Austrian; accents Latin, Teutonic and Slav. One tight-bunched handful of men passed in front of me like a beacon, tall and pale and blond: presumably Scandinavians, or perhaps the Latvians someone had mentioned.

  I went pretty carefully. I didn’t think I was in danger here, not in such a public place and event. But I didn’t want to cause trouble unnecessarily. And as I lurked in stairwells and shadows, I was also looking out for any of the diverse groups who might have it in for me. There were men here outraged because they thought I’d murdered their employer. I was pretty sure there were men here vengeful because I’d killed one or two of their number during the bizarre goings-on of recent days. There might be some fired up enough to have a go at me because I represent the oppressor class. There was probably the chap I’d knocked down during the street rally, fancying he had unfinished business.

  I was looking for familiar faces – anyone involved in the diverse recent attempts to do me mischief, whose background and associations I could then investigate – and trying to spot anything that suggested this extraordinary gathering was more than what it claimed to be. I wouldn’t have a better opportunity: all of them here on display, conspiring with each other in the corridors and on best behaviour. It was a splendid plan, as long as I saw my men, and the various unhappy parties didn’t see me.

  And at that moment I bumped into the appalling Raikes, and I knew that the sudden order of this building was his doing, his will.

  I literally bumped into him. I’d been watching one of the lobbies from the shadows and elevation of a staircase, and as the lobby emptied into the main chamber I stepped down after them and hit someone coming round the corner. We each took a step back, started to offer a token apology, and then recognized the other.

  An eerie gleam came into his eyes as he saw me, and he actually smiled. ‘Sir Henry Delamere,’ he said, soft level sneer, and somehow the smile was hungry. ‘Truly your interest in the plight of the international worker is remarkable.’

  I contrived a smile in return. ‘If you’re involved, Raikes, they’re certainly in bad trouble.’ I glanced at the scene around us. ‘You put on a good show. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d be persuaded to become a British Army staff officer after all.’

  ‘A pretty compliment, Delamere, coming from you. But thank you, I have a greater movement to lead, with a nobler purpose.’

  ‘Jolly good. Well, you’d better not let me hold you up.’

  Again the thin dead smile, and very slightly he shook his head.

  We each turned away at the same moment, and I found myself confronted by half a dozen men. Some looked like British workers. A couple were clearly foreign. Now they were standing in a semi-circle, facing me.

  Then from behind me, there was a familiar voice. ‘If only you’d something to say to the workers of the world, Delamere, you’d find these occasions less fraught.’

  It was Raikes again. I didn’t bother turning. If he wanted to crow while his heavies beat me to death, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of an appeal. My eyes continued to move slowly between the men in front of me, gauging them, looking for the intent, watching for the first movement.

  ‘Mr Delamere is a man of action, brothers.’ His voice was nearer behind me. ‘Not a philosopher, as we.’ Their expressions didn’t pick up his sneer.

  And fought fairer for a better cause, damn’ you all, I was thinking, but I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to them; and it probably wasn’t true.

  You learn to read the faces on sporting occasions like this. The professional toughs about to thrash you on instruction, they’re hard to read: the expressions don’t change much, and you can only watch for the slight flexing of the shoulders, the adjustment of balance. Nervy amateurs and angry men, you’ll see what’s about to happen in their eyes.

  There was a short solid chap second from right: I’d clout him first. Put down one of the professionals, and you make the amateurs think twice as well as evening the odds. And sending that one sprawling would slow his neighbour down too, and for a moment I’d only have to worry about my left.

  I made it obvious that I was looking to the left, while out of the corner of my eye I checked where his throat was.

  ‘You’d better come along, Delamere,’ Raikes said. Come along where? ‘Mr Delamere is my guest, brothers.’

  Now I half turned, trying to read the cold face, while keeping an eye on the mob. What the hell was he talking about?

  Then a bit of light cam
e into his face, an idea. ‘In fact, I’d be honoured if you’d join me on the platform.’ He was amused now. He looked like a snake about to strike. ‘You might say a few words to our General Assembly.’

  38.

  Thus it was that the latest and probably the last of the Delameres, a family of some distinction back in the day, found himself an honoured guest on the platform at an international convention of revolutionaries.

  Probably the Delamere stubbornness running true to form, I suppose. We have, on the whole, been on the wrong side of every single fight in British history. Whenever there was a misguided, muddle-headed, futile rebellion during the last thousand odd years, there was a Delamere, sitting proud on a borrowed horse and waving the family sword and angry about something. Whenever there was a shrewd, well-led, successful rebellion, the Delamere was off sick, or sulking in his tent, or visiting his tailor. I exclude a couple of occasions when the Delamere of the day contrived to be on both sides. Good gamblers, in our way.

  Mind you, it looked like I might have gone against tradition and backed the winner this time. The global fraternity of Down-With-The-Delameres were a serious outfit.

  I’ve not much experience of these speechy occasions; being a deeds rather than words sort of chap, I tend to avoid. But in my thirty-something years I’ve not heard or read a single solitary political speech worth a damn. These fellows, though, they knew what they were about. Speaker after speaker spoke briefly, respectfully, logically, and very earnestly. Not a one had been to a school you’ve heard of, but every one intelligent and articulate.

  And I had the same uneasy sense I’d had when marching with the fraternal mob towards the Thames Ironworks shipyard, shortly before the fraternal mob tried to lynch me. There was a real, deep anger in this hall. Not idiot’s anger, incoherent or plain drunk. Not affronted anger, cheap pride and silly dignity. No, this was a carefully-considered, carefully-nurtured anger. It understood itself, and it had purpose.

  I thought of my club companions the previous evening. I thought of Aysgarth and his houseful of gentlefolk. Against Raikes and his army of relentless thinkers, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

  And so once again – as I sat on the platform feeling somewhat exposed, and watching the line of neat thoughtful speakers delivering their quietly effective destructions of the current social structure, of the price/wage relation, of the arrangement of European powers, of organized religion, of contemporary gender identities, and of much else that I didn’t really follow – I wondered why on earth these lads were bothering to interfere with a battleship. One Dreadnought more or less wasn’t going to stop them, not even if the Navy started shelling libraries, working men’s clubs and grammar schools full-time. And I couldn’t for the life of me see what kind of a threat David Sinclair could have been to them, or to any plan they might have.

  My mind was distracted with this, when I realized that the whole hall was staring at me.

  Last time this had happened I’d had to pull my revolver and take to the rooftops. I was unarmed now, and all of my exits were blocked by sturdy philosophers. So, a bit of a jolt.

  ‘… gained a certain notoriety,’ Raikes was saying in his usual nasal drawl, presumably about me; impertinent sod. ‘And in many ways precisely the enemy of all that we stand for, the enemy of true equality and the enemy of the working person’s rights and the enemy of a fair and fairly-earned wage.’ I fought off waves of Boer cavalry for six shillings a day, I was thinking, so less of your cheek. But then Raikes probably didn’t consider that proper work and, looking at the faces in the hall during the speeches, I’d guessed that a few of them must have worn the khaki themselves. And here they were.

  ‘But ours is not a spiteful movement, brothers and sisters.’ Tell that to poor Sinclair, I thought. ‘The upheaval in society, which we all seek, to which we have all devoted ourselves, it will be achieved as much by the patient nobility of education and the earnest passion of persuasion, as by the regrettable necessity of force.’ There was a burst of applause at this little homily. ‘He has the courtesy to present himself here alone, as our guest. As our guest, accordingly, I have the honour in your name to welcome him. Henry Delamere, would you gratify us with a few words?’ And he turned to me and he actually grinned; evil little so-and-so.

  Stubborn, the Delameres, as I say. Not inclined to back down. I stood. I walked slowly to the lectern. I looked at Raikes for a long moment, holding his eyes until they flickered. Then I turned and took in the enormity of that audience. God knew how many hundreds of them, mostly as surprised as I was to find me there, and at least as unhappy about it.

  I had to address my company of infantry, before they made the bayonet charge at Graspan. I once talked a bunch of Bosnian bandits out of cutting my throat, using only mime and snatches of Tennyson I remembered from school.

  ‘I thank you, gentlemen, ladies,’ I said, ‘for your courtesy.’ I glanced at Raikes again. He was gazing at me. I hadn’t realized I was so fascinating. ‘Mr Raikes here has given you a typically clever introduction. As he hints, I suspect that my idea of what British society should be like is rather different to some of yours. But if two ideas are both based on a sincere concern for the good of others, they can probably work out their differences. If not, well, then we’ve a problem. I’ve no match for Mr Raikes’s rhetoric. But then I’ve seen rhetoric used too often for ill purpose. I’ll just say this.’ I hesitated. ‘I’m a killer, ladies and gentlemen.’ They sat forward at this, and there was a very satisfying murmur. I knew Raikes would be staring. ‘Ten years ago now. I killed a bundle of Dutchmen. At the time it seemed like the grandest thing. Now, ten years on, I haven’t the first idea what it was about.’ I had them now. They were silent, and watchful. There were a few nods. ‘If one of them had got lucky, he’d be making this speech instead of me. And I doubt he’d understand either. My tip to you: be sure to ask why, when someone’s encouraging you to jump off a cliff, and be sure to know what’s at the bottom.’

  I nodded to them, turned and nodded to Raikes, and walked off the stage. There was an uncomfortable silence behind me. As I said, I’ve never been one for speeches.

  As I pushed my way to the door, I heard Raikes starting up again behind me. As soon as I was out of the hall in the corridor I took a deep breath. I’ve always mistrusted crowds.

  ‘Sir Henry Delamere!’

  I turned. Tallish chappy coming along the corridor, foreign accent, dapper suit. Something about his face was familiar. He was flanked by two others, more normal height, but making up for it in width. From the way they filled the suits, they were clearly a pair of very solid individuals. The ensemble had the general impression of a country squire with a pair of prize mastiffs.

  ‘’Fraid you’ve missed my speech,’ I said. ‘Probably be in the Times tomorrow.’

  He smiled. Where had I seen him before? ‘We are determined’ – like all foreigners he had trouble pronouncing that W, but the rest was smooth as silk – ‘not to miss you again, Sir Henry.’ Never has a clumsy threat been more elegantly delivered.

  They weren’t hiding anything anymore. The association with the international world-changers’ luncheon society was open, and so was the intent to kill me. And I still couldn’t prove any of it.

  Country squire went on. ‘I wanted only to present you to my two companions. So that they know you… when the time comes.’

  I smiled without warmth at the two toughs. ‘I hope I don’t disappoint. But you haven’t introduced yourself, sir.’

  He actually looked embarrassed. Well brought-up, these foreign assassins. ‘Your pardon, Sir Henry. My name is Hertenstein; of the Swiss delegation to the conference.’ He could see my uncertainty. He doffed his hat elegantly. ‘I think, perhaps, that you met my brother.’ And he smiled ice.

  Under the hat I saw the blond hair, but I’d already remembered where I’d seen the eyes.

  Hungry-looking, as they hunted me around the backstage of Jolly’s Theatre. And then somewhat surprised as they
fell to destruction.

  And he had a brother.

  He didn’t look the turn-the-other-cheek sort. ‘Your brother gave quite a performance,’ I said. ‘Most remarkable debut in the history of the London stage, but alas only a one-night stand. Or rather fall.’

  He smiled at this cheap hilarity. ‘We will see you very soon, Sir Henry.’

  39.

  I was fairly sure they wouldn’t try anything there and then. It would have drawn too much attention. And, unlikely though it seems, I felt that the protection of Raikes’s hospitality actually meant something.

  Fairly sure. I decided it was time I was away.

  But then I felt a hand on my arm. I turned, ready to swing and run. But it was a flustered face I saw, some kind of junior official, desperate to grab me back for something. I went warily.

  And thus it was, that my participation in that strange gathering was memorialized for posterity. It should be possible to dig one out still – from one of the press agencies, or from police headquarters. The official photograph of the International Brotherhood of Radicals, Revolutionaries, Dreamers, Lunatics, Anarchists and Assassins. With one bewildered baronet along for the ride. There I am for all eternity, at the end of the front row of seated grandees, looking damned uncomfortable and trying to spot the nearest exit.

  By the nearest exit I ran into Bliss, at last. She’d clearly been enjoying herself immensely; but then she didn’t have diverse bands of foreigners trying to kill her. ‘I saw your speech!’ she bubbled. ‘If you’re thinking of doing this sort of thing more often, I know someone who could help you with diction. And with writing your–’

  ‘I will not be doing this sort of thing more often. Thank you. I’m leaving now and I’m going to live up a mountain where hopefully I never have to see another human ever again.’