The Secret Generations
The Branch had done some more checking. Steinhauer appeared to travel widely, claiming to be a paper manufacturer, yet he did not visit any firms connected with paper. Instead, Herr Steinhauer seemed to be interested in dockyards. He had also slipped across to Ireland for at least two days.
‘By rights we should have arranged for Steinhauer to be followed,’ Kell grumbled. ‘But Paddy Quinn’s men cannot do it all.’
Giles reminded him of the sub-committee meeting that afternoon and Kell wrinkled his nose. Too much time was spent in meetings. He wanted to get on with the job in hand.
‘Come and have some luncheon,’ Giles allowed one of his warmer smiles. ‘Then we can go to the meeting together – “cheek by jowl”. Again the Railton love of Shakespeare, a habit quickly copied by their women. The thing Railtons rarely admitted, even to one another, was that they often ‘thought’ in Shakespearean tags, and derived much pleasure and comfort from the habit.
*
At half-past two that afternoon, the Sub-Committee For Review of Intelligence Structure gathered in the somewhat gloomy room allotted to it at the top of the main War Office building.
Giles welcomed his nephew, John, as the new Cabinet representative, and then gave a bravura performance, illustrating what his family had known for years – his adroitness in handling committees.
Everyone was present: Sir Douglas Haig with an entourage of two clean-cut young officers, the DID from the Admiralty, and a pair of Treasury officials with eyes that showed as much clarity as glass.
A Royal Marine Captain called Maurice Hankey was there on behalf of the CID Secretariat; Kell, of course, attended in his own right; as did the naval officer, Commander Smith-Cumming, Kell’s opposite number in the Foreign Intelligence Section.
Giles began with an assault on the Treasury, ramming home the fact that the new Secret and Security Services were going to mean a substantial allotment of both cash and men.
He quickly moved on to talk of the German reorganization, and the intelligence concerning Captain Nicolai. Then he played his trump card, the Prussian Imperial High Command’s work on the Schlieffen War Plan. In dealing with this he made a clever plea for the impartiality of a purely civilian service.
‘Military Intelligence, in the field, is one thing – you gain information and then immediately do something about it. Eh, Haig?’
Douglas Haig grunted a stubborn affirmative, and Giles continued:
‘An Intelligence Service, of the kind we are already organizing, is, however, something apart. Its job is to collect, collate and analyse information. Our kind of Intelligence Service is neither geared, nor required, to act upon that information. The duty of any Secret Service is to provide a facility for both the Diplomatic Corps and, more particularly, the armed forces. It would be military experts, like Sir Douglas, here, who would make decisions on whatever information the secret departments provided for them. Yes, Haig?’
‘I take the point.’ Haig was loath to accept any handling of intelligence outside the Army. He vaguely saw how Giles was outflanking him, so turned the conversation back onto the German War Plan. ‘I must say, Railton, that this idea of the Germans tinkering with what you call the Schlieffen Plan seems to make no sense. If my own diplomatic history serves me correctly, Prince von Bismarck himself laid down that Belgium would be inviolable. It’s unthinkable.’
‘Really?’ Giles raised his eyebrows. ‘Remember, Douglas, that Bismarck piloted Germany to unity. The present Kaiser threw him out.’
‘But you don’t really believe that the German High Command, presuming they have designs on France, would risk clashing with us by walking into Belgium.’
‘It’s exactly what I believe, and it’s what our agents appear to have revealed. Remember, Clausewitz – the genius of strategists – held that “the heart of France lies between Brussels and Paris”. Von Schlieffen’s plan is for the quick kill, going for the heart of France; and the only way to take France’s heartland with speed is via Belgium. I have no reason to believe the current High Command thinking has changed.’
‘Cold-blooded,’ Haig murmured. ‘Unrealistic from a diplomatic viewpoint.’
Giles pointed out that, as a soldier, Haig should know that strategy and diplomacy did not mix well.
‘I suspect, from the information my people have provided, that the neutrality of Belgium is an unimportant obstacle; and that is how the present High Command sees it. I am passing on the kind of intelligence we believe our reorganized service can supply. I feel the General Staff should act on it.’
By the end of the meeting, Giles felt that the information provided by his daughter regarding both Captain Nicolai, and the fact of the Prussian High Command’s adherence to the kernel of von Schlieffen’s plan, had been of great assistance in making his case for a Foreign Office-controlled Intelligence Service. But would the General Staff really take any notice? He doubted it as Haig departed with a curt nod, and the one word, ‘Interestin’.’ The attitude of the General Staff was fast becoming Giles’ despair.
John Railton left, after giving brief, warm greetings to Giles’ family. As always, his uncle had impressed him, and he could report well to the Prime Minister.
As for Giles, he was oddly concerned about his nephew. There had been times when he detected John’s concentration wandering, and it was so unlike the man that he made a mental note to ask a few questions in the right quarters.
*
Giles was correct. John was far from being himself that day. Overworked, he had started to miss Sara, who – to his surprise – remained, uncomplaining, at Redhill Manor. His distraction this afternoon had been caused by a letter, received at the Athenaeum that very lunchtime. It came from his son, James: Dearest Papa
I write to tell you that I have passed my ‘Further’ in grand style, so will be going up to Sandhurst on 3 September of this year. I trust you will be pleased.
I have written to Uncle Andrew, giving him my news, for Caspar should also have his results by now.
The weather here at Redhill remains consistent. Spring cannot be far away, and this is ideal flying weather. I thank you so much for the payment to Dick Farthing who has arranged one of the new Farmans for my latest lessons, having agreed that, after all, this is the best machine available on which to learn. There is plenty of room on the Upper Down pasture, especially as it is clear of cattle at the moment.
Dick has flown up here three times in the past ten days to give me ground instruction. Yesterday, he allowed me to do a short hop, and appeared awfully pleased. I had no trouble controlling the machine.
Sara is most interested, and says she wishes to learn. She appears to have taken quite a shine to Farthing, who stayed on for the nights he was here, flying off at dawn.
One morning, Sara got up and went out to see him off. She really is a most splendid stepmother to have, and you will, I am sure, be pleased to learn of the great interest she is showing in both the Manor and Farm. She had old Froud up from the town, trotting around the house while she made suggestions about new curtains, and a carpet, for The General’s study.
Dear Papa, you must come and see us all soon. I know Sara needs you, but she is really more like a sister than a stepmother to me. She learns much about the farm, and goes riding often, with Bob Berry. It appears he teaches her many things concerning the farm, and how the land is managed.
I fear, though, she does not get on well with Jack Hunter. Yesterday, Hunter was giving instructions to the gamekeeper for the setting up of man traps in the spinney near the road. People have been getting in there, and Hunter said it should be discouraged once and for all. As it turned out, Sara arrived with Bob Berry, just as the wretched things had been laid out in the stable yard. At first, Sara could not tell what they were, but when she learned I thought she would have a fit. She sent for Hunter and really gave him what for: told him he would have to wait for your return before any inhuman instruments of torture like that were set up on the estate.
Hunter
got quite angry, but she told him to mind his manners, and won the day. You would have been proud, I think.
Please come soon, Papa. I know Sara misses you. Our great American aviator arrives again on Tuesday. We are to fly on Wednesday morning, so he has agreed to come over a day early and dine with us. Sara has ordered a feast. She has been on at Cook, and had some capons brought up from the Farm. We are to have hare soup, soles a la creme, the capons, and one of Mrs Bolton’s superb puddings. I wish you could be with us, as it is really to celebrate my ‘Further’.
Come soon,
Your loving and affectionate son,
James.
John Railton, ever conscious of the age difference between himself and Sara, had wanted to bolt from his club, skip the sub-committee meeting and take the first train to Haversage – for it was now Tuesday. Never would he suspect Sara of any infidelity, but both Richard Farthing and Bob Berry were handsome, virile young men and women of Sara’s age were so easily tempted into flirtation.
There was much to worry him. People gossiped; Bob Berry was still unmarried, and only the farm manager. There could be a whiff of scandal, particularly if she had made an enemy of Hunter, who could be a vindictive man – especially when you considered his sexual proclivities, about which John had always been uneasy.
For the first time, John wondered if he had made a terrible error in accepting his parliamentary seat, let alone the Cabinet appointment.
In the meantime, all he could do was head for Downing Street, where he would wait for the Prime Minister. After making his report he could, perhaps, ask Asquith if he might take a week away from Town, to spend time at Redhill Manor. He could, at a pinch, get there tonight.
*
At the clinic in Neuweissensee, Steinhauer gave ‘The Fisherman’ his first operational briefing. In a few weeks’ time, his agent would be setting off on his acclimatization mission – to take a look at England, and the English, at close quarters; to test himself, and merge into the landscape. Then he was to spend time in Ireland, making contact with the Fenians.
He was ordered to engage himself in no espionage, but could offer any assistance to the Fenians. ‘If they should require you to use any of your particular skills, then you will do as they wish,’ Steinhauer told him. ‘However,’ he wagged an admonishing finger, ‘take heed. No whoring, no drinking. You are on active service for the Fatherland.’
‘You think I’m going to drink my head off in London pubs and Dublin bars, and screw all their women?’
‘I think it quite likely, yes. And if you do, then you could become insecure. My neck’s on the block as well as your own. Just go, and bring back a good report to me.’
‘The Fisherman’ merely nodded his big head. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Chapter Eight
The Director of Intelligence Division Admiralty made a habit of calling into Andrew Railton’s office when he returned from the sub-committee meetings chaired by Andrew’s father. Being a courteous man, he liked to think this was a small sign of his confidence in Andrew.
Andrew’s new job, in the Division, was to set up a special section dealing with all aspects of codes and ciphers, including their valid use, by the Royal Navy and its, possibly, paid agents; together with the way ciphers were being handled by the other great maritime nations of Europe.
‘Well,’ the Admiral said, on this evening, ‘looks as though this damned new Intelligence Service will eventually take over everything. Thank heaven we gave them the head of their Foreign Section – at least we’ll be able to keep an eye on him.’ He spoke of Commander Smith-Cumming, now in charge of the Secret Service, known as MI1(c). ‘Time to shore up, though. Weakest points, Andrew, weakest points?’ The Admiral glared at him.
‘The new chain of W/T stations along the coast, sir.’ Andrew had no doubts.
‘You think we should press for that?’
The plans for a chain of stations along the British coastline had ‘lain on the table’ for a long time. Too long. Both the Army and Navy had dragged heels.
‘Sooner the better, sir. I believe we should, as Shakespeare says,… “put a girdle round the earth”.’
‘I’ll have a word. Talk to their Lordships. Meantime, get me a report on the other priorities.’
So, when Andrew returned home, his head buzzed with the report upon which he would have to start working in the morning.
There was a letter from his nephew James lying on top of a small pile of correspondence on the silver tray in the hall. Andrew recognized it instantly, from the way in which the boy added reckless flourishes to the otherwise beautiful handwriting.
Charlotte was in the morning room talking to Mildred, the detritus of tea not yet cleared away. As Andrew entered the two women stopped talking, as though caught in some clandestine conversation.
In fact, they had discussed Mildred’s pregnancy for most of their tea – Charles’ wife, at thirty-four being naturally anxious. Charlotte, with her experience as the travelled wife of a naval officer, appeared to have taken over the role of confidante within the family, and was able to cite chapter and verse on a number of her friends who had given birth to perfectly normal children relatively late in life. The subject exhausted, they began speaking of Sara.
Railton women, their menfolk often observed, had a knack of picking up family gossip, even at long range. Already, Mildred knew of the American called Richard Farthing, and James’ scrape at Farnborough. Charlotte knew more.
‘Sara’s a darling, and I love her dearly, but she is so very young.’ Andrew’s wife had a quick, animated manner of speaking. When she talked now, the tone became flat as though sincerity was being strained.
‘The American is visiting Redhill while John’s away?’ Mildred still had the somewhat ‘Churchy’ way of indicating that, while shocked, she could not wait to hear more.
Charlotte sighed. ‘It is not correct, even though James is there. Sara’s left to her own devices in the country, and that must be difficult after the social whirl of London. Everyone expected her to be dashing up to Town on the.slightest excuse, but she stays at Haversage with little complaint.’
‘Surely you don’t think…?’
‘A woman like Sara requires attention.’ Charlotte became emphatic. ‘Heavens, Millie, you’re a long-married Railton now. You know what all our men are.’ Her lips formed a half-kiss, half-pout. ‘We can speak plainly, my dear. The women in the Railton clan also soon learn to enjoy that side of things…’
‘Charlotte!’ Mildred sounded shocked.
‘Millie, come along. We’re experienced enough. The men have a reputation. You’ve been married what? sixteen? Seventeen years? I’d be surprised if your desire isn’t lit at least twice a week, even now. I’m not ashamed of it. Oh, I sometimes wonder if, at our age, we should be so wanton. I’ll tell you, my dear, there are days when I long for Andrew to come home and plough me. I even lure him.’ She paused, as though for a moment savouring a delicious thought. ‘So what of Sara? John’s older, much older, and, therefore, an expert, I should imagine. I doubt if young Sara can do without it. He leaves her alone too often, and the Devil makes use of idle hands – though it’s not the hands I’m concerned about.’
‘I don’t believe she’d be so foolish,’ Mildred said, primly. Her sexual experience with Charles had been somewhat different – a delicious, sudden and beautiful time in the first years, then nothing but guilt and unpleasantness.
Charlotte turned her lovely profile, catching sight of herself in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘In the country things are, well, different. Look at The General. He managed, and not one member of the family, or the servants for that matter, ever acknowledged anything was wrong morally.’
‘I still can’t believe that Sara…’
‘No. I agree. But there is danger if she’s left with young men. She’s so very attractive.’ Charlotte added, almost wistfully, ‘and young.’
It was soon after this that Andrew r
eturned. He kissed both women, and Charlotte took the opportunity to whisper that their eldest son, Caspar, was waiting anxiously in the study. ‘It’s good news,’ she smiled, and Andrew, after a quick exchange with Mildred, made his excuses.
Thank God, he thought, that it was good news. Andrew had been the one Railton who, since boyhood, longed for the sea, and service in the Royal Navy. His most earnest hope had been that Caspar would inherit his obsession, but that was not to be. The boy had chosen the Army, surrounding himself with things military from the age of ten.
When Andrew entered his study, Caspar got to his feet, and Andrew smiled, though his mind registered a slight shock, for the full realization struck him that Caspar was no longer a boy. He would be seventeen next week, and looked it. His skin had changed to a rougher, more masculine texture; while the boyish softness had gone from his eyes.
‘Well,’ Andrew closed the door. ‘Your Mama tells me you have news.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Caspar handed his father an envelope. It was addressed to Caspar Railton, Esq., and the coat of arms showed it was from the Royal Military College at Sandhurst.
Andrew gave a deep satisfied grunt. ‘I don’t really need to read it, do I? You’ve passed your “Further”. Right?’
‘Yes sir, I go in September.’
Andrew offered congratulations, taking Caspar’s hand, noting anew the firmness of the handshake. They talked for some minutes, then Andrew turned his attention to the letters he had brought from the hall, saying that he really must deal with the post before dressing for dinner.
There were two bills; the news from James (so both boys would be at Sandhurst together – no bad thing); a short, polite letter from Ramillies, still at Wellington; and another from his twin, Rupert.
Rupert and Ramillies had been born six hours apart, and were not identical, which probably accounted for the marked difference in their characters.