The Secret Generations (40 page)

‘
What is it?’ Charlotte asked.

Andrew swallowed, looked down at the cablegram again, and said it was nothing.
‘Nothing at all.’ Then he went to the sideboard and poured himself another gin.

He glanced at the cablegram once more. It read:

SAILING NEW YORK MAY FIRST ON SS LUSITANIA STOP DUE ARRIVE LIVERPOOL SEVENTH STOP SEE YOU VERY SOON STOP ALL LOVE DICK STOP

Though his mind was cloudy, Andrew, wit
h his own knowledge of intrigue, vividly recalled the conversation he had overheard.

Ten days previously, he had been waiting in the DNI
’s anteroom. The main office door was slightly ajar, and Andrew was surprised to hear the voices of both Lord Fisher and Winston Churchill, the First Lord, speaking with the DNI.

‘
You’re certain the Germans know the ship is carrying ammunition?’ Fisher asked.

‘
I’d be surprised if they did not. They certainly know how short of ammunition we have been in France, particularly since the Ypres fiasco.’

‘
So, the chances are they know
Lusitania
’s carrying ammunition?’ Fisher again.

‘
I’m ninety per cent certain.’

‘
And you are sure, Reggie, that the German U-boats are sneaking their way through?’

‘
They’ve issued warnings, sir. And our own wireless interceptions show U-boats operating off Irish waters.’

‘
Well, that settles it.’ Fisher raised his voice. ‘Let her come in by the normal route. Withdraw our own ships to a safe distance during the final twenty four hours, and the chances are they’ll have a go. What think ye, Winston?’

‘
I am horrified by the possible loss of innocent life.’

‘
It’ll take more than one torpedo to sink her, and I wager if they try it’ll be a nervy hit-and-run kind of thing. Our ships will quickly close in and pick up survivors. My honest opinion is there will be very little loss of life.’

‘
I suppose,’ Churchill again, ‘that everything else outweighs loss of life. A German action such as this will bring condemnation from all four corners of the globe.’

‘
With luck – if it happens at all – it will convince President Wilson, and the rest of America, that this must join the fray against the common enemy.’ From Fisher. ‘I’m told there are a lot of Americans already on the passenger list.’

‘
Yes, you’re right of course,’ said the First Lord. ‘
Lusitania
must be put at risk. If she is torpedoed, and the Americans are brought in, then this whole wretched business will be over that much sooner. Give the orders, Jacky.’

‘
Aye, aye, Winston,’ a laugh. ‘But I’m committing nothing to paper…’

The DNI interrupted,
‘Leave it all to me, sir. I’ll chart her position and call off the escort, make certain she’s in the most dangerous place at the right time.’

The words echoed through Andrew
’s head. Dear God, he thought, the concept was understandable – to bring the United States into the war – but he liked Sara, and knew she was fond of this young American. She had lost one husband. Now, it was possible she would lose the man who could bring her a second chance of happiness.

*

When the late John Railton MP pensioned off Jack Hunter, his estate manager, in the Spring of 1910, everyone in Haversage, and at Redhill Manor, knew Hunter had virtually been dismissed. They knew also that Sara Railton was responsible, and that Hunter only got the cottage and annuity because of John’s knowledge of The General’s wishes.

In 1910, Hunter was only thirty years of age. He had worked at Redhill Manor since he was fourteen
– The General’s man; but, said the gossips, The General had strange tastes as well, though not young boys and very young girls, like Hunter. Live and let live, that was The General.

Hunter had liked The General. They understood one another, and the old man kept out of his private life. He had taught Hunter many things, and one of them was a certain dignity. Many feared him, and, at the time of his going, Vera Bolton
’s mother had said, ‘An That Jack ’Unter be a man of vengeance. His kind’ll wait for half a century for revenge.’

But, around Haversage and Redhill, nothing more was heard of the man. Hunter took possession of the cottage near Stanton St John, drank a bit, dug his small garden; but within him, the iron entered his soul, and Jack Hunter could do nothing about it. His existence was lonely enough and he had time to ponder. The only Railton he had ever liked was The General, the rest were a steam
ing midden as far as he was concerned, especially the women. Digging his garden, in the springtime of 1911, he cursed them all, and swore his own vengeance. Jack Hunter was now low as a slow-worm, and that because of Railton women.

He did not plot or plan, for he knew the day would dawn when one of the Railtons would put him-or herself in his power.

Some of the locals knew about Hunter. Those with sense warned their children to stay clear of him; others did not worry; strange things happened in isolated communities; few spoke of these matters; and rarely did anyone write about them, unless it was some scandalized vicar. It wasn’t a thing you talked about – leastways, not until something very bad happened. As it did in the late summer of 1914, when they found young Emma Gittins, from the nearby hamlet of Forest Hill, not quite twelve years of age, half naked in a ditch with blood all over her thighs and the blue marks where she had been strangled.

The police came all the way from Oxford, and spent days asking questions. They had Hunter in three times, but went away in the end. It frightened Hunter, though he could not remember things that clearly.

Then, one night, just before Christmas, he woke in the dark. He was screaming, and he knew. There was some idea in his head that a little girl who tried to fight him was a Railton and should be done away with. He saw the picture clearly.

The next morning he went off and took the King
’s shilling. In April 1915, helping to reinforce the new line of trenches along the perimeter of Polygon Wood, four miles or so from Ypres, he had taken the shrapnel in his left shoulder and cheek.

At the clearing station they told him it was a
‘Blighty’ for sure, but now, at the General Hospital in Rouen, the doctors changed their minds. He would be there for about a month, they said. On his feet in a few days. ‘You can be a great help in the ward,’ the frigid Sister told him. And Jack Harold Hunter rejoiced, for there, tending him, was a Railton woman. She was older than he liked them, but he would make an exception for Nurse Mary Bloody Anne Fucking Railton. She would squeal when he split her thighs.

So, Corporal Hunter was res
pectful, pleasant, always thanking her and calling her ‘Miss’. The time would come, sure as eggs were eggs.

*

Few passengers took the notice seriously as they boarded the
SS Lusitania
. They had seen it in the newspapers, and there it was again, beside the official list of departures at the dock side. Dick stopped for a moment to scan it.

NOTICE!

TRAVELLERS intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that, in accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters and that travellers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk.

IMPERIAL GERMAN GOVERNMENT.

Much of the talk was of the possible U-boat threat, but most people – including the officers – were sure that no harm could come to a vessel like
Lusitania
. ‘What would be the point?’ said the young officer at whose table Dick Farthing dined on their first night at sea. ‘The German Navy’re only interested in merchantmen, not passenger liners like this.’

The others, gathered around the table, at ease, having eaten well, and drunk even better, nodded sage agreement.

‘And why are you travelling to Europe, Mr Farthing?’ The man on Dick’s left also had an American accent.

‘
To see friends. Indeed, the lady I hope to marry is English. I’m an aviator and I’m going over to fight the Germans.’

‘
Well done, sir,’ applauded the young officer.

‘
Stout fellow,’ remarked a military-looking man.

The American smiled and nodded, so Dick asked him why he chose to make the journey.

‘Fair question. My name’s Frohman. Charles Frohman…’ ‘The theatre!’ Dick exclaimed. ‘Charles Frohman, the impresario?’

‘
Guilty.’

‘
Why, you’re famous, you produced
The Arcadians
.’

‘
Guilty again.’

Dick, like the others at the table, was fascinated to find they were in the presence of a celebrity.

‘And what takes you to Europe, Mr Frohman?’ one asked. ‘Some big new musical extravaganza?’

Frohman spread his hands,
‘Alas, the law brings me to Europe.’ He explained that he was in partnership with the English actor-manager, Sir Edward Seymour-Hicks. ‘We took a lease on The Globe Theatre in London. Unfortunately, I did the renovations and installed an elevator. The landlords have taken exception. It appears I should have gotten their permission. Seymour-Hicks cabled. They’re about to sue us, so I guessed I’d better go and get Edward off the hook.’

They laughed at his odd predicament.
Lusitania
was just clearing the Hudson; heading out into the Atlantic.

*

Three nights later, in Rouen, Mary Anne was doing her first spell of night duty. She was tired, and pleased to have somewhere to doze – the little office, usually Sister’s domain during the day.

Happily, the ward had no serious cases, otherwise she would have been obliged to sit at her desk in the ward itself all night. As it was, she could keep her conscience quiet by making an occasional visit around the beds. The night sister was predictable, arriving on the dot at half past the hour, every three hours.

So, for most of the night, Mary Anne could read, doze, or brew a cup of tea on the small stove.

It was four in the morning and she was half asleep, when she suddenly became alert. The door to the office opened, almost silently, and Jack Hunter slipped inside, using all the cunning he had practised so often in the woods and coverts of Redhill.

‘Corporal Hunter, you shouldn’t be in here, you know.’ She was relieved it was only this patient. She smiled. It was always best to humour difficult patients. ‘Now then, Corporal, if there’s something you want…’ Mary Anne stopped short, as he clicked the key in the lock and dropped it into his pocket.

‘
Oh, aye, there’s something I want, Mary Anne Bloody Railton,’ he laughed, low and unpleasant.

‘
Corporal!’ She had become used to being obeyed by patients. ‘Open that door, and we’ll go back into the ward.’

He shook his head,
‘No,
Miss
Railton.’

‘
What is it you want?’ Her voice betrayed no fear.

‘
What do I want,
Miss
Railton? First of all I want what I’m going to get, and it’s between your legs.’

He moved fast, and was on her before she had time to cry out or move. She felt one of his big hands across her mouth, while the other reached down. He was pushing her backwards across the desk and reaching for her long skirt.

She fought, thrashing out with her arms, fists balled, hitting him with all her strength, her mouth working as she tried to bite the hand. Her skirt was rucked up to her thighs now and she began to kick out with her legs. When he took his hand away from her mouth it was so unexpected that she did not cry out. A second later she was not able to do so, for he hit her, hard, across the side of her face, with the back of his hand, then again, swinging the other way, with his palm. When the hand was clamped over her mouth again, Mary Anne was only on the lip of consciousness.

She fought through a great wall of fog, yet knew what he was doing to her. This was the most terrifying thing, for all power to resist seemed to have ebbed away.

One hand was tearing at her drawers, and she was unable to stop him stepping between her thighs as he pushed her back down onto the desk, leaving her legs dangling.

The pain brought her to. It was like a great red hot poker jammed between her legs, a searing terrible agony as he thrust into her, ripping at flesh. She knew then that the wetness was blood, and the pain grew worse as he moved higher into her.

The anguish so wakened her that she was at last able to get her teeth onto his flesh and bite. For a second his hand moved and her scream overpowered his curse. He hit her again; and the world became this fearsome, jarring scalding between her legs, a floating darkness, and the knowledge that his hand was now not over her mouth, but around her neck; and that very soon there would be complete darkness. She was going to die.