Sally Spencer - Blackstone and the Great War

Blackstone shook his head, as if, with that one gesture, he could also shake off his little remaining vanity. He had never expected to reach his middle fifties, he reminded himself. Nor had he particularly wanted to, because the older a man got, the longer the shadow of the workhouse became. But he had survived — despite Afghanistan, despite the hazards of working in the Metropolitan Police and the New York Police Department — and so, he supposed, he was stuck with life and might as well make the most out of it that he could.

The study door opened, and the butler appeared.

‘Sir Michael will see you now,’ he said, in the deep booming voice of an Old Testament prophet.

The room overlooked the driveway, and the General was sitting in his bath chair by the window. When the butler had turned the chair around, Blackstone could see for himself that Fortesque was a mere husk of the man he had once been.

The General raised his hand in feeble greeting, and said, ‘It was good of you to come, Sergeant.’

Blackstone grinned. ‘I wasn’t aware I had any choice in the matter,’ he said. ‘If I’d refused, you’d only have contacted the Commissioner of Police, who would then have made what started out as a request into a direct order.’

The old man returned Blackstone’s grin with a weak one of his own. ‘Yes, as decrepit as I am, I do seem to have some influence left,’ he said. ‘How’s life been for you since we last met, Sam?’

‘I have no complaints,’ Blackstone told him.

Not true! said a tiny irritating voice at the back of his mind. You do have regrets — and most of them concern women.

‘You must be approaching retirement,’ the General said.

‘It’s around the corner,’ Blackstone agreed.

‘And how will you manage, once you’re no longer earning a wage?’

‘I’ve got a bit of money put by,’ Blackstone said.

But not enough — not nearly enough — because for most of his working life, half his wage had gone directly to the orphanage in which he himself had been brought up.

‘I had a grandson,’ the General said, changing the subject. ‘He was my pride and joy.’

Blackstone, noting the past tense, said nothing.

‘He was killed on the Western Front, just a few days ago,’ the General continued.

Blackstone nodded gravely. ‘War’s always been a terrible thing, but from what I’ve heard, this one makes the one’s we fought seem like a bit of harmless sparring,’ he said. ‘God alone knows how many of our young men will die on the battlefield before it’s finally over.’

‘Charlie didn’t die in battle,’ the General said, and there was a deep anger in his voice now. ‘If he’d been cut down doing his duty, I could have borne that. It would have been hard for me, yes, yet no harder than it has been for generations of my family who have gladly made the sacrifice. But he was never given the opportunity to give his life for his country — he was murdered.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Blackstone said — and so he was.

‘I want you to find his killer,’ the General said.

‘You want what!’ Blackstone exclaimed.

‘I want you to find his killer,’ the General repeated.

‘The military have police of their own.’

‘So they do. And they’re usually very good at their job — but that job doesn’t include tracking down murderers.’

This was insane, Blackstone thought.

‘I’m a civilian, now,’ he protested. ‘I have been for over a quarter of a century. The military would never brook my interference.’

‘Of course they will, if I ask them to,’ the General said, with an absolute certainty. ‘Besides, you’ve always had a strong belief in your own self-worth, and you’re unlikely to allow any man in a fancy uniform to intimidate you.’

Blackstone walked over to the window, and looked down at the spot on which he’d been standing only a few minutes earlier.

He chuckled, and said, ‘I thought you might be behind it.’

‘Behind what?’ the General asked innocently.

‘Behind the little charade when I first arrived. It was you who told the flunkey to bring me in through the servants’ entrance, wasn’t it?’

‘Is that what you really believe?’ the General asked, curiously.

‘No, not when I stop to think about it,’ Blackstone admitted. ‘You’re much too subtle for that. So you didn’t tell him to treat me like a piece of offal — but you knew that he would!’

Fortesque smiled. ‘I’ve always known how the men who served under me would react in any situation. A good commander has to — because there are no second chances in war. And Hopwood — that’s my “flunkey’s” name — has a very high opinion of himself, and fondly imagines that, one day, he’ll be the butler at one of the finest houses in England.’

‘But he won’t?’

‘Of course not. A butler in the making doesn’t need to act as if he’s superior — it’s enough for him to know that he is.’

‘So you arranged the little skirmish with Hopwood to see whether or not I still had fire in my belly,’ Blackstone said.

‘I had to be sure,’ the General replied. ‘Thirty years is a long time, and men change. But you haven’t lost your fire, Sam, and that’s why I want you go to the Western Front as my representative.’

‘I don’t even know how the modern army works,’ Blackstone protested.

‘And that’s why I want you to go to the Western Front,’ the General repeated, and now his voice was so firm that, if Blackstone had closed his eyes, he could easily have imagined he was talking to a much younger man. ‘I could ask your superiors to order you to go — and they would. I could offer you money — and, indeed, if you bring my grandson’s murderer to justice, I will give you five thousand pounds. But I did not call you here to either threaten or bribe you.’

‘No?’ Blackstone asked, sceptically.

‘No,’ the General said. ‘I asked you here so that I could plead with you — as an old comrade I would have given my life for back then — to do something which might perhaps ease an old man’s suffering a little. Will you do this one thing for me, Sam?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘You haven’t left me much bloody choice, have you?’

The old train continued to rattle and groan. The young soldier was still staring angrily at Blackstone.

‘You shouldn’t be here at all,’ Mick said. ‘Matter of fact, when we stop again, I’m going to throw you off.’

‘You should save your rage for the enemy,’ Blackstone told him. ‘And even then, you should have it under control.’

‘Or maybe I won’t even wait until we stop!’ Mick said, infuriated by his calmness. ‘Maybe I’ll throw you off right now.’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you,’ Blackstone advised.

‘Oh wouldn’t you?’ Mick scoffed. ‘Well, you’re not me, are you? I’m a young man, and you’re just a useless old fart.’

He stood up, and reached across for the lapels of the old fart’s jacket. Blackstone grabbed his wrist, found the pressure point, and squeezed tightly.

Mick’s face went white as he fought the urge to scream, but it was already a losing battle, and as Blackstone maintained the pressure and forced him to his knees, the young soldier gave a gasp of pain.

‘The first thing you need to learn is never to get into a fight unless you absolutely have to,’ Blackstone said. ‘And the second is that if you do get into a fight, never underestimate your enemy.’

Mick was biting his lower lip, and searching in vain for the strength to fight back.

‘I’ll let you go if you promise to sit down and be quiet,’ Blackstone said. ‘ Do you promise?’