Helen Simonson - Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

“Morris, I want those trespassers arrested now,” said Dagenham, red in the face with anger and embarrassment. “Don’t just stand there waving, man, get it done.”

“Until these gentlemen put away their guns, I can’t hardly be calling the constable,” said Morris. He turned to the field and gave a piercing whistle that caused the farm workers to lift their heads from the dirt. “Come away, boys, leave them children alone now.”

“May I suggest a prompt retreat to the house,” said Ferguson, coming up to Lord Dagenham. “Cool tempers and so on.”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll be forced to retreat from my own land,” said Dagenham. “What the hell is Morris doing?” he added as the gamekeeper headed off to meet his men. The protesters sent up a feeble cheer and began to pick themselves up from the ground. The bankers gathered in a huddle, guns broken over their arms. There was a low murmur of discussion.

“If I may agree with Mr. Ferguson, returning to the house would not be a question of retreat,” said the Major. “Completely the moral high ground-keeping the peace and ensuring the safety of women and children and so on.”

“They killed our duckies,” came a wail from a child holding up a bloody carcass. The protesters abandoned their signs and set about trying to gather the children into a loose group. From the woods, the figure of their matron hurried into view, followed by a man who was quite possibly a bus driver.

“I really think your guests would be happier back at the house,” said the Major.

“He’s right,” said Ferguson.

“Oh, very well,” said Lord Dagenham. “Everybody down to the house, please. Breakfast is served.” The bankers trotted away, looking grateful for the excuse. The Major saw Roger was at the front of the departing crowd.

“Major Pettigrew, are you there?” came the distinct cry of Alice Pierce, who was resolutely advancing on the hedge waving a large and rather grubby white handkerchief. As she came closer the Major could see she was shivering.

“I’m here, Alice, and so is Lord Dagenham,” said the Major. “You’re quite safe.” Lord Dagenham gave a snort but did not contradict him.

“Oh, Major, the poor children,” she said. “The matron says they escaped from the bus and she had no idea they were going to come here.”

“Oh, please,” said Lord Dagenham. “I’ll have you all brought up on negligence charges for letting innocent children join in such a riot.”

“Negligence?” said Alice. “You shot at them.”

“We did not shoot at them,” said Dagenham. “For God’s sake, woman, they ran into the guns. Besides, you’re all trespassing.”

“The children are not trespassing; they live here,” said Alice. Matron hurried up to say that they needed to get the children home right away and perhaps have the doctor in.

“We only stopped a moment for the picket line,” she said. “Then Thomas started being sick and he threw up on the bus driver, so we got out for a minute and before we knew it, they just all ran from the bus and scattered and we didn’t know where to find them.” She paused to breathe, holding a bony hand against her narrow chest. “They always get attached to the ducks, what with feeding them every day and keeping the ducklings in the classroom under heat lamps, but we’ve never had a problem like this before.” Alice looked carefully neutral. The Major had no doubt as to who had used her art lessons to impart a few lessons in truth to the children.

“Someone put the little beggars up to it,” said the bus driver. “Who’s going to pay for my dry cleaning?”

“I’ll help you get them back in the school,” said Alice to the matron.

“Can’t have them back in the house. I’m hosting a breakfast for my guests,” said Dagenham, stepping between the matron and the path to the house. “Put them back on the bus.”

The Major cleared his throat and caught Dagenham’s eye. “Might I suggest, Lord Dagenham, that you allow the children, under the good care of their matron, to take some food in their rooms and have a rest?”

“Oh, very well,” said Lord Dagenham. “But for goodness’ sake, Matron, take them in the back door and keep them quiet.”

“Let’s go,” said Alice, and she and the matron went off to escort the children away down the lane to the house.

Dagenham was surveying the field, where the protesters had reorganized themselves into lines. They now began to advance on the hedge, chanting “Down with Dagenham” and “Don’t pillage our village.” The Major found the latter rather interesting and wondered who had come up with it.

“Where are the damn police?” said Dagenham. “I want these people arrested.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Double D, better to keep the cops out of it,” said Ferguson. “We don’t need that kind of attention. Not that we’re in the wrong, mind you, but the publicity isn’t what the project needs right now.” He clapped Dagenham on the back. “You gave us a dash of excitement. Now come and give us a good breakfast.”

“What do I do about them?” said Dagenham, nodding to where the protesters were slowly advancing on the hedge.

“Oh, let ’em protest and get it out of their system,” said Ferguson. “My guys’ll keep ’em away from the house and take plenty of pictures. Generally I find it best to let people think they’re making a difference.”

“You sound as if you’ve had plenty of experience,” said the Major.

“Can’t build a billion square feet these days without riling up the local hornets’ nest,” said Ferguson, quite oblivious to the slight distaste in the Major’s voice. “I have a whole system of control, containment, and just-plain-make-it-go-away.”

“Major, you’re a good man to have around,” said Dagenham. “I think, Ferguson, that we should invite the Major to the private briefing after breakfast. You’ll stay behind, won’t you, Major?”

“I’d be more than happy to,” said the Major, puzzled as to what might be worthy of a briefing but enjoying a small expansion of pride in his chest at being invited.

“I’m with you on that,” said Ferguson. “And maybe the Major’d like to have that bright son of his sit in, too?”

As they walked back to the house for breakfast, the cries of the protesters growing dim behind them, the Major’s pleasure was diminished only by a small nagging worry that Alice Pierce would not approve. He did not usually seek Alice’s approval for anything, so the feeling was new and entirely unexpected. They passed two security guards dressed in black and sitting in a large black four-by-four. Ferguson nodded and the idling car pulled across to block the path behind them. Containment of the locals had obviously begun.

The breakfast, eaten in an elegant parlor overlooking the terrace, was hearty and fueled by large quantities of Bloody Marys and hot punch. On the long buffet table in the hall, the bacon rolls had been replaced with steaming globes containing bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs, along with an entire side of smoked salmon and a marble board of cold meats and pungent cheeses. A giant baron of beef, surrounded by roast potatoes and individual Yorkshire puddings, sat in unapologetic dinner-menu magnificence under a heat lamp, being sliced in thick bloody pieces by a white-gloved server. A tower of cut fruit and an iced bowl of yogurt were going all but untouched.

Gertrude did not sit down to breakfast but stomped in and out checking on the service from the temporary waiters and shaking hands here and there; she whispered an apology to the Major for the beef being a bit pink. Only Lord Dagenham, however, complained, sending his underdone slice to the kitchen to be microwaved to a deep muddy brown. The bankers were so loud, outstripping each other in the length and ribaldry of their anecdotes, that there was no disturbance to the party at all from the presence of children overhead.