Dennis Wheatley - Black August

The last and most disquieting piece of news which Kenyon learnt before he left the meeting was that the mutinous sailors from Portsmouth were now marching on London, not as a mob, but in well disciplined formation, determined to lay their grievances before the Government.

The information had come through just as the Cabinet were breaking up after a five hour session, and the Dominions Secretary had made the cynical but practical suggestion that the Prime Minister and First Lord should go to meet them.' 'Ave a word with 'em,' he had urged as he lit a fresh cigar. 'Talkin's your big line and the boys are only a bit excited, they don't mean no 'arm!'

The Prime Minister, however, preferred that troops should be ordered out from Aldershot to head the sailors off and there, for the moment, the situation rested.

As Kenyon drove back to Grosvenor Square he was struck by the strange, unusual aspect of the streets. It might have been Sunday or some queer little semi bank holiday.

Less than half the ordinary number of buses were running, and there was hardly a trade van to be seen. Many shops were closed, and in front of others little knots of assistants stood chatting on the pavement. Some people were hurrying to and fro with unusual energy, others occupied the street corners in small groups evidently swapping the latest rumours. There also seemed to be an unusually large proportion of a class alien to the West End in normal times. Gaunt, pale faced workers in threadbare clothes, slouching along in little batches. Blue coated police and Specials dotted about in couples every hundred yards or so.

When he entered the residential district he was astonished by the activity which had invaded the quiet streets of Mayfair. Large private cars were being loaded up with trunks and boxes, and from many houses the more valuable possessions were being stowed into furniture vans.

In Grosvenor Square he found two great pantechnicons drawn up outside his home and sweating men staggering down the steps under the burden of a large Van Dyck. The short, fat, rubicund Duke was personally superintending the removal of his treasures.

'Damnable, but understandable!' was his comment when Kenyon told him of the decision to postpone the election. 'Heard about the sailors? They seem to be out for trouble.'

'Yes,' Kenyon nodded. 'I should think the balloon is due to go up in about two days' time now.'

'Less, my boy, less. The troops had to use the butts of their rifles on the crowd in the East End this morning. I have ordered the cars for three o'clock to take your mother and the staff down to Banners.'

'Hell!' thought Kenyon, 'that puts the lid on the cocktail party,' for even in the stream of startling events his mind had never been far from Ann and he had persuaded himself that she would accept Veronica's invitation. Now, if Veronica had to go down to Banners with his mother, Ann would find him alone in Grosvenor Square and probably imagine the whole business to be a put up job. His father's next words reassured him.

'I suppose you can fly Veronica down tomorrow?'

'Oh, rather!' Kenyon agreed with relief.

'She had a fine rumpus with your mother said she must go down with you tomorrow because she's got some party on this evening that she doesn't want to miss. What it can be at a time like this, heaven only knows but you know how impossible she is, and I can't force her, much as I should like to have her out of London tonight. They are going to proclaim martial law you know.'

'I don't think so, sir.' Kenyon reported the latest news from Westminster.

The Duke grunted irritably. I bet you a pony they will, whether the P.M. likes it or not. I saw J. J. B. this morning.'

'Did you?' exclaimed Kenyon, much interested, for 'J. J. B.' was the First Sea Lord who had undergone a serious operation only ten days before. 'I thought he was hors de combat in a nursing home.'

'So he was, or they would never have got away with that fool decision about the big ships. They've been keeping everything from him because he was so ill, but Jaggers broke through the cordon of medicos this morning and told him the whole position. He said J. J. B. ought to know even if it killed him!'

'I'd love to have heard his language!' Kenyon had a vivid mental picture of the red faced, autocratic sailor. 'What did he do?'

'Had himself carried out in his dressing gown there and then. He was still in it when I saw him. He said he'd choke the life out of that whimpering rabbit of a schoolmaster they'd had the impudence to foist on him as First Lord and do it with his own hands if they hanged him for it afterwards!'

"Good for him! I bet the fur is flying at the Admiralty now.'

The Duke chuckled. 'Yes, but he's a wily old fox. He went to the Air Ministry first. That's where I saw him I'd dropped in to offer them the cars as soon as they'd taken your mother to Banners.'

'What was the idea?'

'To get behind the Government, I think. Llewellyn was there and what's his name the War Office chap, and Badgerlake. It looked to me as if they were forming a kind of Junta. Jaggers told me that if the P.M. refused to declare martial law by midnight they meant to do it themselves, and Badgerlake will bring it out in all his papers tomorrow.'

Arm in arm father and son walked into lunch. Veronica and the high nosed Duchess were already there. A strained silence hung over the first part of the meal, punctuated by a wearisome little monologue of complaint from Juliana Augusta regarding Veronica's obstinacy folly and lack of feeling in refusing to accompany her to Banners that afternoon.

'Well, father's going with you,' Kenyon attempted to pacify her.

'You are wrong, dear boy, it seems that I am to be packed off alone with the servants; your father is going to Windsor.'

' Windsor! Whatever for?'

'Well,' the small red faced Duke spoke with unusual decision. 'We are faced with a national crisis of the first magnitude, and these Parliamentary people are all very well in their way, but they are a mushroom growth entirely. The whole basis of the throne is a loyal and responsible aristocracy. It is older, better, and more fitted to govern by centuries of practice than these er lawyer people. I do not suppose for one moment that I shall be called upon, but I feel that it is my duty to place myself at the disposal of whoever is acting for the monarch.'

Veronica was mildly amused. She thought it incredibly comic to see her fat and livery parent mouthing the phrases of a knight at arms, but for Kenyon the little man was invested with new dignity in claiming this ancient privilege of his order.

Directly the meal was over Veronica stood up. 'Well, darlings,' she declared. 'I'm going to have a L. D. on the B. without my B. and C

'What is the girl talking about?' muttered the Duke.

'A lie down on the bed without my bust bodice and corset,' she laughed, kissing the bald spot on the back of his head. 'Don't be rash and get yourself strung up to a lamppost or anything while we're away.'

As the two women left the room the Duke pushed the decanter over to Kenyon. 'Have some more port.'

'Thanks.' Kenyon filled his glass.

'Wish to God you'd got a son,' was His Grace's next rather unexpected remark.

'Son, father? I don't quite understand.'

'Don't you? You're a fool then. To carry on, of course. Three generations stand more chance than two. Surely you realise that you and I will probably be as dead as doornails before the month is out.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'I do. The whole system is cracking up. Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it? Do you realise what that means to the millions? It is the day on which nine out of ten people draw their weekly wage and the banks are shut. This Government rationing scheme can only be a stop gap because, now that the pound has gone to blazes, they won't be able to pay for the food cargoes which are coming in from the only stable countries that are left. London will be starving in a week!'