August–October, 1931
London
“Right, then.” Edward paced the flat he shared with his father in London. “Now that Ramsay MacDonald has resigned, we can have a proper election and get the Conservatives back in power.”
His father sat in a chair sipping tea. “Labor is split over the budget and Ramsay has stepped down, that much is true. But the prevailing mood amongst Conservative and Liberal MPs is to get MacDonald back in the prime minister’s chair right away at the helm of a National Government.”
“What?”
“The economic crisis worldwide is simply too serious to put party before country, my boy. An election we must have, yes, but with a national coalition vying for votes against Labor, not all the parties split up into their usual bits and pieces. So when we go back to the House in a few minutes, it is Stanley Baldwin’s wish that we support MacDonald as head of a National Government.”
“What about Lloyd George and the Liberals? They hold the balance of power.”
“They do now. If the British people back a National Government in this time of crisis, which I believe they will, I doubt the Liberals shall keep that hold.”
“It’s a mess,” Edward fumed. “I look at where Germany is headed, and now we have a golden opportunity to do the same. But you’re saying we want to put that deadweight Ramsay back in the prime minister’s chair.”
“And where is Germany heading that we should be following after it?”
“A moratorium on democracy. You’re right, it is an unprecedented financial crisis and must be met with unprecedented measures. But not dead men like Ramsay leading the dead men of a National Government. No, Father, we must thrust democracy aside for the time being.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have the election, yes. But place Baldwin back at the helm of a Tory majority. Give him sweeping powers. No more elections for ten years. Strong trade ties with Italy and Germany. High tariffs for trade with those not part of the Commonwealth or the Empire. Cut relations with the League of Nations. Build up our navy and army and air force. Make our ships the size we want them to be. Put the British laborer to work on tanks and fighter planes and battle cruisers. Our economy will be revived in half a year, and Great Britain will be back to work and happy.”
Lord Preston set down his cup. “A moratorium on democratic government Englishmen have fought and died for since the Magna Carta? How do you propose to get the support for that even if we’re facing a financial crisis?”
“We need a strong man now, Dad. We need a monarch or we won’t weather the storm. This democratic pattern of voting and revoting every few years is rubbish. We put a good man in and we keep him there until everything is sorted out.”
“What if it takes decades?”
“So be it.”
“Who put all this into your head?”
Edward smacked a fist into his hand. “It is going to work for Germany, and Germany has been in a far greater hole than we’ve been. It must work for us.”
“The elimination of democracy will work for Germany? You would replace the free vote of the people with a dictatorship?”
“The baron was adamant about this back in May, and he was right.”
Lord Preston’s face sharpened. “Baron von Isenburg promoted this line of thinking? I don’t believe it.”
“The strong man, the clearheaded man, the man with unprecedented powers wielding them wisely and ably without the nagging hindrance of opposition parties or debate or national elections is the man best able to steer his country out of economic chaos. Freedom to act decisively. That is the thing, Father. Liberty to act in order to bring this nation the very liberty it requires and deserves.”
“Whether the baron was goading you to get a reaction, I don’t know. But if you wish to have a future with the Conservative Party, you must support Mr. Baldwin’s wishes for a National Government with Ramsay MacDonald at its head and put away this rubbish about a moratorium on democracy.”
Edward went back to pacing. “We do what we need to do and win a National Government with a majority of Conservative seats. Then we oust Ramsay, replace him with Baldwin, and vote in necessary and extraordinary powers for the government that give him—and us—a free hand to do what needs to be done to put Britain back on her feet strong, free, and unrestrained.”
Lord Preston stood up and straightened his suit jacket with a strong pull from both his hands. “It’s time to return to the House and support Ramsay MacDonald’s return to the office of prime minister.”
“By all means. It’s what we do after winning the election that counts.”
Lord Preston nodded. “Indeed it is.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Ah, William. It’s a very good connection. How did you get on with your speech in Liverpool?”
“We have mutiny at Invergordon in Scotland.”
“Yes, on the Hood and many other vessels as well. It is a black thing. I gather there were rumblings for days, but it got under way in earnest on the fifteenth of September—yesterday—and is still going today. Turn on the BBC this evening, and they will tell you what they’re permitted to broadcast about the events.”
“Why haven’t the Royal Marines on board the ships put it down?”
“The Marines have joined the mutiny.”
“Oh no!”
There was a rustling of paper at Lord Preston’s end. “There is no mention of officers joining the mutiny. Indeed, they’ve done their best to get the sailors to return to their duties.”
“Libby will be frantic down at Dover Sky.”
“I have no word on Terry.”
“I shall call her. Robbie and Shannon are with her. And Caroline.”
“Well, don’t panic her. There are no reports of violence. No shots fired. No beatings. No one hurt. No officers assaulted.”
“Of course I won’t panic her. The minute you hear anything else, please ring me.”
“I shall. I have another election rally tomorrow. How is Edward’s campaign getting on, do you know?”
“Charlotte reports he’s on top of the world and prophesying Baldwin’s return to power.”
“He’s saying that? When will the boy learn to keep his mouth shut? If Baldwin or Ramsay MacDonald get wind of it, they’ll throw him out of the party.”
“Please, William.”
“It’s true, Elizabeth. They will skin him alive.”
“All right, Dear, that’s quite enough. Go back to your speechwriting. I shall call Libby up straightaway.”
Robbie tugged a white-faced Libby into the library where Kipp was adjusting the dials on the large, wooden radio set. “I’m telling you, the news is good, Lib.”
“You’re only saying that.”
“I’m not. The BBC is saying that.”
“They only tell us what the Royal Navy permits. Heaven knows what they’re holding back. They always held back casualty reports during war. Remember how they covered up the losses at Jutland?”
“It’s 1931 now, Lib, not 1916. Listen.”
The Hood has sailed from Invergordon as ordered. All mutinous activities appear to have ceased on board the flagship. No casualties have occurred. This is true of all the other ships as well. After two days of unrest and disobedience, we have no record of fatalities or serious injuries. All ships have followed the Hood out of port as ordered. All ships are away. The mutiny has ended without resort to force.
“There you have it.”
“I admit it does sound hopeful, Robbie. But I shall feel better when I get a cable from Terry. Certainly he would have gotten one away before they sailed.”
“I should think so. And I shall stay up with you until it arrives, dear girl.”
“That’s not necessary, but thank you.”
“I’m on six-month leave, remember? I have nothing better to do but to pester you until the courier arrives at the door. Kipp can’t wait up because he has an airline to run.”
Kipp smiled as he stood by the radio. “That’s the truth.”
“Shannon can’t because she has to be available for Patricia Claire when she wakes at five or six.”
“Available?” Shannon raised a golden eyebrow. “Is that what I’ll be?”
“You will. And Caroline has her hands full with little Cecilia.”
Caroline laughed. “Indeed I do. No stretch there.”
Robbie bowed. “So you see, Lady Libby, there is only myself, but I shall be sufficient to keep you awake and alert until the good news comes to the door. We shall play checkers.”
“I detest checkers.”
“Chess then. Chess and we’ll snack on coffee and biscuits.”
Libby made a face at him.
“Chocolate biscuits.” He mussed her hair and she slapped his hand. “Lib Danforth, lady or no lady, could never resist milk chocolate digestives.”
“I’m no lady.”
“We can discuss that until three or four in the morning.”
She wrinkled up her mouth. “How happy that makes me.”
The cable arrived at two thirty-seven. Robbie had put Libby in check for the third move in a row. Libby was at the door first, followed by Robbie, who tipped the courier and then read the cable out loud over her shoulder.
DEAREST LIB
YOU WILL HAVE HEARD THE NEWS. THIS WAS MY FIRST CHANCE TO DASH OFF A NOTE. WE WEIGH ANCHOR IN TWO HOURS. THE LADS HAVE RETURNED TO THEIR DUTIES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES BUT AT LEAST NO ONE WAS HURT AND THE NAVY AND ARMY DID NOT SEND IN TROOPS. I WILL SEE YOU AND JANE VERY SOON INDEED. ALL MY LOVE.
TERRY
“Such good news!” Libby turned and slung her arms about Robbie’s neck. She kissed him on the cheek.
“It is. And it means I can go to bed now. I’m tuckered.”
“I’m not. I ate too much. One more game of chess?”
He laughed and groaned. “You lost all the others.”
“I won’t lose this one. I’m sharp now. I always do well at chess when I’ve had welcome news. Isn’t it the same for you, Robbie?”
“It’s not. I simply sleep better.”
“Capital! Then I shall beat you up one side and down the other.” She put her arm through his. “Come on. I feel like a stick of dynamite.”
“Well, blow up quickly then and be done with it so I can go to my pillow as soon as possible.”
Election Night, 1931
“Dad? Is that you?” Edward held the phone to one ear and put his finger in the other as people cheered and shouted behind him.
“It is. Congratulations, my boy. Another October election, another Guy Fawkes on the horizon, and once again you’ve come out on top.”
Edward laughed. “I have indeed. So have you. So have we all. Imagine, Baldwin has four hundred and seventy seats and Labor only forty-six. It’s a miracle! Really it is! And that villain Buchanan is out. We have James Orr MacAndrew in Ayrshire South now—our own man.”
“It’s a great blessing. But now, my boy, you must keep your opinions to yourself. Ramsay MacDonald will continue on as prime minister—”
“Surely not, Father!” blurted Edward. “We have all the seats! Baldwin should lead the government!”
“Nevertheless, MacDonald will carry on. Mr. Baldwin and the party think it best in these troubled times. And you must think so too, Edward, and voice your support so that everyone can hear. Recall what happened when MacDonald agreed to head up a National Government of all parties—Labor threw him out permanently. If you are perceived as being an opponent of the National Government the Conservative Party helped bring into being, Mr. Baldwin will have you ousted in like fashion. Stick with your party, Edward. You can do much good there and eventually be rewarded for your loyalty.”
“How rewarded? I’ve been in office seven years and haven’t been offered a cabinet position.”
“Your time will come, dear boy. Persist and your time will come. My best to lovely Charlotte and my two wonderful grandsons. Tell Owen to keep Sea-Fever fresh in his mind. We will get another sail in before Guy Fawkes. I shall drop down to Dover Sky on the weekend. Tell Colm I’ll see him soon.”
“Yes, I’ll tell them, Dad.”
“Good night, my boy. Once more, congratulations. Keep what I’ve said before you at all times.”
“I will, sir. Thank you. Love to Mum.”
London
Danforth,
Let us put our differences aside and talk. You see what is happening in the government and the country. Believe it or not, you and I share a number of the same concerns. Come to Tollers tomorrow afternoon at three. Ask for Edmund Henson’s private room and give out your name as Jack Thistle. Do not fail to arrive at the appointed time. It will be to our mutual benefit and certainly offer you an opportunity for political advancement.
Buchanan
Edward entered the crowded Tollers, but he didn’t recognize any of the men at the tables amidst the haze of pipe smoke. He shook his umbrella so that water drops spattered the carpet just inside the door. He folded it shut and removed his silk top hat.
“May I assist you, sir?” A uniformed waiter asked and then smiled. “I’m afraid all the tables are occupied.”
“I’m here to see Edmund Henson.”
“Your name?”
“Tell him Jack Thistle has arrived.”
“One moment.”
The waiter vanished into the back. Edward stood by the door staring straight ahead. The waiter returned quickly.
“This way, sir.”
Edward followed him down a short hallway that had doors on either side. They came to the last one. The waiter knocked, opened the door, and stepped aside. Edward went into the room and immediately saw Buchanan seated at a wooden table smoking a white, long-stemmed pipe.
“Danforth.” Buchanan removed the pipe stem from his mouth. “Good of you to come.”
The waiter closed the door.
“What the devil are you playing at?” snapped Edward. “Why all the cloak and dagger?”
“Gently, Danforth. We need to be discreet.” He indicated a man Edward hadn’t noticed seated at the far end of the table. “I presume you’ve met Sir Oswald Mosley, the Sixth Baronet?”
Edward briefly inclined his head. “Sir Mosley. I didn’t expect to see you here with Lord Buchanan.”
The slender man with a dark moustache and flashing black eyes smiled. “Why not? He and I both admire Mussolini and Hitler and their ideological inclinations. As do you.”
“As do I, sir?”
“Death to the communists. No trade with Moscow. A strong man at the top rather than the weak and slow action…or rather inaction…of the democratic process. High tariffs to protect British manufacturing from international trade. Nationalization of our major industries. A solid and innovative network of public works to reduce unemployment. A strong army, navy, and air force.” Mosley patted a sheaf of papers in front of him. “All of your thoughts are on paper. In addition, a person may track the development of your thoughts by means of your speeches that are recorded in Hansard. Like many other good people in Europe, you are a fascist, Lord Danforth.”
Edward took a chair opposite Buchanan. “I’ve never called myself that.”
“The left would make it a dirty word, but the fascist movement has worked wonders in Italy and Rome. In time it will work wonders in Madrid and Spain, as well as Berlin and Germany. Soon enough it will change London and Britain if true Englishmen like yourself join our cause.”
“Your party was wiped out in the election, Sir Mosley. You lost your seat in Smethwick.”
“A temporary setback. I plan to spend time with the fascist leaders in Rome and Berlin to sharpen my strategies and tactics. They began in the streets and won the people to their side. So shall we.”
Edward placed his top hat on the table. “Herr Hitler may have the second largest party in Germany, Sir Mosley, but he is far from winning the German people to his side.”
“Do you doubt he will go further, Lord Danforth?”
Edward drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I shall be kicked out of the Conservative Party if I consider this, let alone have to deal with what my father will say.”
“Let us not rush things. We meet in private for now. In a year or two, once the time is ripe, we come forward. My plan is to unite all the fascist groups in Britain to make one formidable force. Until then, we do what we do out of the public eye.” Mosley nodded at Edward. “I see a cabinet position for you, Lord Danforth. And for you too, Lord Buchanan.” His dark eyes remained on Edward. “Can we bury the hatchet?”
Edward glanced at Buchanan. “How is it you have summoned me to this meeting when you know the bad blood that exists between us?”
Buchanan shrugged. “I’m willing to abide by a truce until the nation is back on its feet again.”
“But you were with Labor, the lovers of communism and socialism.”
“I had no other choice, Danforth. I couldn’t join the Conservative Party because you and your father were in it. The one party that most actively opposes your own is Labor, so it wasn’t a difficult decision to make.”
“Labor’s policies are utterly at odds with the agenda Sir Mosley proposes.”
“I’m out of Labor now, Danforth, so all of these issues you raise are moot. I can now show my true colors and not kowtow to the Labor line in order to strike out at the Danforth clan.”
“And what will keep you from striking out at us if I join forces with Sir Mosley and you?”
“I will,” Mosley stated, his voice having the ring of iron on iron. “There can be absolutely no infighting. We must provide a united front against our foes if we are to pull Great Britain out of this economic depression. Is that clear, Lord Buchanan?”
Buchanan inclined his head. “Very much so.”
“Lord Danforth?”
Edward nodded. “I will abide by the truce, Sir Mosley. I will abide by the truce for king and country so long as Lord Buchanan stays true to his word.”
Buchanan grunted. “No fear of that, Danforth.”