To All Eternity Read online

  “Why, Harry, I would be delighted,” Berkeley said. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “The maid, Marie. She and I, well, we get on together.”

  “Brilliant. I know Mrs Townsend will be pleased.”

  Caterina was pleased.

  She had settled into a regular routine. Despite her now-heavy pregnancy, she continued to oversee the running of her household, from the cleaning to the menus, but in the evenings she would sit with Berkeley while he read to her, or continued with her English lessons. She reciprocated by teaching him Serbo-Croat, as she had begun to do during their brief honeymoon period. She was friendly and good-humoured but clearly had not yet made up her mind whether they would ever resume conjugal relations. In any other circumstances he would have found this galling, but he reminded himself that it would not have been possible anyway while she was pregnant. He needed to be very patient while he restored himself in her esteem, even if he considered that the faults were all on her side, as she was the one who had attempted to end their marriage.

  She never spoke about that, or about how the Black Hand had contacted her, but it seemed obvious that the organisation had been tracking their movements ever since they left Sabac the first time; and the lengthy stay in Malta had given Gregory ample time to get his people across the continent and into England.

  And he still didn’t know who had fired that near-fatal shot. But his stay in hospital had clearly given Gregory’s people the opportunity to get at Caterina. He wondered what her reaction had been when, having got back home filled with determination to strike at the Austrians, she had discovered she was pregnant?

  “However,” she said, “the marriage must not take place until my figure has returned.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be happy to wait,” Berkeley said. He did not doubt the event had already been consummated.

  *

  Anna Townsend was born in June 1909. Caterina was disappointed, as she had hoped for a boy, but Berkeley was pleased, and not only at becoming a father.

  “We shall have to try again,” he told her.

  This was a delight, as she welcomed him to her bed, even if he felt she had not yet forgiven him for their estrangement. And when he broached the subject of perhaps returning to England, for a visit, she was adamant.

  “I shall never leave Sabac again,” she said.

  He did not feel he could press the matter, wrote to his parents to explain, and suggested that they might, after all, like to visit Serbia. But affairs in the Balkans remained too unsettled for them to wish to risk the journey.

  He felt his best course was to wait and see the direction things took. He received no communication from Gorman, but his retainer arrived every month without fail so he had to presume he was still on the payroll. He supposed no one could have been given a simpler assignment, as the Black Hand appeared to have disbanded itself. On one of his visits to Belgrade he asked Colonel Savos if he knew anything of them.

  “I had been hoping you might be able to tell me,” Savos admitted.

  “It is strange, the way they have just melted away.”

  “I do not believe they have,” Savos said. “Organisations like the Black Hand never disappear. They submerge, and then they resurface when they are ready. However, if you are ever again approached by them, I would be grateful if you would inform me.”

  “I might just do that. Would you be prepared to act against them?”

  “I would be prepared to prevent them from causing any trouble with Austria, at this time.”

  “So everything that has happened is to be history.”

  Savos gave one of his cold smiles. “For the moment, certainly. Tell me, Mr Townsend, how are your beautiful wife and daughter?”

  “They are well. My wife is expecting again.”

  “Then I most heartily congratulate you, sir. Now tell me something else, do you never get bored, sitting in that little provincial town, watching the barges drifting up and down the river?”

  “I do not get bored,” Berkeley said, not entirely truthfully. “Have you something in mind for me to do?”

  Another cold smile. “I might. Perhaps I may come to see you, one of these days.”

  Berkeley wondered what he could possibly have in mind. But for the time being he was more concerned with domesticity, as Caterina gave birth to a son in October 1910. He they named John, after Berkeley’s father. Lockwood and Maria were also parents by now, while Sabac remained sunk in the somnolence of the country town it was. Even the border was quiet, and there was no sign of any activity by the Black Hand. Caterina always declined to discuss politics, nor was it a subject Berkeley chose to press. He knew she adored her little family, and he felt that the longer he could keep her involved in home affairs the more chance he had of weaning her from thoughts of vengeance. She was still only just twenty-one, and when, in the spring of 1911, she became pregnant again, he felt he was winning his private campaign.

  Thus he was totally surprised, one June morning when he returned from his usual gallop, to find Colonel Savos waiting for him together with two other men; not even the colonel was in uniform, which was in itself strange, but there could be no doubt that all three were soldiers, from the way they stood.

  “Mr Townsend,” the policeman said, “I hope you do not object to this intrusion?”

  “Well,” Berkeley said, signalling an anxiously hovering Lockwood to pour some wine, “that must depend upon what you are intruding.”

  “May I introduce Brigadier-General Petrovich, and Colonel Markos,” Savos said.

  Berkeley shook hands and Lockwood served the drinks.

  “Your wife is well, I trust,” General Petrovich asked.

  “Very well. I’m afraid she will not be coming down. She is several months pregnant.”

  “Our congratulations.” They waited.

  “Well,” Berkeley said, “sit down, and tell me what this is all about.”

  “We have come,” Petrovich said, “to offer you a commission in the Serbian army.”

  Part Three

  A Question of Murder

  ‘The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings.’

  John Bright

  War

  For a moment Berkeley was too surprised to respond. Then he said, “My dear General, I am not a soldier.”

  “Of course you are a soldier, Major Townsend. We know all about you. You held a commission in the British army, and you commanded a field force of the Black Hand.”

  “I’m afraid those are only half-truths, sir,” Berkeley said. “If you know so much about me, then you will know that I was retired from the British army on account of my wounds. I walk with a limp.”

  “You can still ride a horse,” Savos pointed out. “You do so every day.”

  “Besides,” Markos put in, “we have automobiles.”

  Berkeley decided to ignore that line. “Additionally, you must know that I have never commanded a Black Hand field force. I was under the orders of Anna Slovitza. My mother-in-law,” he reminded them.

  “For whom you fought nobly and well,” Petrovich said. “And were offered command of the organisation’s field force.”

  Berkeley looked at Savos. “That is history.”

  The colonel smiled. “There is no such thing as dead history, Mr Townsend. It keeps coming back.”

  “We are in the process of expanding our army,” Petrovich explained, “and we have a position for a man such as yourself, a proven field commander and someone who knows the Balkans, the ground over which we shall require you to serve.”

  Berkeley signalled Lockwood to pour some more wine. Despite his predisposition to reject the proposal, he was intrigued. Besides, it promised information.

  “If you are expanding your army,” he said, “it must be with the idea of going to war with someone. Or you are expecting someone to go to war with you.”

  “That is true enough,” Petrovich agreed.

  “Am I al
lowed to know who this potential enemy is?”

  “We are surrounded by enemies,” Petrovich pointed out.

  “But perhaps one more than the others,” Berkeley said. “Gentlemen, in my opinion, for Serbia to go to war with Austria, unsupported, would be suicide.”

  “I am sure you are right,” the general agreed, blandly.

  “Ah,” Berkeley said.

  “I am sure you understand that I am not in a position to give you the thoughts of my government or any other government with whom we may be in consultation,” the general said. “However, I would remind you, Major Townsend, as I mentioned earlier, Austria is certainly not our only enemy. Well, sir, I have said enough. I am in a position to offer you a colonelcy in a regiment of horse. Will you accept?”

  Berkeley’s mind raced. It seemed fairly obvious that the Serbs did not intend war with Austria – at least at this moment. That left only one possible antagonist . . . and a far more historical one than even Austria.

  And that meant he would at last have to earn his living again.

  “You will have to give me a few days to consider,” he said.

  “And discuss it with your wife, perhaps,” Savos suggested.

  “Of course.”

  *

  “I need to go to Athens for a few days,” Berkeley told Caterina.

  As she began to swell, she was uncomfortable in the summer heat and thus irritable. “It is necessary, now? What business do you have in Athens? I hope you are not expecting me to accompany you?”

  “Of course not.” He kissed her. “We agreed that I would not kidnap you again, remember? It is to do with my allowance; there may be a hitch.”

  “Those men yesterday . . . one of them was Colonel Savos.”

  “Correct.”

  “Is there trouble?”

  “Not for us. They offered me a commission in the army.”

  “You? But . . .”

  “Absolutely. There are a whole lot of questions.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You mean we are going to war with Austria?”

  “No, sweetheart, I don’t think we are going to do that.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “But you will accept? I should like to see you in uniform, as a Serbian officer.”

  “I shall be in the cavalry. If I accept.”

  She clapped her hands. “It is so romantic.”

  Berkeley considered. Like the Austrian dragoons, the Serbian cavalry wore light blue tunics and hats over brilliant red breeches, although kepis rather than helmets. “I’m not sure it’s really me. Anyway, I have been given a few days to come to a decision.”

  “But you will accept?” she asked again.

  “That depends on the situation with my allowance.”

  Lockwood naturally accompanied him, and on the train Berkeley outlined the situation.

  “Well, sir, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get back into uniform,” Harry said. “But if it won’t be to fight the Austrians . . .” He glanced left and right as the Turkish ticket collector entered the compartment.

  “Yes,” Berkeley said.

  He was aware of tension, and even more in Greece where there were large numbers of soldiers to be seen on the street. He made sure they were not being followed, and went to the Embassy.

  “Well, really, Mr . . .” The clerk peered at his card. “. . . Townsend, his excellency is really very busy.”

  “This is a matter of national importance,” Berkeley said. “If his excellency is in any doubt, ask him to wire London and ask for confirmation from General Gorman.”

  It took some time, but eventually Berkeley found himself in the ambassador’s office.

  “You’ve been here before,” the ambassador said. “Something about a passport . . .”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “I was informed that you are a British agent,” the ambassador said.

  “I assume you have verified this with London, sir?”

  “I have. They tell me you are to be allowed the use of our coding machine. Will not ordinary diplomatic channels do?”

  “In this instance, sir, no. The matter is very urgent, and I must use the wire.”

  “Hm. Very good. London says I am to cooperate in every possible way. I shall, of course, require to see the telegram before it is coded. And the reply.”

  “I’m afraid you will have to request London’s permission for that, sir.”

  The ambassador glared at him for several seconds, then rang the bell on his desk. “Take this, ah . . . gentleman to the coding room, Andrews,” he told his secretary. “Give him whatever assistance he requires.”

  “I’d say you’ve rubbed the old man up the wrong way,” Andrews suggested.

  “I’m sure it happens all the time.” Berkeley looked around the small office which contained three male clerks. “Would you get rid of these people.”

  “You mean you wish to be left alone? In the coding room?”

  “If that is where I am, correct.”

  Andrews hesitated, then recalled his chief’s instructions, and ushered the men from the room. “How long will you require?”

  “I will let you know when I’m finished.”

  He sat at the desk, drafted his message.

  Am in possession of information that Serbia intends war with Turkey in near future. This is not practical alone, so suggest possibilities of an alliance, possibly with Bulgaria but probably Greece as well, are investigated. Have been offered colonelcy in Serbian army. Please advise as to acceptance. Immediate reply requested.

  This he encoded, using his own book which he returned to his satchel when he was finished. Then he opened the door, to find Andrews waiting in the corridor together with the three clerks.

  “I’d like this sent immediately,” he said.

  Andrews studied the sheet of paper. “This is not our code,” he remarked.

  “No, it’s mine,” Berkeley said.

  “This is very irregular.”

  “Like you, Mr Andrews, I’m sure, I only obey orders,” Berkeley said. “Immediately, please, it is most urgent.”

  “Ah, yes. Right away.” He snapped his fingers and one of the clerks hurried forward. “To be despatched right away.”

  “That means now,” Berkeley reminded him.

  The clerks went into the office with the sheet of paper.

  “There won’t be a reply for some hours,” Andrews said. “Let’s see, it’s eleven in the morning here . . . Why, they’ll still be at breakfast in London.”

  “Ideal. They should have a reply ready by lunch, in London, and we’ll have it in time for tea, here,” Berkeley said, pleasantly.

  Andrews frowned, as if he was unsure whether or not he was having his leg pulled. Then he brightened. “Lunch. Sir Patrick has invited you to lunch with him.”

  Berkeley raised his eyebrows.

  “Well,” Andrews said, “you are obviously a man of some importance.”

  “And that’s what matters,” Berkeley agreed. “When and where?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Excelsior.”

  “Ah, just round the corner. You’ll be lunching at the residence. That is just outside of town. Very pleasant.”

  “You’ll have to give me some advice on how to get there.”

  “Mr dear Major Townsend, our car will call for you. At a quarter to one.”

  Surprisingly, Berkeley had never driven in a motor car before. There were quite a few on the streets of Athens, blaring their horns and frightening the horses, and presumably there were even more on the streets of London; there had been some on the occasion of his last visit, nearly three years ago. But he had never felt tempted to use one; he was a horseman, and did not see these heavy, noisy, smelly, and essentially slow-moving vehicles, handicapped by being limited to road surfaces, ever replacing a good mount, certainly for military purposes.

  But the ambassador’s car was very grand, an open tourer called a Rolls-Royce, with comfortable seats and a uniformed driv
er, and capable of going quite fast, on the road, although nothing could negate the constant grind of the engine.

  Equally imposing was the ambassador’s residence, set in the midst of olive groves rather than houses, a glitter of white marble, outside which were several more automobiles and a clutch of uniformed servants.

  As well as his host and hostess.

  “Major Townsend, is it?” inquired Lady Goodall, a statuesque woman whose rather long neck was enclosed in a pearl choker, beneath which the bodice of her gown was festooned with pearl necklaces. “How good of you to come. But is your beautiful wife not with you?”

  Now how the devil did this woman know he had a beautiful wife? Berkeley wondered. “I’m afraid not, milady. My wife is several months pregnant.”

  Lady Goodall did a double take; in her circles the word pregnant was not considered proper, certainly not between the sexes. “How happy for you,” she remarked. “Now, come inside and meet our guests.”

  There were another dozen couples, a few Greek but in the main from the Embassy, as well as two officers off a British warship in Piraeus. And then, almost the last to be introduced, because they had deliberately hung back . . . “I think you have met Mr and Mrs Braddock,” Lady Goodall said.

  So that’s where she got her information, Berkeley thought. But he was again totally surprised.

  “Berkeley, you old devil,” Harvey Braddock said jovially. Berkeley supposed he could best be described as a jovial man, short, stocky and red-faced. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Berkeley allowed his hand to be squeezed while he gazed at Julia who was flushing. “You’re looking well,” she murmured.

  “Well, no one has actually got around to shooting me for the past year or so,” he said. “But you are looking splendid, Julia.”

  This was a lie. Julia Braddock was dressed in the height of fashion, in a grey-green costume with green braid and button trimmings, worn over a white lace blouse; her collar and cuffs were white. Her felt hat was fawn, with matching gloves and handbag, and was decorated with dark brown ostrich plumes. She should have been the most attractive woman in the room, but she had lost weight and could now be described as thin; this was especially noticeable in her face, which was gaunt, while there were shadows under her eyes.