“I do so love a romantic encounter,” Elizabeth said, forging bravely past Caitrin’s lack of pedigree and returning to the fray. “Now you really must tell me. Where did you two first meet?”
“Oh, do let me tell it this time, darling.” Caitrin inhaled a calming breath as Hector flashed her a warning glance. “I arrested him one Saturday night on Regent Street for being drunk and disorderly in charge of a bicycle,” she said. “Then I decided to let him go because he was landed gentry and so frightfully handsome. But I kept the bicycle—for his own safety, you understand—and gave it to my brother to ride to the mine when he came out of prison.”
That brought another dismayed Oh from Elizabeth.
“Arrested him?” Charles said, astonished at the thought. “You’re a policewoman?”
“Yes, I am.”
Charles laughed, and it was not at all a pleasant sound. “I remember Sir Nevil Macready being against women police, saying something about he didn’t want vinegary spinsters or blighted middle-aged fanatics in the force.”
“Perhaps so, but I am neither.”
“For a woman I suppose that’s quite adventurous really, but of course you will have to give up that sort of silly thing now you are part of the Neville-Percy family,” Elizabeth said.
“But of course,” Caitrin answered, teeth politely clenched. “Wouldn’t want to be silly and sully the good old family name.”
“Do you have any fresh news from London about the war?” Charles asked.
“No great changes, I’m afraid. Only that the Germans are still bombing London, and our brave boys are still shooting them down, while across the Channel it appears the Wehrmacht invasion army grows daily.”
“Invasion. Lord Halifax was right all along about negotiating with Hitler. He should have been made prime minister, not that drunken fool Churchill.”
“You think so?” Hector said.
“The king thought so, and said so too to Halifax. Churchill and his fools don’t understand Hitler, and if the French had minded their manners—they’re such resentful fools, so, so French—this war would never have happened. As if they ever had manners.”
“Do you think it is really that simple?” Caitrin said, but Charles ignored her.
“The countries Hitler went into were rightfully German. The Ruhr was theirs. Sudetenland was German, but it was given to Czechoslovakia, a country that didn’t even exist until the end of the last war. No wonder he is angry. He has damn good reasons.”
Caitrin said nothing. Charles had become a spinning whirlwind of grievance, turning slowly but increasing in speed. Getting in his way would be dangerous.
“And another thing no one wants to talk about, but we must, he is absolutely right about the Jews.” Charles waved an erratic hand at nothing in particular. “Even I got taken by a damn Jew. Clarence Hatry.”
“Is Clarence a Jewish name?” Caitrin asked.
“Son of Julius Hatry and Henriette Katzenstein.” Charles spat out the names. “That sound Jewish enough for you?”
Caitrin went silent. Charles was getting redder, louder, and angrier.
“He even got Henry Paulet, Marquess of Winchester, involved. I lost a fortune to that filthy Jew. Hitler is absolutely right. We should drive the Jews out. They’re not like us, they’re nothing but money-grubbing leeches who have latched onto our society. Always have been, always will be. We’re of the same stock as the Germans. Anglo-Saxon. True white people.”
“Surely you don’t want Nazis taking over our government?” Hector said.
“Of course not. That’s just a silly hoax perpetuated by Churchill so he can keep control. They would do no such thing. Hitler doesn’t want to fight us; we’re brothers. We negotiate peace; he leaves us alone and turns to fight the socialists and the Russian Bolsheviks in the east. We should help him with that before they come here in a great ugly tide. And, mark my words, they will swarm all over England if left unchecked and destroy our way of life.”
Elizabeth put up a hand to warn Charles, but he brushed it aside. He was not finished. “Instead of shooting each other, we English should be building bridges with the Germans. They are our true brothers, not the French or the Poles. Together we can fight the socialists and the communists. Keep Great Britain great, and our empire too. Bridges, we must build bridges.”
“Thank you for dinner,” Caitrin said as she got to her feet, emotions barely in control. “Forgive me, but it has been such a long day, and I am so very tired.” She left before anyone could reply.
Hector entered their room a few minutes later, slumped into a chair, and they stared blindly at each other for a moment before he said, “That was a veritable Verdun barrage.”
“Sieg heil, old chap. Kick out the Jews and hug dear old peace-loving, misunderstood Alfie Hitler.”
“He was testing me to see if I was a member of Die Brücke. He looked right at me when he said, ‘we must build bridges.’ ”
“We also need to get our story straight.” She flashed him an inquiring look. “Do you know what is strange, Hecky? They never said a word about us turning up towing a horse box full of hay bales. I know we’re in the country, but wouldn’t you be a bit curious? They didn’t ask where we were going either. It’s as if they already knew. We have to leave here.”
“Not at night with the blackout, and not until they’re asleep.”
“Asleep? Passed out is more likely.”
“You get some sleep,” Hector said. “I’ll go to the bathroom while you change.”
“And then what?”
“And what then what?”
She spread her hands toward the bed and laughed at his innocence. “That then what then what.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he blurted and looked horrified. “I’ll sleep in that chair.”
“Do you really have a bad heart?”
“No, I do not.” He took her hand and pressed it to his chest, the sudden intimacy startling her.
She pulled her hand away. “Then why didn’t you enlist?”
