The Adventures Of Una Perrson Read online

  A messenger boy, with bright, silvery buttons securing his navy-blue serge, a pill-box cap precisely positioned on his brilliantined head, appeared from the far end of the hall.

  'Mrs Cornelius?'

  'And Miss Cornelius,' intoned her mother significantly. She rose like a cast-off airship. 'Come on, love.'

  Mrs Cornelius kept a firm grip on Catherine as they followed the boy down another green-tiled passage, up a short flight of wooden stairs, along another passage, to arrive outside a plain green door at which the boy knocked.

  A man of military bearing opened the door and smiled graciously at them. 'Good afternoon, ladies. I am Major Nye.'

  Momentarily won over, Mrs Cornelius gave a kind of half curtsy.

  'It was good of you to drop everything,' said Major Nye as he stepped aside to let them enter his office.

  'Eh?' said Mrs Cornelius brightening. Her mask returned almost at once as she realized that no innuendo had been intended. 'Oh, yeah. See wot yer mean.'

  Catherine was in an agony of embarrassment. Not only was her mother, true to form, putting the most vulgar interpretation on this man's statements but, worse, she was using her 'posh' voice: a grating tone that was nearly twice as loud as usual.

  'Will, is it?' added Mrs Cornelius.

  'Um.' He crossed back to his big desk, indicating a leather armchair and an ordinary chair with a basketwork bottom. Catherine took the ordinary chair. Her mother, with an expression of some satisfaction, settled herself in the leather one. Major Nye waited until they were both at ease before he sat down behind his desk and picked up a file with a smile. 'Well. It's um . . .' He paused, glancing, for no apparent reason, towards the window on his right. A little daylight showed between the dark green blind filling the top half of the window and the grey net curtaining at the bottom. He looked at the file.

  ‘The procedure. Well, I'm going to follow the book—insofar as there is a book for this sort of occasion.' He smiled as if he had made a joke, noted their expressions, tapped the file and cleared his throat.

  'If it is a will,' said Catherine's mother, 'you can skip all the 'ows and wherefores, Major. We don't mind.'

  'Well, there are formalities,' he said. He seemed to be ashamed of himself, thought Catherine. She studied him.

  'Oh, netcherelly.' Mrs Cornelius drew her knees together and placed her handbag in her lap. 'Hi was only suggesting, in case . . .'

  'Appreciated. Do you mind if I begin? I want to read something to you for a few minutes. It might seem a bit dull, but we think it might be important.'

  The fact that her mother showed no impatience made it evident to Catherine that Mrs Cornelius found Major Nye attractive, that she was beginning to feel at ease in the office. Mrs Cornelius glanced at the picture of the King on the wall behind Major Nye, at the highly polished wooden filing cabinets near the door. She winked comfortably at Catherine and Catherine knew her mother had recognized the ceremony as Tradition. Tradition always cheered Mrs Cornelius up. 'Please continue. Major,' she said in her poshest voice.

  'This is a report.' Major Nye raised his voice a little. 'We've held it for some time. A bit dry, I'm afraid. Well, here we go, eh?' Major Nye began to read but Catherine did not catch the opening words because her mother was leaning over and whispering, as if they were at the theatre: ' 'Asn't 'e got a lovely speakin' voice? Almost like music'

  Major Nye had not, apparently, heard. His head was bent over the report. '. . . Frederik George Brown. He was born in 1874. His father was, so he later claimed, an Irish merchant sea captain and his mother was Russian. After being educated in Petersburg on purely Russian lines he obtained what appears to have been his first post with the Compagnie de Navigation Est-Asiatique. He seems to have acquitted himself well so that in 1900 he was appointed the chief agent of the company at Port Arthur. He remained in Port Arthur for four years, evidently familiarizing himself with political conditions in the Far East and obtaining a degree of personal influence and connection which, in a few years' time, was to be of the greatest use to himself and to the Russian government.'

  Mrs Cornelius blew her nose. She might have been at a funeral.

  'In 1904 he returned to St Petersburg, appointed to a good post with the house of Mendrochovitch and Count Tchubersky at 5 Place de la Cathedrale de Kazan. This house was, of course, the most important Russian firm of naval contractors and, in the Russian capital, also represented the great Hamburg firm of Bluhm unt Voss. At the conclusion of the Russo-Japanese War, Bluhm unt Voss acted as agents for the Russian government in the repatriation of Russian prisoners in Japan and, in this connection, the experience and personal influence of Frederik Brown made his services invaluable, much enhancing his reputation in Russian official circles. More than this, he was able to use the influence he had gained with the Russian government to place with Bluhm unt Voss large orders in connection with the restoration of the Russian Navy, on which the nation was then engaged. It may be assumed that his commission was large . . .'

  Mrs Cornelius looked up from where she had been inspecting the quality of the leather on the armchair, but since it was evident that Major Nye had not yet finished she nodded and gave her attention back to the chair.

  'Except for two or three very intimate friends,' said Major Nye, frowning as he read, 'Brown never entertained at his own home. Hardly anyone could boast of being his friend. Always a little sombre, serious, elegant, Frederik Brown was greatly admired at St Petersburg but, naturally enough, the mystery in which he shrouded his personal affairs made him the subject of innumerable whispered stories and rumours.'

  Major Nye rubbed his left eye. He had a plain gold ring on his left hand. 'On his passport he was described as a British subject, but he neither knew nor cared for the English colony there. Russians regarded him as an Englishman who had become to all intents and purposes Russian. He was known in a dozen European capitals and was everywhere at home. He wrote and spoke English, Russian and German irreproachably, but each one, it was remarked, with an accent equally foreign.

  'In 1909, the year of the greatest exploits of the brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright, some of the leading spirits of Petersburg decided to launch an Aeronautical Club. A committee was formed and the club, Les Allies, came into being. Then, following a general council meeting of all its members, a letter was addressed to Frederik Brown, asking him to join them. Frederik Brown consented, joined them as a respected and much admired active member, and very soon had become the leading spirit of the club, flying his own aeroplane. For the next two years all his activities seemed engrossed in Les Allies. He was recognized, we gather, as a loyal friend, a good companion and as a man who dominated his company.'

  Catherine thought that the account sounded like a private report, probably requested by the Ministry from one of its contacts in the business world. She had no idea who Brown might be or why her mother, who was plainly unaware of the man's relevance to her own affairs, was being read to from the report. 'In the year of the foundation of Les Allies,' said Major Nye, and then, looking up, 'I really must apologize for the style. It isn't mine.' Another smile, with no response from either Catherine or her mother.

  In that year he was appointed to the council of his old firm, the Compagnie de Navigation Est-Asiatique. By this time he was recognized as one of the leading figures in the Russian business world, and circumstances were soon to provide a field for his talents in commercial diplomacy. This was his position and reputation when in 1914 war broke out between Russia and Germany.

  There came a demand for munitions to which he, more perhaps than any other man in Russia, was in a position to attend. He immediately proceeded to Japan to place contracts for military equipment in the name of the Banque Russe-Asiatique. From Japan he went to America and placed large orders with the chief engineering firms there. During this period he returned twice to Petersburg but was in America when news arrived that the revolution had broken out, that Russia's continuance of hostilities was unlikely and that, in any case, her
need for munitions had come to a sudden stop.

  'Brown seems to have been at a loose end. There was nothing left for him to do in America and little purpose in his returning to Russia. The orders which he had placed in America were taken over by the British government and he himself came to England to put his services at the disposal of his father's country. His particular value to the British Intelligence Department became immediately obvious. Evidently a man of the greatest courage and resource, he had the added advantages of flying experience and perfect mastery of the German language, and in a very short space of time he had become one of those who undertook the difficult and hazardous task of entering Germany (usually by aeroplane via the front line) in quest of military information. His services in this direction were of undoubted value and his exploits in Germany have become legendary, so much so indeed that it is practically impossible to sift the true from the false in what has been told of his adventures there. He certainly made a number of trips to Germany and brought back information of the greatest value to the Allies and, with the complete breakdown of Russia and the working there of influences inimical to the Allies, he was sent to Petersburg to work against the German agents in Russia. Shortly thereafter, he disappeared.'

  Major Nye closed the file. Catherine, who had become absorbed in the story, felt disappointment. The Major was looking expectantly at Mrs Cornelius.

  Mrs Cornelius looked from him to her daughter. ‘Oh, yes?' she said vaguely.

  ‘These details are, by and large, familiar to you, I suppose, Mrs Cornelius?' Major Nye stroked the file with two fingers.

  'What?' Mrs Cornelius glanced furtively about, seeking, as if by occult means, the right answer, but she failed and gave up, asking weakly: 'Whatcher want me ter say?'

  Major Nye frowned. That is your husband, is it not?'

  A sly, conspiratorial look crossed her face. Then her expression changed to one of cool appraisal. Catherine shivered with embarrassment. Her mother pursed her lips. 'Well,' she began, 'it could be, couldn't it?' Mrs Cornelius thought she had scented money. Major Nye, leaning across the desk, showed her a photograph. Catherine did not recognize the rather heavily built, sombrely dressed man. Mrs Cornelius, however, grinned in relief. 'Blimey!' Her recognition was genuine. 'That's my 'ubby orl right! Wot yer say 'e's bin up ter?'

  'Didn't you hear anything at all, Mum?'

  With the knuckle of his right index finger Major Nye smoothed his moustache away from his upper lip. 'Is that the name you knew him by, Mrs Cornelius? Brown?'

  'Nar!' She found this outrageously amusing. 'Cornelius 'e was corled. Obviously.' She stopped grinning and became horrified. 'Blimey! Don't say we wasn't legally married! There's free kids!'

  Major Nye was sympathetic. 'You seem to be properly married, Mrs Cornelius.'

  'Phew!' Turning to Catherine her mother raised a relieved brow.

  'For all we know,' said Major Nye, 'his real name is Cornelius. What I have read to you is everything we could find out about him. When we were considering employing him for the work in Russia. There were no lady-friends, if that assures you. No personal friends at all, so far as we could discover. There is, however, evidence that he had several names, indeed that he worked for several governments. He might, it emerges, have been Dutch, his mother not Russian but part-Chinese or Javanese. There is a little evidence that he was of Greek-Albanian extraction. There are many conflicting stories.'

  ' 'E was a bit on the dark side,' confirmed Mrs Cornelius.' 'E's not dead, is 'e?' She was trying to disguise the urgency in her tone. She was eager to know if she was in for some money. She had been speculating on the amount since she had received the letter.

  That's what we're trying to discover,' said Major Nye. 'It's more likely he changed sides—and changed his name. When was the last time he visited you?'

  It'd be a while back now,' she said. Ten years?'

  Catherine could not remember anyone visiting them who had looked like the man in the photograph but, aged eleven, she hadn't been in very much.

  'You can't be exact?' Major Nye was coaxing Mrs Cornelius.

  'Year o' the Corernation?'

  ‘1910?'

  'Sounds right. 'E said 'e'd be gettin' me an 'ouse, aht Peckham way, but nuffink come of it. Is this abaht me entitlements?' She had lost patience at last.

  Major Nye glanced at Catherine, as if for an interpretation. 'Your—?'

  Catherine was fairly certain that she must be blushing. She gathered her courage. 'Money,' she murmured.

  'Money,' said her mother warmly. 'Was you 'is boss, then?'

  'We worked for the same department for a while. I'm afraid there's no pension, Mrs Cornelius. And, indeed, we've no idea of your husband's private assets, though they must have been considerable.'

  'But you said "to my advantage" in the letter!' Mrs Cornelius reminded him. Even Catherine felt the pathos.

  'Yes.' Major Nye drew an envelope from the file. 'I'm sorry it's opened. We had to, you see. I'm afraid it was mislaid here and only recently came to light. That's how we were able to contact you.' He passed the envelope to her. She withdrew a sheet of yellowed paper. Attached to it by a pin were two large white five pound notes. She folded them back so that she could let Catherine see the letter as she read it.

  Dear H,

  Sorry I couldn't make it Friday after all. Just passing through. Be back next week and hope to look in then. In the meantime, here's a

  Lots of love, J.

  ‘When did 'e write this?' asked Mrs Cornelius.

  'We think 1914.' Major Nye cleared his throat. 'He asked someone in the office to post it. They put it in the file by mistake.'

  'Cor!' said Mrs Cornelius feelingly. 'I could 'ave done with a tenner in nineteen bloody fourteen!' She put the note and the money in her bag. 'An' that's orl, then?'

  Major Nye stroked his small moustache with the tips of the fingers of his right hand. 'We'd appreciate hearing from you if he turned up again, Mrs Cornelius.'

  ' 'E done somefink?'

  Major Nye drew a deep breath, but did not speak.

  'Y'wan' me ter turn 'im in?'

  'We're not the police. There are no criminal charges involved.'

  'A wife can't testify against 'er 'usband,' she reminded him gravely. 'Y'know that, don'tcha?'

  'Quite.'

  'An' Caffy 'ere wouldn't know 'im if she saw 'im!'

  Suddenly Catherine became aware of the Major's own embarrassment. It was much more intense than hers. She caressed her lower lip with her front teeth, studying him again. She thought he might be reddening. She almost smiled. She lowered her eyes and studied her hands which rested in her lap.

  'Of course,' said Major Nye. 'But you are legally entitled to demand maintenance from him. It could be back-dated, if necessary. He was, as I said, a rich man.'

  'I've managed to keep them kids on me own, wivaht an 'usband . . .' Mrs Cornelius began proudly.

  Catherine was not as impressed by this as the Major. It was not her father who had married bigamously. Her mother was rising awkwardly to her feet. 'Oops!' She steadied herself. 'I'll be off, Major, if yer don't mind. If there's nuffink else . . .'

  'I cannot keep you, Mrs Cornelius. I can only say that there might be money in it—a sort of reward—services to your country. Something of that kind.'

  'Yeah?' Mrs Cornelius straightened her hat, considering, reasonably, what he said. Then she shook her head, 'Nah. I couldn't. I advise you ter keep a sharp eye aht fer 'im, though. An' if y'find 'im, let me know. I wouldn't mind 'avin' a word or two wiv 'im.' She laughed, her confidence returning now that the end of the interview was in sight and the pubs were about to open. 'Still, that's life, innit?'

  He moved across the room and opened the door for her.

  'Come on, Caffy, dear.'

  Obediently, Catherine followed her mother from the room.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Cornelius. At least you've cleared up one mystery,' said Major Nye. I regret, um . . .'

  Her mother had
paused so that Catherine had to stop directly in front of Major Nye. She studied his neck. It was a definite pink. She resisted the urge to touch the sleeve of his tweed jacket. She loved the sensation of tweed against the palm of her hand, although she couldn't wear wool herself.

  'Mystery?' said her mother.

  Major Nye laughed. 'Goodbye, ladies.'

  They moved forward, into the passage. The boy was waiting for them. The door closed.

  'I 'ope I didn't say anyfink to incriminate 'im,' whispered Mrs Cornelius as they walked behind the boy.

  ‘I don't think so. Mum.'

  ' 'E was a funny bloke. I wonder if is real name was Brown.'

  'He was a bastard, whatever his name was,' said Catherine feelingly.

  'Wotch yer language, gel.' Mrs Cornelius nodded primly at the back of the messenger.

  'He was stinking rich,' said Catherine. 'And what did we have? Three rooms in Whitechapel! Frank getting T.B. Jerry . . .'

  'Oh, well.' Her mother hadn't heard her. She patted her bag. 'We made a tenner aht of it, anyway.'

  SEVEN

  In which Miss Una Persson begins to witness the first signs of World Anarchy, the inevitable result of the Bolshevik Revolution

  The sea was rising; there were black clouds gathering to eastward; the ship swayed rather than rolled; a big liner, she was fitted with the latest stabilizers. Una drew her chiffon scarf tighter about her face and turned up the collar of her coat. Her companion's hands tightened a little on the rail of the first class recreation deck, but the movement of this ship did not interrupt him.

  To see them wilt before the brute power of the proletariat,' he continued enthusiastically, 'to see their authority snatched from them as a strong animal snatches meat from a weaker one—to hear the loud authoritative voice, used to being obeyed, falter and grow mute before the demoralizing silence of the mob—oh, there is my relish, Una Persson.' He spoke in Russian although a moment ago he had begun in French.