“Everywhere, from our Sovereign downwards, sacrifice and retrenchment has been a tonic to the national economy and, I might, add to our national spirit.”  Mr Noakes paused to draw breath while there were nods and murmurs of approval from the audience, comforted, as it was, by the thought that the King and the Prince of Wales had volunteered cuts to the civil list.  “Our judges, our sailors, our school teachers and, ladies and gentlemen, Members of Parliament, have all taken cuts to their salaries.”  Lady Bonnington was warmed by the thought that she had reduced her maid’s wages by three pounds whilst those of her cook had been left untouched, for good cooks were much harder to come by than unemployed miners or lady’s maids and even this patriotic practice had to be exercised with some restraint, for hadn’t there only recently been a mutiny at Invergordon?  

“That is why the National Government sees the Means Test as being important¾ nay vital¾ in bringing our expenditure of tax-payer’s money under control.  It is a sinister truth that a family of five can be in receipt of sixty-nine shillings a week from the public purse with no reciprocal obligation for its members to seek any paid employment whatsoever.”

“Shame!” called Mr Hore-Grimsby in the front row.

“I say to the constituents of South Dorset and Purbeck that we all have to share in the heavy lifting and put our noses to the grindstone and our shoulders to the wheel.”  Mr Morden who taught English and whose wages had been cut by 10% winced at this linguistic as well as monetary indignity.  “We cannot do other than to cut our coat according to our cloth in these difficult times; he who hesitates is lost…”

Mr Noakes continued in this vein for several more minutes and Martin, on the platform, was becoming bored.  The bimonthly meeting of the local Conservative Branch was treated at all too frequent intervals to the doubtful oratory of their local member.  Noakes had been returned with a greatly increased vote in his constituency, well ahead of the three varieties of Liberal candidate, while the Labour party’s man had barely secured his deposit and would not be joining his scant two score of comrades on the opposition benches in Westminster.

While loquacious at home, Martin could not remember Noakes speaking at all in the House.  He had eagerly joined the National Government which had initially been a temporary expedient to deal with the Depression, but had transformed itself into a Conservative administration with the addition of renegades from the other parties and had been given, it was said, a ‘doctor’s mandate’ to do what was necessary to save the nation.  Noakes had secured little for the people of the district who were so unfailingly loyal to him and he had outraged Martin when he had voted against tariffs, despite it being a Tory initiative.  “Walter Runciman had convinced me that free trade was still essential to Britain, Lord Branksome,” he had said when Martin had upbraided him, “and it ensures cheaper food for our people.” 

Martin had countered with the argument that he represented a rural electorate with many farmers who had reluctantly turned their fields over to pasture or let them return to rough cover as the result of low prices for grain since the War. “Britain now imports 75% of all its food, Noakes and my great-grandfather had Cobden burned in effigy outside The Feathers in 1832,” said Martin in a fury when Noakes’ vote was made known to him and he concluded that Noakes was placing his own advancement ahead of the good of the people of South Dorset and Purbeck.

“Well, why don’t you disendorse him, Mala?” said Stephen as they were walking into the village. “I mean you carry a lot of sway around here.”

“Not as much as my father, Derbs, and besides, there is no general election due for years.”

“Can you persuade him to resign?”

“Fat chance, Derbs, he has a thumping majority and there is no one to oppose him.”

“What about Mr Sutton?” asked Stephen, referring to the owner of a small electrical factory in Pendleton.

“Well, I did approach him on the quiet.  He’s not particularly political, although he’d like lower taxes and better roads.  He has fairly good relations with the unions, but there is one reason why he’d never stand.”

“Because he is not married to Mrs Sutton?”

“Yes, and he said it would be devastating if this came out.” 

“So who would you have in his place?”

“You’d win every booth in this part of the constituency, Derbs, if ever you’d consent to stand.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mala, but I don’t want to go into Parliament¾ and certainly not as a Conservative.”

“Well,” continued Martin who hadn’t been serious, “I have got someone in mind:  What do you think about Daniel?”

Stephen stopped in his tracks and thought about Sachs, their friend and financial advisor.  “I think he’s almost too good, Mala.  I mean he has a grasp of both economics and foreign affairs; he’s terribly hard working, but…”

“He’s a Jew?”

“Well there is that, but I was going to say that he is a Londoner and has no connection with the countryside.  Would people down here vote for him and would he be willing to give up the City to be a local member?”

“It was just a thought.  Who would blame him if he didn’t want to sit with the second XI that runs the country now?” he concluded bitterly.

By this time they had reached the pound on the edge of the village.  Its sole prisoner was Miss Flower’s milker, Adelaide, who escaped regularly from her field through a hole in the hedge in one of those neglected fields that had so worried Martin and she was usually found wandering in the vicinity of The Feathers.  Martin had fined her owner five shillings only a fortnight before.  The pound was to be the site of Martin’s library and, once again, he outlined his plans to Stephen who listened patiently while the dogs sniffed around, causing Adelaide to glare bad temperedly at them.  “There could be a room used for lectures and to show films of an improving kind; you know those ‘documentaries’ on venereal disease or fishing in the North Sea or Esquimaux — the people here know too little about them—and on trade with the Empire.  We could show films on scientific farming.”  Stephen agreed that this was very high-minded and progressive and Martin cursed the forces that opposed him and determined, quite irrationally, to fine Miss Flower ten shillings should she come before him again.

It was on the weekend when Sachs came to discuss Martin’s financing of the dining room that Martin suggested, in a calculatedly offhand manner, that Daniel should put himself forward as a candidate for the House of Commons.

“The problem is,” said Martin, “that there has been no coordination of agricultural production in Britain since the War and food security has become a real problem; there needs to be incentives for farmers to plant and harvest and make use of our idle natural resources.”

“But don’t you oppose the government meddling in what is planted on your land, Martin?  Surely you don’t want bureaucrats dictating what you must grow and then saying that your estate has to be broken up into small holdings?”

“Yes and no, Daniel.  Farmers don’t want that kind of dictatorial control¾ we’re not in Russia or Italy, but some centralised mechanism for buying grain or milk to iron out wild fluctuations in prices would be welcomed.  There also needs to be financial encouragement to plant new crops and to buy machinery¾ these changes are beyond the free market, I think.  During the War we had controls¾ they weren’t perfect and a damned nuisance quite often, but farmers never had it so good.  I suppose we simply got used to them.”

“You prefer socialism to the free market?”

“Daniel, please don’t put it like that.  I prefer government assistance and coordination and believe it would lead to greater productivity.”

“Well, I can tell you in Holland and the Scandinavian countries they have a measure of state control and their farms are the most efficient in Europe, so I’m inclined to agree with you.  “Now in Britain, arable farming is in a slump, but milk, egg and vegetable production are bright spots as the consumption of these has increased in those areas with middle class households since the War¾ especially in the southeast.  As you say, the government needs to encourage farmers to switch, for they won’t do it alone because the average age of farmers is 60 and they are inclined to be set in their ways.”

“How do you know all this?  I don’t see you at the Country Landowners Association meetings?  They don’t have a branch in Golders Green do they?”

“No, but I read their reports, Martin.  I also know that some members of the government, especially Neville Chamberlain, are not interested in food security for Britain at all and are content to focus all government aid on industry.  Did you know that we import 65% of all our food and 70% of our calories?”

“What are calories?”

Daniel wasn’t quite sure, but said they were very important to Britain and the Empire and so Martin had to be content with that.

“Daniel, you are so clever, have you ever thought about putting up for a safe Conservative seat?”

“It has crossed my mind, Martin; I think I need some fresh challenge.”

“Have you ever thought of moving to the country?  The girls love it here.”

“I’m a slick Jew from the East End—my father had a barrow—I doubt I’d ever be welcomed in the land of mangel wurzels and scrumpy or of hunt balls and shooting, for that matter.”

“You’d be surprised and with the right people behind you…” Sachs looked at Martin in surprise, for he hadn’t thought he’d been entirely serious until now.  “…and there are some lovely old houses in Dorset or I have a fine piece of land up at Lesser Branksome looking for an owner…and Bournmouth has good sailing.”

“Are you saying all this just to unload some land onto me?” he laughed.  Martin laughed too but made sure that the seed had been planted and it yet might germinate and produce a mangle wurzel and he thought that he must ask Blake exactly what a mangel wurzel was. 

***** 

These political questions and the remodelling of the Gothic Dining Room which was going on at the same time took their toll on Martin who came down with a cold that lingered and Stephen insisted that he come away to Antibes for a week.  The Plunger was persuaded to come too, leaving Teddy in London, and he said he was anxious to sketch some authentic ‘types’, which he said could still be found in provincial France.

Thus the boys found themselves boarding the train at Victoria and by the next evening were in the soft purple night of the Riviera where the air was warm and blossom scented.

Their life was simple and relaxing, far from the outside world and even the troubles of the Third Republic were safely distant in Paris.  The Plunger had set up his easel in the old market place and was busy capturing the scene, which was far from animated and business seemed to be conducted here in the same adagio tempo of everything else in this sun-drenched part of the world.  Martin and Stephen wandered about the stalls buying things that they thought would be good to eat and turning over the bric-a-brac in the hope of finding a bargain or at least something that would be of use in the old house.

They returned to the artist who was surrounded by a knot of locals looking over his shoulder and offering criticism.  The Plunger was concentrating hard and taking no notice, shaded under a wide brimmed hat whose origins were hard to place— and it was quite possible he had designed it himself, thought Martin.  Even in his painting clothes he was elegant and unmarked by careless drips.  With his eyeglass fixed resolutely in place and his cigarette holder clamped firmly in his teeth and with his Van Dyke beard of russet hue quivering with each brush stroke, he looked to Martin, who had stopped to stare at him, as if he were playing a part, and Martin smiled to himself and realised the depth of his affection for him.

“Poole,” said The Plunger propping himself up on one elbow as they lay on their towels on the plage while Stephen was swimming in the sea, “if you are so despondent about the state of things at home, why don’t you invite some politicians down for a weekend and see if they can get things moving?”

“You mean like Macdonald and Baldwin?”

“Well maybe not them, but why not ask Lady Astor?  She used to speak in the House about nursery schools and her pal, Lord Lothian, is a Rhodes trustee and is said to have progressive views.  They’re always dining with Pater.” 

Martin thought about this; Sir Gordon Craigth, who was once an important backer of the Liberal Party, had now swung behind the Conservatives and Stanley Baldwin.  He occasionally played golf at Branksome where he was a shareholder in the club, usually electing to stay at the hotel rather than with Martin.  “Do it Poole, you have no idea how persuasive your title and Croome can be¾ even with the Astors who are still regarded as parvenus by some.”

“Unlike your good self, Archie?” said Martin mischievously.

“Don’t tease, Poole; you asked for my help.”

Martin was grateful and for the remaining days The Plunger was a fixture in Martin and Stephen’s big bed with its matelas de plumes and where Stephen cared little for the purple of the nobility but was greatly enamoured with the ginger of the baronetage and The Plunger, on his part, expressed delight in lineage of a different kind. 

***** 

The composition of the house party for Lady Astor presented a few problems.  The Virginia-born peeress who had the distinction of being the first woman to take up a seat in Parliament was also eccentric and rather rude.  “She’s likely to say something dreadful to Teddy or the Sachs and I’d die of embarrassment.  Am I a coward for not inviting them?”

“I think they’d understand, Derbs.  Why don’t you explain it to them?”

“How can I? ‘I’d invite you except that your race might cause one of my guests to become insulting’—it doesn’t sound very noble does it?”

“Yes, on second thought you’re right.  Invite Teddy and The Plunger, but not the Sachs.  Invite Sir Gordon and Lady Eudora; he’s got a lot of political sway and she’s a fellow Yankee.”

“For heaven’s sake don’t say that, Derbs; Lady Astor is a southerner.”

“I believe Philip Kerr is her great friend and mentor, Mala, according to Harry.”

“The Plunger told me that too and he came here when my brother was alive.”  Martin added, and wrote Lord Lothian’s name down on his pad along with those of Mr and Mrs Noakes, Viscount and Viscountess Astor, the Delvees ¾ if he was well enough¾ and Beverley Nichols who knew Nancy Astor and had just written a sensational book on pacifism¾ and his boyfriend, Arthur, who would be given an adjoining room.   

***** 

The weekend was arranged with some difficulty but the cook took pains to create some American dishes, including, curiously, cobs of maize, which were held between small forks and eaten covered in melted butter.  It was a messy business, but Martin was assured it was a national delicacy.

Before luncheon there was a tour of the house.  It compared favourably with Lord Lothian’s Blickling Hall in Norfolk, with its associations with Anne Boleyn, but was quite different to the Astor’s Cliveden, whose Italianate magnificence dated back only to the middle of the previous century when it was built for the Duke of Somerset, but suffered none of the jarring notes of older houses such as Croome where the accretions of each generation were visible, thus making the house more like a volume on the history English architecture.

Philip Kerr, the 11^th Marquess of Lothian, had happy memories of school holidays at Croome with Martin’s brother and he was delighted to meet Myles whose father had worked for the Kerr family.  Lothian struck Martin as a rather lonely person who had been happiest in South Africa before the War where he was a reformer and very Empire-minded.  The War, Versailles and Lloyd George had taken its toll on him.  In this mood he had rejected the Catholicism of his Norfolk ancestors and, with Nancy Astor, had embraced Christian Science.

Waldorf Astor was a man of quiet charm and in marked contrast to his wife.  As the owner of the Observer he exercised a measure of control, especially on the vexed question of support for Imperial Preference, but his conservative stand was hopefully modified by his interest along with Lady Astor, in social reform.

Nancy Astor was gay and lively and possibly a little unbalanced; one never knew quite what she would say next as she squawked out a miscellany of often contradictory opinions, sometimes funny by design and sometimes by accident.  She was still in the news for her trip to Russia with George Bernard Shaw where, unlike the great playwright, she remained unimpressed by the soviet experiment but had been made to look foolish nonetheless.  More serious still was the conviction and imprisonment of her son, Bobbie, for picking up sailors in Plymouth.  Custard had whispered that he had been given a chance to slip across the Channel, as was customary in these cases, but had refused.  As a result he received four months.  This was kept out of the papers owned by his stepfather and his brother and even Beaverbrook acted like a gentleman, but Nancy must have been shaken, although she didn’t show it.

Nichols was beautiful, witty and charming and obviously enjoying being in the limelight with books, newspaper articles and plays all put before an adoring public.  These resulted in an avalanche of post from all over the world he claimed.  “I received a telegram last week from a woman in California who said she has made the world’s largest book in which she hopes to record the signatures of all the prominent people in Europe who are in favour of peace, starting with the King.  She wants me to arrange an open truck to take it from the Savoy to Buckingham Palace.”  He almost laughed at the thought. 

Arthur Diamond was different.  He was obviously of more humble origins and made a living as a representative of a wine merchant in London.  He was flattered to be in the company of Beverley and through Beverley to be sitting at the tables of the high and mighty, but Martin had him pegged as no fool and this was reinforced by the fact that he remained taciturn unlike his boyfriend and Mrs Astor.  He was terribly handsome, with dark hair, broad shoulders and a sensuous mouth with a sardonic smile always hovering on his lips.  Martin liked him and hoped that he was not intimidated by the others in the party and he watched carefully as Diamond lit one cigarette after the other, perhaps to conceal his apprehension of a weekend in a country house and perhaps because he was daunted by the sparkle of the great and good about him and Martin was therefore pleased to see Teddy take him under his wing.

Despite this sparkle, Martin failed to generate any sustained discussion on any of: agricultural problems, rural unemployment, libraries or infant schools.  At the mention of libraries, Lord Lothian recommended the reading rooms of the Church of Christ Scientist and the conversation was directed down this unsought path.  Farming became a diatribe against the collective farms in Russia.  When the main course was being cleared Martin said that he had been reading about Froebel kindergartens and then Lady Eudora vied with Ladies Astor and Delvees about the correct way for a nursemaid to care for an infant of the upper class.

“I always employed an Irish wet nurse,” said Lady Eudora.  The Plunger burned with embarrassment.  “They must be fed a good plain diet and given beer, especially if the water is unhealthy.”

“You folk are terribly old fashioned,” said Nancy Astor, “You don’t know where such girls have been.  A bottle can be sterilised and a trained nursemaid in a hygienic uniform prevents the possibility of contagious disease in the nursery.”

“And a stall with clean straw,” said Lady Delvees who was deaf and under the impression they had been talking about foaling.

A conversation had started up at the other end of the table and Martin heard the phrase “the Jew press” being used in reference to the United States and he looked down to see that Waldorf Astor was fulminating on anti-German bias.  Lord Lothian went on to praise the spirit in the new Germany while Noakes chimed in with his opinion that Germany should be given back her colonies: “The Germans are a people who need some swaggering room, I always think; it is in their nature and we have humiliated them at Versailles.  With their pride and self-respect assuaged they might not turn to extremists like Hitler who could be a threat to peace and the stability of this country.”

“Hitler is backed by the armaments manufacturers; if one was to break that connection, Hitler would likely be deposed,” said Nichols.

“Did you really sign up for Shepherd’s Peace Army, Nichols?” asked Lord Lothian.

“I did,” replied Beverley Nichols, “although I have to admit it is a bit naïve to think we can physically stand between The Japanese and the Chinese armies in Shanghai, but when I wrote that six months ago I felt that young people must do something¾ anything¾ to honour the promise that the last war was indeed the last war and maybe there is a place for the doomed Quixotic gesture, don’t you think?  We have nothing else.”

“It certainly made the newspapers,” said Astor, “and I saw you in a news film with that actress Madeleine Carroll.”

“She is as intelligent as she is beautiful; she’s a pacifist and an internationalist.  What do you think, Stephen?”

“Miss Carroll is very beautiful,” said Stephen.

“No, I mean about pacifism; you are a pacifist aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t want another war¾ I have seen enough of war to know that and I don’t want to kill Germans or Frenchmen or Chinese or anybody.”

“There you are!” said Noakes.  “Knight-Poole is a pacifist like we all are and wants only good relations with Germany.”

The conversation then shifted to the uncomfortable facts that the British Navy had only six weeks of oil in reserve if supplies were withheld from America and that gas masks would be useless on a civilian population.

After luncheon the party divided into three groups.  Lord Delvees and some adherents took to their bedrooms to sleep off the meal while Martin led a small group, which included Beverley Nichols, into the garden where they tried to attain in actual practice, the joys found on the printed page in Down the Garden Path concerning the extraction of troublesome weeds from drifts of aubrietia in Martin’s secret garden.  At Nichols’ suggestion, Martin ordered Chilvers to bring out the cocktail shaker and the makings.

A somewhat larger group, accompanied by the dogs and a variety of sticks, ambled down the road to the village.  It was a distance of about a mile and the sun had come out so when Arthur Diamond suggested that they look in at The Feathers for a drink there were several takers.  However Lady Astor was not one of them and rounded on them for their weakness and intemperance.  Lord Lothian backed her up and Noakes, more meekly, stood behind them.  Stephen was embarrassed and suggested that they might like to patronise the Green Gables Tearoom and would have gone with them except that Lady Astor’s rudeness made him determined to join Arthur, Sir Gordon and the others in the pub for where they had, in fact, already departed.  However Nancy Astor was not in the mood for tea and stood outside the public house urging would-be patrons to turn away and otherwise hectoring them in her loud Virginian voice.  Most of the customers were farmhands who enjoyed a half-day on Saturdays and objected to their moral improvement in this manner.

“If I was your wife I would refuse to let you into the house,” she cried to Larchpole.

“Well, I bain’t comin’ home t’an ole cow like thee, missus, unless I is dead drunk first,” he riposted causing much merriment amongst his allied forces.

“Don’t you dare speak to her ladyship in that manner, my man,” said Mr Noakes.

“I ain’t your man an’ you should be ashamed o’youself, Noakes, for denying a working man his drink.”

“Aye, and a drinking man his work,” said Bullock who was on the dole. 

“Out of our way, four eyes,” said Walter Rye to Lord Lothian and pushed aside the late Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and Under-Secretary of State for India who was blocking his path to the door of the taproom.  Lady Astor attempted to remonstrate with her parasol and one of the men grabbed at it and it snapped.

A struggled ensued and the landlord called for the constable just as Stephen and the others regained the road.

“What’s going on constable?” asked Stephen.

“This woman seems to have been loitering outside the public house, Mr Knight-Poole and importuning the customers— it’s payday you see.”

“Why you…” cried Lord Lothian and struggled, but he was being restrained by Noakes.

“He’s probably her pimp,” said the constable, tossing his head in Lothian’s direction and licking his pencil in preparation for making notes in his book. 

“Don’t you recognise me?” cried Noakes angrily.

“Why it Mr Notes, ain’t it?  Yes, I recognise you sir and would like to say thank you for the reduction in my wages.  Do you know this female, sir?”

They all looked a Lady Astor just to make sure and indeed she was a little hard to recognise as the Viscountess’ hat had come off and was lying trampled in the mud and her hair had become unpinned and had fallen over her eyes.

“This is Lady Astor, constable,” said Noakes with an effort to control himself.

“Lady A…s…t…o…r,” said the constable as he wrote with the stub of a pencil.  “Yes, same as the hotel in America.”

“It’s alright, constable,” said Stephen, “it was just a misunderstanding and we were just departing for home.

“If you say so Mr Knight-Poole; your word is good enough for me,” the constable replied and put his notebook away and spared himself any more trials of spelling.  Stephen thrust five shillings into the hand of Larchpole and did his best to round up his party.  The policeman gave them all a hard look before saying to Lady Astor: “Maybe it’s best if you just leave it alone, madam; there’s some wot should never touch it.”  He then mounted his bicycle and sailed away before Lady Astor could find her parasol with which she surely would have struck him had it not been in pieces on the ground.  There was a good deal of muttering and haughty indignation and the mustering of remnants of dignity that was not entirely successful under the circumstances and the group started to make its way up the road but were not out of earshot when they heard someone yell: “Fuckin’ ole bitch!” and “You’ve lost my vote Noakes!” 

***** 

At dinner Stephen became a little drunk.  Martin did everything to once again shift the conversation, this time not caring if the needs of the district were not discussed, but desperate to stem the talk of war and the appeasement of Germany, which he saw, was having a dreadful effect on Stephen.  Martin himself was conflicted for he did not want war either but knew that things in Germany were intolerable and just hoped that they would stay confined to within its borders.  “At least Hitler is standing up to the Reds and the unions,” said Astor as he cut vigorously into his Tournedos Rossini, “it would be different here of course; we are not like the Germans, but it would be blind not to see the good he has done, even if his methods are not our own.”

Martin became increasingly disenchanted with his guests and saw, to his surprise, that Nichols was beginning to regret his earlier enthusiasm for pacifism and the extreme stand he had so recently taken. “I thought Britain could lead in the crusade for peace, but the other nations just laugh at us, I fear, and now that Germany and Japan have withdrawn from the League it is clear they are not going to disarm.”  Events had moved quickly in the last few months but this was lost on the Astors and the others at his table.

The Plunger then found an opening and turned the conversation to surrealism—the latest ‘ism’ in Art and Martin breathed a sigh of relief but then saw that Stephen had indicated to Lance to fill his glass again.  However, even the seemingly safe topic of Art, Martin came to realise, found itself being defined by the polemics of politics, with the split between the Dadaists (Who on earth were they?) and the Surrealists forming along the fault line between the Communists and the Trotskyites, and the hostility between the adherents of each was as bitter as that between nations.  Lady Eudora seemed to understand her son and went on to describe a Surrealist guest bedroom she had commissioned where the bed was in the shape of one of Queen Mary’s hats and the eight-branched chandelier was in the likeness of an octopus.  However the others weren’t interested in such practical applications and the political hares of Russia were let to run, with Lady Astor holding forth, while Stephen called for more wine, knocking his glass over in the process.

Martin hurried the men over their port and they joined the ladies in the Red Drawing Room where tables had been laid out for bridge.  Stephen did not feel like playing so he sat out with Teddy and Arthur Diamond while Nichols quietly improvised on the piano.

“Mr Stephen is feeling a little tired, your lordship,” said Chilvers in Martin’s ear just as he had bid four hearts.  Martin looked over and Arthur Diamond was trying to push him upright on the settee.  He was a dead weight.  Martin prevailed upon Nichols to take over his hand and he left the piano and sat in Martin’s place with Lady Delvees, Lord Lothian and Mrs Noakes.  At the other table Lady Astor fortunately had revoked because she had been distracted by her own story about her grandfather and his imperious treatment of his slaves and was unaware of Martin’s rising from his table and the bibulous reason for it. 

With the help of Arthur Diamond and Chilvers, Martin managed to get Stephen to his feet and out of the room.  “Come on Derbs, up the wooden hill,” he said more brightly than he felt.  Stephen animated his feet and they proceeded slowly up the stairs.  It was a long walk to their room, but they managed with Arthur and Martin supporting Stephen’s weight and Chilvers walking smartly ahead opening doors and removing obstacles.  At last they dumped Stephen on the bed.  “Thank you Chilvers, you may go back downstairs again,” said Martin.  Arthur looked around at the magnificent room and without saying anything understood it was the room they shared.

“You’re not enjoying the evening, are you Lord Branksome?” said Diamond while he undid the laces on Stephen’s right shoe while Martin fought the knot in the left one.

“Not particularly, Mr Diamond.  All this political talk is very depressing I’m afraid and Stephen hates it; he’s not normally like this.”

“I don’t think Bev believes half of what he writes, you know.  This peace thing has got right out of hand.  He loves the attention, of course, but he is a little bit frightened of who he finds himself in bed with.”  He giggled at the metaphor and so did Martin.

“Stephen is so despondent at any talk of another 1914.  He was terribly brave in the War you know and won the MC.”

“And bar” said Stephen in a sonorous tone from the bed. “Don’t forget the fuckin’ bar!”

“But we have friends in Germany who are not supporters of Herr Hitler and his thugs and we…or rather Stephen…is conflicted by this.”

“You’re a good sort, Lord B,” said Diamond, “and so is Mr Knight-Poole.  I’m not sure about that silly lot downstairs, if you don’t mind me saying so.  I don’t know anything about politics but I do know the difference between pacifism and cravenness.”

“That was well said, Mr Diamond,”

“Who’s going to suck my cock?” said Stephen groggily from the bed.  By this time Stephen’s clothes had been removed and Arthur Diamond was licking his lips appreciatively at the sight before him on the bed.

“I’m sorry Mr Diamond, it is just the drink talking.”

“Oh,” said Diamond, disappointed.  “If Lady Astor were here to do it, it might shut her up.” Martin giggled at the image and Diamond continued, “Or finish her off all together.” 

Martin laughed.  “Or Mrs Noakes?”

“Can you imagine her sour face with a big cock between her lips?”  He did an imitation of the MP’s wife.

“Or Mr Noakes?” said Martin having hysterics.

“Or Mr Craigth?” said Diamond pretending that his monocle had dropped out.

“Steady on Diamond, Mr Craigth has sucked me time without number,” said Stephen still lying flat on his back with his eyes closed.

“Sorry chaps, I should have realised that he was a friend of yours; I’ve gone too far as usual, I’m terribly sorry¾ it was only meant as a joke.”

“I thought you were drunk, Derbs,” said Martin as they noticed Stephen’s cock was already starting to rise.

“Come on you two, appease me,” he said with his eyes closed.

“We can’t; we have guests and Mr Diamond might just have some standards.”

“I’ve got none to speak of, Lord Branksome,” he replied hefting Stephen’s drunken member.

“I’ll be quick, boys,” volunteered Stephen.  “Come on, it’s been a shitty evening.”

Martin looked at Diamond who was nothing if not eager.  “He can be awfully messy Mr Diamond.  Let me ring for Carlo to undress us.”

Arthur Diamond was a little shocked at the suggestion and even more flummoxed when Carlo responded to the bell and thought nothing of the instruction.  Soon they were naked and admiring each other.  Diamond had a good body with a thick ribbon of dark hair down the centre of his chest to where it met his hardening cock.

“Well this has certainly turned into an interesting weekend,” said Diamond.  “It tops the one at Polsden Lacey where Bev made me pretend to be his valet in order to impress Mrs Greville.  The King of Spain was there too.”

“We aim to please,” said Martin, “especially as there is no shooting.  Now maybe you’d like to start on his balls¾it doesn’t really matter; he likes anything you do to him.  Isn’t that so, Derby?” he shouted, but Stephen didn’t reply and was possibly asleep.

They took it in turns and also worked in unison on Stephen’s balls and various other places.  Diamond was in awe of how much of the big cock Martin could stuff down his throat.  Martin was modest and said it was merely practice and said that he had always liked eating asparagus as a boy and that, perhaps, having had his wisdom teeth extracted made it easier.”

Diamond was now sucking on Stephen and stroking himself at the same time.  “Wake up Derbs and help, you said that you would be quick.” Martin remonstrated as he gave Stephen’s face a gentle slap.  Stephen opened his eyes and put his left arm around Martin and pulled him down on top of him for a kiss while he used his right hand to press the top of Arthur Diamond’s head in a not particularly considerate gesture.

Diamond gagged but kept sucking.  “He’s close, Mr Diamond,” said Martin suddenly and from a position of experience.  “He likes you to swallow, but you don’t have to.”

The visitor did not answer but kept up the action, using his hands as well and without undue ceremony, Stephen spilled and, as a consequence, Diamond’s face was covered in Stephen’s seed.  Diamond stood and finished himself off on Stephen’s chest and Martin followed suit, unlike Lady Astor at the bridge table on the floor below who had revoked again.

“Well that was very nice, chaps, and quite unexpected¾or perhaps I should say hoped for but unexpected.  Please don’t tell Bev, Lord Branksome, I don’t want to spoil his weekend.  He told me what a specimen Mr Knight-Poole was and jumped when your invitation came.”

Stephen was snoring already and Carlo entered with towels saying, “I will take care of him your lordship.  Let me help you both dress.”  They were soon back into their evening clothes.

“Walk down to the drawing room with us, Carlo,” said Martin.  Carlo accompanied them and any of the weekend party who may have possessed suspicious minds (and rightly so in this instance) and might have wondered why they had been half an hour, were thrown off their guard by the obvious chaperoning proclivities of so upright a valet and so confined themselves to solicitous inquiries about ‘poor Stephen’.

The next morning Stephen remained in bed while many of the others, Christian Scientists and Jews included, trooped off to Church, although Martin who remained behind, feared that Lady Astor would not approve of Mr Destrombe serving sherry (a fine amontillado) to the gentry in the vicarage at the conclusion of the morning service in an effort to encourage attendance.  Beverley Nichols said he was planning to write a book on Faith and a country church service would provide much needed material for this venture. 

Arthur Diamond found Martin still at breakfast and asked how Stephen was.  “He’s living, but disinclined to get out of bed until luncheon.  Shall we go up and see him?”

Stephen was seemingly unaffected by his recent imbibition and was sitting up, bare-chested, reading Testament of Youth by Vera Brittain.  “Good morning Mr Diamond, I hope you slept well¾ that room is supposed to be haunted, you know,” he said brightly, laying the volume aside.

“I thought so¾ I felt a presence¾so I slept in Bev’s,” he said with a grin.  “Are you alright?”

“Of course he is,” said Martin answering for him.  “He was very frisky this morning and kept calling me Nancy.”

“You are a big Nancy, Mala.  He has this mad idea that I’m in love with Lady Astor, Arthur.”

“Well, just as long as there is no harm done…” said Diamond and started to leave.

“Arthur, if you’re at a loose end until everybody is back from church…”

“What would you like me to do?  Remember we’re going riding later.”

“Get your clothes off, both of you,” said Stephen, his eyes shining.

“Haven’t you had enough with last night, Stephen?” asked Diamond as he removed his tie and shirt.

Martin laughed.  “Not to mention that he gave me a good rogering just this morning and there’s still plenty more in there,” he said, rubbing Stephen’s chest affectionately.

“Did you like it Mala?  I know it wasn’t one of my best¾ I think I must have had a bad oyster at dinner last night.”

“It was quite lovely, Derby.” Martin replied as he removed the last of his clothes and turning to Diamond who was now naked said, “He’s very romantic, Arthur, and also very fecund; I’ve still got your generous load inside me, Derbs.” 

“And just you hold it there, Mala; I can’t just produce it at the drop of a hat and, besides, the discipline does you good.  I’m teaching him to have more self-control, Arthur.

Diamond felt the depth of their feeling in this humorous exchange of banter and soon came to feel what it was like to be deep inside his well-lubricated lordship who was panting and groaning while Stephen looked on, pleasuring himself until he too spilt all over Martin’s face.  Carlo assisted in getting them dressed and downstairs before the others returned, still animatedly discussing Mr Destrombe’s curious sermon on Ezekiel 23:20, with some thinking he was being obliquely critical of Miss Mae West.

The weekend passed and the last of the guests departed for the station or rolled away in their opulent motors.  Martin hoped that they could return to normal and that Stephen would be feeling better.  Up in London they saw Nymph Errant by Cole Porter at the Adelphi and down at Croome Martin encouraged Stephen to busy himself with the ponies for the Sachs’ girls and hoped that he was distracted by the acquisition of a pair of brindle Cairn terriers for their London house¾ Flora and Charlie¾ the void since the passing of Vesta and Billy being now happily filled. 

***** 

Martin had walked up to the top of the hill above the Home Farm.  He knew that Stephen was probably down there at the Harkness’ cottage where smoke curled from the chimney of the kitchen fire next to which lay old Mrs Harkness’ black Labrador bitch who was having trouble delivering her latest litter of pups.  Steven had gone to help.  It was a very English scene he said to himself as his heart swelled; the beating heart of England under a windy English sky with the promise of very English rain before evening.  The silent fields lay below him, each neatly bordered by ancient hedgerows to form a patchwork of green flecked with white dots where sheep were safely grazing or rich brown where there plough had turned the fertile sod.  They rose upwards to the tree-fringed hills that formed a sunlit horizon of hope— hope for peaceful and fruitful years to come under an English heaven. 

A wet nose sniffed at his shoes; it was a border collie and at the same instant he felt a strong arm in shirtsleeves about his shoulders¾it was Stephen who had walked up the hill.  Without words they stood there drinking in the motherland that gave them birth, until at last it was time for tea. 

***** 

Mr Noakes was invited to the Parish Council meeting, which was held in the Women’s Institute Hall.  He was late and so they proceeded to other items on the agenda, which was not a very long one.  The noise of a motorcar pulling up indicated the MP’s arrival.  “I’m sorry I’m late, my wife believes she is ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Martin who had nothing against Mrs Noakes, “but what do you mean ‘believes she’s ill’, Mr Noakes?”

“All illness is error, Lord Branksome.  My wife is not thinking correctly and believes she has appendicitis and medical practitioners suggesting it to her have compounded the error.  The magnetism of such negative thoughts is powerful enough to promote this incorrect way of thinking.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and if you read Science and Health by Mrs Eddy it would be explained to you; Lord Lothian lent me a copy.  Silent prayer and an understanding that it is the spirit which is the reality and is whole and that the physical world is imperfect and the illusion, will expose all such illness as lies and healing will come with knowledge of self and the divine.”

Martin didn’t quite understand this and was glad to pass on to the two topics upon which Mr Noakes was invited to speak.

Noakes crossed his legs and relaxed into his chair and began: “This government is absolutely convinced that the health of our mothers and babies is of fundamental importance to the future of Britain and the Empire and to that end His Majesty’s Government has allocated in the forward estimates for 1933 and 1934 more funding for the welfare of infants than any previous government in the history of this country.  The Minister of Health and Lady Astor have outlined a far reaching policy for maternal and child welfare that is almost revolutionary and shows just how committed the government is to the better health and wellbeing of the mothers and children of this country.”  He removed his spectacles and polished them and then continued:  “The school milk program and slum clearance schemes and inspections for nits…”

“Yes, yes, Mr Noakes,” said Mr Destrombe interrupting, “but when will we get a building for our infant nurse?  They have been using this hall for the past two years.” 

“His Majesty’s government places a high priority…”

“When Noakes?” demanded Martin sternly from the chairman’s seat.

“As soon as economic conditions permit.”

“And the library?”

“Well, the education of the public, especially in these times of so much ‘enforced leisure’ as we prefer to think of …” Martin fixed him with a look.  “Libraries are not a matter for Westminster; they are down to your local authority,” Noakes continued in a flat voice.

“But you as our local member should be lobbying on our behalf and it is the government who is providing funds for libraries in rural areas.  Why should Bournemouth have one but not us?”

“Now Lord Branksome, this government has inherited a terrible economic mess from three years of irresponsible Labour policies and just like any household budget¾ or perhaps I should say the budget of any ordinary house, your lordship, we can’t spend…”

“Thank you Mr Noakes, we won’t detain you any longer and you have a long drive back to Wimbourne Minster and we appreciate your leaving your wife’s sick bed to come to us.”  Noakes looked around at a sea of unfriendly faces and picked up his hat and departed and he heard Martin say: “Now we pass to the question of noisome discharges from the Boget’s piggery…”  

“Mr Destrombe to see you, your lordship,” said Chilvers.  Martin looked up from his omelette as the Vicar was ushered into the Spanish Dining Room.

“I’m sorry to disturb your luncheon your lordship,” he said, looking with envy at the delicious omelette aux fines herbes as he had not had his own lunch as yet, “but I thought you might like to know that poor Mrs Noakes died this morning.  Apparently it was septicaemia.”

“Poor woman,” said Martin, “it must have been a horrible way to go.”

“Yes, terrible.  Noakes refused to allow Dr Markby to administer sulphur drugs or even aspirin.  Your lordship, the police are investigating.”

“No!” 

“Yes, your lordship.  He will have to resign.”

To be continued…