The Intrigues of Jennie Lee Read online

  Jennie replied, “Lees-Smith? Didn’t he replace Charlie Trevelyan at the Board of Education last winter?”

  “That’s the man. Likes to buck authority too. You’re not old enough to remember, he read that poet Sassoon’s anti-war letter on the floor of the house in the middle of the Great War. Stood his ground against the jingo mob.”

  “Any more? Just those three?”

  “The rest are already pretty solid one way or the other. But we’ll talk to all of them. The real question is whether the Trades Union Council will resist the cuts. If they do, MacDonald will be able to hold out against the City and Wall Street.”

  Jennie replied, “If he wants to...”

  Frank was momentarily silent. That’s ominous, she thought.

  “Look, come round to Bedford Square tonight after you’ve seen Lees-Smith, will you, dear.”

  Bedford Square was Frank’s flat. She’d hope to hear those words.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, brightening a little for the first time that day.

  * * *

  It was about three in the afternoon when Jennie found herself at the door of the president of the board of education. She’d been before, when Charlie Trevelyan had held the post. He’d resigned in the winter, to protest MacDonald’s bewilderment and the government’s inaction. She gave her name to the male secretary-gatekeeper, who told her he’d see if the minister was available. A few minutes later Hastings Lee-Smith poked a head out the door, smiled broadly and ushered Jennie through. She followed the back of his frock coat. Over the coat, a celluloid collar stiffly rose, horizontally bisected by the black ribbon of a City Banker’s bow tie. The office was small, rather dimly lit, with a few leather-bound volumes in a glass bookcase behind a desk, at which Lees-Smith seated himself. He slid his palms over the flat, uncluttered surface as if smoothing it out and looked up at Jennie.

  “I’m expecting to be called to a second cabinet meeting this afternoon, Miss Lee, so I may have to be brief.”

  “I’m here to lobby you, sir.”

  “I expected as much. And I am aware of which side you’re on.” He smiled—was it in agreement? “Naturally I can’t divulge cabinet matters. But I can tell you no decisions have been made.”

  Jennie nodded. “Is it safe to say the sides are fairly evenly divided, sir?”

  “Quite.” Lees-Smith sat impassive. He would volunteer no more.

  “You’re an economist, sir. You must have considerable influence in the discussions.”

  “Well, Miss Lee, whether I do or not, it’s precisely because I’m an economist that I am so worried. I see the chancellor’s arguments. He says that in the deflation the purchasing power of the unemployment payments has increased forty per cent. How is anyone to answer that?”

  Jennie’s answer was ready. “Rather simple, sir. Ask the Chancellor of the Exchequer to live on fifteen bob a week.” She paused. “Or twelve, if he has his way with the cuts.” Then she asked, “Have you given any thought to Keynes’ plans”—she paused— “or Mosley’s?”

  “Pointless. MacDonald can’t get the Liberals to support him and Mosley’s bolted the party entirely. Spending won’t wash with the government anyway. Snowden hates Keynes and Lloyd George. I can’t ever repeat the names he calls them when ladies are absent.”

  The telephone rang. Lees-Smith picked up, listened for a moment.

  Then he said, “On my way.”

  Rising, he held his hand towards the door. The interview was over.

  “Cabinet secretary’s office. We’re beginning again.”

  They rose and walked out together. Until they were alone on the pavement, out of anyone’s earshot, they were silent. Then Lees-Smith spoke.

  “Tell you what I’m afraid of, Miss Lee. It’s not like 1924 when MacDonald made his government resign over a trifle.”

  It has been five years and Jennie couldn’t recall the history. Lees-Smith set off on a trot. Jennie reached out a hand to slow him down.

  “Very sorry, I didn’t follow. What did you mean?”

  He turned for a moment, “This time MacDonald will do anything to stay in office.”

  Then he marched off down Whitehall with a bearing that brooked no more conversation.

  * * *

  Frank was not alone when Jennie arrived at his Bedford Square flat, towards seven in the still bright daylight. A dozen MPs, all ILP members, were sitting round Frank’s drawing room, filling the chesterfield, a couple of wing chairs and some side chairs that had been dragged from the dining room. She searched for Nye Bevan, but he wasn’t there. Maybe the reason was political. He wasn’t ILP and he had sided with Mosley on everything till the latter had been expelled from the party. Still, she wanted badly to know what Nye was thinking. Maybe he’s not here because he knew I’d be here and I’d stay the night with Frank.

  Each briefly reported on their respective missions to wavering cabinet ministers. Few had even the limited success Jennie could report. She ended her report with the minister of education’s last words.

  “He may have been giving something away.” She wanted to use the very words. “Said that it wasn’t like 1924, when the Labour government resigned over a trifle.” She paused. “Then he said MacDonald would do anything to stay in office.”

  One of the older MPs recalled, “In ’24 the first Labour government resigned on a technicality. They didn’t have to go, but MacDonald refused to give an inch for a compromise.”

  Now Frank spoke. “Well, if MacDonald is trying to find a way to stay in power, that makes our jobs a bit easier.”

  “How so?” It was a Yorkshire voice, someone who hadn’t spoken up yet.

  Frank looked towards the man. “Just keep the pressure on. He’ll need every vote in the cabinet... and every Labour vote in the House.” He looked round the room. “Let’s meet again here tomorrow morning. See where we are. We may need to do a lot more lobbying.”

  * * *

  Jennie woke about eight the next morning. She was quietly dressing when Frank spoke.

  “Where are you going, dear?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I want to go home and change. before the others return. Wearing exactly what I had on here last night would be rather rubbing things in their face, no?”

  “Suppose so. Hadn’t occurred to me.”

  “Men.” She smiled and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was a short walk from Bedford Square back past the British Museum, across Russell Square to Guilford Street. Jennie had not gotten much past the Russell Square Underground station stairs, when she saw the large grey and black saloon car parked at what looked like the street door of the block of flats where she lived.

  Immediately, she knew to whom the vast Daimler saloon belonged. Seeing it there at seven thirty in the morning was remarkable enough. But there, across the pavement, was Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons, standing at Jennie’s front door. Approaching, Jennie could see her arm repeatedly rise to the bell for Jennie’s flat. She turned as Jennie approached.

  “There you are! I tried to ring you a hundred times.”

  As Jennie came closer Elizabeth rushed forward, almost falling into Jennie’s arms.

  There was no one on the street except the chauffeur standing at the Daimler, but Elizabeth held her close and whispered, “The Duke sent me. I don’t have much time.”

  She pulled Jennie towards the car and almost forced her into the back seat. The chauffeur had opened the door to the dark leather depths of the coachwork. Closing it firmly on them, he receded down the straight, as if making a show of giving them complete privacy.

  Jennie was sitting back on the seat. The Duchess had folded down a jump seat so that they could face one another.

  “We’ve just heard. The King is coming back from Scotland tonight.”

  So what, Jennie thought. But all she said was, “And?”

  “Don’t suppose you’d know. He only ever went to Scotland two days ago, told the Prime Minister he’d be go
ne for a fortnight. Now he’s coming back, forty-eight hours later. Means something is going to happen. Soon.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Elizabeth?”

  “Because we’re worried, the Duke and I, that something terrible is about to happen. Or maybe there is a chance that something wonderful can happen. But only if the right people know what’s going on. And you are the only person we thought we could tell who’d get the information to”—she hesitated—“the right people.” They both knew whom she meant.

  “Very well, what is it?”

  Elizabeth took a breath. “The King is in league with the Tories to bring down the government. That’s why he’s coming back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m in the palace, dear. I can see who’s coming and going— Baldwin, Chamberlain, the Conservative front bench, bankers, City people. The Duke travelled up to Scotland with the King. Listened to him all the way up in the train. Called me when they got there. The King thinks we’re heading for economic collapse. Said he’ll stop at nothing to get Labour out.”

  “But that would be unconstitutional.”

  “They’re trying to cook up a scheme to dish Labour but keep MacDonald as figurehead prime minister.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Jennie wondered aloud.

  “Don’t you see dear, putting the Tories in but keeping MacDonald as figurehead, they could say it was a Labour PM making all those terrible cuts. The thing they’re frightened of is demonstrations, a general strike, a revolution like in Petrograd in ’17, chaos.”

  Jennie was shaking her head. “How can the King do that, keep the Prime Minister and jettison the government?”

  Then she recalled Lees-Smith’s words ‘This time MacDonald will do anything to stay in office.’ Could he be induced to betray the cabinet he created, the government he led, the party he’d founded 40 years ago, to do so? Has he already done so?

  “Has the King been in touch with MacDonald, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, not yet. But the Duke thinks this is Tom Mosley’s chance. If they can tempt MacDonald to betray the Labour party and people found out in time, Tom could claim the leadership in one go!”

  Suddenly Jennie saw. Her eyes widened. She sucked in a breath.

  “He could, couldn’t he…if MacDonald were to abandon the party.”

  “That’s why I’ve come to see you. Someone has got to get him to come back from the South of France. The Duke and I have discussed it. We can’t…”

  Jennie snapped. “Why not?”

  “To begin with, every call in the Palace goes through the switchboard. If one of us made a trunk call, the King’s private secretary, Wigram, would know almost instantly.” Jennie nodded. “If anyone found out it would be the end of any back channel out of the palace, altogether.”

  “You’re right.”

  Elizabeth searched her face. “You’ll do it?”

  Jennie nodded. Then the enormity of what she had just agreed to rose up before her. You’ll have to tell Frank everything. No, you can’t. A tissue of lies stretching back months, it would destroy everything between them. She began to backtrack.

  “Look, Elizabeth, how can you be sure? Couldn’t it just be talk? Your father-in-law’s an old man. He may just be fuming at his impotence.”

  The Duchess looked at her watch. “Look, I must go. I told them I was going to a dentist.” She touched her cheek in mock pain, “Sudden abscess.”

  Jennie couldn’t help laughing. “At this hour?”

  “Dentists will do anything for a duchess.”

  She leaned forward and opened the door, calling to the driver standing twenty feet from the car, “Schaeffer.” She got in and looked back at Jennie standing by the car.

  “If I learn more, I’ll ring you for another talk.”

  * * *

  Now, Jennie had to tell Frank things she’d been withholding for months, things that would make him furious, things that could cost them both their political lives, things that she never wanted to reveal to her lover. Things none of the others who were to return to Frank’s flat that morning could know, ever. Where to begin and what exactly to say?

  There was no time to change her clothes after all. She found a cab.

  “Bedford Square, please.”

  It should have been a journey of five minutes, but morning traffic was already heavy. It was almost nine when the taxi pulled up at Frank Wise’s door.

  Frank was already dressed when he answered the doorbell. He looked at her.

  “You’ve not changed.”

  As he said it his face turned to concern. Something was wrong. He pulled her in and led her to the kitchen, where a small percolator was still bubbling on the stovetop. He drew a chair from the table for her and, without asking, he poured another cup of coffee. As ever he was imperturbable.

  “What is it, girl?”

  Jennie hadn’t been in a hurry to speak, still at a loss for how to begin. There was nothing for it but tell him everything.

  “Frank, we’ve got to talk, now, before the others come.” She caught her breath and began. “I’ve been told that the King and the Tories, and”—she nodded her head towards the square— “the bankers…are going to try to get MacDonald to betray the party.”

  “What do you mean?” Before she could answer he added in a tone of disbelief, “How do you know?”

  “Duchess of York told me not an hour ago.”

  “Duchess of York?” Eye brows raised, he drew in a breath. “Jennie, you better start at the beginning.”

  “You’ll be furious, Frank. I wanted to tell you everything, but I couldn’t…couldn’t compromise you.”

  “Time you started then.” The words came out with a distaste in his voice she hadn’t expected.

  “Very well. You know about my relation with Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons?”

  “A little. You knew her in the war, when you were a child?” She nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, for the better part of this year I’ve been her go-between with Tom Mosley, or rather she and I have been links in a chain between her husband, the Duke of York and Mosley.”

  “Go-between? What exactly have you been doing, Jennie?”

  “Carrying packages, mainly. Probably cash, stacks of fivequid notes.”

  “But that’s corruption, Jennie.” Then the penny dropped. “It’s worse. Its royal interference in politics, choosing sides between parties, favouring politicians. And you made yourself a party to it?”

  “Frank, I’m not prepared to defend myself.” There wasn’t time to argue.

  “So, you did nothing but pass on money?”

  “No. I listened.” She thought for a moment. “She said some shocking things. Swore me to secrecy. Things about the royal family. The King doesn’t trust the Prince of Wales or the Duke of Clarence. Said the Prince isn’t interested in anything but women…Duke of Clarence is a drug addict and probably a homosexual!”

  Frank looked exasperated. “Palace scandal…what’s it matter?” There was more impatience in his voice.

  “It matters because the King’s grooming the Duke of York to succeed him, not the Prince of Wales. Lets the Duke see the boxes.”

  Frank understood immediately and better than Jennie. “My God! All the state papers, all the cabinet minutes? No one at the palace is authorised to look at that stuff but the King!” Jennie remained silent. “So, the Duke of York knows everything the King knows?”

  She nodded. “Probably. But here’s the thing. The Duke is no Tory. He and the Duchess seem to be on our side. At any rate they support Tom Mosley’s New Party.”

  “Now, Jennie, tell me again what the Duchess told you this morning, word for word if you can.”

  “The King told MacDonald he was going to Scotland a few days ago. The King got there and turned round a day later. He’s coming back to London. Elizabeth said”—she saw Frank look blank for a moment—“the Duchess of York said the King thinks the count
ry is about to go under and he’ll do anything to put a Tory government in.”

  “Without an election? How?”

  “By getting MacDonald to trash his cabinet and switch parties!”

  Franks eyes widened. “And MacDonald has agreed?”

  “Duchess thinks he doesn’t know what’s being stitched up between the Palace and the Tories.” Frank nodded. “And she said something else, Frank. They both—she and the Duke—-think that the crisis is a chance for Mosley.”

  Frank thought for a moment. “I see. If MacDonald bolts from the party, Mosley could rally it. It’s playing with fire. Still, Mosley might just make a difference.”

  “But he’s in Antibes, the Riviera.” She hesitated. “The Duchess asked me to call him. I’m to tell him what’s happening and get him to come back.”

  Frank’s look was searching. Jennie could see he wanted to know everything, even if it hurt. “How did you find yourself in this tangle, Jennie?”

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell him what he really wanted to know. No, Jennie, you must.

  “Tom Mosley knew something, something about me, something I didn’t even know. That’s what got me into this”— she used Frank’s word—“this tangle.”

  Anger grew in Frank’s face. “Are you politely telling me he blackmailed you?”

  “No! He convinced me, made me see what I had to do…but I knew I couldn’t compromise you, couldn’t tell you anything.”

  But you’re not asking what he told me, Frank. She needed Frank to ask. He wouldn’t. He’s afraid to know. Instead, he looked at his watch.

  “The others will be getting here any minute.”

  What hold does he think Mosley has over me? One too intimate, too hurtful for Frank, my lover, to bear? You can’t let him suffer. Tell him a truth, a devastating truth, one that spares him, and yourself, from the other truth about you and Mosley. She gulped.

  “Somehow he found out that Ramsay MacDonald is my real father…and told me” She stopped to let it sink in. It would be obvious to Frank that Jennie would be ruined if it came out, make her a laughingstock in the House, Typhoid Mary in Scottish politics, end her career. She waited for Frank to speak. He was silent, looking at her in disbelief. She took Frank’s hand. Holding it in her lap, she repeated herself, so he’d make no mistake.