“It’s lovely to see you too, Julian. Anna is recovering well, and anxious to be out on Lady again. I think we might have to tie her to the bed.”
“As soon as she finds her legs again, she should be out there—fresh air, the responsibility for a pony, nothing better for a child.” He extended his hand toward another leather chair close to his own. “Now then, sit down and tell me how I can be of assistance to you—I’m sure you didn’t come to tell me about Anna’s recovery, though I’m glad to hear it.”
Maisie smoothed the back of her linen skirt and sat down, leaning toward Lord Julian as he too was seated. “I’m curious about how the Bank of England goes about its business—not here in London, but now it’s located in Hampshire for the duration. Have they moved their printing?”
Lord Julian sighed. “As you are aware, I am on the boards of various banks, so much of what I know is highly confidential. In a time of war the supply and movement of money becomes even more crucial than ever. Money is a powerful tool, and wars are about powerful men and how they use the tools at their disposal. The military is involved, in a number of ways.”
Maisie raised her eyebrows. “How? I never thought the generals would have communication with the bankers.”
“The prime minister—and thank goodness, we now have a man who is up to the job of war—is the linchpin. He is the man in the middle, drawing to him everything he needs to secure the country to the best of the country’s ability to protect itself and its people.”
“And what might the generals want from the bankers, and how is the PM a conduit between the two?”
Lord Julian looked at his hands, closed his eyes for a second and then returned his attention to Maisie.
“The Bank of England has to consider many factors in a time of war, not least the fact that the risk of forgery increases dramatically—not necessarily from local sources, but the threat of the Germans flooding the country with counterfeit money and bringing chaos to the economy is not to be underestimated. Interestingly enough, at the same time, money does not circulate in the same way—rather it is like blood around a body, and if the pressure on the system is high, blood moves a lot faster. We tend to see an increase in circulation, which means that—quite literally—paper money wears out faster, so you have to have more in hand to replace notes that have reached the end of their useful life. Of course, there are people who slow down in terms of spending, and they save their money—not always in the bank either. A tin box under the bed is often thought safer—if you have to run, you can run with your money. But on the other side of the coin there can be a tendency toward profligacy—if we’re all going to die, we can’t take it with us when we go.”
“I confess, I had never considered any of this.”
“No reason why you should, my dear. For most people, money is for saving, spending or worrying about—too much, too little, never enough—money as the devil’s tool.” He reached for a silver letter opener, and began tapping it against his palm. “But with the threat of invasion—and it has never been more likely—the banks have quite literally been destroying money, though at the same time notes in different denominations have been deposited with clearing banks around the country.”
“So that’s why, as you said, the printing, supply and movement of money is even more crucial now than in peacetime.”
“Yes, that’s the extent of it.” He put down the letter opener. “And the Bank of England has moved some staff down to a location in Hampshire, given the risk of bombing across London. I can only tell you that money transported between Hampshire and London is an operation executed under a blanket of extreme security.”
“And what about the proximity of the coast, and navy in Southampton and Portsmouth—to say nothing of the air force and army in the area.”
“Our forces are in position due to the threat that has come from across the Channel since before Roman times—even the Vikings came around to the south coast!”
Maisie nodded, thoughtful. “The War Office and Threadneedle Street are therefore close.”
“Very.” Lord Julian looked toward the door, as if he expected someone to be there, listening. He lowered his voice; Maisie had to lean forward to hear. “The Bank of England liaises with the War Office to ensure that any special notes required for military purposes are supplied in a timely fashion and—again—under conditions of absolute secrecy.” He paused, and looked out of the window, raising his hand as he smiled into the distance. “There’s Rowan—I must be quick. She knows you’re here now, so she will be bursting into the room in a few moments.” Another second’s pause. “There has to be a supply for operations such as sabotage, intelligence, and for our airmen who may find themselves in enemy territory after being shot down. They must have local currency with them, and we also have to pay the troops from our colonies—in which case it behooves us to have currency issued by British Military Authority, and in some instances those words are printed onto the currency. You will find there are notes available in sterling denominations that will never be available to the British spending public.”
Maisie leaned back. “I had no idea.”
“Nor should you have an idea—it’s a matter of the security of our sovereign land.”
“I have too many questions for the moments we have left to ourselves.” She bit her bottom lip. “But regarding another matter, I have the serial number here, of a type of paint used to render airfield buildings safe from fire. Could you find out more about it?” Maisie took the note from her pocket and passed it to Lord Julian. “If possible, I’d like to know whether it’s passed any tests for safety. And who manufactures it—where it’s from.”
“I will see what I can find out, Mai—”
“There you are! Darling Maisie, where have you been?” Lady Rowan Compton had not knocked before entering, and walked with as much speed as she could muster, now that the arthritis in her hip was becoming more troublesome. She was accompanied by a spaniel and a Labrador retriever, both dogs bounding into the room in a direct line for Lord Julian.
“Rather busy this week, Rowan. You’re looking well—is your hip feeling better?”
“Oh, let’s not get boring and start talking about health.”
Lord Julian moved to stand to allow his wife to take his seat, but Maisie came to her feet.
“No, please—Rowan, I am just about to leave, so please take this chair.”
Lady Rowan sat down with a loud sigh, and rested her cane alongside the chair. “Growing old is not for the faint-hearted, Maisie. Mark my words.” She rested her hand on her chest and caught her breath. “I wanted to ask you if you would come up to town with me tomorrow morning—for the service at Westminster. George can drive us up.”
“Of course—Tim will be here to keep Anna amused, and while she’s asleep, my father will keep him busy. And I can drive you up to town, if you like. I left the Alvis here and I will need it during the coming week—you might have to come back on the train though, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all. And George will pick me up at Tonbridge so I don’t have to shilly-shally around waiting for the branch line train down to Chelstone. I quite enjoy the train, so it will all be perfect! I’ll be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Maisie waited on the platform, stepping back as the train from Tonbridge pulled into the small branch line station. Doors began opening and a handful of people stepped out of the train, as others waited to board. She looked both ways along the platform, to no avail. Tim was not among the passengers now holding out their tickets as they walked toward the stationmaster, who greeted everyone by name. Steam punched out from the locomotive, and as the guard stepped forward with his flag, raising his arm and blowing his whistle to signal the train’s departure, Maisie turned to leave the station.