Prune 30 [Heroes of the Revolution]
Title: The Letter
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Flavor(s): Prune #30 (if it’s the last thing I do)
Toppings/Extras: Cherry, Malt - Truth or Dare (Emily/Liz reads the files on her parents, from roisin_farrell)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2515
Notes: 1991/1960; Liz Cardew, Charles Terrell, Edward Iveson.
Summary: Liz gets an unexpected and maybe unwanted answer to some of her questions.
***
Liz Cardew closed the card folder on her desk and put the top back on the fountain pen she’d been using, when the door opened. “Ah, Anil,” she said without glancing up. “About time. I was on the point of leaving.”
“Not Dr Basu,” said a less familiar voice and Liz looked up, startled, to see Jamie Bradley, private secretary to Charles Terrell, standing in front of her. He passed over a note. “The PM would like to see you, and the lines seem to be down again, so I thought I’d catch you on my way out. He says it’s personal, not government business.”
The note gave Liz even less information than Jamie had just imparted. “Personal?”
“That’s what he said,” Jamie replied with a shrug, not very apologetic for his lack of knowledge on the subject. “Seemed to think it was something important - but personal, not public.”
Liz made her way over to the Prime Minister’s office and, after she’d been shown in, waited for Charles to stop writing and notice her. When he didn’t, she eventually ventured to say, “Charles?”
He stopped, and immediately got to his feet. “Liz. Good! I thought you might have left and now is a much better time than the morning. Look, I have something to show you, but it might not be that easy for you. Bit of a shock, perhaps.”
Liz raised her eyebrows, as she took the seat opposite him. “For heavens’ sake, Charles, what is it? If you’ve got any more dead bodies lying about, I’m fairly sure they frown on that sort of thing in the PM. Or at least, so I assume. Dr Basu would probably think it only typical of a rebel leader.”
“You know that isn’t funny,” said Charles. “Also not the thing to raise in the PM’s office, thank you.”
Liz pushed back a little against her seat. “No, I know. Sorry. But will you just get on and spit it out? I know you’re a politician, but if someone’s slashed all our funding or whatever it is, I can take it.”
“It’s not that. I’ve got some papers here, and while they’re technically government property at the moment, I think you have a right to see them.”
The realisation hit her, finally. Liz swallowed, feeling her mouth dry. “My parents,” she said. “You’ve found something else.” And then despite his obvious concern, she leapt to a brief moment of improbable hope. “Oh, God - my mother -?”
He shook his head. “No, not your mother. After our previous conversation, I asked Sally to let me know if anything cropped up on the subject. There have been a lot of files to sort through - Hallam kept whole stacks in his private archive and nobody left alive and at liberty seems to have a good idea what was in them, and there are more from various departments that weren’t exactly officially filing duplicates.”
“But these papers, whatever they are?”
“At some point around 1970, it seems Farrell & Hopgood solicitors were suspected of resistance activity, although under highly dubious evidence by the sounds of it. All their files were seized and most of them left unsorted in a warehouse in north London that has a whole lot of similar files. There’s a team going through them - it’s hoped they might shed some light on the fates of some individuals who disappeared during Hallam’s time in office, among other things. And when they got to these boxes, this turned up.”
Charles slid a document across the desk to her, his gaze fixed anxiously on her face. Liz looked down at it and, after that build up, felt foremost a leaden sense of disappointment, even as it was preceded by a small chill as she recognised what she had. “My father’s will? That’s all?” Then she bit her lip. “I’m sorry - I should thank you. I am grateful, of course. It may help. I just thought you had something more - I don’t know what.”
“If you read it,” said Charles, “you’ll understand why.”
Liz frowned, scanning over it. She’d wanted to know exactly what had become of her parents for years, but it was always an uncomfortable thing to encounter something of theirs. There was such a gap between that lost, enchanted part of her childhood, and everything that had come after. And she knew about her father, what he had done, how he had died, even if she didn’t really know why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more, now that she came to it.
“Here,” said Charles, pointing. “This section.”
Liz focused on the paragraph he’d indicated, gradually beginning to actually take in the words as she read. She paused at the end, feeling cold, and read it again to be sure of what she’d seen.
“A letter?” she said. She raised her gaze to meet Charles’s. “There was a letter. Has it survived?”
Charles nodded. “It was with the will.”
“Oh, God,” said Liz.
Charles passed her an envelope and Liz moved back as if it was a snake, giving into an instinctive panic.
“I don’t want it,” she said, and shoved it back towards him. “Just - put it away - burn it! I don’t want it.” Her hand was shaking, she noticed, although she wasn’t sure what her reaction was as yet, but anger was beginning to claw its way uppermost. How dared her father do what he did and then write her a letter to explain it away?
Charles gave an awkward cough. “Well, technically it’s still government property at the moment, so I can’t burn it. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but I have to warn you that someone will.”
“What?” said Liz. “It’s my letter!”
“It’s in the government archives and it concerns the previous Foreign Secretary. It’s an important historical document that might shed light on the last years of the National Government, something which Hallam has largely obscured. And it’s not as if anyone else knows that you’re the person it’s addressed to.”
Liz hesitated, keeping one hand on the envelope. “Do you think this was what got the practice raided? And its partners arrested, no doubt.”
“I doubt it,” said Charles. “Wouldn’t have been still here, buried under all the rest otherwise. Just a coincidence - or they pulled out anything relating to clients who had their names on the questionable list, but never got round to going through it all. Enough people suffered from Hallam’s paranoia. You should see that warehouse. It’s going to take years before it’s sorted through. The Colonel suggested a bonfire, but we thought there’d been enough of that kind of approach lately.”
Liz nodded. “All right, I take your point. I shall look at it. Just give me a moment.”
“I can keep it here for you for a while,” he said. “It can wait if you need some time.”
Liz had made up her mind to it now, and she shook her head. “No. I’ll never sleep tonight if I don’t.” Although, she thought, still angry, she didn’t see what Father could have to say to her, not about this. She didn’t want a letter from him - he should have stayed alive and told her whatever he needed to himself. And then, her medical training raised its head, and she wondered, even more uneasily, what sort of state of mind he might have been in, and whether it would be something she could bear to look at.
“I’ll be elsewhere,” said Charles. “I’ll find someone to make you some tea. Might even make it myself at a push, and the Prime Minister doesn’t make tea for everyone.”
“Ha,” she said, but she wasn’t really listening, opening up the thirty year old envelope cautiously. There was some water damage on one side, and she had a sudden, contrary fear, that in fact there would be nothing left to read. Whenever she came close to her parents, that was always the way it was: there was so little remaining, never enough to hold.
***
1960
Edward Iveson stared down at the blank sheet of paper on his desk and wondered yet again how to start. Perhaps it was better not to try. What could he say? But he thought again of growing up, never knowing why his mother had left him with his aunt. He would rather choose another path entirely for Emily, but since it must be this one, he could at least make every effort to explain. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t even rely on Julia doing so, and in any case, she always blamed herself, and he knew that wasn’t true.
He decided that the only way to do it was simply to get on and write, to pretend it was any other necessary document he had to draft. He picked up his pen again, and began:
Dear Emily,
This is without doubt the most difficult letter I have ever written, and one for which I hope there will be little need, but matters are growing dangerous and I cannot make that assumption. It is also difficult because, even here, even in a letter that should be kept secure and private, there is a great deal that cannot be said, but I will do my best.
First, to reassure you that I have made every provision for you. This letter will reach you either on the date your mother decides is most appropriate, or on your twenty-first birthday, when you will come into full control of the account I have set up in your new name. Everything has been closely checked and provided enough of our society remains intact, you will be cared for and kept safe.
The truth lies in actions your mother and I took a long time ago, although the fault lies chiefly with me. One of these actions in particular would have the most serious consequences if uncovered and it has been, by an associate of Mr Hallam’s, who has been blackmailing me. I could not allow that to continue any longer, especially since I have come to regard Hallam as the most serious current threat to our country. The only way to bring the situation to a close without also sacrificing your mother, is the one that I have chosen. It is, you must understand, also just in its own way. As I said, a great deal of this is entirely my own fault.
I cannot imagine that will be much comfort, but it is the truth. The last thing either of us ever wanted was to abandon you; I hope again that your mother will be there to tell you that.
I also hope -
“Sir,” said one of the endless secretaries, knocking on the door and poking his head round. “It’s nearly seven now - the German ambassador is on the line, and you did arrange to speak to him -”
Edward glanced at the clock in surprise, and cursed its treachery; it had taken more time than he had thought to get this far. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Put him through immediately.”
***
I feel nothing, thought Liz. Here I am, reading all this, and I feel nothing. The medical part of her mind reminded herself that that was how shock worked, and this was a shock, even if a minor one. The words would sink in eventually, and then the reaction would come.
She picked the paper up and read on, finishing the last paragraph:-
- I also hope that Hallam will be long forgotten by the time you read this, but whatever the situation, I wish you a good life. You must go on with it, no matter what happens, and not be ruled by our mistakes. I feel confident that you will.
All that remains is to say that you have all my love, and always will, no matter what may divide us. Bless you,
Father.
“I’m not sure if I hate you more, or him,” said Liz, when Charles returned with a cup of tea.
Charles raised his eyebrows and paused on the point of taking a sip from his own cup. “Well, that’s the last time I make you a hot drink.”
“I don’t mean it,” said Liz. “I don’t know how I feel - and I still don’t know about my mother. I don’t suppose there’s anything about that in this warehouse of yours?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?” he murmured. “Although don’t you think that little discovery is enough of a miracle for one person to expect?”
Liz thought about it. The words of the letter circled around in her head, only gradually beginning to settle and harden into their meaning and her first reaction was a strange sort of comfort. She knew better, but she’d thought - one always did think - that her parents couldn’t really have cared, not enough, not to leave like that. There was always still a part of her that was the angry and abandoned nine year old, even if she had grown up in every other way a long time ago. She felt a sort of resentment at both Charles and her father, for giving her the letter, and for writing it - for forcing her to engage with any of that - but it did feel better to have that letter, telling her that that was not so; that she had not imagined the first part of her childhood, or that she had been loved, whatever had come after.
“I need to take it home, Charles,” she said. “Please.” She blinked back tears she hadn’t realised were beginning to form. “It’s my letter. I don’t think he ever meant for anyone else to see it, except perhaps Mother.”
Charles held out his hand for it. “I can’t steal documents,” he said gently. “I should think most likely they will let you have it in the end, but it’ll have to be dealt with along with the rest. But I can let you have a copy, if you’ll wait.”
She nodded, and then gave a rueful laugh. “I said I didn’t want to read it - and I’m not entirely sure I won’t wish I hadn’t in a little while. But I think I’d wait here all night rather than go home without it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Charles and gave her shoulder a momentary squeeze. “I’ll see to it for you.”
Liz laughed again, then, more fully. “What did I do to deserve the PM waiting on me like this?”
“It’s confidential material,” said Charles. “And anyway, there was that time we’re not talking of in here that you helped me dispose of a body. Maybe we can finally call it even.”
Liz paused, as if to consider that, and then shook her head. “No chance. You’ll go to your grave before you’ve managed to repay me for that favour. Or at least, so I fervently hope.”
He grinned. “I’ll get you that copy. Won’t be long.”
“Charles,” she said, as he was halfway through the door. “I suppose I should say thank you.”
***
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Flavor(s): Prune #30 (if it’s the last thing I do)
Toppings/Extras: Cherry, Malt - Truth or Dare (Emily/Liz reads the files on her parents, from roisin_farrell)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2515
Notes: 1991/1960; Liz Cardew, Charles Terrell, Edward Iveson.
Summary: Liz gets an unexpected and maybe unwanted answer to some of her questions.
***
Liz Cardew closed the card folder on her desk and put the top back on the fountain pen she’d been using, when the door opened. “Ah, Anil,” she said without glancing up. “About time. I was on the point of leaving.”
“Not Dr Basu,” said a less familiar voice and Liz looked up, startled, to see Jamie Bradley, private secretary to Charles Terrell, standing in front of her. He passed over a note. “The PM would like to see you, and the lines seem to be down again, so I thought I’d catch you on my way out. He says it’s personal, not government business.”
The note gave Liz even less information than Jamie had just imparted. “Personal?”
“That’s what he said,” Jamie replied with a shrug, not very apologetic for his lack of knowledge on the subject. “Seemed to think it was something important - but personal, not public.”
Liz made her way over to the Prime Minister’s office and, after she’d been shown in, waited for Charles to stop writing and notice her. When he didn’t, she eventually ventured to say, “Charles?”
He stopped, and immediately got to his feet. “Liz. Good! I thought you might have left and now is a much better time than the morning. Look, I have something to show you, but it might not be that easy for you. Bit of a shock, perhaps.”
Liz raised her eyebrows, as she took the seat opposite him. “For heavens’ sake, Charles, what is it? If you’ve got any more dead bodies lying about, I’m fairly sure they frown on that sort of thing in the PM. Or at least, so I assume. Dr Basu would probably think it only typical of a rebel leader.”
“You know that isn’t funny,” said Charles. “Also not the thing to raise in the PM’s office, thank you.”
Liz pushed back a little against her seat. “No, I know. Sorry. But will you just get on and spit it out? I know you’re a politician, but if someone’s slashed all our funding or whatever it is, I can take it.”
“It’s not that. I’ve got some papers here, and while they’re technically government property at the moment, I think you have a right to see them.”
The realisation hit her, finally. Liz swallowed, feeling her mouth dry. “My parents,” she said. “You’ve found something else.” And then despite his obvious concern, she leapt to a brief moment of improbable hope. “Oh, God - my mother -?”
He shook his head. “No, not your mother. After our previous conversation, I asked Sally to let me know if anything cropped up on the subject. There have been a lot of files to sort through - Hallam kept whole stacks in his private archive and nobody left alive and at liberty seems to have a good idea what was in them, and there are more from various departments that weren’t exactly officially filing duplicates.”
“But these papers, whatever they are?”
“At some point around 1970, it seems Farrell & Hopgood solicitors were suspected of resistance activity, although under highly dubious evidence by the sounds of it. All their files were seized and most of them left unsorted in a warehouse in north London that has a whole lot of similar files. There’s a team going through them - it’s hoped they might shed some light on the fates of some individuals who disappeared during Hallam’s time in office, among other things. And when they got to these boxes, this turned up.”
Charles slid a document across the desk to her, his gaze fixed anxiously on her face. Liz looked down at it and, after that build up, felt foremost a leaden sense of disappointment, even as it was preceded by a small chill as she recognised what she had. “My father’s will? That’s all?” Then she bit her lip. “I’m sorry - I should thank you. I am grateful, of course. It may help. I just thought you had something more - I don’t know what.”
“If you read it,” said Charles, “you’ll understand why.”
Liz frowned, scanning over it. She’d wanted to know exactly what had become of her parents for years, but it was always an uncomfortable thing to encounter something of theirs. There was such a gap between that lost, enchanted part of her childhood, and everything that had come after. And she knew about her father, what he had done, how he had died, even if she didn’t really know why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more, now that she came to it.
“Here,” said Charles, pointing. “This section.”
Liz focused on the paragraph he’d indicated, gradually beginning to actually take in the words as she read. She paused at the end, feeling cold, and read it again to be sure of what she’d seen.
“A letter?” she said. She raised her gaze to meet Charles’s. “There was a letter. Has it survived?”
Charles nodded. “It was with the will.”
“Oh, God,” said Liz.
Charles passed her an envelope and Liz moved back as if it was a snake, giving into an instinctive panic.
“I don’t want it,” she said, and shoved it back towards him. “Just - put it away - burn it! I don’t want it.” Her hand was shaking, she noticed, although she wasn’t sure what her reaction was as yet, but anger was beginning to claw its way uppermost. How dared her father do what he did and then write her a letter to explain it away?
Charles gave an awkward cough. “Well, technically it’s still government property at the moment, so I can’t burn it. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but I have to warn you that someone will.”
“What?” said Liz. “It’s my letter!”
“It’s in the government archives and it concerns the previous Foreign Secretary. It’s an important historical document that might shed light on the last years of the National Government, something which Hallam has largely obscured. And it’s not as if anyone else knows that you’re the person it’s addressed to.”
Liz hesitated, keeping one hand on the envelope. “Do you think this was what got the practice raided? And its partners arrested, no doubt.”
“I doubt it,” said Charles. “Wouldn’t have been still here, buried under all the rest otherwise. Just a coincidence - or they pulled out anything relating to clients who had their names on the questionable list, but never got round to going through it all. Enough people suffered from Hallam’s paranoia. You should see that warehouse. It’s going to take years before it’s sorted through. The Colonel suggested a bonfire, but we thought there’d been enough of that kind of approach lately.”
Liz nodded. “All right, I take your point. I shall look at it. Just give me a moment.”
“I can keep it here for you for a while,” he said. “It can wait if you need some time.”
Liz had made up her mind to it now, and she shook her head. “No. I’ll never sleep tonight if I don’t.” Although, she thought, still angry, she didn’t see what Father could have to say to her, not about this. She didn’t want a letter from him - he should have stayed alive and told her whatever he needed to himself. And then, her medical training raised its head, and she wondered, even more uneasily, what sort of state of mind he might have been in, and whether it would be something she could bear to look at.
“I’ll be elsewhere,” said Charles. “I’ll find someone to make you some tea. Might even make it myself at a push, and the Prime Minister doesn’t make tea for everyone.”
“Ha,” she said, but she wasn’t really listening, opening up the thirty year old envelope cautiously. There was some water damage on one side, and she had a sudden, contrary fear, that in fact there would be nothing left to read. Whenever she came close to her parents, that was always the way it was: there was so little remaining, never enough to hold.
***
1960
Edward Iveson stared down at the blank sheet of paper on his desk and wondered yet again how to start. Perhaps it was better not to try. What could he say? But he thought again of growing up, never knowing why his mother had left him with his aunt. He would rather choose another path entirely for Emily, but since it must be this one, he could at least make every effort to explain. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t even rely on Julia doing so, and in any case, she always blamed herself, and he knew that wasn’t true.
He decided that the only way to do it was simply to get on and write, to pretend it was any other necessary document he had to draft. He picked up his pen again, and began:
Dear Emily,
This is without doubt the most difficult letter I have ever written, and one for which I hope there will be little need, but matters are growing dangerous and I cannot make that assumption. It is also difficult because, even here, even in a letter that should be kept secure and private, there is a great deal that cannot be said, but I will do my best.
First, to reassure you that I have made every provision for you. This letter will reach you either on the date your mother decides is most appropriate, or on your twenty-first birthday, when you will come into full control of the account I have set up in your new name. Everything has been closely checked and provided enough of our society remains intact, you will be cared for and kept safe.
The truth lies in actions your mother and I took a long time ago, although the fault lies chiefly with me. One of these actions in particular would have the most serious consequences if uncovered and it has been, by an associate of Mr Hallam’s, who has been blackmailing me. I could not allow that to continue any longer, especially since I have come to regard Hallam as the most serious current threat to our country. The only way to bring the situation to a close without also sacrificing your mother, is the one that I have chosen. It is, you must understand, also just in its own way. As I said, a great deal of this is entirely my own fault.
I cannot imagine that will be much comfort, but it is the truth. The last thing either of us ever wanted was to abandon you; I hope again that your mother will be there to tell you that.
I also hope -
“Sir,” said one of the endless secretaries, knocking on the door and poking his head round. “It’s nearly seven now - the German ambassador is on the line, and you did arrange to speak to him -”
Edward glanced at the clock in surprise, and cursed its treachery; it had taken more time than he had thought to get this far. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Put him through immediately.”
***
I feel nothing, thought Liz. Here I am, reading all this, and I feel nothing. The medical part of her mind reminded herself that that was how shock worked, and this was a shock, even if a minor one. The words would sink in eventually, and then the reaction would come.
She picked the paper up and read on, finishing the last paragraph:-
- I also hope that Hallam will be long forgotten by the time you read this, but whatever the situation, I wish you a good life. You must go on with it, no matter what happens, and not be ruled by our mistakes. I feel confident that you will.
All that remains is to say that you have all my love, and always will, no matter what may divide us. Bless you,
Father.
“I’m not sure if I hate you more, or him,” said Liz, when Charles returned with a cup of tea.
Charles raised his eyebrows and paused on the point of taking a sip from his own cup. “Well, that’s the last time I make you a hot drink.”
“I don’t mean it,” said Liz. “I don’t know how I feel - and I still don’t know about my mother. I don’t suppose there’s anything about that in this warehouse of yours?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?” he murmured. “Although don’t you think that little discovery is enough of a miracle for one person to expect?”
Liz thought about it. The words of the letter circled around in her head, only gradually beginning to settle and harden into their meaning and her first reaction was a strange sort of comfort. She knew better, but she’d thought - one always did think - that her parents couldn’t really have cared, not enough, not to leave like that. There was always still a part of her that was the angry and abandoned nine year old, even if she had grown up in every other way a long time ago. She felt a sort of resentment at both Charles and her father, for giving her the letter, and for writing it - for forcing her to engage with any of that - but it did feel better to have that letter, telling her that that was not so; that she had not imagined the first part of her childhood, or that she had been loved, whatever had come after.
“I need to take it home, Charles,” she said. “Please.” She blinked back tears she hadn’t realised were beginning to form. “It’s my letter. I don’t think he ever meant for anyone else to see it, except perhaps Mother.”
Charles held out his hand for it. “I can’t steal documents,” he said gently. “I should think most likely they will let you have it in the end, but it’ll have to be dealt with along with the rest. But I can let you have a copy, if you’ll wait.”
She nodded, and then gave a rueful laugh. “I said I didn’t want to read it - and I’m not entirely sure I won’t wish I hadn’t in a little while. But I think I’d wait here all night rather than go home without it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Charles and gave her shoulder a momentary squeeze. “I’ll see to it for you.”
Liz laughed again, then, more fully. “What did I do to deserve the PM waiting on me like this?”
“It’s confidential material,” said Charles. “And anyway, there was that time we’re not talking of in here that you helped me dispose of a body. Maybe we can finally call it even.”
Liz paused, as if to consider that, and then shook her head. “No chance. You’ll go to your grave before you’ve managed to repay me for that favour. Or at least, so I fervently hope.”
He grinned. “I’ll get you that copy. Won’t be long.”
“Charles,” she said, as he was halfway through the door. “I suppose I should say thank you.”
***