Radio Girls(86)

“They’re still not talking about anything illegal,” Ellis said to Maisie and Hilda. They were convened in the study in a building neither Ellis nor Hilda deigned to identify. “Ask every third person on Oxford Street and they’ll tell you the BBC is a load of Bolshevist propaganda. Every next third person will insist it’s a government mouthpiece.”

The interviews Maisie still wished to conduct, using that traveling microphone.

Hilda looked over Maisie’s notes, one hand idly twisting up her onyx necklace, the other holding a cigarette. She was smoking more these days.

“It’s certainly gratifying to know we’ve done such good work,” Hilda said. “Barely a blink ago the papers were swearing the BBC was a fad that wouldn’t last. Now entire political factions want to bend us to their will. Nothing says you’ve arrived like a conspiracy. Except maybe a death threat.”

“Most people are never that bored,” Ellis muttered.

Maisie studied their pile of propaganda. More pamphlets, articles cut from German newspapers with notes in English, a two-volume book by Hitler claiming to be autobiography, but mostly just what Phyllida would call “political blether,” and a lot of letters from Vernon Bartlett whose contents did not make it into his Way of the World Talks. There were also scribbled sections of letters from Vita, in Berlin. Maisie wanted to ask if she was acting as a spy as well, but was uneasy about venturing into any discussion that might touch on the word, “Shall!!”

“Vita tells me a great deal that doesn’t find its way into the papers,” Hilda said.

Maisie blushed at the name “Vita” being spoken out loud. She sneaked a glance at Ellis, but if he knew anything in particular about that name, his mostly bored expression didn’t reveal it.

“She has noticed much in the way of a cosmopolitan atmosphere, and a great influence from Hollywood and even Asia in entertainments. But she’s also observed more than once a club primarily attracting homosexuals being attacked by thugs.”

“Hardly surprising,” Ellis muttered.

“But then we have all this propaganda, from these Nazis—”

“A marginalized group of mostly laughable idiots, as I understand,” Ellis interrupted.

“Yes, and Vita and Harold agree with you. But Harold, in his capacity as diplomat, notes that some political circles agree with the concern over interest in Bolshevism and, of course, everyone’s favorite specters, trade unions and media. These circles would also like to see a more traditional Germany rise again. And increasingly there are those murmuring that given the opportunity, they’d lend support to whoever can help make it happen. And everyone thinks Germany is being stifled and robbed by the British and French, and is not to be borne.”

“Yes, even your economist friend Keynes said that,” Ellis pointed out. “And on the BBC no less. One would think the Fascists would appreciate him.”

“Mr. Keynes is no Fascist!” Hilda snapped. “He was making a perfectly fair point, and his studies indicate that it will hardly improve our own economy to keep fleecing Germany.”

“And continuing to kick someone when they’re down is never a good idea,” Maisie chimed in.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ellis mused. “It does at least keep them down.”

“Only until they get up again, at which point they want more revenge,” Maisie said, remembering all her plans to destroy the Toronto gang kids. And Georgina, too.

I bet all those kids ended up dead anyway. Or in prison. Here’s hoping.

“I’ve no doubt that Siemens, being German, wishes to see Germany rich and powerful again,” Ellis conceded. “Patriotism costs nothing. But these are still businessmen, and they want to do business in England and wherever else they can. They won’t be so patriotic as to interfere with business. And any number of corporations despise unions and want to see them excoriated in the newspapers. So if they wish to publish their own paper to do as much, they can, but they can’t force anyone to read it.”

“What if they buy up all the other papers?” Hilda asked.

“Oh nonsense, that would never be allowed,” Ellis scoffed. “We’ve laws against that sort of thing, and it’s just not the British way besides.”

“It happened in Italy,” Hilda reminded him.

“Not exactly a journalistic paragon prior to Mussolini, was it, though?”

“See here, my dear God,” Hilda said, tapping the German papers. “This is very good propaganda, well considered and awfully compelling. Didn’t Mussolini prove how useful that could be?”

“Certainly, but the idea that a few wealthy men would take such ludicrous steps all to maximize their profits is the stuff of high melodrama. Tell me, Miss Musgrave, do any of them twirl their mustaches?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, will you please help?” Hilda snapped.

“Seems to me what you need is a good investigative journalist, not me.” He turned to Maisie, pointing at her with his cheroot. “Which are you more interested in becoming, Miss Musgrave? Journalist or spy?”

“Truth seeker,” said Maisie.

Ellis fell about laughing and Hilda beamed like a proud favorite aunt.

“And truth teller,” Maisie added. Just so everything was clear.