Chapter One: Day One (Saturday)

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Mrs Dorran was worried. She had arrived at her employer's house at 233 Curzon Street that morning to find the house empty. In the kitchen, she found that the evening meal that she had left the previous day for her fellow-servants - the chauffeur Mr Lightning and his lovely young wife, and the butler Mr Poiccart - had been eaten and tided away, but the three had now vanished without trace. She knew that they had been planning to go out to a big house near Windsor yesterday evening. They had been going to look after the master and his wife, who were attending some sort of houseparty. They had expected to be back by this morning, but there was no sign of them.  

Where could they be? 

She turned on the electric cooker to make breakfast for herself, the two maids and the boy, and filled the kettle at the sink, telling herself that she mustn't worry and that they would be back in a few minutes, looking for their breakfast and a nice hot cup of tea. After all, yesterday Mr Lightning and young Mirabelle had not come in until breakfast, after being out all night chasing the master's wife all the way to Nottingham and bringing her home. Apparently - Mirabelle had told her - Mrs Maria had gone to address a meeting, and then the man who organised the meeting had tried to kidnap her. Anyway, they had rescued her and brought her back, but it had all been very exciting, or downright dangerous, depending how you thought about it. Megs and Emily, the maids, and the boy, Bob, had been thrilled by the story, but Mrs Dorran found that it left her cold. She could only think of how easily Mrs Maria might not have come back, and then the master, the dear kind Mr Manfred, would have been so upset. 

She found that she was shaking as she put the kettle on the cooker, and she sat down at the table to steady herself. 'Oh dear, oh dear,' she said aloud. 'Poor Mrs Maria! Poor Miss Mirabelle!'  

A crash outside made her jump to her feet. There was a scrabble at the back door, as if someone was struggling with the lock, and then three people exploded into the kitchen. Mrs Dorran almost fell on young Mirabelle's neck in her relief. 'Miss Mirabelle! Thank goodness you're back safe!' 

'We're safe, don't worry,' her young colleague assured her, returning her hug. 'But you won't believe what's happened!' 

'I am sure that our good lady cook will believe that Leon nearly knocked young Bob off his bicycle as we came in,' observed Raymond Poiccart, who had come in right behind Mirabelle. 

Mrs Dorran eyed the dark, solemn Frenchman with a cynical eye: she didn't approve of his forever sniping at the chauffeur. 'He's not Mr Lightning for nothing,' she said. 'Is the young scamp all right?' 

'He shook his fist after me and swore revenge, so I think so,' said Leon Gonsalez, taking off his cap and coat and hanging them up on the hooks just inside the kitchen door. 'It wouldn't have happened if he had been on the correct side of the road.' 

'Don't worry about Bob, he'll be fine,' exclaimed Mirabelle impatiently. 'It's Mrs Maria! Someone shot at her! And look at this!' She thrust the newspaper in her hand at Mrs Dorran. 

Mrs Dorran took it - it was the Daily Megaphone, her favourite newspaper, which Bob usually brought to the kitchen each morning. She unfolded it and read the headlines, which were twice the usual size. 

'Civil War Plot by Socialists' Masters: Moscow Orders To Our Reds; Great Plot Disclosed Yesterday; "Paralyse the Army and Navy"; And Mr MacDonald Would Lend Russia Our Money!' 

'Mercy!' she exclaimed, and sat down heavily in her favourite chair by the kitchen table. 

'It's the people who tried to kill Mrs Maria,' explained Mirabelle. 'Leon found a letter at the house where George and Maria were staying last night and George wrote to the Megaphone to tell everyone that they want to overthrow our government!' 

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