From the diaries of Sir Shash, August 19_
I have attempted below to faithfully record the essence of a few interviews granted to the papers and magazines by those in the thick of things is what is now known as ‘The Market Snodsbury Grand Chase’. In newspapers, the matter has now been embellished more than the tiaras of royals. It is quite possible that a talking picture in the near future will tell the public a very different story. To those in the know, the following remains true.
Lady Roberta Wickham’s account:
It was rather sweet of my dearest Bertie and Sir Shash to come running over to my car to see if I was unhurt after the getaway car came within a foot or two of demolishing both Honoria and me completely even as we are about to start the cars. Bertie the goof that he is, has been for as long as I have known him, spoiling me and indulging my every whim. You wonder how Honoria, Madeline and Florence let him slip away. As for Sir Shash, well there is only one of him. Sorry, I seem to be digressing. It is probably the excitement of all that happened today.
I quickly realized that this was the probably most fun I have had since last week. As Mr. London says, it is impossible to not heed the call of the wild. Anyway, the constables had lost control of their motor car. A lady cannot simply stand by and watch the undesirable elements win the day. I have always wanted to chase someone on horseback. Young Edwin Craye doesn’t count. The Bugatti felt ready to roar. So, I did the only thing that felt right. Gave them the chase.
What a wonderful racing machine! I did not ever feel that I was losing control. I guess Pauline gets some credit there when she helped me out in our training sessions last year. I was gaining on the Morris Cowley rather quickly. It was my sights when I glanced at my rearview mirror. There she was. Honoria. Gaining on me. I could feel her stare, if that is even possible. I wonder if anyone was every so competitive. I wonder if she sleeps in longer by an hour every morning to just win at sleeping longer. For one thoroughly disgraceful moment I found myself wondering whether teaching Honoria a lesson might be the more pressing matter. I put my foot down.
The country road seemed to get narrower at one point. The Cowley was still ahead of me. I began to discern a strange sight some distance ahead of that car. A group of people had materialized with red posters and red flags. They were trying to block the road. I thought the organizers had already issued the necessary warnings about the motor race. Yet here was crowd gathering. Whatever their issue, it was possible that the desperados in the Cowley might run them over. A few seconds later, I recognized the symbol on the flags – ‘Guardian Angels of Communist Britain’. You will pardon my mixed feelings about their wellbeing.
However, there was no time. I had to catch up fast. My car was making a considerable noise. Yet even over that din, I suddenly heard Honoria bellow out the following:
Hah!
Hah!
Hah!
Hah Wickham!
Hah!
I looked to my right and then to my left. She was on my left, about to overtake me. She was doing that triumphant face she does at the end of every conversation. Well, Bertie was right. That woman had serious driving skills. However, she was not doing her reputation for being a highly skilled debater much good at that moment.
I was not sure that she entirely understood that I was chasing, not racing.
I screamed under my breath, ‘Not today, Honoria!’ and pressed down on that raging machine. I hurt my foot accelerating. I edged ahead and caught up with Morris Cowley from the right. I honked repeatedly and as hard as I could. It made these terrible ‘awooga’ sounds. I swerved the car gently to the left. It was foolish in the extreme but in another fifteen feet England would have been free from communists. However, that is a problem for the Crown, not for me. I now saw that the two escapees were a man and a woman and they looked horrified. They steered in panic to the left. I did the same equally panicked. We went off the road. Their car tilted and mine just kept going into the wild flowers. I tried to shut down the car. It shook so much. It must have been the excitement or something else but I seemed to fade out. When I woke up, it was on a familiar and rather comfortable bed in Brinkley Court. Angela, Bertie and Shash were in the room. Bertie, ever the silly boy then proceeded to embarrass me a bit in a most passionate display of relief and affection. I am not able to say more on this.
Lady Honoria Glossop’s account:
It was the most extraordinary day. What should have been a simple event of lessons given and lessons learnt turned into a needlessly dramatic affair. Before I lay out what really happened, let the records show that I had the race comfortably won. However, there are circumstances when a sportswoman must put sports second.
Lady Roberta was already racing away when I had recovered from the shock of being nearly hit by a car driven by two criminals. I raced after her. Let the records also show that Lady Honoria never backs down from a challenge. The machine felt great in my hands. I was already a skilled driver and I need not be humble about it but the Bugatti is truly a beast of speed.
In some minutes, I had Roberta Wickham in my sights. I knew this was going to be too easy so I did not drive as fast as I could. I wanted to keep some excitement going for the second leg. I mean, what were the crowds even betting for?
However, soon I noticed a black car ahead of her and speeding away. I could not believe it. She was allowing a passenger vehicle to outrun a racing car? I was left shaking my head. Too much focus on being featured in the celebrity pages, too much focus on her hair, too much attention from the press, too much of being fawned upon by that silly goose Bertie and dare I say, the entire bunch of asses in the Drones Club. All of that takes away from self-improvement. Sir Shash seems to be sweet on her as well. Men are all the same. Irrespective of the country they come from. However, this is neither here nor there.
I decided to catch up with Roberta and tell her to at least pretend to compete. I shouted at her over the considerable noise to catch her attention. It was then I noticed that there was a protest of some sort up ahead. Some people with flags and posters. Why do people get in the way of speeding vehicles despite warnings in advance? Suddenly however, Roberta raced ahead and began to honk and drive like a lunatic. The Morris and her vehicle both swerved away from the main road and into the fields. It took every ounce of self-control for me to avoid the crowd and race ahead. About fifteen seconds later, I began to worry for the safety of Roberta. I would not have put it past her to pull some elaborate scheme on me in order to win, seeing that she could never have beaten me fair.
I slowed down and cautiously drove off the road myself to where I thought the two cars were. I was in for a shock. The Morris had overturned. I got down and ran over. A man had crawled out and was laying there. It seemed to me that he was in prison clothes. So was the woman who was still inside the car. I pulled her out. She had fainted but I could discern no major injuries. I had no idea what was going on. There was no sign of Roberta’s car. Fortunately, I had a pair of binoculars with me. On instinct I looked and I could not believe my eyes. Her car had come to a stop maybe a mile away in a rather large hedge row. I took the car and drove there. She has passed out in her vehicle. The engine had shutdown somehow. A miracle, perhaps.
By then some of the crowd that had been protesting on the road had made it to where I was. Some others were standing by the other car.
Well, you know the rest. Later, I was astounded to learn the jail break. I will have a conversation with Roberta when I see her next. What was she thinking? Let the records show that I did save her. Well, I fully expect to see a piece in the paper about a brave red headed heroine instead of credit being given where it is due.
Alice Diamond’s account:
“By the Good Lord, ain’t there no decency left in this world? A woman and man ride to their freedom and all society can do is send them right back to jail? Ain’t there no justice? That woman in than infernal vehicle tried to send us to our Maker, is she going to prison? No, she isn’t. Cuz, she is rich or a film star or something. Or was she trying to off herself? It is something the rich might do. Why take poor McDonald and me with her, eh? The world, it ain’t right. That crowd, too, commies, all of them, I tell ya! Commies! Bah! They were out there trying to restrain us. Alice Diamond captured by commies? I tells ya, I shall have my revenge, oh yes, I shall.”
Well, that is that. Not much more to be said. Not unexpectedly, the police gave out a slightly revised version of the incidents from whatever I have recounted. However, a reporter named Jones from The Daily Socialite (of all publications), had arrived on the scene at the same time as Bertie and I did. He was the first to report that Lady Roberta Wickham and Lady Honoria Glossop had risked their own wellbeing to take down nefarious criminals. Variations of this narrative were printed quickly by serious newspapers and an assortment of scandal sheets. A source tells me that a movie is in the works. I hear the news that Alice Diamond and Mcdonald will serve longer sentences. As I pen down the final paragraph to this unusual chain of events, I am happy to note that both Bobbie and Honoria are doing just fine. The Drones boys have organized a party celebrating both women. A party is so often the right ending.
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