by Murray Pura
“I should very much like to read that. When will your friend be joining us?”
“I wired him to join us Friday night or Saturday. He has his own car, and I’m confident he’ll be able to find the estate.”
“How did you get the telegram out?”
The baron turned his head and blew a stream of smoke out the window. “My chauffeur took it into Dover.”
“Has your man eaten?”
“Your cook put a plate together for him, and he ate in his room. He’s a bit of a loner, so he was quite happy with that.” He got up. “I’ve forgotten my brandy.” He went to the table, turned a brandy snifter right side up, and poured several ounces from the bottle into the glass. “Albrecht is at Oxford today. He’s already been to Cambridge. He has guest lectures at Manchester and Liverpool as well.” The baron took his glass to his seat. “I think I mentioned he teaches at Tubingen?”
“Yes.”
“Professor of Protestant Theology.”
“And you a good Catholic, Gerard.”
“Appearances and history to the contrary, the two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Hmm. How are things in Germany?”
The baron shrugged. “Not as bad as 1919 or last year. Inflation has been high. So has unemployment. We see some signs of improvement now, but the terms of the treaty were too harsh, Vilhelm.”
“I know it. You’ve read my speeches in Hansard. I felt the same way about Ireland in 1916. I argued for magnanimity then, and I argued it for Germany after the armistice. Each time I was ignored.”
“The reparation payments are absurd. When we asked for a reprieve, the French refused and sent their troops to occupy the Ruhr in ’22. The German workers went on strike so that Paris could not make money off them. Berlin supported the workers while they were on strike. You remember?”
“Yes.”
“The new chancellor of Germany came into power last summer. He agreed to resume the reparation payments to France and ordered the workers in the Ruhr to end their strike. There was a great deal of anger at this. He had to declare a state of emergency. Bavaria in particular refused to obey his orders.”
Lord Preston nodded. “Certainly we were preoccupied with our own family matters in 1923, but I read the newspapers.”
The baron leaned forward in his chair, brandy in one hand, cigar in the other. “When a situation becomes black as night—a night that has little or no hope of dawn—people become desperate for a savior. One they can see in front of them with their own eyes. They look for a man who will take control and fix everything. They don’t care how. They just want light at the end of the tunnel regardless of how it is provided.”
Lord Preston drummed his fingers again. “Like Mussolini marching on Rome and taking over in ’22?”
The baron lifted his glass. “Exactly like that. You’ve heard of this Hitler fellow?”
“No.”
“He tried to take over the government last fall. He and a group of thugs now called the Nazi Party. There was a great deal of furor over ending the Ruhr strike and resuming payments to France, and Adolph Hitler took advantage of that. He attempted to kidnap the rulers in Bavaria because he felt they were weakening in their opposition to the French and to the German chancellor. He stormed into a beer hall where they were meeting, waved a gun, and demanded they join his revolution to overthrow the chancellor, defy France, and march on Berlin as Mussolini had marched on Rome.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was arrested and sentenced to prison for five years. We should not see him out again until 1928. But I don’t think Germany will be much better off in five years. That worries me because I’m sure he’ll try to take advantage of a black situation in ’28 just as he did in ’23.”
“He may change, Gerard. Men change in prison.”
“Or become even more fanatical and hard-hearted. I have discovered he is dictating a book while he is behind bars. The first volume is due to be published early next year.”
“What is it about?”
The German inhaled on his cigar. “His ideology, his beliefs, his politics. I’m afraid he will gain a great following if the book touches on any of Germany’s raw nerves. Others dismiss him, but I don’t. A few of your people in Westminster don’t either.”
“Who are you seeing in London?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Lord Preston nodded. “What do you want of me?”
“I am hoping you will become directly involved in keeping Herr Hitler in prison. Or directly involved in preventing him from trying to seize power again. We must have your help.”
“There is little I can do about the internal affairs of another country.”
“We must figure out together what we can or cannot do.”
“Baron—”
“Lord Preston.” The baron’s eyes were an icy-gray that cut through the haze of cigar smoke. “Are you willing to risk another war if this man gains control of Berlin just as Mussolini has gained control over Rome?”
2
June, 1924
Catherine noticed that the sporty red car had come up the drive to their house a second time, stopped, and was sitting there. The wide brim of her sunbonnet shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun so she could see the driver clearly since he had the top of the car down. He was young and clean-shaven. He had light-brown hair, a red woolen scarf about his neck, and brown leather gloves on his hands. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and dark sunglasses. The man gazed in her direction. Then he turned the car around and headed back to the main road. It was easy to spot him speeding south to Dover because all the other cars were dark in color.
I wonder what he’s looking for? Catherine thought as she bent down and continued to pinch dead roses off their stalks. The manor was surrounded by white roses of different varieties. While Sean had his nap, she’d decided to pull on gloves and get rid of the brown-edged blossoms that detracted from the overall appearance of the bushes. She placed the dead ones in a basket that hung off her arm. The basket was almost full.
In what seemed like only moments later, she heard the roar of an engine. She turned quickly when a man’s voice called out, “Hello? Hello?”
The red car was almost at the house again, and the driver was waving to her and calling as the car slowed to a stop by the rosebush she was working on.
“I’m terribly sorry.”
His English was accented in a similar fashion to the baron’s—not exactly, she noticed, but very close.
“You must think it odd to see me approach your house and then drive away again. I apologize for that. It appears I’m lost. Can you help?”
Catherine set down her basket and pulled off her white cotton gardening gloves. “I’ll certainly try.” She walked up to the car, tugging at the bow that held her sunbonnet in place. “What or who are you looking for?” Her bonnet finally came off, and her long, black hair, unpinned, came tumbling down over her shoulders as she shook her head to free it.
The driver stared at her and stumbled over his words. “I’m…well…I’m not sure…”
She was puzzled. “You’re not sure what or who you’re looking for?”
“I–I didn’t think—I didn’t think a young woman like yourself—I–I didn’t know you were young, you see…”
“What?”
He took off his sunglasses. His brown eyes were almost golden in the sunlight. “Excuse me. I’m babbling. I thought you were an older woman, that’s all.”
Catherine felt a sudden rush of heat as his eyes remained on her. It astonished her. “Oh. Is the person you’re looking for older?”
“An older woman? Not at all. I’m much happier to have found you.” He put up his gloved hands. “Forgive me. I’m sure I’m making little sense. If you could direct me to Dover Sky, I’ll be on my way and leave you to your rosebushes. They’re lovely, by the way.”
“You’re looking for Dover Sky?”
“Have I got the name right? I
sn’t there a summer estate roundabouts that goes by that? It belongs to the Danforth family. You must have heard of the Danforth family. Lord and Lady Preston?”
Catherine stared at him and began to laugh. “Why, this is Dover Sky. This is the Danforth summer home.”
“It is? You mean this is the right place and you’re part of it?”
She felt a blush coming up from her neck at his burst of enthusiasm. “I expect I am. I’m Lord and Lady Preston’s daughter Catherine.”
“Catherine. What a wonderful name. So you’re not the wife? You’re not Lady Preston?”
“I am not.”
“What a relief.”
“Really?”
She saw his eyes glance at her left hand.
“I’m Albrecht. Albrecht Hartmann. Please call me by my first name—Albrecht.”
“Ah, the baron’s friend. The theologian.”
“Has he been talking about me?” He turned off the engine. “Somehow I had the idea in my head the house would be blue. You know, a summer blue like the sky over Dover in fair weather.”
“No.” She smiled. “White like the cliffs.”
“I see that.” He opened the car door and stepped out. “Pardon me. How do I address you? You are the daughter of an English marquess?”
“Believe me, I’m quite happy with Catherine.”
“But if this were a formal occasion?”
“A formal occasion?”
“A ball. A concert. An affair at Westminster. How would I be expected to address you?”
“Lady Catherine, I suppose.”
He reached out his hand. Without thinking, she put hers in it and he raised it to his lips. “Then Lady Catherine it is. I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you. Do you…do you have any title I should address you by?”
“Well, professor, I suppose. But I’d rather you didn’t. This is the summer holiday, after all, and you are not one of my students.”
“Doctor then?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I have master’s degrees in divinity and theology. Those will have to suffice for now.”
“So I may call you Master Hartmann?”
“Oh no! Please don’t. I much prefer hearing Albrecht roll off your—excuse me, but I must say it—your perfect lips.”
The blush expanded from her neck into her cheeks and around her eyes. “My goodness, thank you, Albrecht. Danke schön. That’s very kind. But it doesn’t seem fair that I am free to call you Albrecht while you must go about putting lady in front of my name every time you wish to use it.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was treating you with any sort of disrespect. What if I call you Catherine when it is just the two of us and Lady Catherine if other people are around?”
“I’m fine with that.” She dropped her eyes suddenly. “You must be eager to see the baron. Shall I show you to the back porch where he and my father are chatting?”
“I’d rather not.”
Her gaze came up. “You’d rather not?”
“I’ve seen a lot of the baron, and I’ll see a lot more. But I haven’t seen Lady Catherine before. May I not spend more time with her?”
“I—I’m doing the roses.” She hesitated, her mind whirling. “But…but if you wish.”
“Perhaps you’re free to show me around the estate?”
“My son is napping…”
Albrecht’s face went white. His arms went to his sides and he bowed stiffly. “My apologies, Lady Catherine. I didn’t know you were married. Here I am offering gallantries and pleasantries, and all the while thinking you were an eligible young woman. Please show me the way to the baron, and you shall quickly be rid of me. You must think me quite the brute. Never mind, Lady Catherine. I’m sure I can find my way to the back of the manor myself…”
“Albrecht!” interrupted Catherine. “I am not in the least bit insulted. Quite the contrary.” She took a deep breath. “You have not been crass or rude. Forward, yes, but I, well, I find you charming in a very continental way. I was going to say my son is napping and he usually likes a three-hour rest. I’m certain that will give me plenty of time to give you a short tour of the estate. If you are still interested.”
“But your husband?”
“Please walk with me, Albrecht. I’m going to show you the apple trees first.” She started forward. When he didn’t follow, she looked back at him. “Join me. Honestly, it’s so rare that I meet new people I actually like.”
He continued to hesitate. “It would not do for us—”
“My husband was killed, Albrecht. Almost two years ago now.”
“I see. I’m very sorry, Lady Catherine. He cannot have been very old.”
“He was an Irishman killed in Belfast. Gunmen targeted him because he wanted Northern Ireland to remain attached to Britain. He didn’t want to be part of an independent Irish state. That’s all it took.”
Albrecht was silent a moment. “Often it takes much less.”
“Now that is out of the way, shall we walk? I find you refreshing. You were drawn to me simply because I was a young woman out among the rosebushes. I find that appealing. So many people have been introduced to me in the hopes of making a match. But you didn’t know me when you drove up. Nothing was prearranged. You are not Lord So-and-So’s heir or Lady Push-and-Pull’s youngest son coming to meet me at one of the balls I’ve attended lately. The whole business seems rather flat to me. But you? You just pulled up in your natty red convertible and asked for directions. You didn’t know me from an acorn. As I said, I find that very refreshing. So would my late husband, to tell you the truth. He hated all the stuffed shirts.”
“Well, if you insist.” Albrecht relaxed. “How do you know I’m not one of those stuffed shirts?”
“I should hardly think so. Not the way you’ve been acting for the past ten or fifteen minutes.” She smiled, her black hair shining in the warm sun. “Mum and Dad would be overjoyed to look out a window and see me strolling with a refined-looking man like yourself. So please don’t be worried about how this will look. The staff will whisper, of course, but they always whisper. Just so long as you understand I am not agreeing to anything beyond a stroll on the grounds. I have made a new friend, the friend is a man, and I am enjoying that friend’s company. Are you satisfied with this?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You mean if I ask you to visit me at my castle on the Rhine and stay over for a month, you will refuse?”
“Most certainly.”
“Then I will not ask.” He joined her, and they walked into the apple orchard at the side of the house.
“You don’t actually have a castle on the Rhine, do you, Albrecht?” she asked, the play of light and shade under the trees dappling her face.
His hands went behind his back as they walked. “In fact I do. Or rather my father does. But I’m afraid my older brother Walter will get it.”
“And what will you inherit?”
“The old mountain chateau in Pura, Switzerland, with its sweeping views of the mountains and Lake Lugano and Italy.”
“Now you’re teasing me.”
“I’m not actually. We really do have the chateau. Would you like to see it?”
“This estate will have to suffice for the both of us for now. Come, let me show you the swans.”
“She said yes!”
“She didn’t!”
“Aye, she did!” Norah grinned. “Lady Preston promised Mrs. Longstaff we’ll have a dance in a fortnight—a servants’ ball, though we’ll not call it that. Can you imagine? The regular families from all around will be invited.”
“What about the bluebloods?” asked Sally.
“No, no, they’ll have their moment later in July when we celebrate Lord Preston’s birthday. This is just for us common folk and the Danforths.” She chewed on her thumb. “You can be sure Skitt will ask Lady Catherine for a waltz.”
“A waltz? He don’t know how to waltz.”
“Neither do yo
u. Neither do I. We’ll have to learn before July twelfth. Such a time we’ll have. They say the Gillans have two strapping sons, though I’ve never met them all the years I’ve summered here with the lord and lady.”
“What makes you think the Gillan boys will look at the likes of us?”
“Oh, they’ll look all right. We’ll dress in such a way as’ll turn their heads right ’round. You’ll see.”
“What are the pair of you up to?” Mrs. Longstaff came bustling into the kitchen. “We have to serve in fifteen minutes. How is the schnitzel?”
“Perfect.” Norah opened the warming door of one of the large ovens. “You see?”
Mrs. Longstaff bent over and looked in. “Lovely.” She straightened. “What about the roast potatoes? What about the cabbage soup?”
“The potatoes are done to perfection as well. The soup needed more salt, so Sally tended to that.”
“Let me see!” Mrs. Longstaff took a large spoonful of the soup that was bubbling on the stove. “Mmm…well done, Sally.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m not sure which you’re better at—cleaning the rooms or helping me cook.” She glanced about her. “Tavy has the table set in the dining hall. We have another mouth to feed tonight.”
Norah groaned. “Have we?”
“Oh, you’ll not groan once you’ve set eyes on him. The baron’s friend he is. Handsome young man. Handsome as a prince, I’d say. A theologian from Germany.”
“A theologian?” Norah rolled her eyes. “Why, he’d be a little shriveled man with spectacles.”
“He isn’t a shriveled old anything. He looks like one of the actors in The Covered Wagon.”
“I’ve not seen that film.”
“Norah Cole, how is it an old woman like myself has seen it four times and you’ve never seen it once?”
“We’re ready, ma’arm.” Tavy stood in the doorway. “Not a minute to waste.”
“Right! Norah, you run along with Tavy to the dining hall and see the shriveled-up theologian for yourself. Sally and I will send the soup up by the dumbwaiter.”
