by Murray Pura
“All right, Wolfgang,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “where are you?”
Dover Sky
Lord Preston stood by dozens of red, blue, and white balloons—the same colors as the Union Jack that flew from a pole next to a brand-new Quonset hut. He slapped a rolled-up newspaper against the side of his leg as he kept an eye on the northern horizon and glanced occasionally at the crowd of people spilling over onto the airfield.
“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” he asked out loud. “Eh?”
Victoria laughed. “Oh, Papa! You haven’t got anywhere to go. It’s your birthday. Relax and enjoy it.”
“I’d relax a lot more if this race were over and done with and no one was injured. Your mother feels the same way.”
“Well, you put up the cup and the two-thousand-pound purse, Dad,” Victoria reminded.
“In a moment of weakness, I assure you.” He glanced about him. “Where have the children disappeared to?”
“You can’t expect an empty sky to hold their attention. Only grown-ups are keen on that sort of thing. Aunt Holly and Harrison have the lot of them down to feed bread crumbs to the swans.”
“The swans! I hope Harrison keeps his wits about him. The pond is deeper than it looks and—”
“Father, I think Harrison knows a thing or two about ponds. And if he’s forgotten anything, Aunt Holly will be quick to remind him. Catherine, Christelle, and Char are at the pond as well. Please don’t fret about that along with the air race.”
“Hmm…” Lord Preston turned to his son-in-law, who was at his left elbow. “Jeremy, you and Emma have news?”
Jeremy looked at him in surprise, sunlight glinting off his round eyeglasses. “Who told you that?”
Emma put a gloved hand on her husband’s arm. “I did, Jeremy, dear. But I said we’d tell him at his party when everyone was present—not out here by the airstrip.”
“You can tell the others at the party,” said Lord Preston. He placed the arm with the newspaper around his wife. “Elizabeth and I prefer to hear about it now. It is good news, I presume?”
“Very good news, Papa,” replied Emma. “Though I think reactions will be mixed. Jeremy has been given a pulpit in London—and a very good one.”
“London!” Lord Preston was startled.
“Why, that’s miles away from Ashton Park!” exclaimed Lady Preston.
“We hear that Jeremy’s being considered for the post of bishop, and that if he does well in London he’s got it.”
“Em,” Jeremy reacted quickly, “you didn’t need to tell them that.”
“I did. It’s the only thing that would soften the blow of us packing up and leaving Lancashire.”
“A bishop?” Lord and Lady Preston responded together.
Jeremy looked at the ground and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mum and Dad. I don’t have to take the London church.”
Lord Preston stared at him. “What?”
Lady Preston put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “My dear boy, of course you must take it. God moves in mysterious ways. We’re so proud of you.”
“Well done, Jeremy!” Edward came over and pumped the cleric’s left hand, carefully avoiding Jeremy’s prosthetic right arm and hand. “This is excellent news. I fear I must let my own cat out of the bag now.”
“What is that?” asked Emma.
“Mother and Father know, but no one else in the family does. The Conservative Party has chosen me for one of its candidates. I’m to run for a seat in Parliament the next election. I’m to run for Dover!”
Emma laughed. “No! Is it true? You and Char only a stone’s throw from us in London?”
“If I win, yes.”
Victoria hugged him fiercely from behind. “Of course you’ll win, old brother Edward. You’ve always wanted to rule the world, and now you’ve got your start.”
“Ouch! Careful of the pocketbook. I still have to get by Labor and the Liberals.”
“That’s nothing.”
“Well, Vic, Labor took power from the Conservatives and formed the government in January. I can’t underestimate them.”
“You’ll be first past the post, never fear.”
“Here they come!” a voice shouted.
The crowd made their way off the landing strip as the judges yelled into their megaphones. Five or six dots could be spotted rapidly approaching, darting underneath a white bank of cumulus clouds and dropping in altitude. As the shapes of the planes grew obvious, the colors of the SPAD in the lead became clear to the people on the ground: yellow and black. Close on the lead plan’s tail was a SPAD with a white cross painted on the fuselage.
“Ben! It’s Ben!” Victoria exclaimed as she pointed. “He has the cross. He’s right behind the leader.”
“And Kipp is right behind Ben.” Edward grinned. “See the black K?”
Lord Preston struck his leg with the newspaper. “First past the flagstaff wins.”
The roar of engines blotted out conversation. For a moment it looked as if both Ben and Kipp would overtake the black-and-yellow SPAD, but its pilot opened the throttle and surged ahead, streaking past the flagpole half a minute before anyone else. A groan swept through the crowd. Victoria closed her eyes and put the back of her hand to her mouth. Lord Preston unfolded his paper and glanced at a list of entrants that included descriptions of their aircraft.
“I see.” He shook his head. “A German won. A Baron von Zeltner. I’d hoped to give the Lord Preston Cup to an Englishman first time around. Well, well, can’t be helped.”
Von Zeltner brought his plane about and touched down on the grass. Ben and Kipp came in for a landing minutes after him. The judges barked into their megaphones and reminded people more planes would be coming in over the next few minutes even as a cluster of men and women waving the black, red, and gold flag of Germany’s Weimar Republic rushed von Zeltner’s SPAD. He cut his engine quickly and the propeller whirred to a stop moments before the well-wishers reached his plane. Climbing out, he was swarmed by the flag bearers and lifted up onto their shoulders. Once his boots were on the ground again, a teenaged girl in a dress the colors of his plane kissed him on the cheek and presented him with a bouquet of roses. Smiling broadly, he lifted them to his face. Some were yellow, others scarlet, and still others such a bloodred they looked black.
“Shall I bring the trophy from the hut now, Lord Preston?”
Lord Preston nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, Skitt. They’ve set up a table for it on the other side of the Quonset. Not with red, black, and gold bunting, thank goodness.”
“That’s not all there is to say about it, surely?” Jeremy looked at Victoria. “Didn’t you tell me the planes all took off at different intervals?”
“Yes.”
“Then who won must depend on when Ben and Kipp actually left Liverpool.”
“If it was the same time as the German, the race is over and done, Jeremy,” Lord Preston said.
Edward cocked his eyebrows. “Yes, but they might have taken off long after him. Jeremy’s right. The judges will have something to say about this once everyone’s touched down.”
The Germans moved their celebration to the edge of the field as SPAD after SPAD made its way in and landed. Lord Preston counted every one and was relieved when number twenty bounced over the grass and sputtered to a stop. The children boiled up from the pond, whistling and yelling and waving their arms, Harrison and Holly running after them to herd them away from the airplanes. The judges gathered the pilots into a group by the Quonset where Skitt had placed the award cup on a table decorated for the occasion. The trophy was two feet high with large handles on either side and fashioned out of silver. Von Zeltner finally broke away from the Germans and made his way to the hut, the roses still in his hand.
“Tough break, England,” he said as he approached Ben and Kipp. “The wind was in my favor. Perhaps God as well.”
Ben said nothing, but Kipp bent to smell one of the roses. “Great bouquet. A ve
ry pretty girl put them in your arms. Mind if I take the flowers home, Wolfgang?”
Von Zeltner gave a half laugh. “Take them home? Well, why not? There will be plenty more for me in Berlin. Here!” He handed the bouquet to Kipp. “And if your French wife doesn’t mind, you can take the young woman home too. That would spice up your marriage, Danforth.”
Ben saw Kipp’s right hand ball into a fist, and he stepped in to take the bouquet. “Danke, Wolfgang,” Ben said. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up about taking the cup back to the Fatherland. They timed the flights, remember? And we took off after you did.”
Von Zeltner was quiet a moment. “Not so long after, Whitecross.”
“At least ten minutes.”
“We’ll see.”
Von Zeltner stalked away.
“Thank you for that.” Kipp was rigid. “I’m sure my father would have been less than impressed at his son brawling with a German baron at the Danforth summer estate. Could touch off another war.”
“Ah, but think how much better you would feel right now if you’d permanently hammered his face into the landing strip. You could have walked over that baronial snout of his every time you flew in and out of Dover Sky.”
“There’s a heartwarming Christian thought.”
“Right.”
One of the judges, thin as wire and sporting a top hat and tails, walked into the cluster of fliers with a clipboard. “I’ve just rung up Liverpool and gotten the departure times for every plane. The judges and I have matched those with your arrival times, and I have the final results here.” The pilots grew quiet as he flipped through a few sheets. Glancing up, he spotted von Zeltner at the back. “Baron von Zeltner, I congratulate you on being the first across the line. However you were also the first to leave Liverpool.”
Von Zeltner’s voice was tight. “I took off in a group of three.”
“Yes.” The judge consulted his clipboard. “With Hugo and St. Laurent.” He looked back up and met von Zeltner’s gaze. “You had nine minutes and seventeen seconds head start on the second person across the line, Benjamin Whitecross. And he was only thirty-seven seconds behind you. Which means he beat you by eight minutes and forty seconds. Ben Whitecross wins the Lord Preston Cup Air Race!”
Von Zeltner’s face whitened. “I demand to see that page of arrival and departure times.”
“Certainly. You will notice it is signed and authorized by all four judges.”
Von Zeltner pushed his way through the fliers and snatched the clipboard from the judge’s hand. The other pilots crowded in and looked over his shoulder as he scanned the page. He dropped the clipboard on the grass and headed towards his plane.
“Are you not staying for the festivities, Baron von Zeltner?” the judge called after him. “It is Lord Preston’s sixtieth birthday and there will be fireworks at ten.”
“I will have my festivities in Berlin,” von Zeltner snapped over his shoulder. “They know who the hero of the hour is.”
“I see. Well, don’t forget to fill up with petrol on Lord Preston’s shilling. We’d hate to have Germany’s hero wind up at the bottom of the Channel for lack of fuel.”
The rest of the pilots swarmed Ben, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back. “Well done, Whitecross! Well done!”
Another ball of light trailed sparks and then burst overhead, forming a blazing flower with seven golden petals. A great “ahhhhhh” erupted from the hundreds of people spread around Dover Sky.
“Mum?”
“That one was particularly lovely. Your Father didn’t want to spend the money, but I asked him when he intended to turn sixty a second time. Now and then we have to kill the fatted calf and celebrate.”
“Mum?”
“What is it, Catherine? Ohhhhhh, look at that—the colors of the Union Jack!”
“I want you to know that I intend to remain at Dover Sky through the winter.”
An explosion of green and white lit up the night sky.
“What did you say?”
“I said I plan to make Dover Sky my home. I’m not going back with you and Papa in the fall.”
Elizabeth turned to look at Catherine. Red flashed over her face from the next burst of fireworks. “Of course you are returning to Ashton Park with us. There’s no one at Dover Sky in the winter but Fairburn and a few other servants, and Fairburn will be leaving in November.”
“I want to be in the south.”
“Nonsense.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Gold and silver streaks shot through the darkness.
“Mum, do you want me to rent a flat in Dover? I’ve lived on my own in Belfast when Albert was on buisness trips, for heaven’s sake. Why can’t I stay at the summer estate?”
“My dear, no one lives here but the groundskeeper, and as the groundskeeper will soon be Skitt, it’s out of the question.”
“Why? He won’t be a bother.”
“A bother? The young man’s dotty about you. It simply can’t be done.”
“Dotty? You have such quaint expressions.” Catherine looked up at a particularly vivid burst of yellow. “I will go to Dover then. Or Folkestone. Or perhaps as far south as Plymouth.”
“Plymouth? What on earth is in Plymouth?” Lady Preston’s mouth opened slightly as Roman candles were lit and pumped dozens of stars into the blackness. “Ah, it’s Leftenant Commander Fordyce, isn’t it? You want to be closer to him.”
“I don’t really.”
“You’ve been out with him several times now.”
“Just to dinner.”
“Devonport is still a long ways from Dover Sky.”
Catherine folded her arms across her chest as bang after bang interrupted their conversation. “I’m not going to argue with you, Mum. I’m twenty-five. Certainly I’m well within my bounds to choose where I wish to live.”
“I don’t understand why you want to stay here.”
“It’s not a great mystery. Ashton Park pulls me down; Dover Sky lifts me up.”
“Why?”
“I can’t write out all the reasons why, Mother. It’s just that way.”
Six or seven fireworks broke open one after another.
“Very well since you are so determined.” Lady Preston gazed upward at the showers of colored sparks. “There must be more staff. You cannot have Tavy or Mrs. Longstaff, but Norah and Sally have been helping Mrs. Longstaff with the meals so they will be well suited to the kitchen. It’s quite impossible to leave Skitt here with you in the vicinity. Harrison must take over as groundskeeper. He will be amenable to that, although he will certainly miss his castle. Holly will fulfill the role of manager of the household staff. Hmm, and we must have more of those. I’ll send along Nancy and Harriet. They’ll do nicely as chambermaids, but we require a couple of footmen as well. You do complicate matters, my dear. It’s bad enough having Emma in London this fall and Edward and Charlotte taking up residence in Dover so he can start ringing doorbells.”
“But there’s no election scheduled.”
“There will be. Ramsay MacDonald and Labor have a minority government. Something always happens with minority governments. It doesn’t take long before they topple, and there’s another election. You could always room with Edward and Charlotte, of course, and save me all this trouble.”
“No, Mum, I need to be on my own. Alone as I can be in a house you’re cramming with servants.”
“You’ll find you need all of them. People will visit if Dover Sky is occupied over the winter months. What am I thinking? You’ll require a butler as well. Liscombe? Tarrington?”
“Put in Skitt, Mother.”
“What? Skitt as butler? A young man who is a groundskeeper? Ridiculous.”
“Let him have a go. Skitt can do the job. He loves it here.”
“I’m sure he does with the queen of his heart in her bedchamber upstairs.”
“Don’t talk rot, Mum. And you’ll have Harrison and two footmen at Dover Sky in any case if you’re worried about appearances.”
“No, no, I’m sorry, my dear. Skitt staying is out of the question.”
“So now it’s just family and close friends.” Edward lifted a glass. “A toast to my father, Lord Preston! May he live to see another sixty years and another Conservative government before the year’s out.”
People clapped and cheered. Lord Preston disentangled himself from his grandchildren on the library’s couch and got to his feet.
“It may be more likely I see one hundred and twenty summers than I see the Conservative Party in power before Christmas.” Lord Preston waved his hand. “We’ve already had a full day and more than enough speeches. I’ve promised the children angel food cake and ice cream before their special birthday bedtime, their regular bedtime being long past. So pray, I say, let’s say grace and get on with it.”
“Father.” Edward held up several telegrams. “I have cables to read from Michael and Libby in America, as well as Robbie and Shannon in Jerusalem.”
“Do you? Bless them for remembering me. But those are easily read out loud while we’re eating cake, I think.”
After the family and guests had cake and Edward read the various birthday greetings, the majority of the guests left for home. When just close friends and family were left, Edward announced, “There is also a special gift from Lord and Lady Scarborough.”
“Is there? Where is it?”
Lord Scarborough stood up. “Difficult to wrap, Lord Preston. But I’ll gladly take you to it in the morning.”
“Take me to it in the morning? Where is it? At your villa in Portugal?”
“Not quite, old boy. The gift is down at the Port of Dover—berthed.”
“What?” Lord Preston stared at him.
Lord Scarborough smiled. “I have not had the opportunity of presenting you with a prize worthy of your attainment to marquess and lordship. Now you are sixty as well. So many milestones. Not to mention our friendship. Lady Scarborough and I picked this out on our own. It is not brand-new, mind you, but it’s utterly seaworthy and comes with a glorious history.”
