by Murray Pura
Stretching a hand out, Edward said, “My friends, ladies and gentlemen, the greatest support I have in my life—may I present my wife and the mother of my son, Lady Charlotte Danforth. Please make a way for her. Thank you! Please let her through.”
A lane opened for her lined with people who smiled as they continued clapping. She’d hardly started forward before Edward came to her, took her in his strong arms, and kissed her. The clapping grew in intensity.
She broke the kiss and put a hand to his lips. “There are more than a hundred people here, Edward. Don’t do anything rash.”
He grinned. “I’m MP for Dover, love! I’ll be as rash as I like tonight.” He kissed her again, lifting her off the floor.
She pushed against his arms for a few moments but finally laced her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with as much passion and abandon as she’d ever shown in public. The cheering shook the windows as her hair spread like a shining wing over her back.
6
November, 1924–April, 1925
Dover Sky
My dear Catherine,
I hope my note finds you well. I regret I will not be able to get to Dover Sky as planned for Guy Fawkes on November 5. I fear I will have to cancel on the Christmas Ball as well. A great deal must be done to prepare the Hood for another long voyage, and I am expected to do more than my share. I hope to stay in touch, and trust I may be able to call on you once we have returned in April or May.
With profound apologies,
Terrence
Terry,
I received your note this morning. I should have preferred a phone call. I’m sorry you are so busy we can’t see each other even for a Christmas dance. Are you seriously going to be rushing about making everything shipshape right through the holiday season? I can’t help but believe there are other reasons for this change in the weather.
Terry, I grieved as a widow for two years. You were one of the people who helped me get out from behind shuttered windows and into the light of day. I counted on you to understand I cannot be a widow again while you go to sea, but I do not think you do.
I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not asking for liberty to “play the field” while you are gone. I simply ask you to see things from my perspective. I must get out. I must get around. I will need escorts who are not brothers or uncles. I intend to be here when you return, and I very much want you to call.
I’m sorry Guy Fawkes and the Christmas season couldn’t have been all the merrier for being spent in your company, my dear.
Catherine
“Ah, splendid! Splendid!” Lord Preston raised his hands over his head and clapped. “You’ve outdone yourself, Master Skitt! See what a fine butler he is turning into, Elizabeth.”
Lady Preston squinted as flames leaped up. “If building and burning effigies of Guy Fawkes is what makes a fine butler these days, then yes, I expect Skitt is well on his way. It’s a good thing he escorted Catherine home for this celebration.”
The effigy was a man’s figure in a tall black hat and beard. It stood about fifteen feet high and was mounted on a rough wooden sled. Skitt and Harrison were tugging it towards Lord and Lady Preston and their family. Yellow flames curled up the legs of the effigy. The men pulled it up to a high mound of dead brush and pruned branches right in front of the Danforths. It immediately ignited the wood and created a bonfire. Fire shot up to the effigy’s nose and eyebrows, giving it a glowering, sinister look.
“Look at that wicked fellow!” exclaimed Lord Preston. “Just think, Edward, had he succeeded in blowing up the Parliament buildings—and he certainly had enough kegs of gunpowder to do it—you might be giving your maiden speech in a shack come the new year.”
“Surely not, Father.” Edward lifted up his son, Owen, so the boy could see the effigy’s smoldering face better. “We’d have put up something wonderful by now to replace it, don’t you think?”
“Well, well, I expect so.” Lord Preston glanced at Victoria, who had her son snuggled against her shoulder. “How are you holding up, my dear? Would you like me to take young Ramsay?”
“He’s half asleep, Dad, bonfire or no bonfire. Two-year-olds can only last so long. I’m all right so don’t worry. I’m only three months into my pregnancy, and I’m from sturdy Lancashire stock.”
“I see. I pray so. I’m only sorry Ben couldn’t make it back from that race of his in France. Kipp is here, after all.”
“Kipp didn’t qualify, Dad. That’s why he made it back for Guy Fawkes Night.”
“He told me the race would be finished yesterday afternoon.”
“It was. But, well, there was an accident, you see. Not Ben. He’s fine. But a mate of his and Kipp’s bought it…excuse me, he crashed and was killed. He hit power lines. It’s dreadful, really. I didn’t want to bring it up and trouble you and Mum.”
Lady Preston was aghast, her face a mask of fright in the reflection of the flames and the shadows. “How terrible! The poor man and his family. But Ben is all right, you say?”
“Yes, yes, as fine as he can be seeing a friend flip over and blow up. Excuse me, I talk like a pilot all the time now. Ben is returning with the body tomorrow. The young widow lives in Canterbury. Kipp went to see her this afternoon.”
Lady Preston placed her hand on her daughter’s arm. “How did that go?”
“Kipp didn’t say much about it. He took Jeremy with him, and he said Jeremy’s presence helped a great deal. There was a lot of fuss—a lot of crying. They were the first people to tell the young woman about there being any accident, you see.”
“That’s awful. Is that why Jeremy and Emma didn’t come down from London with the boys for Guy Fawkes?”
“Possibly. Kipp overnighted with the Scarboroughs at their estate before coming here to be with Christelle. I’m glad Mrs. Longstaff is nursing Chris back to health. That is a nasty bug she picked up.”
“It really is.” Lady Preston turned back to the blaze. “Well, we’ll see Emma and Jeremy tomorrow when we get Edward and your father settled into the flat just down from the Parliament buildings. Fancy them living together when the House is sitting.”
Victoria gave a sharp laugh. “The cooking and cleaning will be masterful, I’m sure.”
“I expect they will eat out at Tollers a good deal and hire old Mrs. Brill to do the cleaning. She needs the money, in any case. She has five young ones to support since her husband was killed in the war. She gets along pretty well even though she has a bad eye.”
Victoria looked into the soaring flames and thought about this. “I met her at Jeremy’s church, didn’t I? The very thin woman with the eye patch and the biggest smile?”
“That’s Mrs. Brill.”
“Was her husband Royal Navy?”
“He was, dear, yes.”
The bonfire flared and plucked everyone out of the shadows, illuminating them as if they were statues on display. Victoria spotted Catherine, who had been standing further back.
“Hullo, Cath!” she called out. “We were speaking of the navy, and now I’m wondering where your naval officer is. Wasn’t he supposed to be here for Guy Fawkes?”
Catherine folded her arms over her chest and kept gazing into the bonfire. “He couldn’t make it. Something came up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ll see him before he ships out to the Mediterranean, won’t you?”
“It looks like not. The Hood needs his attention before they weigh anchor for Gibraltar.”
Victoria smiled. “Surely you need his attention too?”
Catherine didn’t look away from the effigy of Guy Fawkes that suddenly popped and sparks erupted. “I don’t, you know.”
Dear Mum,
A quick note to let you know we’ll not be driving up from Dover Sky as planned for Christmas. I’m so sorry, but Sean seems to have that on-again off-again bug Christelle has been fighting all fall. I really don’t want to move him. You don’t need to worry though.
We’ll have a fabulous time he
re. Skitt and Harrison have finished winterizing the house up and down, and we’re as cozy as hedgehogs in their burrows. Holly has promised a special dinner Christmas Day, and she’s had Norah and Sally working away as if the king and queen are paying a visit. Best of all, we’ll see Edward and Char on December 22 before they take the train to Liverpool. We’ll also see Jeremy and Emma on December 23 before they head back to London for the church services.
I’ll have presents for the boys, and Holly and I have bought gifts for all the servants here too so we’ll be ready for everyone.
As for Sean, well, the men here are going to spoil him rotten. You know they are bringing down a pony for him? He’s from Old Todd Turpin’s mare. They’ll hide him in the barn they put up in August. Sickbed or not, my Sean will be up on his feet and begging to ride him without so much as a hot biscuit in his tummy, I’m sure. Not quite two but going on twelve, that’s him.
So you see, it will be quite wonderful here, Mama, though we will miss you and Dad and the crew at Ashton Park terribly. I’ll ring you up on Christmas Eve before you attend the candlelight service at church.
I love you and Dad very much, and the two of you are always in my prayers.
Best wishes this Christmas season,
Catherine
P.S. Please let me know how Christelle is getting along. When Kipp was passing through on his way to see Lord Scarborough about some sort of investment in the airline he looked troubled. And Kipp seldom looks troubled. Please keep me up-to-date about absolutely everything, Mum. God bless and keep you.
Dover Sky
“How was your Christmas, sir?” asked the courier.
“Very well, thank you,” replied Skitt. “What do you have for me?”
“Not for you exactly. It’s a message for the lady of the manor—for Catherine Moore.”
“She’s not home at present.”
“It’s from Leftenant Commander Fordyce of the HMS Hood.”
“Ah.”
The motorcycle courier lifted his goggles and held up the letter. “See here—see the stars? That means it’s an important message—really important. I brought it up from Dover as fast as I could.” He handed the note to the butler.
Skitt held the telegram. “If it’s so important, why didn’t the Leftenant Commander phone?”
“I don’t know the contents of the cable, o’course, but I do know there was something about the phone lines out of Plymouth and Devonport acting up.”
“I see.”
“Lady Catherine Moore needs to see that right sharp, sir. Right sharp, I say.”
“I know my business. Thank you for doing yours. Good day.”
The courier tipped his hat and stepped back from the door. “I know my place just as you do.”
“Good.”
Skitt closed the door. He looked at both sides of the telegram, glanced about, and then quietly opened it with a pocketknife.
MY LOVE
PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I BEG OF YOU TO COME TO DEVONPORT BEFORE WE SAIL WHICH WILL BE IN 24 HOURS. I’VE BEEN A FOOL. I WILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU. I BEG OF YOU NOT TO IGNORE THIS PLEA DEAREST. IF YOU CAN SEND A CABLE AHEAD SO I WILL KNOW WHEN TO EXPECT YOU THAT WOULD BE GRAND. I DON’T WANT TO SAIL WITHOUT SEEING YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE ONE MORE TIME.
WITH ALL MY HEART
TERRY
Skitt read it through twice. He glanced about again before walking to the peat fire flickering in the grate in the parlor. He tossed the telegram in, and a corner quickly took on a yellow edge and was engulfed in flames. In an instant it was charred paper and then ashes.
Parliament, Westminster, London
Edward Danforth paused after he rose. He glanced up at the visitors’ gallery and saw his mother, his sister Emma, and her husband, Jeremy. Looking across at the Opposition benches, he saw only a blur of faces until his eyes focused on one—Tanner Buchanan. Staring over Buchanan’s head, Edward began his speech.
Mr. Speaker, as proud as we are of our nation and our Empire, I say we cannot afford to rest on our laurels.
Hear, hear! came from his fellow MPs in the Conservative government seats around him. He could distinctly make out his father’s voice.
While it is true that we have peace in our time, it is also true we have a Bolshevik menace to the east that some members of Parliament sought to bring into our bosom before this last election.
Members of the Labor Party across the aisle began to shout and point at him. Edward noticed Buchanan remained in his seat, his face calm and composed.
The result should scarcely have been different to Great Britain than the effect achieved by Cleopatra when she coaxed the asps to fill her body with their poison.
The roar from Labor grew. Edward spoke over the cries.
Shakespeare declared it: “With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate of life at once untie: poor venomous fool be angry, and dispatch.” Bolshevism would have been Britain’s death.
Shouts of fury and defiance from the Labor Party swirled about the chamber amid the yells of “Hear! Hear!” from the Conservatives. Edward waited for the tumult to die down, but it didn’t. He spoke as loudly as he could.
We must guard our freedom. We must remain vigilant. Not only against Moscow but with an eye always on Europe, which often as not boils over once or twice every century. We are grateful that borders are secure once more on the Continent. We thank God Germany has crawled out of the ash heap of defeat and degradation the Kaiser abandoned it to. It now has a workforce that is employed and an economy that grows sounder each day. Nevertheless, I say the world requires a strong Britain, a free Britain, in order that the world itself may be free. To that end, we must maintain our navy. Britain must continue to rule the waves!
Men pounded their hands on wood for him, and other men pounded their hands on wood against him. Edward used his strongest voice to finish.
Vigilance in time of peace so there may be victory in time of war. We should deepen our harbors and build at Portsmouth and Plymouth and Devonport; and build at Dover and Clyde and Scapa Flow.
The navy has always been Britain’s lifeline. We cannot neglect it. I say no to any treaties that would limit the construction of our warships. No, no, and a thousand times no shall the heirs of Nelson’s legacy—the race who won at Trafalgar and the Nile—be left like beggars on the shore, cap in hand, hoping other navies will defend them! “Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!”
With tumult all around him, Edward sat back in his seat. In the pandemonium of nays and yeas his eyes locked onto those of Tanner Buchanan. He’d not opened his mouth, or thrown paper, or pounded his fist. In fact, he’d remained motionless. Nor did his eyes flinch from Edward’s stare. Finally Edward glanced up at the gallery. Noticing his gaze, both Emma and his mother blew him kisses. Jeremy raised his hand and briefly nodded.
Dover Sky
Catherine looked out the window as the February sleet turned the ground white. It wouldn’t last, but she found herself thinking about mountains—snowcapped mountains with sunlight flashing off the peaks. Then she found herself daydreaming about long stretches of ocean with curling whitecaps. I thought you would at least write. Are you so angry you won’t even drop me a line or wish me happy birthday? I know I hurt you, but I thought you were a bigger man than this. I honestly did, Terry.
The Bible was open in Catherine’s lap as she sat on the window seat in her room. She flipped a few pages and her eyes fell on Nahum 1:15: “Behold upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace!” Catherine had scarcely read it before there was a knock on the door.
“Lady Catherine? There is a telephone call for you.”
She frowned at the interruption but kept the annoyance out of her voice. “Very well, Skitt. I’ll be right down. Who is it?”
“Baron von Isenburg, m’lady.”
“Baron? Hullo?”
“Yes? Lady Catherine?”
“Yes, this is she. How are yo
u keeping, Baron?”
“Ah, very well, thank you. This year has been good to Germany in terms of less inflation and much more employment.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Listen, Lady Catherine, Professor Hartmann has been given leave from the university to complete his book. Do you know about his book?”
“I remember him mentioning it.”
“In any case, he asked specifically if you might join us in Switzerland to help him write it.”
Catherine felt heat rush into her face. “What?”
“We are going to his family’s chateau in Pura, Switzerland. It’s quite lovely and peaceful. Cool in February with plenty of snow. The mountains—astonishing and magnificent! We truly wish you to join us and see them for yourself.”
“That’s…that’s gracious of you, Baron. But I have my boy—”
“Naturally he will be most welcome as well.”
“He just received a pony for Christmas. I don’t think I can tear him away.”
“Nonsense. The pony will be at Dover Sky when he returns. There is a stable by the chateau filled with beautiful horses your son will find fascinating, I’m sure. That will certainly take his mind off his pony. They have Lipizzans there. Do you know that breed?”
“No.”
“Dark-colored at birth but milky white at maturity. They are strong, noble creatures who are great jumpers and often trained in dressage. I’m sure we can persuade Herr Salzgeber to let Sean ride a stallion or two under supervision.”
“A stallion?”
“Under strictest supervision, I assure you.”
“I don’t know, Baron. How long of a trip are you planning?”
“Six to eight weeks. You could return in April or May. The chateau is fully staffed, and you would, of course, be assigned your own servants.”
