by Murray Pura
“I wonder if I will be able to do that. Are you going to play another card?”
“I expect I might. Don’t be afraid of me, Albrecht. I want you—I need you—at Dover Sky by my side, that’s all. A very simple need, really.”
Gripping his hand she led him down the hall towards the study where he worked. Books were stacked everywhere, and his desk was overflowing with paper. They’d hardly stepped through the doorway when she turned and pushed him up against the wall.
“This is my final card. Are you coming to Dover Sky?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have those glasses on again? Did you think we were going to read a book?”
“I wasn’t sure what we were going to do.”
She removed the glasses, reached back her arm and placed them on the desk. “It won’t take you long to understand my intention, professor. Believe me.” She placed her hands on both sides of his face and ran her thumbs over his skin. “When was the last time you shaved?”
“Sunday…for church.”
“Five days. I don’t mind.” She rubbed hard against his cheekbones. “This won’t hurt, I promise.” Her lips brushed his, and then she pressed against him with more force before pulling away. “You see?”
He caught his breath. “Is that all, Lady Catherine?”
“No, it’s not, Professor Hartmann.”
She tugged his head towards hers. This kiss was stronger, and she didn’t release her grip on his face or stop pressing in with her thumbs. Breaking away a second time, she took the measure of him through his eyes.
“Do you understand me?” she asked him.
“I think so, ja.”
“Because this is my ace.” She leaned forward and kissed him again. When she finished, she continued to grip his face in her hands.
Albrecht felt warm and tired and weak.
“I haven’t felt this way about a man in a long time,” she said.
“You surprise me, Lady Catherine.”
“I hope I do.” She smiled. “You do look a little flushed.” She kissed him softly, letting her lips linger near his when she was finished. “Four of a kind,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I’m alive again, and I’m not going to die if I can help it. No more sitting alone in the dark. Will you help me with that?”
“Ja.”
“Will you?”
“Ja—ich helfe. Yes, I will.”
“Then we’re agreed. We will go to Dover Sky. And if there is more work to do on your book, we’ll do it there.” She kissed him gently. “And if there is more work to do on us, we will do it there also.”
He finally raised his arms up and around her, pulling her in with a sudden burst of strength that made her inhale sharply.
“That is my prayer,” he replied. “May God answer it!”
She caught her breath and ran her fingers over his lips. “Oh, He’s answering it, Herr Hartmann.”
8
June, 1925
Dover Sky
A rap on the door was followed by a woman’s voice calling, “Christelle? Are you all right?”
“I’ll only be a minute, Maman.”
“Please, dear, let us not stand on ceremony in a bedroom. I’m Mum to all my daughters-in-law and sons-in-law, especially when your own mother and father could not be here.” She opened the door a crack. “May I help you? Everyone is wondering where the birthday girl has gotten to.”
Christelle braced one hand against the bed and held the other over her stomach as she fought a wave of pain. “Oui, oui, je suis désolée, you needn’t come in. I’ll be right down.”
Lady Preston stepped inside. “It’s no trouble. Do you—” She saw Christelle bent over and rushed to her side. “What is it, dear? What’s happening to you?”
“Just a stomachache, nothing more. I’ve been having severe cramps when my time of month comes since Easter—” She suddenly drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, mon Dieu, aie miséricorde. J’ai besoin de ton aide et puissance…” she prayed through a moan.
Lady Preston gripped Christelle’s hands. “Squeeze mine. Go ahead. I’m years younger than my husband, and my bones are still strong.”
“Non, non.”
“Go ahead! I am not fine china. I won’t break.” She winced slightly as Christelle tightened her grip. “That’s fine. Go on. I’m fine,” she encouraged.
“Non, Maman.”
“I’m fine. Let me help.” Lady Preston shook her head as Christelle doubled up again. “It’s not cramps, is it? And it’s not this bug you say you’ve been fighting all winter and spring.”
“Yes, of course it is—it’s both. I only need another minute.”
“No one in the family believes you. We don’t know what it is, but it’s certainly not the flu or an ordinary illness.” Her eyes were sharp. “Back at Ashton Park I talked to the doctor about you.”
“What?”
“He was tight-lipped. No amount of threatening or pleas could get him to speak. He cited physician–patient confidentiality and a lot of rubbish. I told him, “Listen, every month she is thinner—and she was thin enough to begin with. Something is making her waste away, something serious. What is it?”
“He didn’t—he didn’t tell you though?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“By his very evasiveness, the doctor has convinced William and me that whatever it is it must be very bad indeed—worse than we had feared. And seeing you like this makes me quite afraid. Is it your heart? Is it your stomach or intestines? Come, my dear, we love you. You are family. Please don’t continue to leave us in the dark. Do you think you’re sparing us some pain? Seeing you this way doubles and triples my anxiety. Please tell me what’s happening to you.”
“Non, Maman. I will, but not yet.”
Lady Preston put her arms around the young woman until the spasms ceased. “Please, Christelle, listen to me. Kipp is saying nothing even though he looks like death with his worry over you. Ben has told us you must be using opiates. He saw a bottle at your house once. I chose to ignore him.”
“Non, non.”
“I’ve been worried. I’ve seen the way you…well, the way you drift in your speech now and then, and even more over the past few months. Once or twice your eyes were different—your pupils were so small—when you spoke with me.”
Christelle sank her head against Lady Preston’s shoulder. “Maman, do not be mad at the doctor or Kipp. I did not want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be placed in the hospital to die. I wished to be among all of you and for everything to be as normal as possible for as long as possible.”
“To die? What is wrong with you? What has the doctor said? With the proper treatment and medicine, you will get better, will you not?”
“No, Maman. It is cancer.”
Lady Preston’s body stiffened. “How long have you known this?”
“Since the fall.”
“Why…why on earth did you keep this a secret? It should have been operated on long ago. It should have been cut out.”
“They could not, Maman. Even back then it was growing all through me. It would be—how do you say it? Etriper un poisson, like gutting a fish.”
Lady Preston’s eyebrows darted inward. “The doctor said that?”
“Non, he was very polite, but that is what he meant. He said the surgery would kill me. So I said, ‘Tell no one. Keep this in strictest confidence. Let me live as ordinary a life as possible for as long as possible.’ He reluctantly agreed and prescribed opiates for the pain. He has been most kind.”
“He lied to us.”
“Non, Doctor Pittmeadow did what I wished and what a physician must do, Maman. It was between him and me, correct? He had no choice. Please do not be angry.”
“Still we can do something, check out more options and new treatments.”
Christelle kissed her on the cheek right where she’d spotted a tear slowly making its way to her mother-in-law’s chin. “You can pray, Maman. And you
can go back out to the party with me. It is time for the children to have cake and ice cream. I want to hold Victoria and Jeremy’s baby boy, sweet Timothy. Please help me enjoy those I love. If we talk about the cancer now, it will ruin the day. Tomorrow or the day after I will tell the family. But not now. Not today. I want this day to be special and joyful.”
“How long—how long do you have then?”
“The doctor said six to eight months last fall—if I am lucky…if I am blessed. So I am happy to still be here.”
“When did you tell Kipp?”
“Last month.”
“He is not doing well with what you told him.”
Christelle bit her lip. “Non. He is angry with God and angry with life.” She shrugged one shoulder. “And angry with Lady Caroline.”
“With Caroline? Why?”
“Because of me again. I am doing all these things and making all these decisions for when I am no longer here, and he is not happy with them.”
“What have you said to him?”
“That I adore Caroline. That our children get along so well. That there was a time he loved her, and I believe he still has love for her. I want him to marry her, Maman. I want them to become husband and wife and raise our children after I am gone.”
“Marriage!”
She took Lady Preston’s hands. “I trust her. I do not want Kipp to be with someone I’ve never met. I do not want Matthew to be raised by a stranger. Kipp is fighting me on this, but this is so much what I want for him. Can you help me?”
“Oh Christelle!”
“Will you help me, Maman?”
“Child, child, I don’t think Kipp will listen to anyone if he is as angry and upset as he seems. He is long past the age when he will happily listen to his mother’s counsel, especially when it goes against his will. I don’t like to even think about him being wed to a woman other than you. This is much to take in so quickly…far too quickly. I see it matters to you though. If it will put you at some measure of ease, I will speak with him. Caroline is a wonderful girl and, yes, there was a time William and I were sure Caroline and Kipp would be husband and wife. I’m astonished you are the one who wants to bring the two of them together again.”
“Maman, if I am not here I believe she will be the right woman for him and the right mother for our son.”
Tears came more swiftly to the older woman’s eyes. Lady Preston hugged Christelle. “You’ve always been one with such a large heart that few can understand. I confess I still don’t understand. But if it pleases you, I will sit down and talk to him. Who knows? Perhaps he will change his mind. I will do this, but I don’t even like to think of such things with you in front of me with your beautiful smile.”
“Merci, Maman. I am sure Kipp will listen to what you have to say.”
“I’m not as sure as you are, but I promise I will do what I can.”
“Kipp?”
Kipp didn’t turn around.
“Kipp? Are you going to go on avoiding me all day?”
“It’s been working so far.”
“Chris has asked to see us both.”
“I’m busy.” He sliced a lemon. “How did you find me?”
“Mrs. Longstaff said you’d be down in the kitchen making punch. She said you insisted on doing it.” Caroline moved to within his line of vision. “It’s Chris who is asking, not me.”
Kipp glanced up at her, his gaze flat. “A request you put her up to, no doubt.”
“Kipp, since when has anyone been able to put Chris up to anything? You know your wife better than anyone. She’s a free spirit. She goes where she wants and does what she thinks is right.”
“For the most part, yes. But the illness has affected her judgment.”
“Meaning in regard to me?”
“Who else would I mean?”
“Kipp, stop treating me like a witch. I never wanted to do what your wife asked me to do. I never wanted to reach out to you like that and force the issue between us. But how could I say no to a dying woman when she pleaded with me over and over again?”
“You probably didn’t need much convincing, right?”
Caroline folded her arms over the front of her summer dress. “The attraction seemed pretty mutual when we were last together.”
Kipp chopped limes loudly and rapidly with a large knife. “Sometimes I lose my way. Big blue eyes do that to me. Unfortunately, I can be pretty weak.”
“Is that what it was? You said you loved us both.”
“I don’t, Caroline. I only love Chris.”
“So the wrong words just popped out of your mouth?”
“Like I said, it was a weak moment.”
She brushed at her tears with a finger. “So I mean nothing to you?”
“That’s right. Nothing.”
“And Chris was mistaken to think I might be a good companion for you after her death and a good mother to Matthew?”
Kipp laughed bitterly. “A hooker from East London would be a better mother to my son than you.”
Caroline’s face whitened and tears shot down her cheeks. “I don’t deserve that, Kipp! I can understand your pain and anger over your wife’s cancer, but I won’t forgive what you’ve just said to me. I love you, Kipp. Everything I’ve done has been out of love for you and for Christelle. You can’t blame me for the fact she’s dying, but you’re going to anyway, I see. Just throw all the blame on Caroline, is that it?”
Kipp poured water into a large crystal bowl. “I don’t blame you for Christelle’s cancer.”
“Are you sure? You seem to want to blame someone very badly. God isn’t readily at hand, but I am.”
Kipp said nothing as Caroline brought a white cotton handkerchief out of a pocket in her dress and dabbed at her eyes.
“Then it’s come to this, Kipp. You’ve broken my heart enough times, but you won’t get any other opportunities after this. I’ll tell my parents I don’t wish to overnight at Dover Sky. I don’t care if we have to book a hotel room in Liverpool. I will leave you to your anger, Kipp. You’ll never see me again. Do try to have a good life. If not for yourself, at least for Chris’s sake…and for your son’s.” Caroline turned and walked swiftly towards the kitchen door.
Kipp laid down the knife and leaned on the tabletop with both hands. “Where are you going?”
She paused in the doorway. “I’m going to say goodbye to your wife. I’m going to spend a good while doing it because I won’t be at Dover Sky or Ashton Park again. When I came into this kitchen there was still the possibility of a love between us. Now there is not. You are a cruel and hard man, Kipp Danforth. I feel very sorry for you, but not sorry enough to watch you destroy the remaining years of your life—and that of your son.”
“So tell me, professor,” Edward settled next to Albrecht on a couch in the library, “how are things in Germany these days?” He dug his fork into a piece of cake on a plate in his hand. “What about Herr Hitler? What’s he up to?”
Albrecht sipped his coffee before replying. “The economy is much better, so fellows like him have a harder time stirring up the populace. He is out of prison now, and his autobiography is due to be published next month. Even though he has been out of the political picture for a while, his book is bound to make a few people sit up and take notice.”
“How many seats does his Nazi Party have in the government?”
“Only fourteen.”
“I see. What will be in his book?”
“He attacks the Jews and the Slavic people. He rails against the trade unions, the Communists, and the Socialists.”
“Does he?” Edward reached for his own cup of coffee. “Then he can’t be all that bad, can he? Perhaps we should bring him over to straighten out the Labor Party.”
“His ways are very violent, Lord Edward.”
“Yes? Well, we don’t have the Bolsheviks as close to us as the Germans do. We have our wonderful moat—the English Channel. I can understand why Herr Hitler might resort to force.”
“Hmm.” Edward set down his coffee, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and put aside his plate. “My sister tells me you are working on your own book.”
“Yes. It is meant to coincide with the release of Herr Hitler’s. I challenge him on many of his political positions.”
“Not on his stance against Bolshevism surely?”
“On the way he means to recreate Germany and the power he wishes to exert to achieve his vision. It is very much like Mussolini’s fascism.”
“Mussolini’s not all bad, is he? He’s brought a certain strength and honor back to Rome.”
“He seized power, Lord Edward. He didn’t form the government by means of a democratic election. I very much fear Hitler may one day look for an opportunity to do the same. Such people think alike.”
“I cannot wholly blame them. Democracy can be a very tedious and toadying process where people ingratiate themselves to all manner of rank and file in the hopes of gaining votes. Imagine if Labor had gotten the majority, Herr Hartmann. Just on a whim of the dockworkers or hog farmers who turned out to vote. What then? We’d have Bolshevism in the House of Commons and trade between London and Moscow. That would be unacceptable! What could a person do if that happened? Wait another four or five years in the hopes of ousting the Reds by means of the democratic system? And what if my father and I and the Tories didn’t grovel enough to suit the dockworkers and pig farmers and coal miners? Another five years of Bolshevism and Labor after that?”
Edward shook his head and reached for his coffee. “We would have to march on Westminster in the same way Mussolini marched on Rome. We’d have to seize power in the name of all that is holy and good. There would be no other choice if we wanted to save England.” He chuckled. “Forgive me, Albrecht. I get too intense. Father is always warning me about that.” He leaned back. “So my sister assisted you and the baron with your book?”
