Beneath the Dover Sky

by Murray Pura

  “It’s a marvel of engineering. We’re quite safe here from the whole brood. Even the evil twins Peter and James.”

  “We are, so let’s make the best of it. Remember that you’re shipping out early in the morning on the good ship Pluck. They’ll storm this room with pikestaffs and maces if you’re not at the front door at five.”

  “And in full uniform too.”

  “What?” Libby laughed. “Who on earth asked you to do that?”

  “Who do you think? She’ll have the commander’s uniform on I had tailored for her, so she insisted we be look-alikes tomorrow.”

  “The things you get yourself into over our girl.” She patted the quilt. “Come along now. Or is the brave naval officer afraid?”

  “I am a bit, you know.” Terry came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Mum always told me to watch out for ginger-haired women.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. You’re stuck with one.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “Oh, it is—very much so.” She took his chin in her hand. “I love you, Commander.”

  The baron opened the window wider to let more of the smoke out of the room. Then he promptly lit another cigar and took another sip of brandy.

  “You believe he has the support of the upper classes?” asked Lord Preston, putting down his tea.

  The baron nodded and blew out a stream of white-and-gray smoke. “And the middle class too, which is more worrisome. He promises one thing to one group and promises something else to another. Hitler keeps hammering away at the failure of democracy and pointing to the successes of strong monarchs and emperors in Germany’s past. He holds up the need for another Bismarck. He makes remarks about the success of Benito Mussolini in Rome. People are listening as the economy and employment continue to decline into a pit no one seems able to pull us out of. It’s the same in America, in Britain, and in the whole of Europe.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid some draconian measures will be coming down from the Labor government. I can’t fault them, but it will not go over well. Even in Parliament’s corridors and foyers I hear mutterings about the need for a strong man to lead us and implement strong measures. I suppose there are fascist groups everywhere these days, not just in Spain, Italy, and Germany.” Lord Preston poured himself another cup. Steam curled up like smoke from the match the baron had just blown out. “But now, Gerard, what about the military? Isn’t Herr Hitler afraid of them just a bit?”

  “Not at all. As I’ve mentioned, his personal army—his brownshirts—number close to half a million now. The Treaty of Versailles restricts Germany to 100,000 soldiers, and Hitler’s forces could overwhelm them in a matter of hours. But that’s a moot point because the army is on his side for the most part. If he gains control of the government, the soldiers will simply fall into step with the Nazi Party. To them Hitler is like another Blucher, the victor of Waterloo along with your Wellington. Ran wie Blucher—charge like Blucher, they say. They already see Herr Hitler’s aggressiveness in that light. Germans admire courage from the top.”

  “Is it courage?”

  “Certainly he has that along with his fanaticism. And the state of the world’s economy is slowly bringing him to power.”

  “What does the Brotherhood of the Oak intend to do?”

  The baron shrugged. “You’re one of us, Vilhelm. What do you intend?”

  “Our navy is strong. Should Hitler take over, we could keep him blockaded on the water.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that.” The baron gazed at his friend through the cigar smoke. “What about the air? How is England fixed there?”

  “We’re not on a war footing. The RAF is not much to speak of these days. Neither is the army. Everything is reduced and restricted. No one expects trouble. Everyone is watching the pound and the shilling. Few care about Berlin. Germany is considered a broken reed.”

  “That could change overnight with one election. Hitler would tear up the Treaty of Versailles. That much is clear from his rants. He would rearm Germany. You know that.”

  “I do, and a few others see it too. But we aren’t listened to.” Lord Preston tapped his teaspoon on the rim of his cup. “What do the Germans and Austrians of the Brotherhood plan to do?”

  The baron kept his eyes on Lord Preston. “If the economic depression continues to play into Hitler’s hands and he gains more and more ground, our only option would be to stop him before he forms a government.”

  “How would you do that?”

  “Assassination.”

  Lord Preston set the spoon down sharply. “Assassination? Are you mad, Gerard? It was the assassination of the Archduke that set off the Great War.”

  “There would be unrest in the aftermath, certainly. The Nazis would run amok for a few days. Blood would be spilled. But it would be limited and over quickly. Ultimately the Nazis would be headless and wither on the vine.” The baron turned to look at the darkness through the window. “Better a week or two of civil war than two or three years of war in Europe.”

  Lord Preston stared at his friend’s back then reached for the small bottle of brandy and poured a capful into his tea. “I shall pray, Gerard. Ask for guidance and wisdom. I know we’re dealing with serious matters. I know sometimes great risks must be borne. But I’m not comfortable being an assassin. I’m not comfortable with overcoming darkness by using more darkness.”

  The baron continued to gaze out the window. “The Lord has placed us in such a world where the choices available to us fall far short of heaven. The dark choices are often the only way to regain light.”

  “I pray not,” replied Lord Preston.

  19

  August–October, 1931

  London

  “Right, then.” Edward paced the flat he shared with his father in London. “Now that Ramsay MacDonald has resigned, we can have a proper election and get the Conservatives back in power.”

  His father sat in a chair sipping tea. “Labor is split over the budget and Ramsay has stepped down, that much is true. But the prevailing mood amongst Conservative and Liberal MPs is to get MacDonald back in the prime minister’s chair right away at the helm of a National Government.”

  “What?”

  “The economic crisis worldwide is simply too serious to put party before country, my boy. An election we must have, yes, but with a national coalition vying for votes against Labor, not all the parties split up into their usual bits and pieces. So when we go back to the House in a few minutes, it is Stanley Baldwin’s wish that we support MacDonald as head of a National Government.”

  “What about Lloyd George and the Liberals? They hold the balance of power.”

  “They do now. If the British people back a National Government in this time of crisis, which I believe they will, I doubt the Liberals shall keep that hold.”

  “It’s a mess,” Edward fumed. “I look at where Germany is headed, and now we have a golden opportunity to do the same. But you’re saying we want to put that deadweight Ramsay back in the prime minister’s chair.”

  “And where is Germany heading that we should be following after it?”

  “A moratorium on democracy. You’re right, it is an unprecedented financial crisis and must be met with unprecedented measures. But not dead men like Ramsay leading the dead men of a National Government. No, Father, we must thrust democracy aside for the time being.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have the election, yes. But place Baldwin back at the helm of a Tory majority. Give him sweeping powers. No more elections for ten years. Strong trade ties with Italy and Germany. High tariffs for trade with those not part of the Commonwealth or the Empire. Cut relations with the League of Nations. Build up our navy and army and air force. Make our ships the size we want them to be. Put the British laborer to work on tanks and fighter planes and battle cruisers. Our economy will be revived in half a year, and Great Britain will be back to work and happy.”

  Lord Preston set down his cup. “A moratorium on de
mocratic government Englishmen have fought and died for since the Magna Carta? How do you propose to get the support for that even if we’re facing a financial crisis?”

  “We need a strong man now, Dad. We need a monarch or we won’t weather the storm. This democratic pattern of voting and revoting every few years is rubbish. We put a good man in and we keep him there until everything is sorted out.”

  “What if it takes decades?”

  “So be it.”

  “Who put all this into your head?”

  Edward smacked a fist into his hand. “It is going to work for Germany, and Germany has been in a far greater hole than we’ve been. It must work for us.”

  “The elimination of democracy will work for Germany? You would replace the free vote of the people with a dictatorship?”

  “The baron was adamant about this back in May, and he was right.”

  Lord Preston’s face sharpened. “Baron von Isenburg promoted this line of thinking? I don’t believe it.”

  “The strong man, the clearheaded man, the man with unprecedented powers wielding them wisely and ably without the nagging hindrance of opposition parties or debate or national elections is the man best able to steer his country out of economic chaos. Freedom to act decisively. That is the thing, Father. Liberty to act in order to bring this nation the very liberty it requires and deserves.”

  “Whether the baron was goading you to get a reaction, I don’t know. But if you wish to have a future with the Conservative Party, you must support Mr. Baldwin’s wishes for a National Government with Ramsay MacDonald at its head and put away this rubbish about a moratorium on democracy.”

  Edward went back to pacing. “We do what we need to do and win a National Government with a majority of Conservative seats. Then we oust Ramsay, replace him with Baldwin, and vote in necessary and extraordinary powers for the government that give him—and us—a free hand to do what needs to be done to put Britain back on her feet strong, free, and unrestrained.”

  Lord Preston stood up and straightened his suit jacket with a strong pull from both his hands. “It’s time to return to the House and support Ramsay MacDonald’s return to the office of prime minister.”

  “By all means. It’s what we do after winning the election that counts.”

  Lord Preston nodded. “Indeed it is.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Ah, William. It’s a very good connection. How did you get on with your speech in Liverpool?”

  “We have mutiny at Invergordon in Scotland.”

  “Mutiny! Not on the Hood?”

  “Yes, on the Hood and many other vessels as well. It is a black thing. I gather there were rumblings for days, but it got under way in earnest on the fifteenth of September—yesterday—and is still going today. Turn on the BBC this evening, and they will tell you what they’re permitted to broadcast about the events.”

  “Why haven’t the Royal Marines on board the ships put it down?”

  “The Marines have joined the mutiny.”

  “Oh no!”

  There was a rustling of paper at Lord Preston’s end. “There is no mention of officers joining the mutiny. Indeed, they’ve done their best to get the sailors to return to their duties.”

  “Libby will be frantic down at Dover Sky.”

  “I have no word on Terry.”

  “I shall call her. Robbie and Shannon are with her. And Caroline.”

  “Well, don’t panic her. There are no reports of violence. No shots fired. No beatings. No one hurt. No officers assaulted.”

  “Of course I won’t panic her. The minute you hear anything else, please ring me.”

  “I shall. I have another election rally tomorrow. How is Edward’s campaign getting on, do you know?”

  “Charlotte reports he’s on top of the world and prophesying Baldwin’s return to power.”

  “He’s saying that? When will the boy learn to keep his mouth shut? If Baldwin or Ramsay MacDonald get wind of it, they’ll throw him out of the party.”

  “Please, William.”

  “It’s true, Elizabeth. They will skin him alive.”

  “All right, Dear, that’s quite enough. Go back to your speechwriting. I shall call Libby up straightaway.”

  Dover Sky

  Robbie tugged a white-faced Libby into the library where Kipp was adjusting the dials on the large, wooden radio set. “I’m telling you, the news is good, Lib.”

  “You’re only saying that.”

  “I’m not. The BBC is saying that.”

  “They only tell us what the Royal Navy permits. Heaven knows what they’re holding back. They always held back casualty reports during war. Remember how they covered up the losses at Jutland?”

  “It’s 1931 now, Lib, not 1916. Listen.”

  The Hood has sailed from Invergordon as ordered. All mutinous activities appear to have ceased on board the flagship. No casualties have occurred. This is true of all the other ships as well. After two days of unrest and disobedience, we have no record of fatalities or serious injuries. All ships have followed the Hood out of port as ordered. All ships are away. The mutiny has ended without resort to force.

  “There you have it.”

  “I admit it does sound hopeful, Robbie. But I shall feel better when I get a cable from Terry. Certainly he would have gotten one away before they sailed.”

  “I should think so. And I shall stay up with you until it arrives, dear girl.”

  “That’s not necessary, but thank you.”

  “I’m on six-month leave, remember? I have nothing better to do but to pester you until the courier arrives at the door. Kipp can’t wait up because he has an airline to run.”

  Kipp smiled as he stood by the radio. “That’s the truth.”

  “Shannon can’t because she has to be available for Patricia Claire when she wakes at five or six.”

  “Available?” Shannon raised a golden eyebrow. “Is that what I’ll be?”

  “You will. And Caroline has her hands full with little Cecilia.”

  Caroline laughed. “Indeed I do. No stretch there.”

  Robbie bowed. “So you see, Lady Libby, there is only myself, but I shall be sufficient to keep you awake and alert until the good news comes to the door. We shall play checkers.”

  “I detest checkers.”

  “Chess then. Chess and we’ll snack on coffee and biscuits.”

  Libby made a face at him.

  “Chocolate biscuits.” He mussed her hair and she slapped his hand. “Lib Danforth, lady or no lady, could never resist milk chocolate digestives.”

  “I’m no lady.”

  “We can discuss that until three or four in the morning.”

  She wrinkled up her mouth. “How happy that makes me.”

  The cable arrived at two thirty-seven. Robbie had put Libby in check for the third move in a row. Libby was at the door first, followed by Robbie, who tipped the courier and then read the cable out loud over her shoulder.

  DEAREST LIB

  YOU WILL HAVE HEARD THE NEWS. THIS WAS MY FIRST CHANCE TO DASH OFF A NOTE. WE WEIGH ANCHOR IN TWO HOURS. THE LADS HAVE RETURNED TO THEIR DUTIES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES BUT AT LEAST NO ONE WAS HURT AND THE NAVY AND ARMY DID NOT SEND IN TROOPS. I WILL SEE YOU AND JANE VERY SOON INDEED. ALL MY LOVE.

  TERRY

  “Such good news!” Libby turned and slung her arms about Robbie’s neck. She kissed him on the cheek.

  “It is. And it means I can go to bed now. I’m tuckered.”

  “I’m not. I ate too much. One more game of chess?”

  He laughed and groaned. “You lost all the others.”

  “I won’t lose this one. I’m sharp now. I always do well at chess when I’ve had welcome news. Isn’t it the same for you, Robbie?”

  “It’s not. I simply sleep better.”

  “Capital! Then I shall beat you up one side and down the other.” She put her arm through his. “Come on. I feel like a stick of dynamite.”

  “Well, blow
up quickly then and be done with it so I can go to my pillow as soon as possible.”

  Election Night, 1931

  “Dad? Is that you?” Edward held the phone to one ear and put his finger in the other as people cheered and shouted behind him.

  “It is. Congratulations, my boy. Another October election, another Guy Fawkes on the horizon, and once again you’ve come out on top.”

  Edward laughed. “I have indeed. So have you. So have we all. Imagine, Baldwin has four hundred and seventy seats and Labor only forty-six. It’s a miracle! Really it is! And that villain Buchanan is out. We have James Orr MacAndrew in Ayrshire South now—our own man.”

  “It’s a great blessing. But now, my boy, you must keep your opinions to yourself. Ramsay MacDonald will continue on as prime minister—”

  “Surely not, Father!” blurted Edward. “We have all the seats! Baldwin should lead the government!”

  “Nevertheless, MacDonald will carry on. Mr. Baldwin and the party think it best in these troubled times. And you must think so too, Edward, and voice your support so that everyone can hear. Recall what happened when MacDonald agreed to head up a National Government of all parties—Labor threw him out permanently. If you are perceived as being an opponent of the National Government the Conservative Party helped bring into being, Mr. Baldwin will have you ousted in like fashion. Stick with your party, Edward. You can do much good there and eventually be rewarded for your loyalty.”

  “How rewarded? I’ve been in office seven years and haven’t been offered a cabinet position.”

  “Your time will come, dear boy. Persist and your time will come. My best to lovely Charlotte and my two wonderful grandsons. Tell Owen to keep Sea-Fever fresh in his mind. We will get another sail in before Guy Fawkes. I shall drop down to Dover Sky on the weekend. Tell Colm I’ll see him soon.”