A New Dawn Over Devon

by Michael Phillips

  “Did . . . did you kill Ramsay, Lieutenant?”

  “No. I never got a shot off,” he said. “There is no way to know, really, who actually fired the shot that hit him. The ship exploded with gunfire for several seconds, or so they tell me, much of it from the frigate, before the colonel and the crew of the yacht gave up.”

  Amanda pondered this sudden development seriously, continuing to wipe at her eyes and blink away the tears.

  “Well . . . thank you, Lieutenant,” she said at length. “This certainly changes things. I don’t suppose there is much point in pursuing my annulment papers now.”

  “You had filed for an annulment?”

  Amanda nodded. “Rev. Diggorsfeld has been helping me. I suppose I should go into town and talk to him and let him know.”

  They had circled back in the direction of the house. Amanda took in a deep breath and glanced about. “I need to find my mother,” she said. “I think she is out with Rune.”

  “Is your sister at home?” asked Lieutenant Langham.

  “Catherine . . . yes—she is upstairs in her room.”

  “Would you mind telling her that I am here?”

  “Of course not, although I am certain she is already aware of it.”

  Amanda walked inside the cottage and returned in a couple of minutes. “She will be right down, Lieutenant,” she said.

  “Thank you,” replied Langham. “Well, again, I am so sorry to have to be the bearer of such tidings. But I wanted you to hear it from a friend.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Good day, Miss Amanda.”

  Langham turned for the house. Amanda walked toward the barn to find Jocelyn, who was conferring with Rune Blakeley about the timbers he had just had delivered for the roof-beams for the enclosed portion of the new stable area.

  Half an hour later Amanda was still outside by the stables when Catharine and the lieutenant left the house, walked toward the barn, saddled and mounted two horses, and cantered off through the woods for a ride together. She did not see Catharine for the rest of the day.

  ————

  Catharine returned late. Lieutenant Langham went straight to the village without coming back into the cottage. Catharine was quiet as she entered, but one look on her face as she went toward the stairs and up to her room after greeting her mother and sister said clearly enough what she had been trying to hide for months, that she was in love and didn’t care who knew it.

  Amanda was the first one down for breakfast the next morning. A few minutes later Catharine bounded in with a big grin that a night’s sleep had not removed from her face.

  “Guess what, Amanda?” she said, walking up close and speaking in a whisper. “Terrill asked me to marry him yesterday.”

  “Oh, Catharine!” exclaimed Amanda. “I am so happy for you! Why didn’t you tell us last evening?”

  “He asked me to wait until today. He’s going to talk to Mum again this morning.”

  “Again?”

  “He said he had already spoken with her about me months ago.”

  “I didn’t know that!”

  “Nor I.”

  “Well, she certainly kept his secret,” laughed Amanda. “I want to know what he said to her.”

  “Me too!” said Catharine. She went to the window and looked out but saw nothing. “Oh, I wish he would hurry and get here!”

  75

  Summer 1917

  Four months went by. Spring matured and at last the summer of 1917 came to Devon.

  Again the war began to intrude. A rash of ship sinkings in the English Channel once more had the people of England in panic. In April the United States entered the war against Germany and Austria-Hungary. Little did the rest of the world realize, as news of it spread throughout the year, to what an extent the successful Bolshevik Revolution, then under way in Russia, would alter world affairs and change the course of history itself. At the time it was hailed as a step toward democracy in the East. Though the fighting seemed far removed from Devon, Catharine continued to worry that her new fiancé would be called for service at sea, the one thing she feared above all else.

  The war did not affect the fortunes of Stirling Blakeley, however, whose bad leg had prevented his involvement. He graduated from Oxford, as predicted by Timothy, with honors in physiology and literature, and a third in history. Jocelyn, Amanda, Catharine, and Timothy accompanied Rune and Agatha Blakeley to Oxford by train for the commencement ceremony. After his return, throughout the summer, Stirling was to be seen around the cottage on most days helping his father with the felling of timber to make way for the new road, and with the completion of the stables.

  Gradually the move to the cottage changed the feel of life for the three Heathersleigh women. For the first time since Charles’s and George’s deaths, life began to feel right again. There was just so much to do. If anything they were busier than ever, moving in, unpacking, and with all the work they undertook about the place. They all went to sleep each night fatigued but at peace. And of course Maggie couldn’t have been happier.

  Life for Jocelyn seemed to have turned a corner. Amanda, however, still found herself wrestling with inner doubts whether she would ever truly be able to put her father’s death behind her. Tears often still came when she was alone.

  The flowers of Maggie’s garden bloomed profusely throughout the spring and summer, but Maggie herself did not seem to care for them with the same passion as before. The long, cold winter had taxed her reserves, and she was noticeably weary. She always brightened when one of the others brought in a bouquet, or when they took her out for a walk outside the cottage. But no longer could she tend the garden herself and surprisingly, she did not seem to mind.

  In her quieter moments, Jocelyn was anxious that her dear aging friend was no longer her sharp-witted self. She knew the girls noticed the change as well, though they did not talk about it. More and more all three found themselves tenderly waiting on Maggie as they might a child, though with this difference, that reverence and honor filled their every thought and tiniest act of ministration on her behalf.

  Jocelyn moved herself down to the ground floor into a small room next to Maggie’s, which had been used prior to that time primarily for storage. She wanted to be nearby, especially at night. The narrow staircase rising from the corridor between the large sitting room, Maggie’s bedroom, and the back door of the cottage rose to the first floor to open onto a large rectangular landing around which sat the four bedrooms and sitting rooms of the upper story. Two extra bedrooms—one on the ground floor and the fourth second-story bedroom—they made up as guest rooms.

  The smallest of the bedrooms on the ground floor they were slowly converting to a tiny library. The intent was to fill it with the entire collection of the Scotsman’s volumes, Charles’s Bible collection, and assorted other of their favorite books from the Hall. Stirling’s first project upon returning from Oxford was to construct bookshelves along each wall, from floor to ceiling, all around the room.

  Timothy continued to write, though in time he was so involved with people dropping by either to borrow books or talk about one thing and another, in addition to mounting requests for his occasional services in the pulpit throughout Devon, Cornwall, and Dorset, that he declared himself busier than he had ever been in London.

  Upon learning of Ramsay’s death, Amanda knew her future was obviously greatly altered. After much thought, she decided to continue with annulment proceedings in spite of the news. Though it would make little practical difference, she wanted legally and ethically to put forever behind her the Halifax season of her life. Finalizing an annulment, she judged, was the best way to do so.

  Knowing the town name Looe they had heard from Betsy, and having as yet had no response with regard to the girl from their inquiries, Timothy traveled down to Cornwall himself to speak personally with the police chief of the coastal town. The name Scully Conlin was well known to the man the instant Timothy mentioned it.

  “Not
such a bad bloke, as they go,” the chief said, “but mixed up with some rum ones, he was—smugglers, they were, and Conlin got the worst of it.”

  “Worst of it . . . how do you mean?” asked Timothy.

  “Shot him dead, they did. Some kind of a brawl at his place. That’s where we found him.”

  “What happened to the men who did it?”

  “Gone . . . gone without a trace and never been seen again.”

  “What about his daughter?”

  “Didn’t know he had none, Reverend.”

  “Yes, he had a daughter by the name of Elsbet.”

  “No one seen nothing of a girl after that . . . though now that you put my mind to it, I do recollect some of the neighbor folk asking the same thing. A mystery what had happened to her, they said. Most of them figured she must have got killed herself, or else run away.”

  “She was born in Looe?”

  “Don’t know, Reverend.”

  “Did the man have any other relatives?”

  “None, leastways not around Looe. You know something, Reverend?”

  “I may,” replied Timothy, rising and shaking the man’s hand. “I will talk to you again before I leave town.”

  From the station Timothy went immediately to the rectory to speak with the local vicar. The man was familiar with the case but knew no more than the policeman about any family. Timothy told him about Betsy, and that she was now safe and happy in Switzerland.

  “I am more happy than I can tell you to hear of it,” replied the vicar. “I had been worried about the girl and had assumed she must have been kidnapped or killed. She is decidedly better off where she is. It was a bad life she lived here. Everyone wondered what would happen to the poor child when she came of age. I am sorry about what happened, but it sounds to me as if it may be for the best.”

  “Still, if other relatives appear, someone should know her whereabouts,” said Timothy.

  “Of course,” said the vicar. “And now that I know, I will make inquiries among those few who knew her. But what is to become of the girl in Switzerland?”

  “The woman I told you about—Mrs. Hope Guinarde—intends to adopt her,” replied Timothy. “She has only been waiting for me to learn what I could of her past.”

  “I have told you all I know, and I am reasonably confident that is all there is to be known. Conlin was a loner. I doubt anyone will step forward to claim the child.”

  Timothy thanked him, paid a last visit to the chief of police to tell him what he and the vicar had discussed and to inform him of Hope’s plans, then started on his journey back to Devon.

  The moment Timothy returned to Milverscombe, he began a letter to Hope telling her what he had learned. He also put her in touch with Bradbury Crumholtz, saying he had informed the solicitor that she would be contacting him, and suggested, as he was well known throughout Cornwall and Devon, that she pursue the adoption filing through him.

  Chelsea Winters was a regular visitor to the cottage through the summer months. By and by a few other girls of the village began dropping by with her. The fact that there were interesting things going on, and always a biscuit and cold milk to be had in Jocelyn’s kitchen, was incentive enough to make Heathersleigh Cottage a place of regular visits by the youngsters of the town. Whereas in Amanda’s childhood the clearing in the woods had been feared, now a generation later it was a popular hub of constant activity. Catharine organized regular rides on horseback through the countryside with whatever boys and girls came to the cottage to join her.

  Geoffrey settled into life in the community with remarkable ease. He never missed a Sunday at church and gradually came to occupy a role similar to that Charles once had during the visiting time afterward. He and Timothy were nearly always the last to leave, and most times left together. When Timothy was not elsewhere, it became their custom to spend Sunday afternoons with one another and have tea together in the evening, each at the other’s home on alternate Sundays.

  Geoffrey and Stirling Blakeley also became good friends.

  Gifford and Martha came down from London at least once a month. Martha looked forward to Sundays in Devon more than any of the dreary pastimes that occupied her time in London. While Gifford left church to return alone to the Hall, his wife and Jocelyn spent many an afternoon together calling on one or another of the villagers, especially among the elderly of the community.

  Catharine and Terrill Langham talked about their plans as often as the lieutenant could get down to Devon. They had decided to wait until the war was over to marry. Jocelyn could not bear the thought of Catharine moving to London. Lieutenant Langham requested a transfer to Plymouth, which appeared likely to be granted after the cessation of hostilities.

  In early November a packet arrived at the cottage bearing the stamp of the firm Crumholtz, Sutclyff, Stonehaugh, & Crumholtz. It was addressed to Amanda.

  Half suspecting what it contained, she went into the sitting room to be alone.

  She sat down, slowly opened the envelope, then pulled out and looked over the enclosed documents. They represented the final annulment papers, signed and witnessed by the necessary authorities both in Vienna and London. Though nothing could erase the memories of that time, and the foolishness she would always feel for the immaturity that had landed her in such a fix, in the eyes of the law at least, her marriage to Ramsay Halifax was now as if it had never happened.

  She was once again Amanda Rutherford.

  Amanda heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching. She glanced up to see her mother.

  Jocelyn walked forward, sat down beside her on the settee, and placed a loving hand around Amanda’s shoulder. Amanda’s eyes filled with tears of sad relief. She set the papers aside, then slowly leaned against her mother and melted into her comforting embrace.

  For several minutes neither spoke. At last Amanda let out a long sigh.

  “Finally, Mother,” she said, “I think it is finally over.”

  76

  Stroke

  One morning late in the year, Maggie did not appear for breakfast.

  “Have either of you seen Maggie yet?” Jocelyn asked her two daughters when they had all gathered in the kitchen.

  Catharine shook her head.

  “No . . . I haven’t either,” said Amanda.

  Jocelyn left the kitchen and went straight into Maggie’s room. Immediately she sensed that a change had come over her old friend. Maggie was lying in her bed awake, eyes open but motionless.

  “Good morning, Maggie,” said Jocelyn cheerily. “Would you like to get up?”

  Maggie did not reply, only smiled. She followed Jocelyn with her eyes, yet to all Jocelyn’s entreaties, her only response was a smile.

  “I shall bring you some tea,” said Jocelyn and left the room.

  She returned to the kitchen. It was obvious from her expression that she was shaken.

  Immediately she sent Sarah—who was sharing duties both here and at the Hall until Geoffrey had decided on his permanent plans—for Dr. Armbruster.

  Within ninety minutes he was at Maggie’s bedside. He sat speaking kindly while he took her pulse. Jocelyn stood quietly to one side.

  Maggie’s smiling but speechless face moved slowly from one of them to the other, her eyes seemingly the same, still aware of the activity around her. But not a sound came from her lips.

  At last Dr. Armbruster rose, nodded to Jocelyn, gave Maggie a kindly pat on the shoulder, and left the room. Jocelyn followed.

  They returned to the kitchen, where Amanda and Catharine were waiting. Dr. Armbruster took a chair.

  “I am afraid Maggie has suffered an apoplectic seizure,” he said, “otherwise known as a cerebral hemorrhage, or what we now commonly call a stroke.”

  “What does all that mean, Cecil?” asked Jocelyn.

  “A blood clot of some kind, probably in the vessels of the brain.”

  “Goodness!” exclaimed Jocelyn, her face growing pale. Slowly she eased into a chair. “What can be done?” />
  “Unfortunately, nothing. Either the clot passes, or it continues to block the vessel or artery, causing paralysis and often, as in Maggie’s case, loss of speech.”

  “How long . . . does the paralysis last?”

  “There is no way to know,” answered Armbruster. “There could be improvement with some motor function and speech. But sometimes such skills are permanently lost. It depends on the size and severity of the clot and its exact location. Most often hemiplegia, or paralysis, affects one lateral half of the body, usually the right side. But apoplexy remains a great mystery to medical science. That is why, as I say, there is nothing that can be done but wait . . . and see what course the stroke takes. She could still live for many years.”

  “But . . . could it be—”

  Jocelyn glanced away.

  “Just a year ago she was so vibrant and active,” said Catharine. “I do not understand how she could become so . . . so frail . . . so quickly.”

  “She is seventy-nine, my dear,” replied the doctor. “Sometimes when the end comes, those we love fade quickly. It is never easy to see, but it is part of life. And especially in the case of a stroke, there are often no warning signs whatsoever. One day a tiny invisible clot comes from somewhere in the body’s blood supply and . . . as you have seen, the change is instantaneous.”

  77

  Farewell

  As 1918 opened, and with the United States now fully mobilized and involved on the side of the Allies, there were signs throughout Europe that the war was at last winding down. Though its allies were nearly exhausted from the fight, Germany launched a final all-out offensive on the western front that represented the dying gasp of a losing cause. The smaller countries allied with Germany and the Central Powers, however, had had enough and began throughout the year to sue for peace.

  Geoffrey prepared to move ahead with the Milverscombe branch of the Bank of London. He made several trips back into the capital and returned one day in February with the news that his proposal had been approved. He opened the following month in a small store space while plans were being made to construct a new building. Sufficient capital was provided for him to begin making a few loans and teaching the country folk of the region how to do business with a bank. He hoped to open the doors of the new building by August of that year.