by Murray Pura
Albrecht started to say something and stopped.
“Get what you need, Albrecht.” The baron’s voice was quiet and flat. “Leave what is superfluous. We have twenty-five minutes left.”
Two days later
Ashton Park
Tavy received a telegram at the door and took it to Lord and Lady Preston, who were having tea in the library.
“Where is it from, William?” Lady Preston asked her husband. “Africa?”
“No, it’s not from Africa. It’s from Germany.”
“What is it? Is it Catherine? Is everything all right?”
“The telegram is not from Catherine. It’s from the baron.”
“The baron! Why on earth would he write us? He knows how we feel about him!”
LORD PRESTON
YOUR DAUGHTER CATHERINE IS SAFE. SO ARE HER CHILDREN. SO IS HER HUSBAND ALBRECHT. YOU WILL NOT HEAR FROM THEM IN A VERY LONG TIME. BUT THEY ARE NOT PRISONERS AND THEY HAVE NOT BEEN HARMED.
THE BARON
As Lord Preston was reading the telegram to his wife in England, small pieces of chocolate were being handed to Sean and Angelika in a cold, dark cellar in Germany.
“Happy birthday, my son,” whispered Albrecht. “I had this in my briefcase. You are eleven today. Blessings.”
Sean took the chocolate but didn’t eat it. “Thank you, Father.”
Mimicking the mood and actions of her big brother, Angelika clutched her square of chocolate but didn’t smile or put it in her mouth.
“Go ahead,” urged Albrecht. “It’s Swiss.”
“You said we were going there.” Sean spoke without emotion. “How long will it take?”
“We will stay at this house today. Tonight we will move again. And the night after that. Never longer than a day in each house. But each house brings us closer to the Swiss border.”
“So we are going to the chalet in Pura?”
“Ja.”
“And both of you are staying with us?”
Albrecht put his arm around Catherine. “Your mother and I will be with you. Wherever we go, we go as a family.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“What if the police find us?”
“The baron has very good friends. They will not betray us.”
“It’s because of your writing, isn’t it, Papa?” Again, no tone of accusation, just a question that was a statement of fact.
“Sean, it is because the Nazis are what they are.”
Sean put the chocolate in a pocket in his shirt. “I will eat it once we’ve crossed the border.”
“Very well.”
“Me too.” Angelika placed hers in a small red leather purse she carried with her everywhere.
“Make sure it doesn’t melt,” said Catherine. “You wouldn’t want it to melt in a shirt pocket or purse, would you? Such a waste. And such a mess.”
Sean finally smiled a very small smile. “I’ll be careful.”
“We’ll all be careful.” Albrecht put a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Now each of us must take a nap. We didn’t get a great deal of sleep last night, and tonight will be no different.”
“How many nights will it be, Father?” asked Sean. “Ten or twelve?”
“I don’t know. That sounds right, but we’re still a good ways from the border.”
“But Switzerland is not that far.”
Albrecht nodded. “No, not so far from Tubingen. But we must move slowly and carefully because the SS and Gestapo will be hunting us. They’re aware we have a home in Switzerland. The border crossings will be closely watched.”
“What if we can’t get into Switzerland?”
“We’re just as near to France as we are to Switzerland. If we cannot get to the chalet safely we will cross over into Alsace-Lorraine and make our way to the English Channel.”
Catherine smiled. “Then you will see all your cousins, Sean. And Grandmother and Grandfather Danforth too.”
“I would like that.” Sean’s eyes were large in the darkness of the cellar. “But I will miss Grandfather Hartmann. And Grandmother Hartmann as well.”
“Of course you will.” Catherine smoothed back her son’s hair from his forehead. “But the Nazis will not be in power forever. The German people will come to their senses and reject them. That will be the time to see Grandmother and Grandfather Hartmann again.”
“How soon?” asked Angelika.
“A year. Or two. No more.”
“I’ll be a big girl then.”
“Ja. But not so big Grandfather and Grandmother Hartmann can’t fuss over you and give you dolls and baskets of sweets.”
A smile, bright in the gloom, darted onto Angelika’s face.
“Now we need to nap.” Albrecht handed each of them a woolen blanket. “Night is not far off.”
“I’m hungry,” Angelika said.
“There will be food when you wake up,” promised Catherine, wrapping the blanket around the little girl’s shoulders. “Or you can eat your chocolate now.”
“I’m saving it for a special day.”
“All right, you save it for a special day. Meanwhile, after you have had your nap, there will be a bowl of noodle soup for you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. The lady of the house told me so herself.”
June 5, 1934
The Parliament buildings, Westminster, London
“What’s bothering you? We must do our part to get things ready for the rally.”
“I’m well aware of that, Buchanan.” Edward glanced at the traffic moving up and down in front of the Parliament buildings. “I’ll be ready.”
“The rally at Olympia is in two days, Danforth. We intend to set London on its ear. Fill the Grand Hall. The British Union of Fascists is at its peak.”
“I said I’d be ready.”
Buchanan tapped the silver head of his cane against his leg. “It’s the matter of your sister, isn’t it? Lady Catherine? I thought the embassy was sorting that out.”
“The embassy has no idea where Catherine and her family are. They simply vanished without a trace.”
“Mightn’t they have fled? Sir Oswald asked you to write that Hartmann fellow and get him to stop penning those anti-Nazi books and pamphlets. They were infuriating fascists in Spain and Italy and England as well as Germany and Austria.”
“I wrote him. He never responded.” Edward looked up at the sky as drops of rain fell on the sidewalk. “They could have been abducted and shot.”
“Yes, well, there’s that.” Buchanan opened a black umbrella. “You’re not getting cold feet about the rally, are you? Sir Oswald counts on you creating quite a stir with your appearance. And your announcement.”
“I don’t have cold feet, Buchanan. But it will be a shock to my father and mother when their son stands on a platform with the leader of the British fascists. Not to mention I’ll be drummed out of the Conservative Party. I’d like to spare them all that with Catherine missing.”
“They’ll bear up. Especially once you’re a success. You have everything to gain by going public with your fascist beliefs. Yes, you’ll have to sit as an independent. But in the next election we’ll take a majority of the seats. The Daily Mirror and Daily Mail are on our side, and we have well over 50,000 supporters now. Remember how easily Herr Hitler got in and took over.”
“He was appointed chancellor. He never got in by popular vote. I wish we could appoint Sir Oswald like that, but that’s not the way a British democracy runs.”
“Well, we’ll change all that, won’t we? You always chafed at the slow and awkward movements of democracy, didn’t you? Look at Hitler. See what a strong man in power can get done and done swiftly? Why, Berlin has the Olympics in thirty-six, doesn’t it? All sorts of buildings are being erected at an absolutely feverish pace. You really must pop over to Berlin with the lot of us next time and see for yourself. That’s what we want for the British Empire.”
Edward nodded. “I believe a strong man at th
e top would be for the best.” He continued to look out over the traffic, avoiding eye contact with Buchanan. “But look here, what about the danger of a riot? What are we prepared to do about those hecklers who follow Sir Oswald about from speech to speech? All the Jews and Communists? It’s enough I have to drive penny nails into my mother and father’s coffins while they’re grieving over Catherine and the grandchildren. Can’t we put on a class affair? At least give my parents something to take comfort in?”
“You’re worrying far too much for your own good, Danforth. Get home to your wife and have a glass of port. Have two. This will be a major rally, comparable to the finest rally in Berlin. Music, flags, marching, chants—it will be a spectacle. A lot of Jews and Reds are not going to spoil that for us, believe me. We’ve recruited hundreds more Blackshirts. They’ll be stationed strategically throughout the Grand Hall and outside on the grounds as well. One look at them and our enemies will shrink away. Your parents will open up the morning paper and read about a well-run show. A nationalist show with a good deal of pride in Britain and Britain’s future.”
Buchanan lifted his umbrella sharply, and a black cab pulled over in front of them. “There you are, Danforth. Enough chitchat. We don’t want too many to take notice of us. Home to your beautiful wife and that glass of port. We’ll see you at Olympia on Thursday.”
“Right.” Edward entered the back of the cab after the driver came out and opened the door. “Thank you for dropping by Parliament to have a word with me, Buchanan. I hope everything will come off according to plan.”
“It will. Remain calm.”
“I stand to lose a great deal,” said Edward.
Buchanan didn’t respond until after the cab had sped away. “Indeed you do, Danforth.”
“Good evening, my dear.” Edward came up behind his wife as she was brushing her long black hair and kissed her on the cheek. “Where are Owen and Colm?”
She smiled and turned around, slipping her arms about his neck. “At Jeremy and Emma’s with their cousins. The rectory has quite the biggest yard this part of London.”
Edward kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “Better than the postage stamp of a yard we have here, in other words.”
“Don’t be upset. Kipp and Caroline’s townhouse has a smaller yard than ours, and your father’s new townhouse is certainly not Ashton Park, is it?”
Edward tossed his top hat on a sofa and lit a cigarette. “I’m not upset. Just sorry they don’t have the property to run around in I had when I was a child.”
“Summer is just around the corner. Then they can play at Dover Sky all they like.”
Edward sank down on the sofa next to his hat. “Dad’s planning on renovations this summer, Char. I don’t think the house can be occupied.”
She sat on the sofa with him, moving his hat onto a small table. “Well, Ashton Park is splendid enough, don’t you think? They’ll have even more room to run about.”
“So long as they stay away from the sea cliff.”
“Oh, heavens, Edward, what’s gotten into you today? You’re fretting like a mother hen. That’s my job, isn’t it?” She moved so that she was able to get in behind him and began to rub his shoulders and neck. “You’re tight as a drum.”
He blew out a lungful of smoke and said nothing.
“Is there a big speech coming up? Some piece of legislation you need to introduce? A bill to vote on? Is that what has you wound up like a grandfather clock?”
“I expect.”
“When is this coming to pass?”
“Thursday.”
“Well, then, Friday evening we should take the boys for a boat ride on the Thames. You know how Owen loves anything to do with ships. Gets it from you, I imagine, his naval officer father.”
“The war was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. You served king and country, and he’s very proud of you. So is Colm. We all are.”
“King and country, eh?” He drew in on his cigarette. “My patriotism hasn’t done much for me, has it?”
“What do you mean?” She stopped rubbing his neck a moment and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You’re an MP and you’re on the ladder of success in the Conservative Party.”
“Am I? If I were ignored any more than I am by the Party I’d be as much a pariah as Churchill.”
“Oh, my goodness, you’re quite a long ways off from anything like that.” She took his jaw in her fingers. “I thought you liked Winston. You got along famously when your father had him up to Ashton Park at Christmas.”
“I admire his fight. And his national pride. But I don’t wish to be banished to the wilderness anytime soon and join him in solitary confinement.”
“You’re Lord Preston’s son. No one’s going to do that.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet? Not ever.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You really have got yourself tied up in knots. I shall have to unravel them.”
He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “How will Charlotte Squire do that, I wonder?”
“Oh, I have a tried and true Lancashire method.”
“Which is?”
“Me. Just me.”
She kissed him with a strength and passion that pushed him back farther and farther into the sofa. Her blue eyes glittering, she paused and looked down at his face.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“It’ll do for a start.”
“Will it?”
She placed both hands on his shoulders and kissed him much longer and with even more vigor. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and she drew back.
“Whatever’s the matter? Have I hurt you somehow?”
“I want you to be proud of me. I want you and the boys to be proud of me.”
“My goodness, Edward, we are proud of you, I’ve told you that. You’re a fine husband and a brilliant father. No one could ask for more.”
“I dread the day you’re disappointed with me. I dread it like the grave.”
“Edward. Stop it. That’s never going to happen. I adore you. Owen and Colm adore you.” She put her arms tightly around his back and hugged him to herself. “What’s gone wrong, love? What’s put a knife in your heart? You could never do anything that would turn the boys or me against you. It’s impossible.”
June 7, 1934
The Grand Hall at Olympia
Edward sat with his head down, two Blackshirts guarding his room from intruders. Sir Oswald Mosley had looked in on him just minutes before. The hall was crammed and the grounds were bustling. The rally would be a smashing success, and Edward would be the centerpiece of the event. Mosley’s delight had been obvious.
“Lord Preston’s son. An MP of the grand old Conservative Party kicking off the traces and joining the British Union of Fascists to better serve his country. A true patriot. Why, you’ll sway thousands, Lord Edward. Mind you, stay right here until I announce you. We don’t want anyone to spot you and spoil the surprise. Especially the press. They’ll have full access to you once you’ve declared your allegiance to the BUF and have stepped down from the stage.”
Edward finished one cigarette and lit another off it before dropping it in the ashtray. A band was playing. He imagined the red, white, and blue lightning flag of the British Union of Fascists being unfurled. He heard some singing but couldn’t make out the words. Sir Oswald’s voice rang out over the Marconi public address system. Edward had heard a hundred similar speeches in public and whenever Sir Oswald sat across the table from him. But now he did not listen. Instead, he went over his own words in his head.
It sometimes becomes necessary in the long march of human progress for a man to break formation and head in another direction, keeping his steps in time with another band and another marching tune. That is what I am doing today. Not because I don’t love my country but because I do love my country. Not because I don’t honor truth and justice but because I honor them enough to change all
egiances in order to better serve them. Not because I don’t care for the British public or its values but because I care for the British public above all others. God, country, the good of the British people—they are why I am declaring my break with the Conservative Party and announcing my membership in the British Union of Fascists. I follow an enlightened and blessed leadership straight ahead into Great Britain’s marvelous future. I invite you to join me. One country under one flag, one God, and one leader—Sir Oswald Mosley!
A Blackshirt ran up and caught his breath at the open door to Edward’s room. “We need your help!”
“What’s the matter?” demanded one of Edward’s guards.
“There are too many hecklers and they’re disrupting the rally. We’ll need everyone to clear them out of the hall.”
“Commies and Jews!” spat Edward’s guard. He glanced at Edward. “Wait here, sir. Don’t leave the room under any circumstances. We’ll sort this out.”
As soon as the Blackshirts left, Edward stood up and stepped into the hallway. He could hear the shouting and yelling and Sir Oswald making use of the public address system to speak above all the noise. There were the sounds of things being smashed and broken. And then screaming. He crept through the corridor to a spot near the stage that permitted a view of most of the Grand Hall. Blackshirts were punching and kicking people and using choke holds as they dragged men and women outside. Many of the persons they wrestled with were fighting back. Sir Oswald kept trying to finish his speech, but the brawling got worse, breaking out all over the hall as Blackshirts beat heckler after heckler. Edward saw blood spring onto hands and faces. Sir Oswald stopped and stood back from the microphone.
Get out.
The voice in his head was so strong Edward thought a man was behind him. He made his way quickly to a stage door that should have been guarded by Blackshirts. It was locked from the inside. He slipped the bolt and pushed it open. Blackshirts were fighting with people on the grass and in the parking lot. He tugged the brim of his top hat down to cover as much of his face as possible and made his way off the grounds and down the street. Bobbies ran past him. He continued to walk as swiftly as he could, finally taking an alley and emerging on another street, where he hailed a cab.
