by Murray Pura
Catherine looked at the baron as he held his daughter in his arms. “What are you going to do about Eva?”
He gently wiped a drop of blood from Eva’s cheek with his fingers. “I thought I would have to kill her. She knows everything. But I cannot do it. God help me, I cannot do it.”
July, 1934
Ashton Park
Lord Preston was pacing the library with an open letter in his hand.
“It’s always a godsend to hear from Victoria and Ben in Africa. Victoria is very regular in her correspondence. And here we have this letter from Robbie and Shannon in Jerusalem, long overdue, and twice the blessing for that. All is well. At least as well as can be expected when your children are living so far from English civilization. Even Libby’s and Terrence’s letters from Portsmouth and HMS Hood, as infrequent as they are, never fail to keep us abreast of their comings and goings. But Catherine! What can have happened to Catherine and Albrecht and the children? Edward and I get nowhere with the German embassy. All they do is throw up their hands and say there is no knowledge of their whereabouts. ‘Ich weiss nicht!’ That’s all the fool ambassador can say! ‘Ich weiss nicht!’ Jeremy has made inquiries through the Lutherans and the Catholics but nothing has come of that either.”
Lady Preston, her wrinkled hands clasped in her lap, watched her husband stride back and forth. “I know, dear, I know.”
“And what of von Isenburg, that Nazi ogre? One telegram, weeks and weeks ago, and nothing since. Does he do that to torture us? I should like to go over there and wrap my hands around his neck and choke the truth out of him.”
“Please don’t come up with any outlandish schemes to race across the Channel to Berlin, William. It’s quite like you and I won’t hear of it. You’re seventy now, not twenty or thirty, and well past the age of jumping aboard ships and swinging your sword about your head to battle evil. Edward is going over there soon and he has promised to leave no stone unturned. He will get to the bottom of this.”
“We pray and we pray and no good comes of it.”
“Hush, William, you’re overwrought. Your faith is all you have right now. Without that to hang on to you’ll be washed away by family dramas and the politics of Europe.” She got to her feet and took his hand. “Enough of this. Let’s go to the chapel and pray. We haven’t done it for days. It will do us a world of good.”
“I don’t want it to do us a world of good. I want it to do Catherine and her family a world of good. I want to hear that they are alive.”
“Will you come with me to the chapel or not?”
Lord Preston bowed his head. “I’ll come. I’ll pray. But God help us.”
That evening, as summer shadows slipped over the grass and trees of Hyde Park, Buchanan waited impatiently for Edward Danforth, tapping the silver head of his cane against his palm. Finally a cab dropped Edward off nearby, and Buchanan stepped out from behind a tall tree a moment so he could be clearly seen. Then he drew back into its shadow.
“Sir Oswald wonders where you’ve been,” Buchanan said as soon as Edward joined him.
“I was a bit put off by the June seventh performance at Olympia,” Edward replied.
“You can’t blame that on the BUF. The Jews and Reds started the brawl.”
“It doesn’t matter who started it. What matters is how it finished. Blackshirts beating up men and women.”
“All of them were fighting back.”
“Of course they were fighting back. You’d be the first person to give someone a taste of your cane if they were raining blows on your head.”
“We’ll recover, Danforth. There will be more rallies, more marches.”
“We’ve lost support. We’ve lost the newspapers.”
“We’ll gain them back. Look how popular Hitler is in Germany after his purge. Look how the Italians adore Mussolini despite all his Blackshirts. And keep your eye on Spain. Much good will happen there yet.”
Edward lifted his eyebrows. “Fascism has been forced out of Spain.”
“Don’t believe those precious newspapers you think we need on our side. There will be a revolt. The fascists will return and the Catholic Church will help them return. We’ll get the same support from the Church of England one day.”
“Do you really think that, Buchanan?”
“I really think that, Lord Edward.” He glanced across the field at a police officer walking slowly along a walkway. “So you’re still with us? You’re still willing to announce your allegiance to the British Union of Fascists?”
Edward’s eyes followed the same police officer. “I have my trip to Berlin with other members of the Conservative Party. I’ll let Sir Oswald know what I intend to do after that.”
“Don’t get cold feet now, Danforth.”
“You said I would be overwhelmed by the progress in Berlin. Especially as they make preparations for the Olympics. Right then. Let’s see how impressive it all is. Let’s see if fascism really is rebuilding Europe. If it is, I’ll sit down and make new plans with Sir Oswald about telling the world I belong to the fascist renaissance.”
“Fair enough.” Buchanan tapped his palm with the head of his cane. “You won’t be disappointed.”
July 14, 1934
Berlin
My dear Char,
I will see you in less than a week but I thought I’d write and let you and the boys know what I’ve been experiencing here. It really is quite the show. Best hotels, best food and restaurants, whizzed about in a smashing Mercedes Benz, clean streets, smiling people…none of this rubbish about Jews being beaten on the streets. I haven’t seen one Jewish shop or synagogue that’s been vandalized. And no Brownshirts either, at least not many of them. Herr Hitler cleaned up that lot in June. Altogether the atmosphere is refreshing.
All this to say nothing of the construction tied in with the Olympics. I confess I thought my colleagues in England, the ones who’d already been, were exaggerating. But I see for myself how astonishing it is—boulevards laid out, scores of trees planted, a massive stadium going up. It’s beyond words. I shall have to bring the three of you here on another trip, that’s all there is to it. And we must buy tickets for the Olympics. I’m told I can get them rather cheaply as a member of the British government. Owen will be fourteen and Colm seven. We’ll have a splendid time.
I’ll drop this off so it gets to you quickly. Tell the boys I have seen plenty of bands and plenty of marches and I shall be bringing them back some flags for souvenirs.
All my love,
Edward
PS—I have been unable to find out anything of Albrecht and Catherine’s whereabouts. I cannot even locate Baron von Isenburg. No one seems to know where he has been assigned with the SS. It’s a very strange business. I shall keep trying, of course. I know Mum and Dad must be absolutely frantic.
August, 1934
Ashton Park
“My lord.”
“Hm? What is it, Tavy?”
“There is a courier at the door.”
Lord Preston looked up from the morning newspaper he was reading in his large chair in the library. “He won’t just give you the note?”
“He won’t, my lord.”
Lord Preston pushed himself out of his chair. “I see. Well, Tavy, let’s get this sorted out.”
The courier was in a neat suit and tie and bowler hat. Lord Preston spotted a shiny black car parked in front of the house as he approached the open doorway.
The courier bowed slightly. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Good morning. What’s all this secrecy?”
The courier had a leather briefcase under one arm. He opened it and brought out a letter.
“This came by diplomatic pouch, Lord Preston, to Westminster. It was imperative I hand it directly to you and no one else.”
Lord Preston took the envelope and turned it over in his hand. “From what embassy?”
“Our embassy in Switzerland.”
Lord Preston opened the envelope. There was a smaller envelope inside,
writing scrawled across it in blue fountain pen ink. He suddenly grasped Tavy’s arm.
“Fetch Lady Preston!”
“My lord?”
“Fetch her, I say! This is Catherine’s handwriting!”
Pura, Switzerland
Catherine bent and splashed lake water over her her face as the sun topped the mountains to the east.
Mother and father will certainly have the letter by now. I’m so glad. All their worrying will come to an end. Most of it, at any rate.
She sat down on a flat rock and let the sun work its way over her face. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head toward it.
But how will we ever know how the baron is doing? He will not send telegrams to us, he says, and he will certainly not use the regular post or a diplomatic pouch again. How are he and his daughter faring? He talked about imprisoning her and saying her allegations were the ravings of a Communist agent trying to cast blame elsewhere. Will we ever know?
“How are you feeling?” Albrecht sat down next to her, smiling.
“Well enough, I suppose,” she answered, opening her eyes and returning the smile. “Each day is better than the day before. Each day Germany and our weeks of hiding slip further and further into the past.”
He tossed a stone into the lake. “I’ve let Sean go with old man Salzgeber and his horses. Angelika is with the nanny.”
“All right.”
He showed her a book he was holding in his hand.
“Bearing the Cross. Frederick von Pauls. Is he the American theologian you mentioned?”
“Yes. The book came in the post this morning.”
“When did you order it?”
“That’s the thing. I didn’t. It came from the American embassy here in Switzerland. A note with the book explains it was forwarded to them by the American embassy in Berlin.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, besides the fact it is a very good book that has not yet been translated into German, this was tucked inside its pages.” He brought out an envelope. “A letter from the baron.”
“No!”
“Read it for yourself.”
She took the envelope. “But what does he say? Don’t make me read a long letter to find out how he is doing and what has happened with Eva.”
“The gist of it is that my family’s castle has been appropriated by the SS and that the baron has been appointed the commanding officer. They are using it for a training center and a high-security prison. Eva is kept there under guard. Apparently the SS believe the baron’s story that she was a double agent and on the payroll of the Communists and Moscow.”
“But she will hate him for this.”
“She already hates him.”
“But she will spout information about the safe houses. The SS will check on what she says and realize she’s not making things up.”
“The SS have checked on everything she’s told them and have come to the belief that’s exactly what she’s doing—making things up. Long before the SS interrogated Eva, the safe houses had been shut down and the families that owned them moved far away to other locations in Germany and Austria. The whole situation has changed, and Eva knows nothing about the changes. The SS do not question her anymore. Everything she tells them leads to a dead end.”
“She will try to escape. I can’t imagine her putting up with the situation as you describe it.”
Albrecht nodded. “She did get away once. Right out of the castle and out onto the grounds. But the property is vast, and all of it patrolled by armed sentries and dogs. Eva was shot.”
“Albrecht!”
“The bullets struck her in the leg. She was given medical treatment of course. But she will be on crutches for half a year. I don’t think she will try that again.”
Catherine opened the envelope and pulled out the baron’s letter. It was handwritten in German.
“I do not see what good will come of this in the end,” she said. “You cannot imprison your own daughter and expect to have any sort of future with her.”
“He couldn’t very well let her run free, denouncing him and spying on all his activities, could he? These things will have to work themselves out over the course of time. Perhaps the day will come when Eva experiences a change of heart.”
“Or pretends she does. She’s very good at that sort of thing. How could you believe her even if she told you she had decided to fight against the Nazis? How could you trust her?”
Albrecht picked up a few stones and threw them into the lake. “I don’t know.”
October, 1934
Edward and Charlotte’s residence, Camden Lock, London
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Edward said, coming through the door. “Where are the boys?”
“At the vicarage as always. Kipp and Caroline’s boys are with them too.”
“Are they? So we’re home alone again, are we?”
“Apparently.”
Edward looked more closely at his wife. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Your supper’s ready.”
“Hang my supper. What’s going on with you? Tell me.”
Charlotte gazed out the window behind him. “Do you lie to me much, Edward?”
He removed his top hat and unwound his white scarf. “Lie to you? I’ve never lied to you in my life.”
“You’re lying now.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you acting this way?”
She folded her arms over her chest, still looking out the window. “A telegram came for you,” she finally said. “I don’t know why it came here instead of to your office. You know I don’t open your correspondence, so I set it aside to give you when you returned from Parliament. Somehow Colm got ahold of it and opened it. I scolded him and took it away but it was impossible for me not to read the message, it was so brief.”
“I see. Who is it from?”
She took the telegram from a pocket in her skirt and handed it to him, never taking her eyes off the window.
DANFORTH
EVERYTHING IS SET. SIR OSWALD WOULD LIKE YOU TO ANNOUNCE YOUR ALLEGIANCE TO THE BRITISH UNION OF FASCISTS AT THE NEW YEAR’S CELEBRATION. WE EXPECT BIG THINGS IN 1935.
BUCHANAN
“I’m sorry,” Edward said, holding the telegram in his hand.
“You’re sorry?” Charlotte turned away from the window, tears making her blue eyes shine. “You’re betraying your father, your family, and your country. You’re betraying me and you’re betraying your sons. Your sons! They worship you! Are you going to teach them the Nazi salute now, Edward? Are you going to put swastika armbands on their school uniforms? Will you take them with you on your next trip to Berlin so they can shout ‘Heil Hitler’ along with all the other fascist youth?”
“Char, Char, it’s not like that…it’s not like that at all.” He made a move to comfort her, but she pulled away, her face as pale as the gray sky outside the window.
2
November, 1934
Plymouth and Devonport
“I so dread this time of year, Terry.” Libby put her arms around her husband from behind. “So does Jane.”
Terrence Fordyce, out of uniform and wearing a sweater and pants and tennis shoes, put one of his hands over his wife’s. “We still have Christmas to look forward to. And New Year’s. It’s always a splendid time at Ashton Park with your family.”
“It’s never that splendid. Your departure looms over the festivities like a great dark cloud.”
“You make it sound so grim.”
“It is grim. You’re off to the sunny Mediterranean and we’re here alone with a lot of rain and drizzle.”
“The butler and the maid keep things lively.”
Libby leaned her head on his back and laughed despite herself. “Skitt and Monty are cards, I admit. Their young love is so refreshing to watch. But even their antics and the way they take care of us here doesn’t make up for the winter absence of Terrence Fordyce, RN.”
“Well, pray about it then
.”
“I do pray about it, believe me.”
“Pray vigorously.”
She laughed again and squeezed him. “Oh, Terry, I’m not one of your sailors aboard HMS Hood. D’you think if I holystone the deck and put my back into it, everything will come out all right with God?”
“I don’t know about God. But it would go over favorably with the admiral if you rubbed stones into the planking and made the wood white.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. “As for the prayers, keep at it and you never know what will pop up. The Royal Navy might berth all their ships here for the winter.”
“Wouldn’t that be something? ‘Every ship needs new propellers!’ ”
“Where is Jane, by the way?”
“Didn’t you hear her chattering away at breakfast? She’s off to London with Montgomery for Christmas shopping. Skitt’s driving them. They’ll meet up with Caroline and Emma and Char and have a grand old time. Even mum is coming down by train from Liverpool. It’s a two- or three-day affair, you know.”
Terrence turned around, taking both of her hands in his. “Two or three days! No butler or chambermaid for two or three days!”
“It is rather shocking, isn’t it?”
“And Jane’s all right with being away from the old man and the old lady for that long?”
“More than all right. Her aunts and grandmother will spoil her rotten and all her boy cousins will tease her without mercy. She’ll have the time of her life.”
Terrence pulled her in closer. “Will she? I rather think that oft-used expression should apply to us.”
“Do you?”
“All alone. No one snooping or prying. No admiral to whistle aboard. No butler to walk in unannounced. Just two old lovers.”
“I wish you’d stop using the adjective old. I haven’t felt this young in years.”
“Let’s put that youthful energy to good use then.”
“Doing what? Holystoning decks?”
“Holystoning me.” He winked at her.
“Really? And how do I go about holystoning you?”
He put his lips to the side of her neck. “Use your imagination, Chief Petty Officer.”
“I never liked that rank. I don’t think anyone should be considered petty.”
