by Murray Pura
“There’s been all kinds of talk.”
Terry stood with his back to the fire. “Of course, the Graf Spee is out there for all to see, so no question as far as that goes. But we’ve heard the rumors about the new battleships, Edward.”
“Rumors.”
“They put up the Dornier 17 on the twenty-third of November.” Kipp was pouring himself a cup of cider and picking up a few chocolate biscuits from a plate. “It was a successful flight.”
“A twin-engine mail plane,” protested Edward.
“A twin-engine bomber. And there’s the Heinkel. The single-engine version broke speed records. They’ll be putting up the twin-engine version in February or March. What will we have then? The fastest passenger plane in the world?”
“I don’t know. Why not? What’s wrong with that?”
Kipp sat down and sipped his cider. “They’re building another single-engine plane. Fast. Sleek. All the fliers have heard about it. The Germans will test it in the spring. A man named Willy Messerschmitt designed it. It’s no secret. What do you think it’s for? It doesn’t take passengers, and there’s no storage area for mail.”
“Look.” Edward held up both his hands. “I’m not the family apologist for the Third Reich. I just think they’ve come a long way and that they deserve credit. For the most part, it’s my understanding they’ve kept within the strictures of the Treaty—a Treaty that Dad’s condemned for fifteen years—and if they step over the line here and there, is it really such a crime? Look at what the Japanese Army has done in Manchuria, look at the blood and slaughter they’ve perpetrated in Shanghai, and what have any of us done about that? What has the League of Nations done? It’s sheer hypocrisy to go after Germany over a few well-made ships and planes that haven’t caused anyone any harm.”
“But neither Germany nor Japan are part of the League of Nations anymore,” Jeremy spoke up, dressed in his black clerical suit jacket and shirt and pants. “They both withdrew last year. You can’t expect the League to be able to exert pressure on them successfully. And America’s not a member either. So we’ve lost a good deal of clout there.”
“Oh, Britain will find the clout it needs if the Japanese go after Hong Kong. Count on it.” Edward raised his thick eyebrows. “For now it’s only Manchurians and Chinese who are dying, so it’s no great cause for concern. But Germany…ah, Germany, our nemesis in the last war, it’s found its sea legs again, so that has the lot of you shaking in your boots. Hitler’s harmed no one, mind you, hasn’t lifted a finger to France or Holland or England, but he’s the one to be chastised.”
“Except the Jews,” his father said.
“Excuse me, Dad?”
“Herr Hitler’s harmed no one except the Jews. And the Communists.”
“Jews and Communists, Father. Honestly, does that matter a great deal?”
“There’s your sister Catherine. And Albrecht. And their children. They had to flee Germany.”
“He was writing scurrilous comments about Hitler and the government. He’s a traitor. Isn’t that it basically? Albrecht turned against his country. We’d treat him the same here for going against the king or prime minister.”
Kipp drained his cup of cider. “People criticize the king and prime minister all the time, brother. Politicians do it every day. No one considers them traitors or thinks they should be tossed in prison. How does speaking up against Hitler’s policies constitute treason to the German nation? Isn’t it quite the opposite, in fact? The sign of a man willing to stand for what he loves about his country even in the face of those who have the power to harm or silence him?”
Edward shook his head, laughed, and pushed himself out of his chair. “This has turned into something of an inquisition. Pardon me while I step out for some fresh air. You can chat about the concentration camps we put the Boers into while I’m gone.”
“Edward.”
Edward stopped as he opened the door. “Yes, Dad?”
“Think over what I said. Kipp is taking to the air. You can take to the sea. A commission is available. You would serve on the battleship Rodney, a distinguished ship. Britain needs you.”
Edward shook his head again. “I don’t understand anything that’s going on in this room. You act like it’s nineteen fourteen all over again.” He patted the pocket of his suit jacket. “I have my tickets to the Berlin Olympics. I picked them up at the German embassy before we left London to come here. That’s what Germany means to me. Gold and silver medals, a pint of lager, and civilization.”
The Emerald Room
Edward rubbed his hand over his face.
Taking a small carton from his pants, he fished out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and lit it. Both the cigarettes and the lighter were American. He leaned his back against the wall and took smoke into his lungs.
Papa, look! It’s the Mighty Hood! Isn’t it fantastic?
He stared at the wallpaper swirls on the other side of the hall.
Could I see the real ship someday, Da? The real Rodney? Will it look like this?
He wandered along the hall. If the women hadn’t gone to the Rose Room, he would have sought out his wife and drawn her aside. Someone had been talking to his father, and it could only have been her. A cold anger put ice in his blood. How dare she be so deceptive?
The door to one of the rooms in the hallway stood ajar. A candle was lit inside. He blew out a stream of smoke and poked his head in, wondering if some of the boys had made their way upstairs.
“Hullo?”
Charlotte brought her head up sharply. “What do you want?”
Edward stared. “I had no idea you were in here. I thought it might have been…well, it doesn’t matter.” He remained in the doorway. “I expected you’d be with the ladies in the Rose Room.”
“I was for a while. But I wasn’t in the mood for making merry.”
“Why are you in here? We used to call this the Emerald Room because of the green wallpaper.”
She was standing at a desk and suddenly put her hand over an open book. “All the other doors were locked.”
He stepped inside. “Now that we’ve run in each other this wonderful Christmas Eve, I should thank you for going behind my back to my father. You’ve got him nicely tucked in your pocket, haven’t you?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Edward.”
“I can tell he knows everything. Who else would have told him?”
“I haven’t mentioned the matter between you and me to anyone.”
“That’s odd. How do you suppose he found out? A little birdie that flew down the chimney?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
Edward dropped into a chair. “Offered me a commission in the Royal Navy.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. He wants me out of England. Out of England and out of politics and out at sea. He knows about my fascist connections all right.”
Charlotte faced him. “I don’t agree with anything you’re doing or plan to do with the British Union of Fascists. But I didn’t tell your father. I didn’t tell a soul.”
“There’s no other explanation.”
Even in the candlelight her blue eyes were vivid. “Look at me. I am not lying to you.”
“Charlotte—”
“I am not lying to you.”
Edward let his cigarette burn into the fingers of his right hand before stubbing it out on the wooden arm of the chair. “All right. I believe you.”
“Thank you.”
“I can’t think.” He looked around the room at the wallpaper. “I remember hiding in here with Kipp. The girls were after us for making a mess of their dolls. Kipp and the RAF. Germany builds a few boats and planes and now Britain starts rearming too.” He glanced at the desk. “What’s the book?”
“Never mind.”
“Are you still planning to head up to Scotland with the boys?”
“I am.”
“I’ve not been back since our wedding.”
“Neither have I.”
“You’ll stay there for New Year’s? They’ll miss their cousins.”
“It can’t be helped. I won’t be here when you stand next to that horrid Sir Oswald Mosley and tell the world you’re on the same side as Hitler and Mussolini.”
“It’s not about sides, Char.”
“Of course it’s about sides. All of life is about what side you’re on. You used to be an Englishman.”
“I am still an Englishman.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a Blackshirt.”
“They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“They are, Edward. In my eyes they certainly are. And in the eyes of a lot of other Englishmen and women.”
“I can’t help that. That’s the narrow way they think.”
“In the eyes of a lot of English boys. Your boys, Edward. Your sons.” He looked at her but didn’t respond.
“Do you want to know what’s in this book?” She lifted it up. “It’s nothing special. It’s a diary I’ve kept since I was twelve. I came to this room to read some of it. I talk about you. The first time we kissed in that hut under the ash trees. The hut’s still there. They’ve never pulled it down.”
“I know it’s still there.”
“The pages are filled with you. How we were split apart but came together again. Our wedding at the hunting lodge. The years in Canada where Owen was born. The magic of the snow and the mountains and the cold. Your first election win. How proud I was of you. Your first speech in Parliament. Colm’s birth. It’s been a beautiful life. I’ve been praying to God in this room, Edward. Praying you won’t throw it all away.”
He glanced down at the floor. “Listen, Char—”
“There’s something else you should know. It’s in the book too. But I’ve never told you.”
He looked up.
She extended the book to him. “I’m Jewish, Edward. My grandmother is Levy on Mum’s side. I have Jewish blood. And so do your sons.”
Christmas Morning, 1934
Lord Tanner’s residence, London
Lord Tanner Buchanan came to the door in his dressing gown, anger and annoyance scribbled across his face. “For heaven’s sake, man, it’s two in the morning. What do you mean by coming here? Are you mad?”
Edward wasn’t wearing a hat, and the rain made his hair fall over his forehead. His eyes burned with a deep darkness.
“You went to my father,” he said in a low voice. “You told him. Showed him notes and telegrams to prove it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is that what the old fool told you? I—”
Edward hit him and knocked him back into the hallway. Before Buchanan could recover Edward hit him again, and he flew into a wall, blood on his mouth. He shook his head, spat out the blood, and came at Edward with a roar. They gripped each other and tumbled out onto the London street, falling and rolling in rainwater and mud and car oil as they choked and pummeled and kicked. Edward got on top and punched Buchanan again and again until Buchanan lay limp. Edward staggered to his feet.
“You tell Mosley no. Not New Year’s. Not anytime in 1935. Not ever. Do you hear me? Not in a thousand years.”
Buchanan opened his eyes. “We’ll crush you, Danforth. You and your whole family. You’ll lose the next election and we’ll sweep you out of Parliament and out of the country. You’ll be a refugee in Poland and Ukraine and Romania. You’ll be adrift for the rest of your life and die in a gutter while the Nazis rule the world. The German Nazis and the Italian Blackshirts and the British Union of Fascists. You’ll be nothing.”
“Take a message to Herr Hitler for me. Tell him to stay away, far away, or I’ll be the one doing the crushing. I swear it. Warn him to keep his ships away from our shores or I’ll sink every last one of them. I don’t care how big or fast they are or how powerful their guns. I’ll sink them.”
“A brave man on a street in London.”
“An angry man on a battleship in the Channel.” Edward dug into a pocket, brought out a handful of tickets, and threw them in Buchanan’s face. “Enjoy the Olympics on my coin.”
Buchanan spat. “I don’t need your coin.”
Edward pointed his finger at Buchanan as he lay in the street. “You stay away too. You and your ilk. All you goose-stepping clowns. Don’t come within ten miles of my family at Camden Lock, Lord Tanner, or I’ll put a bullet through your black shirt and your black heart. All your black shirts and black hearts.”
Edward began to stride away.
Buchanan got up, the rain slashing his face and body. “Why the change in weather, Danforth? Why the cold heart? Why the ice in the veins? What happened to your faith? How did you lose it?”
“I didn’t lose it. I found it, Buchanan.”
The black morning swallowed him up.
Christmas Day, 1934
Ashton Park
“Are you quite all right, Lady Charlotte?”
Charlotte turned away from the rain-streaked window with a start. “Oh, Tavy. Good morning. I’m just waiting for someone.”
“Who is that, my lady?”
“Lord Edward. He had to make a run down to London last night.”
“At Christmas? That’s at least four hours each way.”
“It was urgent.”
“Political affairs?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right.”
“No one will be stirring for another hour. Can I get you some tea?”
“Tea? Tea would be lovely, Tavy. Thank you very much.”
He bent and peered through the dark of the window. “One of the Liverpool cabs. Lord Edward managed to catch all the right connections, I expect. He must be exhausted. I’ll brew some tea for him as well, shall I?”
Charlotte hurled open the front doors and walked out. “Yes, perfect, Tavy, a pot, please, a whole pot for both of us.”
“Very good, my lady.”
She stood in the rain and watched him pay the cabdriver. The car pulled away, and he was facing her.
“You’re wet,” she said.
“Very wet,” he replied.
“I’ll fetch a towel.”
“Don’t. Don’t go anywhere.”
The downpour flattened her hair and ran into her eyes and mouth. “Are you quite settled in your mind?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Did you—did you kill him?”
“No. I warned him to stay far away.”
“Fancy. This is Christmas morning.”
“It is.”
“I remember being with you in another rainstorm a long time ago.”
“Not so long.” He opened his arms. “For love of you, Charlotte. I throw it all away and count it rubbish for love of you.”
She held back. All the time her eyes were fixed on his. All the time his arms were open for her. The rain drove against her dress and against his cloak. Finally she came toward him, slowly at first, then walking faster and faster until she threw herself into the open arms and they closed tightly around her.
“Edward…Edward.”
She was crying and running her hands over his face as the storm intensified and the wind began to blow so that the raindrops hit them with the sting of lead pellets.
“Shh, shh, my love,” he whispered.
“Are you back? Are you honestly back? My Edward? My man? Is it you?”
“I was like a person in the grips of a fever. Now it’s broken. I want you. You and my sons and my God. That’s enough.” He put his lips to the wet skin of her face. “I am going to take the commission.”
“But what about becoming prime minister?”
“I’ll become an admiral instead.”
“We’ll have to move.”
“No, no. You and the boys stay in London where there is family. You and Libby can keep each other company when Terry’s in the Mediterranean and I’m heaven knows where.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been on the trains all night. I’m sure. Stay in London. Wait fo
r me here.” His lips were on her wet hair. “Dark shapes will move toward our shores in the years ahead. Just like they have before—the Normans, the Armada, the ships of Napoleon. I need to be there when they do.” He kissed her. “Will you pray for me, Charlotte Squire?”
“Oh, how can you ask that? As bad as it’s been between us I’ve never stopped doing that.”
“So you’re with me?” “I am.”
“You still love me?”
“I never stopped.”
She tugged his head down and began to kiss him with all her heart and strength as the rain beat on their shoulders and backs.
Inside the house Emma and Libby looked on as Tavy stood nearby with a tray of tea, cream, sugar, and rolls.
“I thought something was wrong,” said Emma. “Things seemed so strained between them.”
“Clearly that’s been smoothed out, whatever it was.” Libby smiled and crossed her arms over the front of her dressing gown. “Now the only thing we need to worry about is whether they’ll catch their death.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that will happen, sister, dear. They’re generating enough heat to run the Hood and Rodney both with plenty to spare for the lesser ships of the fleet.”
Libby laughed. “How cheeky of you.”
Emma glanced at Tavy. “Hot tea for the lovers, Tavy?”
He cleared his throat. “Lady Charlotte requested it.”
“I think it will just get cold the way matters are developing out of doors. Would you mind serving it to Libby and me in the parlor?”
“Not at all. Once I’ve set the tray down I’ll get a fire started first thing.”
“Thank you so much, Tavy. Merry Christmas, by the way.”
“Merry Christmas, Lady Emma. And to you, my lady.” He inclined his head toward Libby.
“A smashing start to the day, I’m sure. Merry Christmas, Tavy. The Savior is born.”
Christmas Day, 1934
The library
“A capital breakfast.” Lord Preston rubbed his hands together. “My compliments to Mrs. Longstaff and her staff. Praise the Lord for such a feast.” He lifted a sheaf of papers. “We’ve had our morning prayers, emptied our socks, opened our presents. Time to bring you greetings from the far-flung members of the family.”
