Amanda watched the minister disappear in the direction of his church, then continued on her way, sobered, thoughtful, yet at the same time inexplicably warmed inside from the friendly encounter.
He had wanted nothing from her . . . not wanted to use her . . . not tried to gain anything for himself from her. It had just been a friendly, nice exchange.
She had already forgotten the question she had been about to ask when Diggorsfeld’s face had suddenly interrupted her step. Unbidden, however, out of her subconscious now came its answer.
She did know someone who didn’t try to take from everyone he met. His name was Charles Rutherford. Her own father was such a man. Was he the only person who had allowed her freedom to be herself, to think and express herself without strings attached?
Stunned that such a conclusion would find its way into her brain, instantly she tried to stop it in its tracks.
No, she said to herself. There were strings attached! All his religious strings! It wasn’t freedom at all, it was slavery . . . slavery to his ideals, his control, his trying to make her be just like he was.
Even as she tried to force them from her brain, she knew her counterarguments couldn’t stand up. Her father had allowed her to be herself. He had even paid for her transportation to get here. He had not stopped her from coming to London. He could have, or at least made it very difficult for her.
But he hadn’t.
Though he had objected to her decision, he had actually given her the money to come. He had expressed his opinion, but then had done nothing to coerce or force her. What else could it be called but giving her the freedom to direct her own course?
He had sent his ridiculous letter a year ago about the Halifaxes, yet the fact was, he had done nothing to prevent her from making her own decision in the matter. She had hated and resented him for years, yet had not her father actually been the only one who hadn’t tried to use her or get something from her?
She had only been deluding herself that the Pankhursts loved and accepted her. She now saw so clearly that they had never cared about her. Had she been just as wrong about—
No! she screamed silently to herself. She would not listen to such thoughts! They weren’t true.
Her father was manipulating and controlling. Nothing could change that. She remembered what it was like living under his roof. It was tyranny. She would not go back! She hated it . . . she hated him!
Amanda was running now, bumping her way through people . . . hands clamped over her ears as if to stop the voices trying to tell her she was wrong about her father. Battling them as if these inner cries were bombarding her as she ran, she shook her head and pressed her hands against the sides of her head more tightly.
No, no! she cried. I won’t listen. I won’t . . . I won’t! He doesn’t trust me to be mature enough to see dangers for myself. I’m old and wise enough to handle it . . . I can take care of myself . . . how dare him write me a letter like that . . . it’s an insult—I’m twenty-three years old. Who does he think he is! I won’t listen . . . I won’t. It’s all lies. . . .
78
Difficult Question
On June 8, 1913, four days after the Derby, Emily Davison died without regaining consciousness. Front pages throughout the country were full of the incident. Six thousand women marched in solemn procession through the street accompanying the body to its final resting place of glory. The suffragette movement at last had a full-fledged martyr.
Charles and Jocelyn’s anxiety over their daughter deepened. Yet they knew they could do nothing for Amanda now. They must only wait and allow accountability to come.
Reading of the Derby tragedy in the Times, though it was not directly related either to Amanda or the Fountain of Light, somehow triggered a series of thoughts in Charles’ mind that caused him to think that the danger he had written Amanda about was increasing.
How exactly Charles arrived at the conclusion he could not have said. But within three weeks the conviction had grown upon him that it was time to speak out more directly, that what had briefly involved him—or tried to—had more widespread implications that could no longer be ignored.
Later that same month, he traveled to London and arranged to see the First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill.
“Winston,” said Charles when they were alone in Churchill’s office, “I don’t want to be an alarmist, but I am very concerned about this Fountain of Light business. I’ve found myself thinking more and more about some of the things I’ve heard, about the implications of some of their statements. It sounded innocuous enough to begin with, but now I’m not so sure. There were undercurrents I missed at first. Now I must tell you, I am extremely concerned about what might be their underlying motives. Has anything more been learned since Admiral Snow contacted me?”
“We’ve learned a little more, but not much. The people involved are extremely evasive.”
“I am convinced that danger is afoot,” Charles went on, “that whatever it is, the so-called Fountain of Light is not what it would like people to think. There’s something involved . . . again, I don’t mean to be alarmist, but I think it may be a plot, a spy ring of some kind that may have even infiltrated the government itself.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you, Sir Charles?”
“Very serious. What about Hartwell Barclay—is anything more known about him?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”
“I thought this was your investigation.”
“Not really. I asked Admiral Snow to keep tabs on developments.”
“I see,” nodded Charles.
“So who is this Barclay?”
“He works for the secret service. Admiral Snow and I discussed him.”
“Hmm . . . I’ll get the admiral on the phone immediately and get an update.”
Churchill made the call. In answer to his questions an anxious look came over his face. He set down the telephone and looked up at Charles.
“It seems Hartwell Barclay has disappeared,” he said. “Admiral Snow was about to notify me. He thinks something may be up as well. There are reports of heightened activity in Serbia. It’s a powder keg. Last year’s war between the Balkan states and Turkey solved nothing. It looks like it’s going to explode all over again. It would appear that your timing is on the mark.”
Churchill grew thoughtful.
“Would you consider going public?” he asked at length.
“What do you mean?” asked Charles.
“A brief statement for one of the papers, issuing a sound and reasonable warning against anything connected with the Fountain of Light.”
“Why make it public? What would be the purpose?”
“Because if it is a spy network, then the security of Great Britain may be at stake. Exposure is the surest means to insure that others are not ensnared. We cannot afford to take any chances.”
“That’s a difficult question,” sighed Charles. “Why me?”
“Because even though you were not a part of it exactly, you at least attended one of their meetings. You saw firsthand what went on. A formal document would accomplish little. But you can offer an eyewitness account of what you actually saw and heard. Nothing is so convincing.”
“I see what you mean. I suppose I will consider it,” said Charles seriously.
He paused a moment. “I’ve got to tell you, Winston,” he said. “I’m not a whistle-blower. And I haven’t been involved all that deeply in their activities. What if I don’t see it all clearly?”
“Do you trust your instincts, your sense of things, your gut reaction?”
“Yes . . . yes, I would say I do.”
“As do I. I trust you, Sir Charles. Therefore, the qualms you feel in your gut have credibility in my eyes.”
“But what if I am wrong? What if it is not a spy network and nothing sinister is going on at all?”
“Their response will tell the story,” replied Churchill. “If they are innocent of the charges, they will co
me forth with specific evidence about their purpose, and explain themselves in a reasonable way. You may wind up with some egg on your face. But I’m asking you to take that risk for the sake of your country. On the other hand, if they become enraged and accusatory, if they lash out vindictively at you personally, and all the while if they further try to hide and shield their motives and activities with secrecy rather than making a full public disclosure, then we may be pretty certain your perspectives are on the mark. The venom with which a man denies a charge against him is very often in exact proportion to the likelihood of its being true.”
“I see what you mean. In other words, you are convinced I am right in this, but since we don’t know for certain, their response will tip the scale one way or the other. If they are innocent, they will respond accordingly. But if they go on a vicious counterattack, it will prove our suspicions.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. But don’t worry, Sir Charles. From what Admiral Snow just told me, there is much corroborating evidence piling up from other sources to back up what you are feeling.”
A week later, in the first week of July, Churchill’s predictions proved correct. Serbia declared war on its neighbor Bulgaria.
79
Mounting Tensions
The tension which gradually mounted between the nations of Europe, large and small, during the second decade of the twentieth century was about a single idea: freedom.
What did freedom mean, who possessed the inherent right to be free, and which nations had the right to rule themselves?
At the heart of these fundamental questions flowed the Sava and Danube rivers, circuitously noting the division between Serbia and Austria, a border marked across the landscape between the Dinaric and Transylvanian Alps with hatred.
Events had heated up on and off in the Balkans for half a century. But now they were reaching the boiling point.
A revolution in Turkey led Bulgaria in 1908 to proclaim her independence. Fearing some similar move in Serbia, Austria seized the opportunity to formally annex the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina. These regions, however, were mostly occupied by Slavic Serbs, and Russia threatened to intervene on their behalf. Germany made it known that she would support Austria if Russia declared war.
The crisis was averted when Russia backed down. Austria was allowed to keep her new provinces. The stage for future conflict was set. The major players had taken their sides.
Swallowing their hatred of Austria, the Serbs of Bosnia and Herzegovina vowed to get even another day. A time would come for the throwing off of the Austrian yoke, and when that day came, they would act. In the meantime, Serbian unrest went underground.
Serbs not only in Serbia itself but cooperating with their ethnic brothers and sisters in provinces under Austrian rule began establishing secret organizations directed toward the overthrow of Austrian tyranny, which had now replaced that of the crumbling Ottoman Empire. Their goal was simple: the unification and independence of all Serbian peoples.
At the vanguard of this conspiracy was the terrorist society called the Black Hand, made up chiefly of students, Serbian army officers, and other Serbian officials. New members were secretly recruited and support sought throughout Europe. Intrigue, plots, rumors, and spying between the various factions, stirred by fierce nationalism and passionate century-old ethnic and religious hatreds, kept tension in the region at such a pitch that anything could set it off into full-scale conflict.
Encouraged by the continued weakening of the Turks, and in order to exert their own independence as a show against any Austrian intentions, in 1912 the three Balkan states of Serbia, Bulgaria, and Montenegro banded together with Greece to form the Balkan League of Christian States, which then declared war on Turkey in an attempt to complete the expulsion of the Turks from Europe. Hostilities in this First Balkan War continued until mid-1913.
But the peace proved short-lived. Now the four members of the Balkan League fell to fighting among themselves over the spoils they had gained from their victories against Turkey. The Second Balkan War between Serbia and Bulgaria lasted but a month. Atrocities, however, were widespread and the region remained tense.
Prompted by these events, Germany added more than 100,000 troops to its standing army. Uneasiness in the international community resulted everywhere. France responded by voting large financial increases to bolster its own army. Russia followed suit.
None of the conflicts involving the powers of Europe during the previous two decades in themselves were serious enough to lead to widespread conflict. All had proved local and containable. Yet each successive incident wore away at the general patience and resolve of the European community. And as Germany, Austria, and Russia grew in power and stature alongside the two powerhouses, Great Britain and France, they also grew more belligerent and less inclined to back down in the future.
With every successive incident war was forestalled. Yet each new threat left these three principal players more irritable and antagonistic. How long would they continue to show restraint?
Meanwhile, Germany’s military muscle continued to strengthen. And Serbian passion to free Bosnia and Herzegovina from Austrian rule grew still more feverish.
80
Stealthy Escape
A thick fog settled over the east coast of England during the night. As dawn now broke, nothing but grey whiteness was visible anywhere. The North Sea was calm. If the fog lifted, even for an hour, all should go well.
Doyle McCrogher awoke at dawn. He put on the teakettle, then took a brief walk out to the edge of the Hawsker bluff and peered into the dim nothingness. He loved thick misty mornings like this! The moist air felt so good in his lungs he could almost taste it along with the sweet scent of the sea. The sounds of a few gulls in search of breakfast, and the waves lapping against the rocks below met his ears. But he could see nothing. He drew in another full and contented draught, then ambled back to the house with the red roof to enjoy his tea.
His employer had arrived the night before. There was no need to wake him yet. He wasn’t going anywhere in this muck.
Hartwell Barclay arose an hour later.
“Any word yet?” was his first utterance to the Irish keeper of the lighthouse.
“Havena been up there yet, guv,” replied McCrogher. “Can’t see a thing.”
“Get up the tower, McCrogher,” the white-haired Englishman snapped back. “I don’t pay you to be impertinent.”
“Won’t do no good, Mr. Barclay.”
“I’ve got to get out of here! I don’t want to miss my opportunity.”
“Ay, but I can’t send the signal till it clears.”
“I want to know the instant the fog breaks up, do you understand? For all I know, they’ve picked up my movements and are on the way here even as we speak!”
“Won’t be afore eleven, if it lifts a’tall.”
“Don’t argue with me, McCrogher! Get up there, I tell you, and get the light on.”
The Irishman turned, stopping at the kitchen for his tea on his way, and left the house to do as he was told. With a cup of tea, the company of the gulls and the fog up in the lighthouse would be preferable to this anyway, given his employer’s present mood.
Midway through the morning, as Barclay was still grumbling about the fog, and as Doyle McCrogher sat up in the midst of it in the lighthouse whose beacon was not even visible from the ground much less the sea, the sound of an automobile approached up the lonely road along the bluff. Barclay went out to meet his expected colleague.
“You weren’t followed?” he said by way of greeting.
“Of course not,” answered Lady Halifax, climbing out of the Mercedes. “I’m no amateur. No one suspects me.” Her tone was a little brusque at Barclay’s manner. “Frankly, I’m not at all sure you’re in as much danger as you think,” she added as they walked toward the house.
“There were enough suspicious questions floating about concerning the secret service,” rejoined Barclay. “I didn
’t intend to take any chances. From here on, you and the others will have to carry the work forward. I’ll be safe with our friends in the east.—But what was so important that you had to make a trip all the way up here to see me in person before my departure?”
“Do you have water for tea?”
“There on the stove.”
Lady Halifax proceeded to prepare a pot. When it had brewed, she poured out a cup for each of them and they adjourned to the lounge to continue their discussion.
“Carrying the work forward, as you say, may prove more difficult than we had hoped,” she said, sitting down and taking a sip from her cup.
“What do you mean?”
“A letter came for the Rutherford girl some time ago.”
“What is that to me?”
“I took the liberty of writing out a copy when she was away,” she answered, holding a sheet of paper toward him. “This is the reason for my visit. I think you may find that it concerns you very much.”
Barclay read it, his expression clouding.
“This Rutherford is proving more trouble than I anticipated. I am beginning to rue the day Redmond mentioned his name to us. You don’t suppose he learned of our contact with Wildecott-Browne?”
“Not that I am aware. Unfortunately, this is not all,” Lady Halifax went on. “A father writing to his daughter with advice is one thing, but it may escalate beyond this.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I learned from my son that an article is about to go to press in several of the major newspapers, an interview with Charles Rutherford. Ramsay has seen the article and says Rutherford speaks of the Fountain by name and warns people against involvement.”
“What! That’s impossible—he wouldn’t dare!” cried Barclay, leaping to his feet. His cup of tea nearly fell to the floor as he began to pace about the room in white fury.
“Does your son know of your connection?” he asked at length.
“Not yet. He only shared the news because it concerned Amanda’s father.”
Wayward Winds Page 32
