The Heir's Proposal

by Maggi Andersen

  Fran bowed her head.

  There was a proviso added. Addie must do something worthwhile with the money. Diana would mean for the women’s cause, but she would approve of this too, Addie was sure. And when the war was over, she would take up the cause again. It was a sizeable sum. Her Aunt’s legacy had been generous. “It will be useful in setting up the hospital,” Addie said. “Diana would be pleased.”

  “Maybe she knows,” Fran said with a misty smile.

  Addie smiled and wiped her eyes. “Perhaps she does.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bryce checked Monty’s wound again. He grew increasingly worried about him. He hadn’t been able to stop it bleeding. The chance of them crossing the Ems undetected seemed slight. Forced to devise a plan, Bryce intended to carry it out after dark. When they first hid here, he’d noted the German patrols. He went out during the day but had to be careful. Someone would notice a strange face here. The German patrols had forced them to retreat from their initial position at the narrowest part of the river to a small coastal hamlet closer to Emden, and they found this uncomfortable spot beneath an abandoned house. They were tempted to break in, but Bryce thought it unwise. He left Monty and went in search of food and fresh water. The only food he could find was fruit he picked from a tree and two eggs he’d pinched from a chicken coup under the nose of an indignant chicken, which they ate straight from the shell.

  He cleaned Monty’s wound again and retied it firmly with the bulky bandage cut from his jersey. The gash was deep and nasty-looking, very inflamed and still seeped. They slept during the first day and most of the second to keep out of sight of a bunch of German soldiers visiting the village. Last night, Bryce went on a reconnaissance, determined to find a suitable boat. He found a promising one moored nearby. They finished their small cache of food that morning. Bryce fought the increasing sense of helplessness. It wasn’t in his nature to quit. And Monty needed decent food and doctoring, or he wouldn’t make it.

  “I’ve found a small motorboat. It’s moored down at the wharf near here. As the fine weather seems to be holding. We go tonight,” he said, as they drank the water, he’d brought back in an old tin can. “We must take a chance. If we stay any longer, odds are we will be captured and handed over to the Germans.”

  “Leave me here,” Monty said.

  “Don’t be mad. I need you. The boat has a small motor, but what if we have to row?”

  “You’ll have a better chance on your own.”

  “Sure. I’ll swim across. Did I ever tell you how I once swam the English Channel?”

  Monty chuckled weakly. “Right. We go tonight.”

  “Sleep for a while. I’ll wake you when it’s dark.”

  Monty lay back and fell into a restless sleep. It was cold and the ground was rock hard. Bryce lay back, cradling his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. If they stayed much longer, they’d be gonners. They must have discovered the body of the scientist and talked to his sister. There would be patrols searching for them. He had to stay awake.

  Voices woke him. They were above them in the house. Bryce feared he’d slept too long, and they’d missed their chance. But he’d been out for less than an hour. The floorboards creaked overhead. He caught snatches of conversation, enough to tell him the hut was being commandeered.

  He put a hand on Monty’s shoulder. As Monty opened his eyes, Bryce put a finger to his lips. He gestured with his thumb.

  They listened.

  The door slammed and the voices died away.

  “That’s it. We have no choice now. We go.”

  A few hours later, they crawled out. Bryce got his bearings, then carrying both knapsacks he beckoned to Monty to follow him. He knew the area well. It was never pitch black here because of the enormous ship works which lit up the area like a giant Christmas tree. He’d taken a chance to edge closer, to learn where the patrols went and how often. They were thorough and well organized. Their patrols left every two hours, changing direction each time. Caught by surprise, they’d almost caught sight of him. He’d had to hide in a hut behind a stack of barrels. He only just made it back. The few miles between them and the plant were too close for comfort. So far, the patrol didn’t venture this far. But he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t alter the schedule.

  Bryce headed down toward the water with Monty following. No lights shone out from the houses, their windows shuttered. He led the way along a narrow lane, glancing back to check behind him. In pain and weak from loss of blood, Monty limped on.

  He had guts; Bryce had to admit. He was in a nervous sweat when they approached shore. But there it was, the small boat, moored as he’d first seen it, at the end of the wharf. The wind scudded clouds away from a sickle moon, providing enough light to see but also to make him confident that no one saw them. Assisting Monty into the boat, Bryce cast off. Was there enough fuel to get them across to the Netherlands? No way of telling. But a pair of paddles lay on the bottom of the boat. He hoped the Germans put all their resources into guarding the ship works. Foolish to believe they would not patrol the river and the Netherlands coastline, so even if they made it across undetected, it would be hard to find a safe place to land.

  Bryce pushed the boat away from the wharf with a paddle. He allowed the boat to drift away, out into the current which caught them up and swept them north despite his efforts to row. It was not the direction he intended to go. “It would have been better to get farther from shore before we start that motor, but we must risk it.”

  “I know a lot about engines.” Monty crouched over it. “I should. I come from a family of engineers.”

  He attempted to start it. After a burble or two, the motor cut out.

  “What’s wrong with the damn thing?” Bryce hissed, searching the river for any approaching vessel.

  Monty examined the spark plugs. “Might have had it.”

  “That’s not helpful.”

  “Hold the torch.”

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Bryce said, horrified at having to paddle miles across the fast-flowing river. With a quick glance at the shore for signs of life, he clicked on the torch. He tried to shield the glow with his hand while he aimed it where Monty tinkered. They drifted farther north. “We’ll end up back at Borkum at this rate.”

  “Hold on. I think I’ve discovered the problem.” Monty shook his head and cleaned a spark plug on his shirt. “Such neglect.”

  Once he’d replaced it, he tried again. The engine burst into life; the chug, chug amplified as it bounced off the water. Bryce winced and quickly switched off the torch. He sat back and stared into the dark ahead of them. They were finally making headway.

  “We can’t escape notice once we get closer in,” Monty said.

  “No. We’ll switch it off and I’ll paddle the last mile or so.”

  “Are we going in the right direction?” Monty asked suddenly, his hand on the tiller. “The tide swung the boat around a few times. Let’s head for that glow of lights, must be a big town.”

  “I hope that’s not Germany,” Bryce said.

  “I hope it’s not Borkum.”

  Bryce turned to scan the shoreline. There was the arc of light from the ship works. “No, we’re on course. Germany is behind us.”

  The engine burbled as the small boat crested the mounting swell, while a tense silence grew between them.

  Two hours passed. The scattering of lights ahead brightened, and they could see land.

  The engine coughed and cut out.

  “Blast.” Monty fiddled with it again. “We’re out of fuel,” he said and fell back with a curse. Bryce snatched up a paddle before the current caught them. Dipping it into the water, left then right, he fought the tide, quickly growing exhausted. “This is not like rowing at Oxford.”

  “I’ll help,” Monty said.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Being here is not a good idea.” Monty slid in beside him. He picked up the other paddle and in sync with Bryce, the boat pushing forward with
each stroke.

  Bryce knew how much pain he was in, although Monty said nothing. “I take back what I said.”

  “About what?” Monty rasped out through his teeth.

  “That you aren’t good enough for Addie.”

  “You’re just saying that because you think I won’t make it.”

  “Either we both make it, or neither of us will. And may the best man win.”

  Monty’s paddle scooped up water. “You’re on.”

  Bryce averted his gaze from the ominous patch spreading on Monty’s chest. Whatever he said, the man wouldn’t stop. His admiration for Monty, and his fears for their lives, threatened to strip away what was left of his energy. He firmed his shoulders and matched Monty stroke for stroke.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Addie could hardly believe how fast it was. But with seven thousand beds in London filled with wounded and more arriving every day, the Red Cross immediately went into action.

  Addie and Fran stood in the front garden to watch the ambulances roll up the driveway. They lined up outside the front door and brought the wounded in on stretchers or in wheelchairs.

  The new staff members joined Cook and Mrs. Ruston downstairs to discuss menus and the cleaning of the wards. Addie had hired men to remove all the contents from the rooms destined for wards. They stored them in the vast attics: furniture, her father’s memorabilia, paintings, ornaments, china, mirrors, carpets rolled up, and the chandelier in the drawing room, now the main ward, carefully taken down and stored with the rest. The remainder of the rooms locked up. They converted the downstairs bathroom into an operating room.

  The previous day, army trucks carrying hospital beds and other essentials arrived. With the main ward set up and ready for the patients, the nurses settled the men in.

  Addie loved to see the old house serving an important purpose. Her father would approve, even though it was a far cry from what he’d envisaged for her and the future of Langley.

  Her sleeves rolled up and wearing one of Cook’s aprons, she and Fran entered the house to offer their help. While Fran visited the wounded writing letters for those who could not do it themselves, Addie helped in the office with administration duties.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  A sea fog drifted over the water, blocking the way ahead. They could only hope they’d kept to the right course. Weak from hunger and shivering from the cold damp air, they slowed. Still a mile or more from the coast, the throb of a big engine rent the air, coming fast.

  “Should we stop?”

  “No. We stay on course. They might not find us in this pea souper.”

  Bryce forced his aching muscles to obey. Were they close to land? Or paddling in the wrong direction? He understood why Monty had lost all hope.

  The ship drew nearer. Waves surged and tossed their boat around. Bryce couldn’t gauge how close it was. They might well be in its path. He gestured to Monty to be quiet. They removed their paddles from the water and waited, either to be sliced in two by the much larger boat or discovered and shot.

  The ship was almost upon them. With the throb of powerful engines, the air around them seemed to vibrate. They clung to the side as the wash from its bow hit them, almost overturning their small craft. Voices somewhere above them shouted over the roar of the engines.

  Bryce steeled himself for the inevitable.

  Then the noise ebbed away, and the water calmed.

  Bryce sat for a minute, disbelieving.

  He came to his senses and leaned in close to Monty. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

  They paddled hell for leather as fast as their weary bones would let them. Somehow Monty kept going. Beside him, Bryce kept it up, his muscles groaning.

  Forced to slow, they accepted defeat.

  “Who knows where we are. It could be…” Monty began.

  The boat crashed into something hard, throwing them both back off their seats into the bottom of the boat.

  Bryce picked himself up. “We’ve run aground.” He sent a fervent prayer that they hadn’t hit a small island, or group of rocks off the coast. He climbed forward to examine what held their boat fast. Marshes appeared as the wind rose and blew the fog away. He couldn’t believe what he saw. They were a mere few yards from shore.

  “We’ve made it, Monty,” he said turning.

  Monty was struggling up, a hand on his side where the blood was spreading.

  Bryce reached out for his other hand. “Come on, let’s go.’

  Monty made no protest as Bryce half dragged him over the side of the boat. They waded through the water, the sharp branches of the marsh trees catching at their trousers.

  Bryce eased Monty down onto the sandy shore. “Shall I go for help?”

  “Don’t come back, Bryce. You can get home. There’s still enough time.”

  “Don’t start that again. We’ve made it. This is neutral territory. I intend to get you to Jorgan Devoss in Huibertplaat, if I have to carry you all the way.”

  Monty didn’t speak, the fight gone out of him.

  Bryce pulled out the map from his knapsack and turned on his torch. “First thing is to work out where we are. Stay here while I see if I can find a street name.”

  He ran halfway down a street. Streetlamps were still alight here. He found a sign, and with a sudden premonition rushed back.

  Their knapsacks were where he left them, but no Monty.

  “Damn you, Monty. You’re not leaving me,” he yelled. He discovered a trail of black blood on the path.

  “I’m here.” Monty’s weak voice came from behind the wall.

  Bryce had never been so glad to see him. “I thought you’d...”

  “Gone into the water?” Monty said, finishing it for him. “No. I’m not done yet. Someone rode a bike along the waterfront, so I thought I’d better hide.”

  “I know where we are,” Bryce said tucking the map into his shirt. “It’s only a few streets away. Can you make it?” He didn’t intend to leave Monty again. He wasn’t sure he’d stay put.

  “If you help.”

  Bryce looped the straps of both knapsacks around his neck and put an arm around Monty’s good side.

  It was hard going. He had to stop several times to get his breath. Monty was getting heavier, his legs dragging.

  They entered a long avenue and struggled down it. No one passed them, but some windows were lit up. The church they were seeking came into view, and Bryce half carried Monty the short distance to the church’s open side door and through it with no idea what he might find. It could be the Germans waiting for them. Spy networks got broken. Spies arrested and shot. Someone else taking their place to catch others.

  Candles flickered around the church interior.

  Bryce eased Monty into a pew where he sagged, head bowed. Then he went in search of Jorgan Devoss.

  The church door slammed behind him. A huge fair-haired man strode down the aisle.

  “We are fishermen. There has been an accident,” Bryce said, when after a glance at Monty, the man in black vestments turned to him.

  “You should find a doctor,” he said with a frown.

  “You didn’t fish today?” Bryce said searching for the code words, his mind wandering with exhaustion and hunger.

  Devoss smiled. “Half right. Come quickly. I’ll bring your colleague. We must get you to a safe place. There are those here who make it a practice to watch out and report anything suspicious.”

  Bryce turned back. Monty had slipped off the pew. He lay passed out on the floor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Addie had not heard from Bryce and he’d been gone for almost two months. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe he had died, even though her inquiries at the War Office had not been helpful. If he were no longer in the world, she would know it in her heart. She continued to work in the hospital from breakfast until dinnertime, while seeing to other estate matters, and fell into an exhausted sleep every evening. She was so pleased to have Fran share their humble few rooms above the stabl
es, which were once for the coachman and the stable staff.

  Fran became despondent when one of her favorite patients died, but she was never down for long, always thinking of ways to entertain the soldiers and make them more comfortable. She was very supportive of Grace too, after Lionel died. Fran had gone to have lunch with Grace and walk Goldie. Grace was holding up well, she had taken to knitting socks for the war effort.

  At the small table with a cup of tea, Addie ate a sandwich while she read the distressing news in the newspaper. She heard footsteps on the external stairs.

  “Hurry, Fran, the tea is still hot,” she called.