by Don Jacobson
After the interment of the three heroes under a cerulean sky streaked rose and orange, much like Rosa chinensis, by the setting sun, Liebermann, with both Maxim and Denis Robard’s blessing, moved into Jacques’ old apartment on the second floor above the garage. From then on, he tended the Beach House cemetery and helped Letty as a man-of-all-work.
The elder Robard’s paysan fashion sentiments lived on as Manfred discovered a wardrobe full of delightfully tailored clothing suitable for every occasion that a man affiliated with one of Britain’s great houses could be expected to encounter. The raiment, from woolens to linen and silk, quickly replaced Liebermann’s feldgrau and required little alteration. Letty Robard’s máman, a blackbird herself, happily nipped and tucked where a soldier’s narrow waist demonstrated how years of her Beach House cooking had widened the square-cut Frenchman. Oh, Claudia Villet had her dreams of the silver haired bosche, but she realized he had suffered too much tragedy too quickly to consider twilight-of-life comfort. Until he was ready, she would see how many of old Jacques’ Alsatian favorites would tickle Liebermann’s palette.
Liebermann snapped to attention and saluted the Hauptmann using the British-style of fingers to the forehead, palm out, his concession to the fact that they stood on a part of France that was nominally English. Once Schiller had returned the honor, Liebermann advanced two paces and dropped to one knee in front of the new Graf. Supporting the sword across both palms, der alte Flugbegleiter raised it to his new master.
“Das Schwert deines Vater, mein Herr,”[xxi] Liebermann intoned in a rich, deep baritone, his ceremonial voice.
Alois accepted the symbol of the Grafschaft,[xxii] pausing to rub his hand across the Schiller crest gracing the sheath. His family’s lands had long since vanished beneath the armies of Napoleon, then Alexander, and finally the resurgent Poles and Russians. This sword, the symbol of his nobility, and Liebermann’s livery collar, the mark of his trusted position, were all that remained of the House of Schiller.
He bade his old servant rise, stepping forward to hold out his hand in recognition of the man’s decades of service, but also to acknowledge the removal of boundaries between lesser and better: those archaic distinctions obliterated by the emergence of a new world from the ashes of an old. He and the Sergeant were all that remained of two lines that had first risen in the service of the Habsburg Holy Roman Emperor in the 14th Century. Generations of Liebermanns had served the same number of von Schillers. Now, the only service would be that of mutual friendship.
Schiller quickly made clear that new relationship between equals demanded a new way of thinking and speaking. Thus, he responded to Liebermann in English, “Thank you Steward Liebermann, although I would ask the liberty of addressing you by your Christian name, however only if you will agree to address me in a similar manner.
“There are too few of us remaining, Manfred, to be caught up by old habits that insisted that each keep to his place. You have been by my side since the day I was born. Your Martha helped my Mama much as you helped Papa.
“I am sure your grief over her loss in Hamburg is as deep as mine over my Mama’s. However, I am somehow certain that, in their last moments, Martha and Mama were comforting each other.”
An embarrassed Richard, still seated in the aircraft, listened as both men stood silently, motionless except for heaving shoulders being the only evidence that they were overcome with emotion. Then he watched as each man steadied himself; Schiller by clasping the sword, his now, to his chest, and Liebermann by gripping the heavy chain around his neck.
Alois spoke first.
“And Papa, Manfred?”
Liebermann said nothing, unable to address the Graf by his first name, but rather swept his left hand up toward the dunes adjacent to the graceful wooden house, it’s white clapboards gleaming in the sun. He pointed to three flagpoles spearing upwards from behind the nearest sand mound. On each snapped one national banner…from left to right the Union Flag, the Tricoleur, and the battle flag of der Kaiserreich.
Rather than immediately set out toward the memorial, Schiller turned back to the aircraft. He nodded at Fitzwilliam.
He said, “I would imagine that you have been here to pay your respects to the Countess, my father, and Monsieur Robard many times, Colonel. However, I would take it as a particular honor if you would accompany me on my first. Perhaps you could tell me more about your Grandmother, a woman who impressed my father enough for him to use precious space in his Red Cross letters to me to write of her.
“Oh, he also mentioned another, much younger lady, who had made a significant conquest in the form of another of our family’s retainers, a Hauptmann Richter. I believe her name was Lydia Wickham. Perhaps we might speak of her as well.”
Fitzwilliam nodded and paused to recall the tale concocted by the Five Families to cover Lydia’s surprising arrival and subsequent departure.
He replied as he clambered down from the rear cockpit, but took the time to send a significant look at Denis, “I would be honored to serve as your escort over these remaining few steps of your journey, Graf von Schiller…”
Alois interrupted him, “Honestly, please do not stand on ceremony. I am Alois or Schiller to you. Our families’ blood is comingled and has been for nearly a year.”
Richard chuckled and continued, “…Schiller. I fear that I can tell you little of Lydia Wickham. She was a distant relation who had the misfortune to be caught in France in 1940. She helped my Grandmother during the Occupation as the Countess became progressively weaker due to the cancer.
“All we know is that Richter and she sought to escape to Allied lines after the breakout in July or August. Nothing was ever heard of them again. My father believes they were caught in the Falaise Gap and perished along with thousands of German soldiers when the artillery and air attacks were especially severe.”
Schiller sadly shook his head, “More innocent blood spilled because a madman convinced the weak-minded that his will would bring a return to an imagined greatness. I grieve for yet another loss for your family.”
As the two men walked up the beach trailed by Liebermann and Robard, four women—two older and two younger—stepped from the veranda fronting a set of French doors on one wing of the house. Fitzwilliam’s face brightened in recognition. He placed a restraining had on Schiller’s left arm, halting their progress. The distaff group closed and stopped. Richard did the traditional introductions.
“Please forgive the formality, my friend; you must recall that we are British.
“If I may…Graf von Schiller, may I present my cousin, the Countess of Pemberley, Georgiana Cecil-Darcy.”
The older lady with blond tresses and rich blue eyes nodded.
Richard extended his hand toward the other matron saying, “And, may I also present my Aunt, Madame Eloise Fitzwilliam Robard. She is the wife of General Maxim Robard, whom you will, I am sure, be meeting later. She is also the mother of…” at which point he shot a thumb at Denis, “…that red-headed reprobate, Capitaine Denis Robard.”
Young Robard swept a foppish bow.
Picking up speed, Fitzwilliam moved on to complete the introductions.
“The young lady standing next to the Countess is her daughter, Lady Elizabeth Cecil-Darcy. And, filling out this complement of beauty is Madame Letitia Villet Robard. She recently had the good sense to find a diamond in that rough patch otherwise known as Denis Robard.”
Denis again grinned and swept another courtier-like bow before crossing to his wife and gently taking her left hand which was graced with a brilliant blue diamond engagement ring next to her silver wedding band.
“Ladies, may I present Earl Alois von Schiller?”
Now it was Schiller’s turn to make his leg before the collection of British and French quality. Yet, for all that glittered in the forms of the Countess of Pemberley as well as both Lady and Madame Robard, the German was taken aback by the unbridled energy he felt emanating from the lithe figure of the captivating woman know
n as Elizabeth Cecil-Darcy.
Contrary to the formalized ballet moving about the packed sand of the Deauville beachfront, Lady Elizabeth, known to all as Lizzy, stood as a female of the modern age and eschewed tradition. She closed the gap across which the two parties nodded and bowed and directly accosted Schiller. She stuck out her left hand seeking to shake his. The Countess Georgiana hid her smile behind her hand noticing, out of the corner of her eye, that her dearest friend, Ellie, did the same.
Mayhap t’was because Lizzy had spent the last two years of the war wearing the deep navy double breasted tunic of the WRNS. Her familial antecedents—she was, after all, both a Darcy and a Cecil —as well as her Somerville College polish likely eased her way behind the wheel of General Lucius Clay’s olive drab Packard sedan rather than a clerk’s desk at any of a hundred RN stations.[xxiii] Her exposure to upper echelon Yanks throughout the war contributed to her already strong sense of self-confidence. That she was acknowledged to be an uncommonly attractive young woman, blessed with deep brunette curls and equally dark—near chocolate they were—brown eyes, was another tick in her list of positives.
The chauffeurs were frequently called upon to add a female touch to after-conference cocktail hours which otherwise would have been entirely composed of the older male generals and admirals who were plotting Overlord. Because her officer worked so closely with Ike, Lizzy had been thrown into the company of Kay Summersby on a regular basis.[xxiv] She watched as her fellow driver fought, and then surrendered to, her emotional attachment to the married Eisenhower. Thankfully, Third Officer Darcy quickly discovered that General Clay was first married to his wife, then the Army, then Ike, and finally his transport schedules. His disinterest in anything more, coupled with the growing constellation on his shoulders, protected her from the unfortunate circumstances that befell so many young women who found themselves at the center of the great operation.
As she approached, Schiller was seized by the unaccountable desire to flee lest he lose himself in that swirling maelstrom of life that would become his touchstone for the foreseeable future. He reflexively lifted his hand to meet hers. A potent frisson staggered both as if two halves of a hidden whole had been rejoined.
Over the following days and weeks while Schiller recovered from his POW life, the two young aristocrats danced around the rather large elephant that had overturned their worlds. Mutual meetings over the Oberst’s, Robard’s, and the Countess’ graves grew to walks down the beach toward Deauville which eventually ended with petit fours at Villet’s.
They finally allowed their hearts to acknowledge what their bodies already knew.
Shortly thereafter Schiller cadged another ride from SOE, this time to an RAF strip near Derby where the famous 1907 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost awaited him. Released from its Selkirk garage only for ceremonial occasions now (and this was deemed as one such by the Earl and the Countess), the Ghost carried Alois up through Lambton to that great rose-colored sandstone mansion nestled so carefully in the vale above the Derwent beneath the Peak. There he paid a visit to Lord Cecil-Darcy who graciously received him. The older man, having been severely enjoined by his wife, the Countess, to forego the traditional prerogative of fathers since time immemorial to toy with the young men seeking to steal away a daughter, solemnly listened to Schiller’s appeal.
None-the-less, he tented his fingers beneath his chin and stared across at the German aristocrat who managed to be enveloped by, yet still dwarf, the leather wingback opposite the British nobleman.
Then Lord David rose from behind the great rosewood desk that had graced Pemberley’s bookroom since the 1790s. Schiller nervously made to stand, but C-D (as he was known by friend and foe alike) lifted a quelling hand.
With a sly smile he addressed the German, “Rest yourself, my good man. For someone with several Iron Crosses to your redoubtable credit, you are acting like a youngster sitting in front of his headmaster waiting to learn if he is to be sent down.
“Based upon the wire I received from my wife, I realized that I would have been taking my life in my hands if I chose to abuse your obviously sincere intentions.
“And, while you are new to your title, you will have to learn to stay seated when those of us lesser, more-lowly ranked, mortals are forced to flit around in your august presence. You have naught to fear from me.”
Schiller’s mind snapped quickly to a pair of fine eyes anxiously awaiting his return at the Beach House.
Now I know where she gets her impertinence and turn of wit! The Countess Georgiana is stately and elegant. Much of her is found in her daughter, but my Lizzy is most certainly Lord David’s daughter, too!
The Briton walked over to a drink’s tray and returned with a dark green, dust encrusted, bottle and two crystal tumblers. The silver-haired aristocrat settled into a chair adjacent to Schiller’s before continuing, “However, the most singular correspondence comes from my child herself. After the usual pleasantries, she begs me to hear you out if you come to my door. Then she suggests that she will rain down her own brand of the Fires of Hell if I tease you or in other ways offer more than token resistance to your already-stated wishes for her hand.
“Something you will learn, son, is that women have their own unique image of how men ought to behave, even when there are no women about.”
He poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass, sliding one to Alois.
“The Scots call this uisge beatha…the water of life. You should know that while we Cecils hail from further south, the Darcys have inhabited these more northerly climes since Henry VIII kicked them out of Kent. Not for them the weak spirits favored by lowlanders. Thus, a man’s drink has been favored here at Pemberley for centuries.
“We have wetted promotions, births, deaths…and weddings…with this finest example of the distiller’s art. And, this unusual bottle of liquid fire was laid down by Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy himself back in the 1830s after he had lost his own Lizzy.
“I have ordered it brought up from the cellars to honor the first Elizabeth Darcy as I prepare myself to lose my own, albeit in a happier manner, to a man I would be proud to name my son.”[xxv]
Such pleasant formalities accomplished, Alois later made short work of doing that which so many returning veterans had done—he begged his girl to accept his hand and move forward together. Her smilingly impertinent acceptance convinced him of the truth of that which the Oberst had advised him before the young Hauptmann went south with Rommel.
“You must, my son, find that woman without whom the Sun itself cannot rise. Woo her, court her, beg her to make you the happiest of men. Do that successfully, and I assure you that you will spend the remainder of your days telling your Kinder that you, like their Grandpapá, married up.”
For her part, Lizzy never would do anything to disabuse Alois of that notion.
Chapter VII
Aboard the HMS Ulysses, Scapa Flow, October 7, 1945
The four men huddled in the back of the destroyer’s sick bay while Dr. Henry Wilson, most recently returned from his stint in Mountbatten’s Far East Command, examined the young woman. For Wilson’s protection, even though she had not shown much indication of regaining consciousness, Agent Rose’s wrists and ankles were held fast with padded manacles. None-the-less, given that the subject of his observation was known as one of SOE’s deadliest assassins, discretion was considered the better part of valor.
Wilson earlier had been the lone occupant of an ambulance trailing behind the Jeep driven by Robard and carrying the Earl and Schiller during the dash from Scapa to Stromness. A staff driver not already read into the operation had been considered too great a security risk. Robard had figuratively donned a Red Cross brassard and took the wheel of the ambulance on the return trip from the Parsonage, allowing Wilson to tend his patient in the back. Finally, the younger men acting as their own orderlies and had carried the stretcher, its burden completely covered by a sheet, aboard the Ulysses and then down two steeply pitched companionways to gain t
he medical compartments.
While the medico, admittedly a bit off his normal turf as an expert in infectious diseases, poked, prodded, and clucked as doctors were wont to do, the Earl debriefed his son. Although there had been a sense of urgency rooted in the overall situation, M decided to return Agent Rose to a secure location like one of His Majesty’s warships tied up to a quay in the middle of a gigantic British naval base before quizzing her handler. Thus, the only actions undertaken by the team upon its arrival in Stromness had been confined to a confirmation of her putative identity and a cursory inspection for any scarring that might have indicated an effort to alter facial appearance with the long game goal being to place a cuckoo into a robin’s nest. Dr. Wilson also had insisted upon a more thorough examination to ascertain if the captive would survive the trip back to Scapa, although Britain’s spy chief subtly suggested that anything short of a spurting arterial injury would not be considered life-threatening.
A note had been posted upon the weathered wooden door of St. Mary’s grey stone sanctuary indicating that Reverend Fitzwilliam had been called away on a family emergency and further advised that services would resume the following Sunday. A curate would be selected from one of the other parishes under the control of the Five Families to step in for Fitzwilliam until he was able to resume his duties.
For now, secreted away from curious eyes and ears by two armored decks and multiple well-dogged hatches, the small council occupied its time with a thorough review of the activities of the previous 24 hours. As was his manner, M never acknowledged his familial relationship with Agent Preacher; not that it was unknown by any of the others. Rather, the Earl wished to remove any personal history that might otherwise have colored the report if it had been given by a son to his father.
