Ashton Park (26 page)

“Thank you, sir. I’m not quite used to being addressed by that rank yet.”

“It grows on you, Danforth. Now about this fellow—” He consulted a clipboard. “Leftenant Benjamin Whitecross. Though I suppose that’s no longer technically correct. His promotion is approved even if nothing else is settled. Were you flying with Captain Whitecross on the morning of October twenty-fifth?”

“I was.”

“How would you describe what occurred at that time? When you were jumped by Wolfgang Zeltner’s
Jasta
near Cambrai?”

“We were in a bad way, Colonel. Their whole group came out of the clouds and were upon us in seconds. Our squadron lost two aircraft almost immediately.”

“What of Whitecross’s actions?”

“He was just catching up with us, sir. He’d been delayed at the aerodrome due to problems with his plane’s machine guns. When he reached us and saw what was going on he launched himself at the German aircraft.”

“What sort of aircraft?”

“Fokker D.VIIs.”

Colonel Byrd glanced at his clipboard. “The formidable D.VII. What was their paint scheme?”

“Black and yellow.”

“Did you spot Zeltner?”

“Briefly, sir.”

“Did he engage?”

“Yes, sir. In his Fokker triplane.”

The colonel grunted. “Eccentric Prussian baron. Flying an outdated plane the Germans pulled off frontline duty last summer.” He wrote with a pencil on a sheet of paper attached to the clipboard. “What happened exactly when Captain Whitecross intervened?”

“He shot down the plane that was in the process of shooting me down. Then he bagged another just ahead of me. After that he bounced a group of two or three that were firing on other planes in our squadron.”

“You’re quite sure about the sequence?”

“Yes, sir.”

Byrd continued to scribble, not looking up. “It was definitely Whitecross?”

“It was his letter B on the fuselage. No one else has that.”

“So four planes? Four kills?”

“There was at least one more. Maybe a sixth as well.”

Byrd glanced up. “Well, which is it, Major? Five or six?”

Kipp thought a moment, jingling loose francs in his pocket. “Five.”

Byrd licked the lead tip of his pencil. “You were the one who landed and picked him up after his crash?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What condition was he in?”

“Bad, Colonel. That’s why he’s been in the hospital so many weeks. There were bullets in his arms and legs. His cheek had been laid open. Left elbow shot off.”

“Any alcohol on his breath?”

“Alcohol? No, sir.”

Libby saw the anger rising in her brother, the same anger that often smoldered in her, and she jumped to her feet. “Excuse me, Colonel, it might help us all if we knew why you were asking all these questions? It’s rather like an interrogation.”

The colonel looked at her and looked at Kipp. “Brother and sister, perhaps?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.” Byrd handed the clipboard to his adjutant. “I’m sure I’ve come across a bit rough. You must admit it appears on the surface to be an act of sheer madness. One man taking on a whole
Jasta
by himself and downing five or six enemy planes. I had to ask about the drinking.”

Kipp’s face was dark. “Why? The man’s barely alive. He saved my life. He saved my squadron. What do all your questions matter? I made my report weeks ago.”

The colonel held Kipp’s fierce gaze with a sharp one of his own. “They matter because he’s been recommended for the Victoria Cross, Major. And only a few get that. Only the very best. Living or dead.”

Mrs. Longstaff pushed loose red hairs back from her eyes and ladled stew onto four more plates. “Here’s another lot!”

A waiter as thick as a barrel entered the kitchen with a scowl and grabbed the plates from her. “About time. I could’ve cooked a fresh batch myself by now.”

“Good food takes time, Solly.”

“This bunch don’t know the difference. You’re not with the high and mighty anymore. Any slop’ll do.”

“Not from my kitchen.”

A tall dark man with a crooked back and a fierce set to his eyes charged into the room and smacked her on the side of her head with his fist. “Not from your kitchen, you say? When did it become your kitchen, hey?”

Mrs. Longstaff covered her face with her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thresher. I just like to cook a decent meal, that’s all.”

“You take too long. You’re six orders behind. Sailors won’t pay for what they don’t get. I’ve a mind to throw you back on the street.”

“Don’t do that, Mr. Thresher. I’m only trying to serve good solid fare.”

“You’ll not talk back to me! Who do you think you are, hey? Every day I’ve had to beat you to keep you in line and today’s no different, is it?”

Thresher raised his walking stick to strike her another blow. A large hand seized the stick from behind.

“That will do!” snapped a man much taller than Thresher. He was wrapped in a thick scarf that covered half his face and a tattered pea coat was buttoned up to his chin. Thresher fought to get his stick back but the man ripped it from his grasp and flung him to the floor.

“What do you want?” snarled Thresher. “This is my business establishment. How I run it is none of your concern.”

“The woman is my employee. I’ve come to fetch her back. Come, Mrs. Longstaff. Let’s be gone.”

She was cowering against the wall, ladle in her hand. “I don’t know you.”

The man yanked his scarf down.

“Sir William!” she gasped. “This is no place for you. They’ll skin you alive.”

“Aye, we’ll do that and more!” Thresher scrambled to his feet. “Solly! Harper! To the kitchen! Lively now! We have a thief!”

Thresher waited until two hefty men appeared in the kitchen doorway before he lunged at Sir William, pinning him to the wall. Sir William struck him on the head and back with the stick. Thresher sank to the floor again, groaning. Solly and Harper rushed Sir William, Harper pulling out a knife half as long as his arm.

“Now we’ll cut you!” Harper spat.

There was a gunshot. Then another. The sharp smell of burnt powder filled the kitchen. Harper and Solly sprang behind a table of pots and pans. Todd Turpin and Harrison had stepped into the kitchen. Harrison had a pistol. He pointed it at Solly.

“There are seven shots with one of these,” Harrison said. “Eight if I’ve put one up the spout like I was taught. More than enough for you lot.”

“Don’t shoot!” hollered Solly.

Sailors and dockworkers fled into the narrow street, where rain was driving against the walls and windows. As chairs and tables were pushed over and men shouted, Harrison gestured at Harper with the pistol. The other man finally got the hint and threw his knife away. It skittered across the floor.

Sir William narrowed his eyes. “I thought we agreed no guns.”

Harrison shrugged, not lowering his weapon.

“Where did you come by it?” demanded Sir William.

“Saw it in a pawnshop window. A Yank had traded it in for English pounds. They call it a Colt 1911.”

“Never mind what the Yanks call it. Just keep it on these scoundrels.”

Sir William already had one arm around Mrs. Longstaff, who had buried her face in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she got out. “You shouldn’t have come here looking for me.”

“It was two days well spent, Mrs. Longstaff, and I’m the one who’s sorry. I ought never have turned you out. Never have cut you adrift. I promise to make such amends as I can. I want you back at Ashton Park. We all do.”

“Oh, no, sir, I can’t. I don’t want to offend you—”

“Take my wife to a thousand Baptist meetings and I shan’t mind. So long as you agree to come to St. Mark’s on Christmas Eve for a good old Church of England candlelight song service.”

She laughed a bit, tears on her face. “Why, I do love those, Sir William. I haven’t been invited to one for a good number of years.”

“That’s settled then.”

“We’d best leave before the constabulary show up,” warned Harrison. He waved the pistol at Solly and Harper and Thresher. “No trouble from you three. Not a word to the police. I’ll be nearby.”

“We hate the police more than we hate you,” growled Solly. “Clear out of here.”

The four bustled out of the kitchen, Todd Turpin and Harrison leading the way, Sir William half-dragging Mrs. Longstaff, who was still holding tightly to her ladle.

“Who did you think I was?” asked Sir William as they ran.

“Jack the Ripper,” she told him.

He barked a laugh as they hurried past the sailors in the street. “I rather thought I looked like Todd’s great-great-grandfather, Dick Turpin the highwayman. It was not just a question of rescuing you, you understand. It was a matter of rescuing myself.”

“Why…how’s that, sir?”

“The food has been difficult to bear at Ashton Park. It has been a Darwinian survival of the fittest.”

She cried and laughed, her face turned toward his arm, as they went up one alley and down another. “I don’t know the Darwin chap but I catch your drift. Sally was always a great one for salt if nothing else came to mind for seasoning. It’s the seasoning that makes the difference, you see.” She looked up at his face. “It’s been bad, sir, dreadfully bad. My kin turned me out when I wouldn’t thieve for them and Mr. Thresher and his crew beat the heart out of me—”

Sir William wiped at her eyes with fingers that protruded out of frayed gloves. “Never you fear, Mrs. Longstaff. You’ll not want for anything again. So long as I am master of Ashton Park you will always be one of us.”

Summer 1919

Ashton Park was in a stir. A delightful stir, but a stir nonetheless.

Now sufficiently recovered from his injuries, Captain Ben Whitecross was to receive the Victoria Cross from the hands of King George himself.

Harrison stood by the shining black motorcar in his new chauffeur’s uniform and cap, hands folded in front of him. Swallows swooped over the manor, and blue sky pushed gray and white clouds to the corners of the estate. Sir William and Lady Elizabeth rushed out the front doors, both of them fussing with his cufflinks as they came down the steps.

“Good morning, Harrison,” said Sir William without looking up. “Are Aunt Holly and Sir Arthur in the car?”

“Yes, sir. Lady Grace as well.”

“What? Mother traveling again? After so many years?”

“Apparently, sir.”

“Well, well. Will we be able to make Lime Street Station in time for the London train?”

“You will, sir. Though I should like to leave in the next five minutes if we could.”

“Of course.” Sir William looked from his cufflinks to his wife. “Where is Victoria?”

Lady Elizabeth continued to play with his sleeve. “She keeps changing her dress, William. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.”

She sighed. “You have lived among four daughters and a wife long enough. That’s how these things are. Especially on such an important day. We are going to Buckingham Palace!”

“I know that—”

Lady Elizabeth put her fingers to his lips. “Hush. What I think you have forgotten is that we have given our consent to the marriage between Victoria and Ben. She has not seen him since 1916. When he left he was our groom and driver. Now he is a captain in the RAF and about to be awarded the Victoria Cross for conspicuous gallantry. Now he is about to be her husband. Do you understand? She will want to outshine the queen if possible. For him.”

Sir William paused in his battle with the cufflink. “All right. I do understand that.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Good. And here is our little princess now. Don’t you think it was worth the wait? She is resplendent.”

Sir William glanced at the manor. He had expected to see his daughter in green, one of her favorite colors. But she stood on the steps wearing a scarlet gown that lit up the auburn shades in her hair. Everything about her danced as the rays of the sun found their way through the clear sky and the gown burst into flame.