Beneath the Dover Sky (14 page)

Charlotte put her teacup to her lips. “Why didn’t you stay at Ashton Park if you wanted people and men around you?”

“No, no, no!” Catherine put her teacup down. “Not brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and lords and ladies. Different people…different men.”

“What men?”

“I don’t know. There’s a couple of nice chaps who attend the church in Dover. Also an army officer or two. A sexton from Canterbury Cathedral I met seemed nice. I don’t want anything serious or dramatic, Char. But I want to be treated like a lady by a man. Once a week would be just perfect…or twice.”

“So you don’t love Terry?”

Catherine was silent for a moment. “I love his easy ways and his big smile and his uniform, but I don’t want a ring or a proposal from him anytime soon. I won’t wait by the pier for his return. I’m no nineteenth-century painting with the title ‘A Woman Longs for Her Sailor.’ ” She lifted her cup and drank. “Not much of a widow, am I?”

“You were a very good widow in ’22 and ’23 and most of ’24.”

“Was I? What am I now?”

“A very good lady.”

“Hmm.” Catherine glanced at the ship model as another log cracked and spat. “I suppose I’ve changed, but I can’t help it. It was either change or turn to dust.” She smiled at Charlotte. “What about you? You’re an election widow. How does that feel?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll be so glad when I don’t have to be introduced to noisy crowds anymore.” She glanced at Catherine. “Election night will be a fright, but I can’t wait for it to arrive. What a relief to have the campaigning over and done.”

“Will Edward win in Dover, do you think?”

“Don’t I pray for that? I hope God doesn’t mind, but an unelected Edward will drive me ’round the bend. He needs to be in the House making his speeches and arguing with whomever dares to cross swords with him. Please, Lord, not a mansion on the hill like Dover Sky or a
yacht at the dock like Lord Preston. Just a plain, ordinary seat in the British Parliament is all I’m asking for Edward.”

“Amen! Well, here’s to election night and that God’s will be done. Only two weeks left to go. More tea?”

“Please. Is it still hot?”

“Very. I parked it by Skitt’s fire.”

Election Night, 1924

“Hullo, Mum. It’s Charlotte. I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

“The lines are jammed all over Britain with the election,” Lady Preston replied. “Are you calling from Edward’s office?”

“It’s a complete madhouse in that headquarters of his. I finally fled an hour ago. The nanny’s with us overnight, so at least Owen didn’t have to endure all those cigars and cigarettes and pipes. My eyes are still red and puffy.”

“I understand. For years I attended election night frenzies with William until I’d had enough and decided to stay home with the children. I’d advise you to remain at home until Edward finally wanders in at four in the morning. How are things looking for him?”

“I don’t know. Edward’s crew is happy one moment and worried the next. They keep changing numbers on the chalkboard. Newspapermen dash in and out as if they’re delivering military communiqués that will determine the fate of the Great War. The battery of phones is always ringing off the hook. Clouds and clouds of smoke. Everything made me quite dizzy. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m sure we’re holding our own against Labor. How about Dad? What’s happening with him?”

“He thought he could manage things from Ashton Park with the one phone. Well, he kept losing the connection or else he couldn’t get through to his people in the city. I finally shooed him out the door. Todd drove him into Liverpool to his campaign office. I’ve heard from him once since then. He said he thought things were a bit dicey. Then he got cut off.”

“Oh, Mum, I don’t know what we’ll do if we lose. Edward has his heart set on joining his father at Westminster.”

“Don’t fret, my dear. Believe me, I’ve been through plenty of close elections in my time. The Lord has a way of working things out one way or the other. Even if Edward doesn’t win, he’d still be his father’s parliamentary assistant.”

“That won’t satisfy Edward anymore. He wants to debate, make speeches, cast a vote in the House, make policy.”

“Yes, yes, just like William—down to the nose on his face. We can only wait and pray, Charlotte. The votes are being counted all over the kingdom. It will be the wee hours of the morning before anyone gets a good grasp of things. Call me the minute you know anything for certain.”

“All right.”

Election Night

Port of Dover

Charlotte Danforth lay on her back on the bed. The clock in the hall downstairs struck three. She punched her pillow, put it under her head, put it over her head, and then finally tossed it onto the floor. She cradled her head on her arms. She was able to drift off for a few minutes in this position, but the dream was unpleasant. Edward had lost and had taken to drink. She found him wandering by the Dover docks with a bottle of gin in his hand and tears rolling down his face.

“Ah, don’t cry, my love,” she pleaded, throwing her arms around him. “We’ll be all right. We’ll get back on our feet.”

“We won’t,” he rasped.

“We will! I swear we will. How many elections have we had in the past few years? Three? Four? Another’s bound to come along soon, and when it does you’ll run again and win. You’ll win, Edward!”

His watery eyes struggled to focus on her. “Are you…are you a…a lady of the evening?”

Charlotte sat up and put a hand to her face. “That was nasty,” she mumbled. She got up and got dressed.
I’m not going to risk another dream like that, Lord. I’m going down there. And whatever’s happened, we’ll deal with it, that’s all
.

The door to Owen’s room was ajar, and she peeked in. The nanny was asleep in the bed by Owen’s crib. The two-year-old was curled up under his quilt, eyes shut, breathing softly. She made her way quietly downstairs, took her woolen peacoat from the rack, tugged it on, added a black scarf, and headed outside.

“Brrrr.” She brought black leather gloves out of the pocket of her coat and pulled them on. “What a time of year to have an election.”

Her boots made a
snip-snap, snip-snap
sound on the cement as she walked. The streets were dark and deserted. She put up the high collar of her jacket against the cold. Finally she reached an avenue lit by lamps and slowed down, enjoying the amber glow in the cold blackness. She dreaded turning into the narrow side street that made its way to the waterfront and Edward’s tiny office. She’d been there earlier in the evening, and but for the light from the office windows it felt like being in the coal mine she’d visited as a little girl. She could almost taste the coal dust. The empty shops looked like the shored up walls of the mine. It made her feel hemmed in.

“Ma’am? Mrs. Danforth? Lady Charlotte?”

She’d barely emerged into the open by Edward’s office when a man barreled into her. His hat was crooked, his tie askew, his eyes wide and a huge, a wild smile creased his face.

“Mr. Gibbons!” She was startled by his appearance. “Are you all right? Is anything wrong?”

“Wrong? Wrong?” He gripped her shoulders and laughed, his breath almost knocking her over. “A landslide! Right across the country! More than four hundred seats. That’s how it’s shaping up, m’lady! Labor’s out and the Liberals…why, the Liberals have lost three hundred seats and are down to forty! It’s not settled yet, but that’s what’s shaping up. That’s what the phones and the newspapermen are telling us!” He let out a whoop and hurled his hat into the night. “We have a Tory
government!” Running past the silent shops he disappeared into an alley still hollering with joy.

“What about my husband?” she called after him, but he didn’t turn around or offer an answer.

Edward’s office was only a block away now. Light was spilling out of the open door into the street, and people were milling about, arms waving, voices loud, laughter and squeals and singing echoing off the buildings. She heard her husband speaking, his words ringing out. She pushed through the crowd to get inside.

“An amazing evening, an historic evening! Yes, a miraculous evening! Don’t you think so? A miracle happened in Britain tonight!” Edward’s voice was strong with certainty. The people’s roar was so overwhelming Charlotte instantly thought of a rugby game or football match. The room was packed with bodies, and she could get no further than the doorway. She stood as tall as she could while the cheering went on, even going up on her toes hoping Edward would notice her. He didn’t. He was reaching down to shake hands while women hugged him and newspapermen were shouting in his ear.

You look so handsome, so young, so alive, so ready to take on the world!
Charlotte thought. She unwrapped the scarf from her neck and pulled the high collar of her peacoat down from her face. She drew her hair out from under her coat, shook her head, and let the blackness fall over her shoulders.
I’m here, my darling. I’m with you!
Looking up, she saw him staring over the crowd in her direction.

Stretching a hand out, Edward said, “My friends, ladies and gentlemen, the greatest support I have in my life—may I present my wife and the mother of my son, Lady Charlotte Danforth. Please make a way for her. Thank you! Please let her through.”

A lane opened for her lined with people who smiled as they continued clapping. She’d hardly started forward before Edward came to her, took her in his strong arms, and kissed her. The clapping grew in intensity.

She broke the kiss and put a hand to his lips. “There are more than a hundred people here, Edward. Don’t do anything rash.”

He grinned. “I’m MP for Dover, love! I’ll be as rash as I like tonight.” He kissed her again, lifting her off the floor.

She pushed against his arms for a few moments but finally laced her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with as much passion and abandon as she’d ever shown in public. The cheering shook the windows as her hair spread like a shining wing over her back.

6

November, 1924–April, 1925

Dover Sky

My dear Catherine,

I hope my note finds you well. I regret I will not be able to get to Dover Sky as planned for Guy Fawkes on November 5. I fear I will have to cancel on the Christmas Ball as well. A great deal must be done to prepare the
Hood
for another long voyage, and I am expected to do more than my share. I hope to stay in touch, and trust I may be able to call on you once we have returned in April or May.

With profound apologies,

Terrence

Terry,

I received your note this morning. I should have preferred a phone call. I’m sorry you are so busy we can’t see each other even for a Christmas dance. Are you seriously going to be rushing about making everything shipshape right through the holiday season? I can’t help but believe there are other reasons for this change in the weather.

Terry, I grieved as a widow for two years. You were one of the people who helped me get out from behind shuttered windows and into the light of day. I counted on you to understand
I cannot be a widow again while you go to sea, but I do not think you do.

I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not asking for liberty to “play the field” while you are gone. I simply ask you to see things from my perspective. I must get out. I must get around. I will need escorts who are not brothers or uncles. I intend to be here when you return, and I very much want you to call.

I’m sorry Guy Fawkes and the Christmas season couldn’t have been all the merrier for being spent in your company, my dear.

Catherine

“Ah, splendid! Splendid!” Lord Preston raised his hands over his head and clapped. “You’ve outdone yourself, Master Skitt! See what a fine butler he is turning into, Elizabeth.”

Lady Preston squinted as flames leaped up. “If building and burning effigies of Guy Fawkes is what makes a fine butler these days, then yes, I expect Skitt is well on his way. It’s a good thing he escorted Catherine home for this celebration.”

The effigy was a man’s figure in a tall black hat and beard. It stood about fifteen feet high and was mounted on a rough wooden sled. Skitt and Harrison were tugging it towards Lord and Lady Preston and their family. Yellow flames curled up the legs of the effigy. The men pulled it up to a high mound of dead brush and pruned branches right in front of the Danforths. It immediately ignited the wood and created a bonfire. Fire shot up to the effigy’s nose and eyebrows, giving it a glowering, sinister look.