Beneath the Dover Sky (39 page)

Jeremy’s eyes opened wide behind his glasses. “What did you say, Ben?”

“Not in the Church of England. That’s beyond me, and my background is Methodist—the Wesleys, you know. Even when I was a stable boy I fancied having a pulpit and saying the good words.”

Jeremy couldn’t think of a response.

“It’s always been in my head to go to Africa—to see the jungles and the animals—rhinos and lions and giraffes. I used to think of combining the two—Africa and being a missionary. And now, well, I could fly, couldn’t I? I could be a missionary pilot or something like that?”

“Have you talked with Victoria about this?”

“No, not yet. She’d think I was off to prove myself on a grand scale. I wouldn’t act on any of this for another year. But then I’d want to step down from the airline and start to train with the Methodist Church, with an eye to heading to British East Africa and lending a hand in matters of the spirit and everything else.”

“You’ve never mentioned any of this before, Ben. There hasn’t even been a hint.”

Ben shrugged. “I’ve brought it up now and again, but life swept me up in its rough-and-ready current like it does everyone. I had no intention of going to France during the war, but there I was. Had no idea of flying a plane, and one day there I was up in the clouds. Didn’t know I’d win the Victoria Cross or marry William and Elizabeth Danforth’s youngest daughter or have children with her, but that’s how it turned out. Back of my mind I held onto the Methodist Church and Africa and missionary service even though I couldn’t see how it might come together.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows and blew out a mouthful of air. “I see.”

“I know you’re Church of England, and I expect you don’t approve of my being a Methodist minister, but—”

Jeremy waved a hand. “This is not 1780, Ben. I know many fine Methodist clerics. That doesn’t matter to me one bit. I’m just a bit taken aback by everything you’ve said. It’s like standing on the beach at Brighton and suddenly getting slammed by a monstrous ocean wave.”

“You don’t think I’m suited?”

“I don’t think that at all. You’re a fine man. I’m just trying to take it all in. Look, I can’t say it’s right or it’s wrong. It’s your life, and it’s your decision to make. But you are going to have to bring Victoria in on this—and the sooner the better.”

Ben glanced away. “I know, I know. But I don’t want her thinking I just came up with this off the top of my head so I could show the world what a man with two tin legs was capable of. The dream’s been a part of me for a long time.”

“Explain that to her.”

Ben looked up at the arched ceiling of stone. “Perhaps in the spring.”

“It won’t get easier.”

“Not with Victoria Anne Danforth it won’t, right enough.”

Jeremy rubbed his hand over his mouth. “But there’s something more important. Is this just an idea you’ve been carrying around since you were a lad? Or do you feel a call?”

“A call?”

“Do you…do you think God is part of this? That He’s speaking to you about becoming a minister?”

Ben folded his arms over his chest. “And what would that sound like?”

“I really can’t describe it.”

“This happened to you?”

“It did, yes.”

“The impression has always been with me. Since I was a schoolboy. It’s never left me alone. Always nagging, always pestering, always tugging at my sleeve and grabbing me by the arm—even when I flew during the war and even when I did all the air races. It’s got a grip on me like a fever. Or like a dog with its teeth sunk into my leg.”

Jeremy’s smile grew.

Ben looked at him. “No music. No angels in white. No pleasant warmth tingling through my body. Just this constant at me, at me, at me. I don’t suppose that sounds at all like God, does it?”

Jeremy laughed. “Actually, it sounds a good deal like Him.”

Dear Cornelia, my diary,

April fool’s! I thought I was coming along quite nicely as far as love and marriage were concerned. I adore Albrecht, I absolutely do. And after those chats with Libby last year I thought I’d gotten this whole issue of her having a relationship with Terry Fordyce off my chest. Now she’s off to Cartagena, Spain, where the Royal Navy ships have berthed for two weeks. He cabled her, she thought about it for five seconds, and then she went downtown and sent back a telegram accepting his invitation. Jane remains here with Albrecht, Sean, and me. She’s pouting quite a bit. I think our almost-twelve-year-old has a bit of a thing for Commander Fordyce.

I have no wish to rush off to Spain, and I have no desire to see Terry. I’m looking forward to traveling to Pura with Albrecht very much, and that’s only six weeks away. But I must confess I still don’t like the idea of Libby spending time with Terry. She continues to tell me it’s no more than friendship, but what woman takes a train hundreds of miles to see a man for two or three days simply for the purpose of developing a friendship? Why not wait a bit until his ship is back in English waters in May or June?

Of course she wants to see him as soon as possible. Of course she has every right to see him. But this man was once very precious to me. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is jealousy or possessiveness or what. I can only say it is very hard to think of her spending hours in his company—dining with him, making him laugh, enjoying his gallantries. I don’t wish to be with him, but I don’t wish for her to be with him either.

I pray all these confusing and conflicting feelings I have will be gone when I wake up. I pray that Terry will become no more than any other man out there floating around on the sea in a boat.

Danforth flat, Port of Dover

Charlotte watched as her husband smacked his fist into his palm over and over in the front parlor of their Dover flat. “Lost! And now Labor holds the reins of the greatest nation on earth in its grip! The greatest nation and the greatest empire!”

“You and your father have retained your seats. That’s something.”

“So did Tanner Buchanan.”

“Still, you won reelection, and we all know it was a difficult campaign. I’m very proud of you, persevering right through the swamp and heat of May and June.”

“We may still be MPs, Char, but we have no power.”

Charlotte leaned forward on the couch. “I spoke with your father at some length, Edward. Yes, Labor has more seats in the House—but barely. And they didn’t win the popular vote. They don’t have a clear majority. The day will come when they will need to cross the aisle. Ramsay MacDonald is prime minister for a year or two, but eventually there will be a hung Parliament. At that point, if MacDonald wants to form a government capable of passing legislation, he must patch together some sort of national coalition. That’s how your father put it.”

Edward threw himself into an armchair. “I have no desire to be on the same side of the aisle as Tanner Buchanan.”

She smiled, reached over, and rubbed his shoulder and back. “Love, if you wish the Conservative Party to continue to exert a positive influence on British politics, I doubt you’ll have much choice. Of course you could sit on the Opposition benches and glare at Lord Buchanan from there, perhaps shake your fist at him now and then, and even occasionally pitch a wadded ball of paper at his head.”

“They’d escort me from the chamber
tout de suite
for that.”

“But how exciting. You might actually bop him between the eyes. Then he’d challenge you to a duel of honor and you’d run him through. No more evil Lord Tanner. Triumph! His last words? ‘
Why, I am justly killed by mine own treachery
.’ ”

Edward laughed. “Here I am, tired and flustered by it all and yet how is it possible that my Pendle Hill beauty can still make merry with me?”

She took his hand and curled her strong fingers tightly around it. “After ten years of marriage too.”

“Well, you look ten years younger, Charlotte Squire, not ten years older. Are you sure we’re not traveling backwards in time on H.G. Wells’ invention?”

She tugged his arm over to her and kissed his hand while keeping her dark-blue eyes focused on him. “What if we were? Would you still have me? Still marry me in that great heap of rocks and battlements in Scotland?”

“I’d do it a hundred times over—a thousand times over.”

“Prove it, Lord Edward Danforth, MP.”

“Prove it?”

“Take me to our room, hold me in your arms, and tell me in exactly a thousand different ways how and why you still love me.” She stood up, and still holding his hand dragged him to his feet.

“You’re joking! Colm will be up and wailing in two hours. You need what little bit of sleep you can get.”

She pulled him across the room. “Yes, well, that’s what nannies and warm bottles are for. Do put some effort into it, Edward. I feel like I’m trying to heave anchor on that great new battleship they just put into service.”

“The one named after old Admiral Rodney? How I’d love to sail on her. Sixteen-inch guns!”

“There, we got some life out of you with that. Come along. You can do it. Only two or three more sea miles, and you can snuggle up to your new berth. Rule Britannia, Lord Edward. Britannia rule the waves.”

He grinned as she yanked him into their room and shut the door.

“You’re as mad as a hatter,” he said.

Old City, Jerusalem

“Death to the Jews!”

“Strike for Allah! Strike!”

Thousands of men boiled from the Dome of the Rock into the streets.

“Right!” snapped Robbie. “Leftenant Kirke!”

“Sir.”

“They’re bent on murder this time. Go after them with your platoon. Work with the police. Arrest the leaders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leftenant Skilling!”

“Sir.”

“Follow him with your men.”

“Yes, sir. What if—what if the mob won’t let us arrest their leaders, sir?”

Robbie’s eyes were like rock. “Fire weapons to warn them. If they’re killing Jews or they assault your troops, direct your fire as seems most appropriate.”

Robbie turned to the British soldiers still at attention behind him, their eyes fixed on the Western Wall. “Leftenants Stark and Kettle!”

“Sir!” the two officers responded in unison.

“Take a pair of armored cars. I shall be in another. Follow me. Bring your platoons. We are heading to the Mea Shearim neighborhood.”