Heathersleigh Homecoming (47 page)

 98 
A Bomb at Heathersleigh

The moment Jocelyn opened the door and saw the uniformed military escort wearing somber expressions, with First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill walking toward the door, in her heart she knew why they had come.

That portion of her face capable of it whitened. Unconsciously her hand went to her mouth. Cheeks and lips began to quiver.

“Lady Jocelyn . . .” Churchill began. The tone of his voice confirmed her worst fears.

Jocelyn burst into tears and glanced away. Churchill waited patiently. This was the deepest of human agonies which the senseless war had fated for them to share in this moment.

Jocelyn tried to turn back to face him, eyes nearly as red as the birthmark on cheek and neck.

“I am sorrier than I can tell you,” said Churchill. “Your husband was one of the finest men I knew. You cannot imagine my personal grief for bringing Charles into the war effort. He was a patriot and a fine man.”

Jocelyn nodded, tears pouring from her eyes in a torrent.

“The prime minister sent me personally,” Churchill went on, “to extend the government's deepest sympathy and sorrow. . . .”

Jocelyn could say nothing. The words entering her ears sounded distant and foreign and hardly registered meaning.

“We learned the news in the middle of the night—only hours ago. . . .”

She wanted to scream in agony, but her heart was constricted in her chest. She gasped for breath.

“At the prime minister's request I was on a special train to Devon at daybreak.”

Churchill now handed her the single sheet of paper in his hand. The telegram from the minister of war was brief.

CRUISER DAUNTLESS TORPEDOED AND SUNK BY GERMAN U-BOAT OFF COAST OF SCOTLAND. ONE THIRD OF CREW LOST. COMMANDER SIR CHARLES RUTHERFORD AND SON, PETTY OFFICER GEORGE RUTHERFORD, AMONG CASUALTIES. CONDOLENCES TO ALL FAMILY FROM ADMIRALTY, WAR OFFICE, AND GOVERNMENT.

The paper dropped from Jocelyn's hand and at last a great wail burst from her mouth.

“And George!”
she shrieked in disbelief.
“
God—oh, God!”

By now Catharine was approaching from behind. Jocelyn heard her footsteps and turned.

“What is it, Mother—” Catharine began. But already Jocelyn was running to her youngest daughter.

“It's your father . . . and George—” she cried, then broke down in a passion of weeping.

Catharine's large frame and wide embrace swallowed her mother like a child.

Churchill stood gravely waiting. Twenty or thirty awkward seconds passed, during which nothing could be heard but the sounds of sobbing. Sarah and Kate came from the kitchen and were now crying with Jocelyn and Catharine.

At length Jocelyn remembered they were not alone. She tried with difficulty to compose herself, released herself from Catharine, and turned back to the First Lord of the Admiralty.

“I am extremely sorry, Lady Jocelyn,” said Churchill, “but I must return to London without delay. There are many arrangements to be made. Your husband will of course be given full military honors. You will be notified.”

“Yes . . . yes, thank you,” sniffed Jocelyn, lurching shakily for a breath. “It was kind of you to come all this way.”

“Your husband was a friend.”

“I . . . that is . . . our . . . my other daughter . . .” began Jocelyn.

“Yes . . . Amanda—actually we've met,” said Churchill. “I felt you needed to know first. But she will be the first person I will see when I return to the city. I intend to go straight to her hotel. I will be speaking to her within hours.”

“Thank you,” said Jocelyn, not realizing at first the implications of what she had just heard. “But I'm afraid I don't know where she is or how to help you contact her.”

“That will be no problem. I saw her only two days ago. She is in London.”

Suddenly the bombshell broke into the mother's seared brain.

“London!” exclaimed Jocelyn. “Amanda . . . in London!”

“You've not been in touch since her return?”

“Not for a very long time.—Oh, poor Amanda!” exclaimed Jocelyn, breaking into tears again.

“I will do what I can to ease the pain,” said Churchill.

He shook Jocelyn's hand, uttered a few more words of sympathy, then turned and strode back to the waiting automobile which would return him to the Milverscombe station.

In another minute the women were alone again. Heathersleigh's desolation had suddenly increased a hundredfold.

“Sarah,” said Jocelyn when she was able, “please find Hector and send him for Maggie. Tell him to bring her to the Hall as quickly as he can.”

The moment she was gone, mother and daughter embraced again, wept several more minutes, then Jocelyn went upstairs to Charles' study.

She had to use the telephone.

 99 
A Friend's Devastation

Timothy Diggorsfeld's face was ashen as he held the telephone receiver to his ear. For the first moment he was too stunned to move, to respond, to weep, to speak. As marvelous an invention as it was, what good was a telephone when there were arms that needed to hold and be held, and shoulders that needed to absorb the mutual tears of suffering.

His every instinct was to rush out immediately and board the first train for Devonshire. He must be with poor Jocelyn and Catharine at this horrifying time of tragedy.

The telephone line was silent for several long seconds. It was Jocelyn who finally broke it.

“Timothy,” she said. “Mr. Churchill tells me Amanda is in the city.”

“I didn't know she was back from the north.”

“What north?” said Jocelyn, confused. “Do you mean in Britain? I had no idea she had come back to the country.”

“I was with her just three days ago.”

“You were with her!”

“She had just arrived from the Continent,” replied Timothy. “She came to me immediately. Mr. Churchill needed her to go to Yorkshire with him. She had information about a spy network.”

“What . . . Amanda . . . spies!”

“The people she was involved with,” explained Timothy, “—all that business with the Fountain or whatever it was called. I intended to telephone, but I thought I should wait until she returned.”

“But Amanda . . .” began Jocelyn, then her voice trailed off.

“Yes, she must be told,” said Timothy for her.

“Mr. Churchill said he would notify her at the hotel the minute he arrived back in the city.”

“She needs to hear it from a friend. I will take care of it.”

Again came a long silence. Now finally did the tears in the pastor's eyes begin to flow.

“Jocelyn . . . my dear, dear Jocelyn,” said Timothy at length, “—I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

“I know, Timothy. He was your friend as well as mine.”

“How is dear Catharine taking this dreadful news?”

“Much as I am. She is sick and can only weep. But she is strong, Timothy. Thank God for that—she is a strong young lady.”

“God bless her—I will come as soon as I am able. I promise, I shall be there as quickly as circumstances allow. And I will find Amanda.”

“Thank you, Timothy. You are a true friend.”

Timothy put down the telephone and slumped as one lifeless to the nearest chair, and wept as he hadn't since he was a boy.

He tried to pray. But not only no words—not even
thoughts
of prayer would come.

Why, Lord . . . why!
was the only prayer his devastated brain could form. He knew the words were not uttered by a heart of faith. He could not call them words of prayer at all. They were the cry of a grief-stricken heart to the great unknown of the universe that men and women have been crying out to in their seasons of agony since the beginning of time.

Why . . . why . . .
why!

He could not say that he was angry at God . . . but so very, very confused. Horribly confused. How could this be!

How, Lord, could you allow such a thing!
suddenly burst from his lips.

The next instant he thought to retract the faithless outburst. But he could not. He was devastated and confused, and the words mirrored what he felt.

His only thought was that he had to comfort Jocelyn and Catharine. He must get to Heathersleigh without delay.

His mind suddenly returned to Amanda. What was he waiting for! He had to go to her. This was no time to worry about the past or what she thought of him. Nor to wallow in his own grief. If ever Amanda needed someone, it was now.

Timothy was out the door before the realization struck him—he had no idea where Amanda was staying!

But Mr. Churchill knew. He had said as much to Jocelyn. He would go straight to his office.

Thirty minutes later, Timothy walked into the office of the First Lord of the Admiralty for the second time that week. On this occasion the receptionist recognized him and gave him a cordial smile and greeting.

“I am Rev. Diggorsfeld,” said Timothy. “I must see Mr. Churchill.”

“I am sorry, Rev. Diggorsfeld,” she replied. “Mr. Churchill had pressing business in Devon early this morning. He left at dawn and has not returned.”

Of course, what was he thinking? thought Timothy—the First Lord couldn't possibly be back in the city yet. Jocelyn had called him only half an hour ago.

“When do you expect him?” he asked.

“I really don't know,” the lady replied. “Not until much later this afternoon, if at all. I do not actually know whether he will return to the office. We have lost another one of our battle cruisers, you see—”

“Yes . . . yes, I know,” replied Timothy. “Thank you very much.”

“Is there a message you would like to leave?”

“Uh . . . no . . . no, thank you,” mumbled Timothy, stumbling out. He wandered in a new stupor toward the stairs, tears filling his eyes again. How was he going to find Amanda!

Once outside, no thought of a cab came to his mind. He had to walk. He would walk back and try again to come to terms with this devastating news, which all at once seemed yet the more crushing in that now he had nothing before him to
do
.

What was he going to preach on during tomorrow's service? he thought. How could he possibly preach at all!

On he walked, hardly conscious of direction . . . thinking of Charles, thinking of Amanda, thinking of Jocelyn, and vaguely continuing to despair from the hopelessness of attempting to preach in a mere twenty-four hours.

How could he possibly take the pulpit and offer anything to his people, when his own faith was so shaken, and when he was filled with such turmoil?