London Dawn (29 page)

“Of course.” Lady Preston blinked her eyes and gazed at the silent face. “Does she know what has happened?”

“Yes. She knows. She was sitting with him before you came.”

There was a thumping, and they turned their heads. Lady Grace had made her way into the room, a cane in each hand.

“Elizabeth.” She did not smile. “How are you?”

“I should be much better if Father was recovering.”

“Ah.” She came in a little closer. “I was consulting with the dukes and duchesses on the other floors. Long gone, of course, so far as their physical presences are concerned. Yet very much with us in spirit.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“They wish us well in this time of crisis. That is to say, both with Sir Arthur’s illness and the fall of France.”

“France has not fallen yet, Lady Grace.”

The older woman met Lady Preston’s eyes with a gaze like iron. “How are the children? How are the grandchildren?”

“The grandchildren are fine. All of them are here in England.”

“What about Kipp? Edward? Robbie?”

Lady Preston looked down at her father’s face. “Edward is on his ship. No harm has come to it. Nor to the ship of our son-in-law, Terrence Fordyce. Robbie’s regiment is in full retreat. Kipp’s airfield to the north and west of Paris has been bombed, so they have had to move their aircraft as far from the German line of advance as possible. We have not heard from him or Robbie. Or Ben. He is in the same squadron as Kipp.”

“Things are taking place in rapid order.”

“In too rapid an order for me, Lady Grace.”

“ ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.’ ”

“I should like to believe that.”

“O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.” Lady Grace sang the first verse of the hymn in a steady voice and thumped the end of one cane sharply on the floor. “He saved Ben in the first war. I well remember the day Ben was shot down. He saved Edward twice, didn’t He, when first the
Queen Mary
and then the
Tipperary
went down under him?” She thumped her cane again. “We will see the whole brood back safely in England, my dear girl, depend on it.”

“Thank you, Lady Grace. But as William is fond of reminding me, this
world is not heaven, and if humans will insist on having their wars there will always be sons and daughters who never return to their homes.”

Lady Grace set her jaw and her face grew rigid. “Under the shadow of Thy throne still may we dwell secure; sufficient is Thine arm alone, and our defense is sure.”

“Ah.” Tears slid across Lady Preston’s face. “He is not breathing…he is not breathing now.”

Harrison went to the other side of the bed and bent over Sir Arthur. Then he straightened.

“He is at rest.” Harrison nodded. “He is at peace.”

Holly took Lady Preston into her arms. “A good man, Elizabeth, a good and decent man.”

Lady Grace continued to sing. “Oh God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come; be Thou our guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.”

Sir Arthur’s funeral was on Saturday, May 18. Everyone came up from London. He was buried in the family cemetery near the chapel at Ashton Park. At the brief reception after the service, Owen avoided Eva’s eye and stayed close to his cousins Matthew, Ramsay, and Sean. Charles stood stiffly with a plate of cake in his hand in the great hall as people gathered in groups near him and talked about the war.

“If any of you wish to remain overnight or for a few days, you are welcome.” Lord Preston smiled. “For those who must return to London, we have several cars available to get you back to Lime Street Station in Liverpool. There will be a train for London in an hour and a half.”

Eva remained behind as others climbed into the Rolls Royces. He hated himself for doing it, but Owen glanced back as he climbed in beside Ramsay. She was watching him, and their eyes met. He looked away and slid into the Rolls. Ramsay said something, but Owen didn’t reply.

Such blue eyes. Such flaming blue eyes. Did I make a mistake? Should I have read that letter before burning it? What if she apologized? What if she asked me to forgive her?

He almost opened the door and got back out. He grasped the handle. The engine started, and the chauffeur began to guide the car smoothly down the lane and past the old oak trees. Owen sat back and closed his eyes.

“You feeling all right?” asked Ramsay.

“I’m fine,” Owen responded.

Saturday, May 25, 1940

The vicarage, St. Andrew’s Cross

Jeremy took off his round-rimmed glasses and looked from one woman to the other—Libby, Charlotte, Victoria, and Caroline.

“Look,” he said. “There’s no use beating around the bush. Yes, we’ve sent extra troops over there. But the Germans still have the advantage. It’s not going well despite the way the papers talk about it and despite the hard fight our lads are putting up. I expect the Nazis will have the ports of Boulogne and Calais in their hands by the end of the day or tomorrow morning. I hate to say that, but I’ve spoken with Lord Preston about the matter and he’s privy to information that isn’t being released to the public.”

“Has Dad heard anything from Robbie?” asked Libby in a small voice.

“I’m afraid not.”

“What about his regiment?”

“We know it hasn’t been cut off or forced to surrender. It will undoubtedly be at the coast with the other British troops and the French.”

“What do we know about the squadrons?” Victoria’s face was an unpleasant yellow and white, like a thick cream. “Is there any news?”

“They are protecting the army. They move their landing fields as often as they must to keep ahead of the German advance.”

Caroline knotted her fingers together in her lap. “The
Times
says there are fierce air battles.”

“From what I understand they are not exaggerating.”

“What…what sort of losses are we taking?”

Jeremy put his glasses back on and glanced at his wife, who sat in a chair by his side. “We’re giving as good as we get.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it isn’t all one-sided like it’s been with Holland and Belgium and the French, where the Germans destroyed so many of their aircraft on the ground.” He paused. “It means Kipp and Ben and the other chaps are brave just like our men at sea are brave and our troops on the ground. It means they aren’t getting decimated by the Nazis. It means there’s a good chance they’re alive and well and flying their Hurricanes.”

“How long will it take to find out where they are?” Caroline asked.

Emma leaned forward and curled her hand around Caroline’s. “You can imagine how confusing it is over there. Two weeks of fighting and retreating and the Germans surrounding them on every side…it’s all a muddle. But eventually things will sort themselves out one way or another.”

“The planes can just fly back across the Channel if it comes to that,” Jeremy added.

“What about the soldiers then?” asked Libby. “What about Robbie and all the others?”

“They will have to be taken off the coast by our navy. Not all the ports have been captured.”

“But when will this happen, Jeremy? When will we hear something?”

“I would say very soon. It must be very soon.”

“We should pray,” said Emma.

“Yes, please,” said Victoria. “I should like that. I’m sure we all would.”

Monday, May 27, 1940

Kensington Gate, London

“A phone call for you, my lord.”

“I’m about to join my wife and daughter for a time of prayer, Tavy, thank you. Please ask them to leave a message. Our army is trapped on the French coast by the Germans. Only God Almighty can save them.”

“I realize the Germans have our lads in a bad way. I agree with you that prayer is sorely needed. But the call is quite urgent, my lord.”

“What could be that urgent?”

“It’s the small-craft section of the Ministry of Shipping. They wish you to assist in the evacuation of British and French troops from the port of Dunkerque.”

“Ha? What?” Lord Preston rushed past his butler to the phone in the parlor. “Hullo? This is Lord Preston.”

“My lord. I’m Talbot with the small-craft section of the Ministry of Shipping. You have the sailboat
Pluck,
do you not? It’s registered in your name.”

“Yes, yes.”

“You presently have it at Dover?”

“Yes.”

“Now here’s the thing. The water is shallow, very shallow indeed, where the destroyers are trying to evacuate our men at the port of Dunkerque. The ships can’t get in close enough to hoist the lads on board because the vessels have too great a draft, you see. Some soldiers are standing up to their shoulders or necks in water for hours hoping to get picked up. We need the small boats to get in on those beaches and ferry the men to the big ships. Now, we have a crew who can sail
Pluck
across the Channel and—”

“Out of the question. I have my own crew, handpicked.”

“So you would wish to sail the boat yourself?”

“I would. I have a son on that beach.”

“My lord, there are almost half a million men hoping to get taken off. You’ll not see him.”

“Let God and me worry about who I will see and who I will not see. We shall be down to Dover and on our way to France in less than two hours.”

“Very good, my lord. Tell the chaps at the docks what you’re up to so we’ll know you’ve followed through with the sailing.”

“I will follow through with the sailing, Mr. Talbot, you need not lose sleep over that.”

Lord Preston hung up and clapped his hands together. “Tavy!”

Tavy rushed into the parlor. “What is it, my lord?”

“Ring up Skitt, there’s a good man. And Owen. And Eva. I shan’t want too many bodies. We’ll need room for as many soldiers as possible.”

“What shall I tell them, my lord?”

“We are sailing for France by order of the king. We will be helping evacuate the troops at Dunkerque. My crew must be at Kensington Gate in a quarter of an hour. My chauffeur shall be breaking speed records to Dover, you may be sure of it. Where is he, by the by?”

“Out waxing the Rolls, my lord.”

“Let Darrington know what we are about and that we must be on our way in fifteen minutes. Fifteen, mind, not sixteen or twenty. Then ring up the others.”

“And if they are not home, my lord?”

“Call whoever pops into your head. I must pack my sea bag in short order.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Lady Preston came into the parlor as Tavy left it. “I trust I didn’t hear what I thought I heard.” Lady Preston’s hands were on her hips.

“I have no idea what you heard, so I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re in your seventies, William! Are you mad? You can’t go sailing off to France. The Germans are dropping bombs there. Planes are strafing the beaches. There are dogfights over Dunkerque, for heaven’s sake, and scores of aircraft are being shot down in flames.”

“All the more reason for us to go. We must get our lads off that coast.”

“William! For heaven’s sake! You’re an old man!”

“A state of mind, nothing more. I think forty and therefore I am forty!”

“What? Mad dogs and Englishmen! You’re not leaving this house, William Danforth!”

“Of course I am.” He grasped his wife gently by the arms. “Our son is on that beach, Elizabeth. He will recognize our boat. I must get him. It’s not some other man’s job. It’s mine.”

She bit her lip. “William—”

“ ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.’ Isn’t that how the song goes? Well, I’m about to go out in the midday sun, my dear, and I’ll have my mad dogs with me, and we are going to save a hundred lives, two hundred, and one of them will be my son’s.”

2:35 p.m.

The English Channel

Owen edged the wheel slightly to port. “You can see the smoke now.”

“Yes, we can, by George, we can.” Lord Preston had binoculars to his eyes.

“Mind the sailboat to starboard,” said Skitt.

“I see it, thanks,” responded Owen. “There are another three to port.”

“Dozens, actually.” Eva was coiling a line.

Owen didn’t look at her. “Right.”

Lord Preston lowered the binoculars, glanced from Owen to Eva, and returned them to his eyes. “There are several ships burning. There are fires on shore as well. German planes appear to have been bombing the port.”

“Are ours up?” asked Skitt.

“They must be but we’re still too far away to read plane markings clearly. And they are moving too fast for my eyes. Here.” He handed the binoculars to Skitt. “You have a go.”

Skitt kept his binoculars on the beaches ahead of them a long time. “Hurricanes are up all right. D’you see that long trail of purple-black smoke there? It’s a Nazi plane going down.”