London Dawn (58 page)

We have come through a hurricane, my Lord. I thank You for the lives of the very young.

He opened his eyes, took in the light, and saw again Eva as she had hurled herself into Owen’s arms, almost knocking him off his crutches and off his feet as he returned home on leave. Another image emerged, out of the swirl of blue water and sparkling light, of Billy embracing Jane on their wedding day at Dover Sky, his hands lifting her white veil and cupping her face while placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Matt was there in RAF blue to applaud, and Ramsay, and Ben from King’s Cross, as well as Sean and Kipp along with their Pickering Green squadron, including Wilkie, Miller, Peterson, and Packer. Jeremy performed the wedding ceremony for his son, Billy, and his bride under a bright September sky by the swan pond.

“My lord.”

Lord Preston heard the jingle of a harness and the stamp of hooves
behind him. He turned to see Tavy holding the traces of a black gelding that was pulling a small buggy.

“Horse and cart, Tavy?”

“You wished to be at the airfield for Lord Kipp’s arrival. We don’t have a car that can negotiate this track. And he is due to land in less than ten minutes.”

“Ah.”

Tavy helped Lord Preston up to the seat beside him.

“I shouldn’t mind handling the reins a bit,” Lord Preston said.

“By all means, my lord.”

Lord Preston took up the traces and urged the gelding into a tight circle and back the way he had come. Most of the ash trees were bare, so sunlight was free to streak down through the branches and set on fire everything in its path. It gleamed along the two men’s shoulders.

“A splendid day, Tavy.”

“Lovely, my lord.”

“We prayed our way through the storm.”

“We did indeed, my lord.”

“Not to say there isn’t more to pray about. The fighting between Rommel and our Eighth Army in North Africa is fierce. Robbie and Skitt are in it up to their necks.”

“War in heaven, war on earth, as you have emphasized on several occasions.”

“Yes, Tavy, the clash of wills. I pray for Robbie and Skitt’s well-being. And I pray for the defeat of the Nazi and Italian armies. Just as we prayed during the air war over Britain, that the wicked would perish and their schemes along with them.”

“Amen.”

“This continues to be my prayers—our prayers—for Edward on
Rodney,
though the ship rests in Iceland for the time being. And for Owen, reassigned to
King George the Fifth
—I believe I have that right—fighting in the waters off Norway and escorting convoys to Russia. Russia, hmm, how odd to say that, but Herr Hitler has attacked the Slavic people as well as everybody else.”

“He has.”

“The brightest news is Jeremy may well be tapped on the shoulder for bishop. I know his name has come before the prime minister and all the
proper church officials. It was his leadership during the Blitz, you see, the spirit and backbone he put into people.”

“I have found his services to be inspiring. Still, m’lord, a rough go for him and his wife.”

“Of course. Two sons gone. The price paid. A terrible price paid. My first grandchildren. How I miss them. But even in my grief I am not left without the grace of God. Billy’s marriage to Jane was beautiful and memorable.”

“It was indeed.”

The sound of an airplane came to their ears. They glanced at each other. Tavy smiled.

“To speak of grace, my lord. There is a sound we used to hear every day. And every time we heard it we knew it to be a blessing, for it meant someone was coming to stand between you and me and the schoolyard bully.”

Lord Preston nodded. “It meant our liberty.”

“Have you heard that song the American chap wrote?”

“Hm?”

“The one about the white cliffs of Dover.”

“ ‘Bluebirds over the cliffs’? Is that the one?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“There are no bluebirds here, Tavy.”

“Still, m’lord, you have the lyrics. ‘There’ll be love and laughter and peace ever after, tomorrow, when the world is free.’ That must tug at your heartstrings.”

“There are no bluebirds, Tavy.”

“ ‘I’ll never forget, the people I met braving those angry skies.’ ”

“Does it say that?”

“Yes, my lord. ‘I remember well as the shadows fell, the light of hope in their eyes.’ ”

“Hm. The Yanks would do well to get in the fight rather than write sentimental songs about it.”

“I believe we will see them come in soon, Lord Preston.”

“You do? What makes you think that?”

“I sense it.”

“Well, ’tis news to me and likely news to them. We shall see if history proves you a prophet, Tavy.”

“Oh, no, my lord, I’m just a simple butler.”

“Ha. You are much more than that to our family. Much, much more. I do not forget how you saved young Cecilia’s life.”

“Oh, my lord, anyone would have done that.”

“Indeed? Run down a street with bombs falling to get a girl to a shelter when you could have run faster on your own?”

“My lord. I could never have abandoned her.”

“As I say, you are much more than our butler.” Lord Preston began to hum the tune to “The White Cliffs of Dover” as he flicked the reins. “Elizabeth likes the song, and anything that cheers her heart after the loss of so many in the family I thank God for.”

They emerged from the ash grove and drove by the manor. The children were on the far side of a wide meadow and pointing at the sky. A Spitfire was circling Ashton Park. Finally it began to descend. Todd Turpin and Harrison made sure the boys and girls in their charge stayed well back. The Spitfire bounced once and rolled over the grass, prop spinning.

“A safe flight, my lord.”

“Thank you. I have no doubt it will be.”

Lord Preston strode across the runway to the plane. It was at a standstill with both the prop and the Rolls Royce engine still turning over. Kipp reached down from the front cockpit and shook his father’s hand.

“Hullo, Dad. Do you need help getting into the rear cockpit then?”

“I do not.”

“All the gear you need is under your seat—jacket and pants and helmet.”

“Capital.”

“We rigged this kite up at Pickering Green so we could train the recruits better. They were coming to us so raw. A few hours with a good instructor and their survival rate tripled.”

“Excellent.” Lord Preston clambered on top of the wing, slipped into the cockpit, and began pulling on the pants and Irvin flight jacket. “Your mother made a great deal of fuss about this flight. Thank goodness she is with Emma and Jeremy in London today.”

Kipp waved at the children. “How’s she getting along?”

“How are we all getting along with a war rumbling about the world? One day at a time and by the grace of God.”

“Right.”

“I’ve got everything on now.”

“The R/T switch is just there by your hand so we can talk.”

“There’s a gun button!”

“Only for practice. The real one’s up here with me.”

“Is this plane loaded with ammunition?”

“Of course it’s loaded, Dad. Suppose a mob of Me 109s came over the Channel?”

“They don’t do that anymore.”

“My goodness, Dad, we can’t take the chance.”

“Your mother would be tossing me out of the plane on my ear if she heard you say that. A combat pilot in my seventies! I trust the affair between you and von Zeltner is no longer ongoing.”

“You know the prime minster stopped the fighter sweeps into France just the other day? We lost over two hundred pilots this summer.”

“I do know Winston was concerned about that, yes.”

Kipp was quiet a few moments. There was only the sound of the engine and the swish of the prop swirling.

“Von Zeltner was shot down last week, Dad. Not by me. A chap in Ben’s squadron at King’s Cross. He crashed near the base. Ben and Matt and a few others pulled him free and got him to the infirmary. But he only lived another hour.”

“I see.”

“He was able to talk. Ben spent some time with him. Von Zeltner repeated what he has maintained all along, that he didn’t shoot down the twins. Ben believed him. It tied in with what he’d heard from other German POWs. And I have to admit, it ties in with what I’ve heard but didn’t want to hear, especially about the lies Lord Tanner liked to work with. Ben prayed with von Zeltner just before he died. They buried him with full military honors in the graveyard at King’s Cross chapel.”

Kipp was leaning his head out of the cockpit to talk with his father. Lord Preston studied his son’s face and eyes and listened to his words.

“And do you believe von Zeltner?” Lord Preston asked.

“I do. That part of my war is over.”

Kipp faced forward. The Spitfire began to taxi out and turn into the wind. Kipp slammed his canopy shut, and Lord Preston followed suit. The howl of the engine increased, and the plane sped down the runway and lifted into the air. Lord Preston glanced at Ashton Park and could see his grandchildren waving their arms as wildly as they could. He doubted they could see what he was doing but he raised one of his hands and saluted them.

“What is the great surprise you have in store for me?” Lord Preston asked over the R/T. “It’s not my birthday, and Christmas is a month away.”

“Didn’t you name me Kipp Andrew Danforth?”

“So we did.”

“Today is November thirtieth.”

“Jog my memory.”

“St. Andrew’s Day. My day, you always used to say when I was a boy.”

“Ha ha. So I did. Is that what this is all about?”

“To a point. You’ll understand once we’ve reached Kent. Do you mind if I push it a bit?”

“Go ahead, my boy.”

Lord Preston felt the sudden thrust force him back against his seat. Wisps of cloud streamed past. Soon enough London was on their port wing, and then the green farmlands of southern England.

“There’s Dover Sky, Father.”

Lord Preston glanced down at the white manor glistening in the sharp November light. “I see it. She looks splendid.”

A few minutes later the R/T crackled again. “Pickering Green.”

Lord Preston saw the airfield and its hangars and huts spread out below him. “The famous base. But where are the aircraft?”

Kipp didn’t reply right away. “There’s a chap flying with the Royal Canadian Air Force, a Yank who was keen to get in the fight even though America wasn’t in it. Four-twelve Squadron. Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee. He wrote a bit of a poem. A friend of his is a friend of mine, and a copy of it wound up in my hands. I quite like it. Indeed all the lads like it, including Sean here at Pickering Green; Ben, Matt, and Ramsay at King’s Cross; and Billy at Hunters Down. Would you like to hear some of it?”

“Of course, but where are we going now?”

“West Sussex. Hampshire.”

“Whatever for?”

But Kipp had begun to recite the poem.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Planes began to appear to the left and right, Hurricanes and Spitfires.

“What’s this?” asked Lord Preston, startled. “There are dozens of fighters.”

“Scores actually. Since the prime minister cancelled the fighter sweeps, some of the airfields decided to get the squadrons up in a big wing at least once a week to keep the boys’ skills sharp. You remember we used a big wing a few times in nineteen-forty? I thought you’d like to see one.”

Lord Preston’s eyes widened. “It’s extraordinary. Who do we have here?”

“Billy and his squadron are up. D’you see him there? He just waggled his wings at us. Ben’s up with his squadron. Sean’s just tucked in behind us. We’re surrounded by laughter-silvered wings.”

Lord Preston laughed. “What a blessing. But I don’t understand why you took the trouble of flying me here to see it.”

“You prayed for us, didn’t you, Dad? You and Mom and the rest of the family? Prayed for our soldiers and our sailors and our airmen? Backed Mr. Churchill when others had no use for him? Well, here’s some of the few and a few others to say thanks. I couldn’t stuff everyone in my two-seater. But you’ll do handsomely.”

“Thank you, my boy, it’s a marvel.”

The blue sky seemed filled to the heights with British fighter planes.

“ ‘There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not,’ ” murmured Lord Preston as they flew wingtip to wingtip with the other aircraft. “ ‘The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.’ An eagle in the air. ‘The words of Agur the son of Jakeh, even the prophecy…Who hath ascended up into heaven, or descended? Who hath gathered the wind in his fists? Who hath bound the waters in a garment? Who hath established all the ends of the earth? What is his name, and what is his son’s name, if thou canst tell?’ ”