London Dawn (7 page)

“Char, Char, it’s not like that…it’s not like that at all.” He made a move to comfort her, but she pulled away, her face as pale as the gray sky outside the window.

2

November, 1934

Plymouth and Devonport

“I so dread this time of year, Terry.” Libby put her arms around her husband from behind. “So does Jane.”

Terrence Fordyce, out of uniform and wearing a sweater and pants and tennis shoes, put one of his hands over his wife’s. “We still have Christmas to look forward to. And New Year’s. It’s always a splendid time at Ashton Park with your family.”

“It’s never that splendid. Your departure looms over the festivities like a great dark cloud.”

“You make it sound so grim.”

“It is grim. You’re off to the sunny Mediterranean and we’re here alone with a lot of rain and drizzle.”

“The butler and the maid keep things lively.”

Libby leaned her head on his back and laughed despite herself. “Skitt and Monty are cards, I admit. Their young love is so refreshing to watch. But even their antics and the way they take care of us here doesn’t make up for the winter absence of Terrence Fordyce, RN.”

“Well, pray about it then.”

“I do pray about it, believe me.”

“Pray vigorously.”

She laughed again and squeezed him. “Oh, Terry, I’m not one of your
sailors aboard HMS
Hood.
D’you think if I holystone the deck and put my back into it, everything will come out all right with God?”

“I don’t know about God. But it would go over favorably with the admiral if you rubbed stones into the planking and made the wood white.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. “As for the prayers, keep at it and you never know what will pop up. The Royal Navy might berth all their ships here for the winter.”

“Wouldn’t that be something? ‘Every ship needs new propellers!’ ”

“Where is Jane, by the way?”

“Didn’t you hear her chattering away at breakfast? She’s off to London with Montgomery for Christmas shopping. Skitt’s driving them. They’ll meet up with Caroline and Emma and Char and have a grand old time. Even mum is coming down by train from Liverpool. It’s a two- or three-day affair, you know.”

Terrence turned around, taking both of her hands in his. “Two or three days! No butler or chambermaid for two or three days!”

“It is rather shocking, isn’t it?”

“And Jane’s all right with being away from the old man and the old lady for that long?”

“More than all right. Her aunts and grandmother will spoil her rotten and all her boy cousins will tease her without mercy. She’ll have the time of her life.”

Terrence pulled her in closer. “Will she? I rather think that oft-used expression should apply to us.”

“Do you?”

“All alone. No one snooping or prying. No admiral to whistle aboard. No butler to walk in unannounced. Just two old lovers.”

“I wish you’d stop using the adjective
old.
I haven’t felt this young in years.”

“Let’s put that youthful energy to good use then.”

“Doing what? Holystoning decks?”

“Holystoning me.” He winked at her.

“Really? And how do I go about holystoning you?”

He put his lips to the side of her neck. “Use your imagination, Chief Petty Officer.”

“I never liked that rank. I don’t think anyone should be considered petty.”

“I can call you Chief for short.”

“Chief I like.”

She began to return his kisses, slowly at first and then with increasing strength and ardor. “Do you like my holystoning, Commander?” she murmured, kissing his lips again before he could answer.

“I do,” he finally managed to get out.

“Will I receive a medal or a promotion?”

“Indeed you will. Promotion to our private chambers.” He scooped her up in his arms and she began to giggle, burying her face in his chest. “Effective immediately.”

“I like Christmas shopping,” she said as he carried her up the staircase.

“So do I. You never know what sort of gifts you’ll find that’ll catch your eye. A few bob and they’re yours for life.”

“A few bob?”

“A figure of speech, Lady Libby.”

She put a finger on his lips. “Shh. No more talk and no more joking.”

Their eyes came together and the mirth died in his throat. “As you wish,” he said in a quiet voice.

Christmas Eve, 1934

Ashton Park

“Right!” cried Kipp, a glass of eggnog in his hand. “One more carol and then I have an announcement to make! Jane, you start! Oh, here we come a-wassailing…”

Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green;

Here we come a-wand’ring so fair to be seen.

Bring us out a table and spread it with a cloth;

Bring us out a moldy cheese and some of your Christmas loaf.

God bless the master of this house likewise the mistress too,

And all the little children that round the table go.

Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too;

And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year,

And God send you a Happy New Year.

“What’s the announcement?” asked Terry in a loud voice. “Are you finally joining the navy?”

Kipp pointed his eggnog at Terry. “Closer to heaven. I’m back with the RAF.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. The Air Ministry has a number of new planes on the drawing board and I’ve been asked to join the crews that test the prototypes.”

“What happens to the airline?” asked Edward. “You’re not giving it up?”

“We are. Dad and Mum know about all this so it’s no surprise to them. I’ve been doing more and more paperwork and less and less flying. It’s time to get my boots up off the ground again.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe. Put a good ship under your feet and you’ll be as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

Kipp laughed. “Don’t want to be solid, Terry. Want to be footloose and fancy-free and up with the angels.” He struck the dramatic pose of an orator, his eggnog behind his back.

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

“Bravo!” Terry clapped along with the rest of the family in the library. “But you and Yeats could have chosen a cheerier theme than your ‘lonely impulse of delight’ and ‘waste of breath’ and ‘balance with this life, this
death.’ What a dreary set of lyrics you’ve planted in your beautiful wife’s head.”

Caroline smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Terry. I do wish we could do some sort of roundabout and head back to the carols and more rousing lyrics.”

“Rousing lyrics? You want rousing lyrics?”

“Now you’ve done it.” Libby shook her head. “You’ve brought out the sailor in him.”

Terry was on his feet. “I have a Royal Navy song that will shake the woolies out of you all and warm Caroline Danforth’s heart as well. Where is Owen?”

Twelve-year-old Owen, half a foot taller than he had been in the summer, jumped up from his spot on the floor. “Here, Uncle Terry.”

“Come, join me, lad. You’re a proper tar, ain’t ye?” growled Terry, imitating an old sea dog.

“I am, Commander, I am.” Owen hurried to his uncle’s side. “What song is it?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see.
Ahem.
Let me clear my throat.”

“For heaven’s sake, Papa, what’s in the eggnog?” asked Emma.

“Eggs,” replied Lord Preston. “Eggs and a bit.”

“Here we go, Owen, weigh anchor!” cried Terry.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer,

To add something more to this wonderful year;

To honor we call you, as freemen not slaves,

For who are so free as the sons of the waves?

“Do you have the hang of it?” Terry asked Owen.

“Yes, sir, I know the song. Da taught me the words and Grandpa sings it when we sail in the Channel.”

They say they’ll invade us these terrible foe,

They frighten our women, our children, our beaus,

But if should their flat bottoms, in darkness set oar,

Still Britons they’ll find to receive them on shore.

“Right!” called Terry to the others in the room. “You all must know the chorus!”

Libby was laughing and tugging on his arm. “Horatio Nelson, we’re supposed to be singing Christmas carols.”

“In a minute, in a minute, my love. Please, all of you, join in.”

Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,

We always are ready; steady, boys, steady!

We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.

“Not bad, not bad. Another verse and then the chorus again, if you please, Master Owen.”

“I’m with you, sir.”

Britannia triumphant, her ships rule the seas,

Her watch word is justice, her password is free,

So come cheer up my lad, with one heart let us sing,

Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king.

Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men,

We always are ready; steady, boys, steady!

We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.

Lord Preston stood and clapped. “Hurrah! Now we must do our best to find our way back to Christmas again after having been boarded by Nelson’s best. Capital singing, young Owen. And capital singing deserves a capital ship. Come, mother, where’s the gift?”

Lady Preston looked up from her chair. “What gift is that, William?”

He moved toward the large pine tree hung with colored balls and bright with electric lights. “The one for Owen, of course. Whom have we been talking about?” He waded through boxes wrapped in red and green tissue paper. “Confound it, we have enough here to sink a ship. Where is it?”

Tavy stepped up to the tree. “The one in blue, my lord. Blue for the navy, y’see.”

“Ah. Very good, Tavy.” Lord Preston fished the box out of the heap of gifts and presented it to Owen. “Here you are. Merry Christmas, my boy.”

“It’s not Christmas, William,” mumbled Lady Preston.

“One present on Christmas Eve. Just the one. Family tradition, my dear.”

Owen hesitated, looking from his grandmother to his grandfather.

Lord Preston thrust the box into Owen’s hands. “Come, come, young man, never spurn a gift at Christmas.”

“Thank you, Grandfather. Thank you, Grandmother.”

“Well, open it, boy, open it.” Lord Preston waved his hand at Owen. “Let us share in your joy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Owen peeled back the paper and opened the box while everyone watched and the children crowded around.

“It’s a ship!”

Owen laughed and held it high.

“A ship! A wooden battleship! Does it float?”

Terry came over quickly. “That’s the
Hood
! Why, I stand here all the time.” He pointed to a part of the deck near one of the gun turrets. “In fair weather or foul.”

Lord Preston pressed his way in to Owen and Terry. “Teak and mahogany. The fellow would go down to Portsmouth and make sketches and photographs and then do the carving and gluing and painting in his studio in Brighton, you see.”

“It’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Look at the detail. Here, Jane. You’ve stood on this spot two or three times while we were on parade.”

Jane, taller than any of the boys as well as many of the adults, and looking at least five years older than her seventeen years, remained seated by Caroline and Charlotte. “I can see from here, Dad.”

“No, you can’t. How can you? Can you see over all these heads?”

“I can, actually.”

Terry went back to his huddle with Lord Preston and Owen and the younger boys. “Can we put it in a tub of water?”

“You cannot.” Lord Preston was horrified. “It’s meant for dry land display. If you want to go to sea, set foot on the real thing.”

“I shall do. But can we put this somewhere grand with a light on it and just give it a good gaze?”