Wayward Winds (13 page)

 22 
On the Other Side of the Lawn

Across the grounds, having no idea they were at the center of such a fuss, Charles and Jocelyn Rutherford moved leisurely through the crowd, arm in arm, without the slightest inkling their daughter was present at the historic occasion. Charles greeted many of his old friends from London whom he hadn't seen in years, while Jocelyn clung close to his side.

The bright red birthmark which scarred half of one side of Jocelyn's face—from the neck, across her cheek, and up to the left side of her forehead—was not the burden it had once been. She had learned to accept her husband's love and God's love, and had through them learned to accept herself and give God thanks for his unique handiwork with her. She had learned, not without tears, to see her scar as the fingerprint of God's care. Such occasions as these, however, among crowds of people, would always be difficult. She had grown up thinking that everyone was always staring at her, laughing to themselves, silently mocking the bright red side of her face. Such inward habits were difficult to break.

Charles sensed his wife's uneasiness and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I know I am loved,” she said quietly, “but this is still hard.”

Charles nodded. “It won't be much longer,” he said. “We'll get out of here and be on our way back to Devon—”

“I say, old chap,” interrupted a boisterous voice.

Charles glanced up to see its owner moving toward them with a wide grin spread over his face and hand outstretched.

“It
is
you . . . I thought so. Charles Rutherford! It is good to see you, old man.”

The two shook hands warmly.

“Jocelyn,” said Charles, “you remember my speaking of Byram Forbes, of the
Times
.—Byram, may I present my wife Jocelyn.”

“Lady Rutherford,” said Forbes, tipping his hat. “—But I forget myself,” he added, speaking again to Charles. “You are
Sir
Charles now. I beg your most humble pardon.”

Charles laughed. “Believe me, Byram, the title is far less significant
after
one has it than one anticipates beforehand.”

“You are keeping yourself busy, I hear.”

“Busy enough.”

“I hear your name mentioned all the time in connection with electricity and all sorts of newfangled gadgetry. Better not let the Germans or Austrians get hold of that brain of yours. They're after liberals, you know.”

Charles laughed again. “And what about you?” he said. “You must just about be editor by now.”

This time it was Forbes' turn to laugh. “Not if I live to be a hundred,” he said. “Too many in line ahead of me. But I manage to get the occasional interview to impress my colleagues. I had a session with the new king last month.”

“I read your piece,” said Charles. “Nicely done.”

“Would you like to meet him? I'm certain I could arrange it.”

“That is very kind of you, Byram. Some other time perhaps.”

“What about you, old man? Any chance I could talk
you
into an interview? You know, a world view from the retired politician looking at the situation with balance and perspective.”

“I'm afraid not,” laughed Charles. “I'm out of politics now, remember.”

Now a third man moved in to join the conversation.

“I say, Forbes,” he said, “this can't be Sir Charles Rutherford you've cornered—the political recluse?”

“Hello, Max,” smiled Charles, shaking Baron Whitfield's hand. “It's been too long . . . you're looking well.”

“As are you, I must say. But you're a dreadful liar, Charles. Your eyes can't have escaped the fact that I've added a stone's weight and have lost half my hair.”

Charles roared with fun. “I try to look at the man, Max, not the appearance.”

“Well then, I forgive you. But London's not the same without you, Charles.”

“You all seem to be managing to hold the world together just fine without me!—Excuse me a moment.”

Charles turned to Jocelyn at his side. “You don't mind if I visit a few minutes with my old friends?” he said.

“Of course not. I'll just go for a little walk.”

“I didn't mean that, Jocie. I wasn't trying to get rid of you,” laughed Charles.

“I would like to wander about.”

“You won't be uncomfortable being alone? I'm happy to have you stay.”

“Don't worry about me, Charles,” she replied. “I'll go get another cup of tea and leave you men to your politics. I'll wait for you over by the pond. The ducks and geese will entertain me.”

“Are you certain, Jocelyn?”

“Charles, I will be fine—enjoy yourself.” Jocelyn turned and walked off with a smile.

“I'll join you in a few minutes,” Charles called after her.

 23 
Former Acquaintance

Meanwhile the small group had been joined by another of Charles' former parliamentary colleagues, an outspoken Tory by the name of Chalmondley Beauchamp
1
*
, who now walked up alongside a man whose bearing struck Charles as vaguely familiar but whom he could not immediately place. The man seemed to be eyeing him too, with the merest hint of submerged grin about his lips.

Friendly greetings and handshakes ensued between Beauchamp and Charles. A brief hesitation followed as the count glanced back and forth between his former colleague and the man who had walked up at his side. His eyes contained the sparkle of fun.

“Charles,” he began slowly, as if inviting Charles to speak, “may I present—”

He paused and glanced at Charles again.

“I have the distinct feeling we're already supposed to know one another,” said Charles, at last giving in to a smile of bewilderment, “but I must confess—”

“Think water . . . ships . . . midshipmen . . . admirals,” said the newcomer, speaking for the first time.

“The navy?” said Charles, still perplexed, although the voice was even more familiar than the man's look.

“And that training exercise off Portsmouth, when a shipload of new recruits—”

“The
navy
!” exclaimed Charles. “Of course—Redmond, isn't it . . . give me a second . . . uh, Morley Redmond!”

“Good show, Rutherford—yes, you've found me out at last!”

The two shook hands amid laughter and good-natured comments all around the group.

“Why, we haven't seen one another in, what is it . . . must be thirty years!” Charles said, glancing around to the others by way of explanation. “We were stationed at Portsmouth together.”

“I make it thirty-two,” said Redmond. “I had the advantage of being able to perform some hasty mental computations after I saw you. Beauchamp and I were standing across the way, when suddenly I realized my eyes had fallen on someone I hadn't seen since I was a raw green sailor. Chalmondley noticed me staring at you and then realized it was none other than
his
old friend from Parliament. He was off like a flash. I followed . . . I tagged along to see if I could stump you.”

“Well, it is good to see you again, Morley!” laughed Charles. “The joke was on me, and the two of you pulled it off very adroitly.”

“It would seem the two of you have risen through the years,” Count Beauchamp now said. “Redmond, your friend is now
Sir
Charles . . . and Charles, you have the honor of speaking with
Dr
. Redmond.”

“I do remember hearing about your knighthood some years back,” Redmond said. “Congratulations.”

“And you . . . a doctor—my congratulations as well . . . surgery, medical research?”

“I'm afraid nothing like that,” laughed Redmond. “I am what we call a doctor of
philosophy
—I earn my bread in the dusty halls of academia.”

“I see—the intellectual crowd . . . training young minds to thrive in a changing world.”

“Something like that.”

“At what level?”

“Here and there, wherever I can be useful. I bounce around a bit.”

“My son recently graduated from Oxford.”

“I do some duty up there myself from time to time—don't recall encountering any Rutherfords.”

“George studied engineering and mathematics. What field is your—”

“Oh, excuse me, Rutherford . . . Chalmondley,” interrupted Redmond. “I just now see someone I need to speak with. You'll forgive me if I dash off?”

“Certainly, old man,” Beauchamp replied. “We'll be here.”

Redmond walked off and the conversation resumed among Charles, Forbes, Whitfield, and Beauchamp. A minute or two later James, earl of Westcott, joined them, shaking hands all around.

“Any of you chaps attend Edward's funeral last year?” he asked.

Whitfield nodded; Charles shook his head.

“Should have seen it,” said Westcott, “—kings, queens, and princes from all over Europe. Everyone was there. The German emperor, King Albert of Belgium, Prince Yussuf of Turkey, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, and more princes and princesses and royal highnesses than you could shake a stick at. I haven't seen anything like it since Victoria's Jubilee. This day reminds me of it somehow.”

“Though Wilhelm II
isn't
here today,” said Whitfield, “not even to celebrate his cousin's coronation, nor Archduke Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne.”

“You note significance in that fact, I take it, Max?” asked Beauchamp.

The baron nodded, but for the present said no more in that direction.