by Brown, T. J.
“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” Andrew said, his voice low. “The fault was mine. I volunteered for the duty in rebellion against you. I put myself in danger knowingly because I was being a fractious child instead of a good husband.”
With her eyes still closed, Prudence raised his hand to her lips. “You’re right. There is nothing to forgive. We have both made mistakes. It’s just important that we learn from them.” She kissed the back of his hand, smiling. “We may be flawed, but as long as we love one another, all will be well.”
Victoria’s lip trembled. She couldn’t see Andrew’s face and Prudence still had her eyes closed, but the contentment that surrounded them made her heart swell.
How she yearned to have that for herself. Not the baby, but the love. The comfortable, secure, steadfast love that had bloomed between her sister and this man.
Kit.
And to think she had thrown away her chance at a love like this. What folly. What lunacy. What had she been thinking? And now she might never see him again.
“You know, eavesdropping is just bad manners,” Eleanor whispered, causing Victoria to jump. “Come. Let them have this moment. I have something more interesting to show you anyway.”
“Is the baby all right?” Victoria asked as Eleanor led her down the hall.
Eleanor nodded. “Apparently Prudence was further along than the doctors had thought. The baby is still small, but not dangerously so, as long as care is taken.”
“This baby will have the best nurse and the best care under the sun,” Victoria vowed.
“Thank you so much for everything you have done!”
Eleanor laughed. “I didn’t do anything. Prudence did all the work.”
Victoria shook her head, unable to explain for the tears clogging her throat.
Eleanor led her to a room where Victoria was handed a cap and an apron.
“Be careful,” Eleanor warned.
Victoria began to roll her eyes, but the sight of a nurse dressed in head-to-toe white, holding a tiny bundle in her arms, completely shut her down.
“Would you like to hold Margaret Rose?”
The nurse’s voice was appropriately gentle for this quiet kingdom. Apparently not many babies were born in the hospital as only four bassinets were in the room and all appeared empty. The nurse tilted her head toward a rocker, and wordlessly Victoria moved toward it. Once she was seated, the nurse gave her brief instructions.
“Let your arm curve like this. Don’t let her head bobble, and don’t get up.”
Victoria nodded, and then her arms were full of Margaret Rose. Though it was not the boy Prudence had been expecting, Victoria couldn’t imagine a more beautiful child than this one. Warmth spread through her chest as she stared. How had she made it almost twenty years on this earth without ever holding a baby before? Her arm curved around the bundle naturally, and the weight felt both light and satisfyingly heavy.
The baby’s eyes were closed, and her dark sweep of lashes cast a shadow against skin so pale and fine it looked almost translucent. With her eyes, Victoria traced the gentle curve of the baby’s cheek and the well-defined bow of her upper lip. Tears stung Victoria’s eyes with a tenderness so fierce she would have started to sob if she weren’t so frightened of waking the child.
“I will always take care of you,” she whispered. “You are going to be my favorite, little Maggie Rose, but let’s not tell any future babies that, all right? Let’s keep it our little secret.”
The baby shifted and Victoria tightened her arms around her. A song she didn’t realize she knew came unbidden to her mind. It couldn’t have been from her own mother, who had died when she was as small as the child in her arms. It must have come from Prudence’s mother. She sang softly:
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Thy father tends the sheep.
Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree
And down fall pleasant dreams for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
chapter
twenty
Rowena walked through the hangar, a bounce in her step. If she could whistle, she would. She hadn’t felt this light and irrepressible since before her father died. Or maybe she had never felt this way. She was on her way to what would surely be another glorious flight, and April was behaving just as a spring should with gloriously balmy days interspersed with drenching rains that turned all of England into a patchwork quilt of brilliant greens. Spring can only be truly appreciated by air, she thought.
But more than just the changing season buoyed her spirits: Sebastian would be getting leave soon, and they were to be married. The wedding plans this time around were simple, and Aunt Charlotte had acquiesced to everything Rowena suggested. Rowena assumed Aunt Charlotte had begun to worry that if they didn’t wed soon, it wouldn’t happen at all, but she needn’t have worried. Rowena was as sure of her decision as she was about her love of flying.
Rowena waved at one of the men who noticed her passing, but didn’t stop. She wasn’t sure where Dirkes was sending her, but if it was a long trip, she would want to get started early. Recently, and unofficially, the army had been using her to transport men about England, as well. They were usually high-ranking men that needed to be somewhere in a hurry, and since Rowena was there and so incredibly reliable . . .
She grinned, remembering one self-important toff who’d been completely demoralized by having to fly with a woman. Most were so terrified of flight it didn’t matter who was piloting the aeroplane, but this man clearly resented its being a female. He’d sat in the aeroplane stiffly, torn between his desire to show his disdain and his survival instincts, which told him not to insult the person with his life in her hands.
After they’d landed, she’d left him out on the field to figure out on his own how to unlatch his harness.
She opened the door that led to the offices, hoping to catch Mr. Dirkes alone. She wanted to again beard the lion in his den about crossing the Channel. With each passing week she was feeling more and more confident that he would eventually be forced to give in. Because of the change in the weather, the fighting was once again heating up. Aeroplanes were playing an ever-increasing role in the war effort, and production had been trebled. The armed forces needed every pilot they could get for the fighting, and sooner or later he would be forced to admit that she was needed for ferrying aeroplanes across the water.
Today, she was going to make sure it was sooner.
The office door was open and Mr. Dirkes was sitting at his large, cluttered desk. For once he wasn’t rapping out orders into the telephone or writing in his famous chicken scratch across aeroplane schematics. Instead his hands were folded across his broad waistline and his face was turned toward the window.
“What? Has the war ended? Does the world no longer need aeroplanes? Is that why you’re lollygagging about?”
He turned toward her and Rowena sucked in her breath. Mr. Dirkes was an older man, but his ruddy good health and vibrant personality always gave the impression of his being younger. Today, however, all the joy that usually lit his face was gone and its lines were pronounced. He looked as if he had aged twenty years since she’d last seen him.
“What is it?” she cried.
“Oh, lass. It’s a sad day. The saddest day you could imagine.”
The trembling began in her heart and spread throughout her body. She knew. Without even hearing him say the words, she knew.
“Jonathon.”
Fumbling, she made her way to a chair and sat. With her hands twined in her lap, she waited.
He nodded once. “His mother just sent word. His aeroplane went down during a dogfight over eastern France. They found the aeroplane, but not his body. Or I should say, what was left of the aeroplane.”
Rowena gripped the arms of the chair. “It was a bad crash, I take it?”
“Not sure. The plane had been purposely burned.”
Relief coursed through her body, making her dizzy. �
��He’s alive then. I’m sure of it.”
“Or at least he was when the aeroplane crashed. French troops in the area are looking for him, but have seen no sign. They have, however, seen many signs of German scouts.”
She leaned forward, her neck and shoulders tensing. “He is fine. Jon is smart and he was raised in the country. He has good instincts. He would know how to survive out there.”
Mr. Dirkes took a deep breath. “That is what I told his mother. Thank you for reaffirming my hopes.”
Rowena nodded. At least Mr. Dirkes was reassured. Rowena felt as if she were going to fall apart at the seams and crumble into a helpless heap on the floor.
They both sat in silence for several minutes, the enormity of their mutual fear paralyzing them.
Mr. Dirkes shuffled some papers on his desk and cleared his throat. With effort, Rowena focused.
“I ran into a woman you may have heard of,” he said. “Marie Marvingt.”
Rowena tried to remember where she’d heard the name before, but her shock made it difficult to rein in her thoughts. Then it came to her. “The French aviatrix?”
He nodded. “The French government is allowing her to fly in combat missions against German bases.” He paused as if waiting for a reaction, but Rowena was numb. “If they are allowing a woman to do aerial combat missions, there is no reason why I shouldn’t allow you to ferry our aeroplanes across the Channel.”
Rowena blinked. “Are you serious?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid I am. The need has never been greater. Besides, I’m afraid the government is going to lure you away from me with the promise of more exciting missions, like taking off from a naval ship, if I don’t loosen my reins on you at least a little bit.”
She expected to feel triumphant at the news, but she felt nothing. Knowing he was watching her carefully, she mustered a smile. “When would you like me to start?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Actually, I was going to have you start this morning. We’re in a bit of a bind, and both the French and British are losing planes quicker than we can make them. They have been breathing down my neck for more aeroplanes, but I am running at capacity now. I need more workers, but so many men are fighting . . .”
“Hire more women.”
“I’ve already thought of that. I would like you to help me interview women next week, if you would.”
“If you’d like. I really don’t know anything about hiring.”
“It would be helpful regardless. Now, do you think you can fly today after . . .”
“After hearing about Jon, you mean? Of course. I’m not going to fall apart, if that’s what you think.”
If only she felt as confident as her voice sounded.
It seemed as if only a few minutes had passed before Rowena was preparing to start her aeroplane, but it had been more than an hour. Mr. Dirkes made Albert go over the flight plan with her until she had it memorized. They would be flying the latest SPADs into Dover, refueling, and then crossing the Channel to a naval base in Calais.
“Follow Albert. He is under strict instructions not to leave you this time. There’s no place to make an emergency landing in the Channel.”
Rowena glared. “You do realize that I have only had to make one emergency landing and have never broken wood, like most of your other pilots?”
“Well, today isn’t the day to start. And for the love of God, avoid all other aeroplanes, even if they look like ours. They’ve been bombing Dover like they want to pound it to dust, and I don’t want you caught up in that.” He paused and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I don’t know what I’m doing by letting you fly into a war zone. You’d best go before I change my mind.”
Rowena gave him a fierce hug and climbed into the SPAD. She gave Albert the go-ahead. Even though she had taken off from this airfield dozens of times, this time felt different, and she took it even more seriously than she usually did. She was on a mission of import and one that could be dangerous. This was not a flight to be enjoyed, but one that demanded she have her wits about her. She wished she could feel a greater sense of excitement. After all, she’d earned this. But somehow the thought of Jonathon, alone and perhaps wounded, leeched away her sense of triumph. She shoved the thought out of her mind and ignored the sick lurching of her stomach. Any distraction could get her killed.
Keeping one eye on her instruments and one on Albert in front of her, she flew to Dover without incident. Not until she was over the city and saw the rubble and pits from the recent bombings did the immediacy of the war and the danger of her current mission truly hit her. Hard.
She could be killed. There were men in the sky, her sky, who would do whatever they could to shoot her down. Her chest tightened. The thought was both surreal and sobering.
She climbed out of the aeroplane, her muscles stiff. The break in Dover would be short. Long enough for her to get a drink, use the WC, and fuel up. Albert waved to her and she joined him.
“I need to go talk to Major Rayne. He coordinates transportation and can tell us about weather, wind, and how hot the action is right now.”
She was about to ask what he meant when it dawned on her. Fighting. He meant fighting. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
Major Rayne was rugged, older, with a tidy mustache and a Yorkshire accent. She focused as he spoke of the weather and coordinates, but shied away from talk of the war, dogfights, and the increased pressure on maritime travel.
“You may have difficulty getting back,” he warned. “The government has been sporadically shutting civilian travel down if they don’t think it’s safe, and quite frankly right now it’s not safe.”
Rowena raised an eyebrow. “You mean they will let us go over by aeroplane, but not return on one of their boats?”
Major Rayne’s mouth twisted wryly. “That’s about the extent of it.”
“But we’re doing military work,” she protested. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck in France.
“But you’re not official military. The ban doesn’t last for long. It’s open right now. We had several ferries come over this morning with both civilians and nurses. I just wanted to make you aware of the situation.”
After several more minutes, Albert and Rowena were ready for the flight. Rowena replaced her goggles and gave the men starting her propeller the thumbs-up. As the engine caught, it roared to life, and she nodded at Albert, in the aeroplane next to her.
Albert went first and she followed him. They both took off smoothly, circled once, then headed east out over the open water. The beauty of Dover’s green fields against the white of the cliffs and the blue of the ocean caused Rowena’s chest to ache. She could have stared at that scene forever, but turned her eyes to the instrument panel and then toward the back of Albert’s plane, flying steadily about one hundred feet ahead of her. The clouds bloomed fluffy and white just above them, but they remained on the fringe. They didn’t want Rowena to lose sight of Albert, but they wanted to be able to use the clouds as cover should they spot an enemy plane. Of course, the enemy could use the clouds as cover while they attacked, as well.
As much as she tried to avoid the troubling news of the war, Rowena had learned much simply by listening to men discussing their aeroplanes, including the mounting machine guns on them. Mounting them to the front was dangerous as the bullets could, and would, damage the propeller. The race to create aeroplanes with firing power was heating up, and Mr. Dirkes was on the cutting edge of trying to figure out an efficient way to take down German reconnaissance aircraft. The Germans had already come up with such a design that seemed to work.
Rowena shook her head, trying not to think of the German advantage. She needed to focus on completing her mission because the British army desperately needed these aeroplanes. She wondered about the men who would fly them. No doubt they would be photographing Germans on the ground, trying to build a complete mosaic map of the German’s trench system.
No wonder the enemy wanted to shoot he
r down.
Rowena stretched her neck from side to side, tension stiffening her muscles. There was so much she didn’t want to think about right now. Couldn’t think about. Jonathon. Sebastian. The war. She took a deep breath and stared at the tail end of Albert’s Vickers until it mesmerized her.
She was concentrating so fully on the aeroplane ahead of her that she didn’t even see the other plane until it was almost wingtip to wingtip with her. Startled, she glanced upward knowing he must have come out of the clouds she was flying under.
She recognized the markings as German and, from the look of the nose, knew it must be an AGO C.II. For one startled moment, she stared into the eyes of a young man who could be no older than Victoria. He was so close she could see the shock on his face, and for a split second they stared at one another before the other aeroplane pulled away and disappeared into the clouds.
For several heart-stopping seconds she waited for the sound of gunfire ripping through her aeroplane, but all she heard was the sound of her own aircraft and the beating of her heart in her ears. Her paralysis broke and she increased her speed until she came up next to Albert. She pointed above them. For a second he looked puzzled, but then he nodded in comprehension. Glancing around, he signaled for her to fly in a subordinate position. Nodding, she complied, flying slightly lower and to his left. This way, if an attack came from the sky, she would be slightly protected.
Though Rowena’s stomach clenched with fear, her hands were steady on the yoke and her focus sharpened. She put everything out of her mind and concentrated on her surroundings. By the time they made it to Calais, Rowena was both mentally and physically exhausted.
Rowena remembered Calais with fondness. The bustling port city was the first stop in most of the Buxton adventures on the Continent. She, Vic, and Prudence would beg Father to take them to their favorite ice-cream shop for French strawberry waffle cones. He always pretended they were in too much of a hurry, but they always ended up there, sitting outside on the sidewalk, the perfect beginning to whatever adventure they were off on.