Wayward Winds

by Michael Phillips

  The next instant she wheeled Black Fire about and was off down the slope at breakneck speed. George was after her before the two Powells knew what to think. Belatedly they both whipped their horses and did their best to catch up, but to little avail.

  Eventually Catharine began to realize the rudeness of her swift departure. Gradually she slowed. George was soon by her side. They exchanged glances of resignation, as if to say, I don’t suppose we should just ride off and leave them.

  Neither was anxious to do so, but they now waited for the others to join them. In a minute or two the four young riders were clomping leisurely down the grassy incline side by side. The conversation among them, however, never quite successfully got smoothly under way.

  “Tell me, Catharine,” said Hubert, whom the quick ride had succeeded in tiring enough to moderate his anger, “what would you think of accompanying me to the Summer Ball in Exeter next month?”

  “I would say that you move rather quickly from the front door to the drawing room for someone I scarcely know.”

  “How else will we get to know one another if we do not spend time together?”

  “I would never go anywhere with a young man I don’t know,” said Catharine, “especially to a ball.”

  “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “I don’t like balls.”

  “You are at the age where such things are done.”

  “Not by me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have no interest in developing the kinds of relationships with young men that such circumstances are bound to produce.”

  George smiled. Powell was no match for his sister.

  “Ah, it is against your religion—you think balls are evil, is that it?”

  “Mr. Powell,” rejoined Catharine, almost as if addressing a child, “you heard every word I said, and nothing remotely like that came out of my mouth. I simply find the atmosphere of a ball so shallow and artificial that it is the worst place I could imagine for two people to become acquainted.”

  “How would such a one as myself, then, approach an attractive young lady such as yourself whom he desires to get to know?”

  “Talk to my father.”

  “What does he have to do with it?” asked Hubert, with difficulty keeping down his disbelief at her words.

  “Everything. You surely do not think that I would become involved with a young man without my father and mother being part of it, do you?”

  “I must admit . . . such a thing sounds rather old-fashioned in this modern day. Most of the young ladies I know are sophisticated and in step with the times—they have learned to speak for themselves.”

  “Perhaps it is old-fashioned, Mr. Powell. But I would still suggest that you talk to my father. If he approves, you could come visit us at Heathersleigh—George, myself, and my father and mother. Better yet, your whole family could come. What better way to become acquainted than for families to know one another? And in that suggestion I am speaking for myself.”

  Again in the company of these idiotic Rutherfords, the young heir to the Powell fortune was rendered fuming and speechless. Were they all a pack of fools together?

  The ride did not last much longer. The strained silence that accompanied Catharine’s remarks was followed within several minutes by a fork in the path, which, by common consent, saw two of the mounts take one direction, and the other two the opposite.

  30

  A Brother’s Prayer

  Catharine and George came bounding into the sun-room flushed and exuberant. Charles and Jocelyn sat sipping tea and waiting lunch for them.

  “You should have seen it, Mother!” exclaimed Catharine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the clouds so white and the sky so blue. It was lovelier than you can imagine. I wish you could have ridden with us.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “East, past Milverscombe and up along the high ridge that leads toward the forest.”

  “You were gone most of the morning,” said Charles.

  “George got me out immediately after breakfast and made me go with him.”

  “I was out an hour earlier than that,” said George. “It was already warm, and the air so clean and still. I wanted a good long ride, and I knew Catharine would enjoy it.”

  “It sounds like she did,” laughed their father.

  “All except for running into Hubert Powell,” said Catharine.

  “How did that happen?” asked Charles.

  “Sheer accident. He and his sister were out riding too.”

  “He didn’t give you any trouble?”

  “None that Catharine couldn’t handle!” laughed George.

  They all joined in, knowing well enough what he meant. “Good girl!” said Charles.

  “She invited them all to Heathersleigh for a visit,” said George.

  “The whole family!” asked Jocelyn in alarm.

  George nodded. “I doubt they’re planning to take her up on it anytime soon.”

  “You should have seen Gwendolen Powell making eyes at George,” added Catharine. “She is a sly one.”

  “How old is she now?” asked their father.

  “I don’t know, twenty-four, maybe even twenty-five,” replied Catharine. “Old enough! And very pretty, wouldn’t you say, George?”

  “I suppose she’s pretty. But she’s a flirt. And there’s nothing so unattractive to my eye, no matter how pretty a girl is. The instant I see that look in a girl of trying to attract notice and make me look at her, it repulses me.”

  “Why isn’t she married?” asked Jocelyn. “At her age, I would have thought the marquess . . .” Her words fell away in indistinct question.

  “There are rumors,” said George.

  “You mean . . . ?”

  “Of more troubles in the family than Lord Holsworthy wants publicly known,” said George. “It was all over Cambridge.”

  “Ah . . . I see,” nodded his mother. “Then I think we need ask no more questions in that direction.”

  “We saw Mrs. Blakeley in the village,” now added Catharine. “She told us to thank you, Mother, for the heather plant and rose bush. She said her little garden is beginning to bloom.”

  “How did she look?” asked Jocelyn.

  “Better than I’ve ever seen her, Mother. She looked happy and well.”

  “Oh, I am so pleased. God bless her.”

  “She said to tell you to come over for a visit.”

  “I need to do that. In fact—Charles, when will you be working with Rune again?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Then I think I will go see his wife at the same time. In the meantime, are you two horsemen ready for tea and some lunch?”

  “I am,” replied George. “And I’m hungry. Has Sarah—”

  In answer to his question, Sarah Minsterly walked in from the kitchen.

  “Yes, Master George,” she said, “I do have lunch prepared.—Where would you like it served, Lady Jocelyn?” she said, turning toward Jocelyn.

  “I think we’ll just stay here, Sarah, since we already have our tea.”

  “Very good, mum.”

  She disappeared, returning a few minutes later bearing a tray of lunch things and more tea. She set down a pot of fresh water on the table, and two plates in front of Charles and Jocelyn, then returned to the kitchen for the rest. Meanwhile Charles made tea for son and daughter as they took seats around the sun-room table, which they used now and then for informal meals.

  When everything was served and ready, Charles turned to his son. “Would you return thanks for us today, George?”

  George nodded and they all bowed their heads.

  “Lord, we thank you,” George prayed, “for this beautiful day you’ve given us to enjoy, and for the marvelous ride Catharine and I had. As always we give you thanks for your provision, for food, for family, for health, for the home you’ve given us, and the life we all have. You are good to us, Lord, and we give you thanks from our hearts. Yet as grateful as each o
f us four are for one another, we all know that our family is not complete right now. So we pray for Amanda too, Lord, as we do every day. Somehow let her know how much we love her. Restore her to us, that our family might be complete once again. Thank you, Lord . . . Amen.”

  As always, when prayers were spoken for Amanda it could not help but make each of the four pensive for a few moments. They sipped at their tea in silence and began serving from the trays of cold sandwiches and vegetables.

  “Oh, I wish Amanda could have been with us today!” exclaimed Catharine all at once. “I know she was sometimes grouchy, but I can’t help it—I miss her. It’s not right around here with her gone. I just can’t imagine what she finds so interesting in London anyway.”

  Catharine shook her head and took a bite of sandwich.

  “Although, now that I think about it,” she added, “she would probably have made a fuss over the direction we went.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And no matter which horse you wanted to ride,” said Jocelyn, “would have become the one she was determined to have.”

  “And she would have argued over whatever we were talking about on the way,” added George. “You’ve got to admit that we are able to talk more freely and enjoyably than if she were picking every word apart.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” rejoined Catharine. “But I don’t remember that as much as you do. All I can think of is that she’s my sister . . . and I miss her.”

  31

  Curious Invitation

  Later that same day a letter arrived for Charles in the post. He shared its contents with the rest of the family at evening tea.

  “I received the most peculiar invitation today,” he said as they began eating. “I can’t quite tell what to make of it.”

  “Who from?” asked Jocelyn.

  “You remember my telling you about meeting the fellow I was in the navy with, Morley Redmond. It’s from him. But it also mentions another man who was with Redmond last week. Seemed like a decent enough fellow, I suppose.”

  “Why do you think it’s peculiar, Father?” asked Catharine.

  “Listen,” said Charles, “see if the tone of it doesn’t strike you as just a little odd somehow.”

  Charles unfolded the paper.

  To Sir Charles Rutherford, he read,

  Dear Charles:

  Our chance running into one another at the coronation reception after so many years was most fortuitous, as was the opportunity to introduce you to my friend Hartwell Barclay. I do not exaggerate when I say that he is an influential man in certain circles—though ones not generally well known to the public at large—vital to the future interests of our nation, and indeed all of Europe. He would like to meet with you, with a few select other individuals on a matter which we feel will be mutually beneficial to all concerned, as well as, I emphasize again, to our nation. The gathering will be held in Cambridge on the twenty-third of July. Will advise time and address later. I would ask, because of the nature of the times, that you keep this communication confidential. I look forward to seeing you again. I am, respectfully yours,

  Dr. Morley Redmond

  “I’ve heard of him,” now said George.

  “In what regard?”

  “He’s professor of economics at Oxford.”

  “Did you ever meet him?” asked Charles.

  George shook his head.

  “Who is the man Barclay?” asked Jocelyn.

  “Redmond said he worked for the secret service,” replied Charles.

  “The secret service—that sounds dangerous.”

  “I’ve got it!” said George. “They want you to engineer a line of spy gadgetry—devices for listening to telephone conversations and who knows what else. Obviously they know about the electricity commission. They want to pick your brain.”

  Charles nodded thoughtfully. “That makes some sense,” he said. “Somehow, though, I can’t escape the feeling there’s more to it. If that’s all it is, I’ll send you, George!”

  “I may have the more recent degree, but you know fifty times more than I do! I’ll be years catching up on what you’ve learned on your own.”

  Again Charles grew pensive.

  “I told you too,” he said, glancing toward Jocelyn, “about my conversation with Mr. Churchill.”

  She nodded. Charles briefly explained to Catharine and George.

  “I suppose this might be connected in some way with that. For reasons we do not know, perhaps he asked about my willingness to help the country again in order to smooth the way for this request from the foreign office. Yet because he represents the other side of the cabinet, the home office, he cannot appear to be involved directly. It’s a logical explanation.”

  “So will you go?” asked his wife.

  “I’ll have to pray about it and see. It still feels peculiar.”

  32

  Land, Power, and Conquest

  What’s all the fuss about over on the Continent,” said Catharine. “From what you said Mr. Churchill said, do some people think there might actually be a war?”

  “Some people think so, Catharine,” Charles replied.

  “Why?”

  “Hasn’t Mr. Sherborne explained it to you? I thought he kept you up on politics and world affairs.”

  “I suppose he has. I studied the different wars of the last century and the alliances that exist. But it’s so dull coming from him. Tutors are always boring. He makes me read things I don’t half understand. You always make it interesting, Father. I learn more from you in five minutes than I do from him in a week. You make learning into a story. You make history fun.”

  Charles laughed. “All right,” he said, “let’s see if we can turn the world of 1911 into a story that my little Catharine can understand.”

  “Father!”

  “Right, so . . . Catharine, why are there disputes between nations?”

  Catharine thought a moment.

  “Because they each want something the other has, and both want to control the other?” she said at length.

  “That’s it precisely. You do understand the situation on the Continent.”

  “There has to be more to it than that.”

  “But you’ve put your finger on the foundation, Catharine, my girl. It’s all about land and power. All disputes between nations start at the same point—they’re because of land and power. Every nation wants more land and more power. And they don’t want some other country exercising power over them.”

  “I see what you are saying, Father,” said George. “But how does that apply, say, to America, when they were English colonies?”

  “The War of Independence of the colonies was fought over power. The fight for independence is always a contest for control. Was England going to be in charge of the American colonies, or were they going to rule themselves?”

  “I see.”

  “And when two countries like France and Germany, or Scotland and England share a border,” Charles went on, “there is constant conflict. Both feel entitled to more of the land between them. They fight over it through the years, because both sides want it, especially, as is the case with Germany and France, if the land between them is rich, fertile, or of strategic importance. The Rhine River is obviously such a border. They have been battling over some of that land for a thousand years. Back and forth it goes, from one side to the other, borders constantly changing as one side gets stronger for a while, then the other.”

  “What about the power?” asked George. “I don’t see it as clearly in that case as with the American colonies.”

  “When two countries fight over land for long enough,” replied his father, “they generally come to dislike and resent each other. Often this animosity is increased because there are two different nationalities involved. The people of the different nationalities eventually hate each other just because they are different.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s no reason to it, Catharine. Of course it’s illogical.
The human race is sinful, and there’s no other explanation than that. Different races often tend to despise each other. It’s an awful thing, but true. Those feelings are increased all the more when land disputes are involved. What it usually leads to is not merely the desire to take your enemy’s land, but also to conquer and control him. If it were only a matter of the land, then eventually governments and countries could peacefully negotiate borders, maybe one side would pay the other side for some bit of disputed territory, and everything would be fine. But it’s not just about land. It’s about power and control, fueled by nationalistic pride.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Now that Germany is a united and growing force in Europe, the question of power and control is all the more critical. Which nation on the Continent is going to be the most powerful—France or Germany? Both want to be. And neither wants to be dominated by the other.”

  “Which would be best for England?”

  “It’s hard to say. That changes too. France has long been England’s traditional enemy for much the same reasons, although the ‘land’ we share is the Channel. Historically, we have had much more in common with Germany, by both blood and language. Our royal houses are completely intertwined. The English monarchy is German through and through. Yet in recent years we have come to be on more friendly terms with France, and Germany now represents a greater threat to English power.”

  “Why have we grown closer to France?”

  “For many reasons. As Napoleon and the French Revolution recede into the past, France has become a much more representative government, less authoritarian, and thus more similar to us politically and in general outlook. So gradually England’s and France’s interests in Europe have merged. All these things are constantly changing. Russia, too, has long been antagonistic towards England, until very recently, just in the last five or ten years. Now we have a treaty with both Russia and France called the Triple Entente.”

  Charles paused for a moment.

  “Let’s return to the example from our own history, because I think it will help you understand what is happening now on the Continent,” he went on. “Scotland and England both wanted the land between them. As they fought over it, the Scots came to hate the English just because they were English, and the English came to hate the Scots just because they were Scots. So there was a nationalistic and ethnic pride involved that wanted to exercise power over its enemy.