Wayward Winds

by Michael Phillips

  “But it’s not so bad a place. Might you not someday want to get married and go back there to live, back to the old family estate, as it were?”

  “What are you talking about? When and if I get married, I certainly wouldn’t go back to Heathersleigh. Why would I do that?”

  Geoffrey did not answer. He had inadvertently overplayed his hand. Best to change the subject.

  “Uh . . . what do you think of the situation on the Continent?” he asked feebly.

  “Oh, Geoffrey—heavens . . . who cares!”

  “I don’t know, I just thought maybe you’d be interested in all that, since your father used to be in politics.”

  “I used to be, not anymore.”

  “Actually, I’m not either. I was just trying to make conversation.”

  Amanda glanced over at him again with a curious expression.

  “Why, Geoffrey,” she said, “—why were you trying to make conversation?”

  “I don’t know . . . I suppose because it seems like we ought to be able to talk together intelligently, without always sniping at each other.”

  He glanced toward her uncertainly. She was still looking at him. Her expression caught him off guard, and he forced a somewhat nervous smile. She returned it with a smile and nod of her own.

  “Perhaps you are right, Geoffrey,” she said. “Perhaps we should.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed more pleasantly than either would have anticipated when the day began.

  49

  A New First Lord of the Admiralty

  Charles Rutherford took a sip of tea and continued in the magazine editorial he was reading concerning the state of the world.

  It would hardly do for the French and Germans to rattle their sabres too violently along the banks of the Rhine or the Mosel, though their deepest grievances originate in these debated regions between them. Apparently they intend instead to allow their natural antipathy for one another to clash in parts of the world a little more removed from each of their homelands.

  This antagonism grows steadily more pronounced in North Africa, especially Morocco, where German and French colonial and commercial interests have often collided. It was in Morocco that the major crisis erupted in 1905, which many European leaders now see as the foundational prelude to recent mounting tensions.

  Great Britain, still trying to accustom herself to the strange notion of thinking about France in a friendly manner, sided on that occasion with her new ally against the ancient empire of the revered queen’s people.

  Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany expressed shock and profound offence. Were not the royals of England of his own family? Was not Victoria, after all, a German? The British monarchy is German through and through. Had not the kaiser’s own mother maintained apartments in Windsor Castle? How could Britain side with their longtime mutual enemy—the French frogs!

  The crisis in Morocco gave dark portent of things to come. War in that instance was only averted by a conference of powers, in which President Theodore Roosevelt interceded from the United States for peace.

  The Moroccan problem, however, was not solved, as we see now all too clearly.

  What will be the result this time—another crisis averted, then another, and another? Or will hostilities eventually explode?

  Charles set the magazine aside and sighed. That was the question on everyone’s mind these days. With Germany and Austria increasingly belligerent, how long could war be put off?

  Germany was more powerful than she had been in 1905. And with a new king on the throne, Kaiser Wilhelm had reason to be confident that England would not oppose him again. Edward the Encircler, as the kaiser had called the English king, was dead. A few days prior to the funeral, the German emperor had said to Theodore Roosevelt that the new English king George was “a very nice boy.” With Edward out of the way, Wilhelm considered himself the supreme ruler in Europe.

  Again France and Germany clashed in North Africa, this time even more seriously. Following a palace revolution in Morocco, French troops entered the capital city of Fez to protect Europeans living there. Germany protested, saying that France had violated the 1905 agreement. Not to be outdone, and feeling increasingly confident in its growing naval power, she sent the gunboat Panther to Agadir on July 1, stating that Germany must likewise protect its interests. The Panther was poised to open fire if the command came from Berlin.

  But the alliance between England and France had deepened since 1905. Proximity and increasing common interests were thrusting the ancient enemies closer and closer together. Again Britain sided with France. Her threats to Germany were even more strongly worded than before.

  Within days of this new crisis British Brigadier General Henry Wilson sailed to Paris. A hastily concluded agreement was reached with French leaders, which detailed how British and French divisions would conduct themselves against Germany if war came over the incident. The question in the diplomatic and military rooms in London during the summer of 1911 was a simple one: Would Germany go to war against France and England over its minimal holdings in Africa?

  In late August, Prime Minister Asquith called an all-day secret meeting of the Imperial Defence Committee in order to clarify British strategy in case of war. Throughout the morning General Wilson laid out the army position according to the terms of his agreement with the French. All afternoon Admiral Arthur Wilson presented the navy’s plans.

  The army planned to land six divisions across the Channel in northern France and Belgium to aid the French forces in combatting the predicted swift German attempt to encircle Paris from the north. The navy, however, basing its strategy on an entirely opposite series of assumptions, told the prime minister of its plan to land an expeditionary force on the northern shores of Prussia six hundred miles away.

  “Gentlemen,” said Asquith, shaking his head almost in disbelief. “Your two strategies have nothing whatever in common. I am astonished. Have you even consulted together?”

  A bitter argument ensued between the army and navy, each trying to convince the prime minister of the soundness of its plan. One of the most outspoken men in the meeting held no military post at all. His insights, however, were sound and his military acumen keen.

  The home secretary, a young man of a mere thirty-seven years, now spoke up vigorously. He was especially critical of the navy, but dared confront generals and admirals alike, all old enough to be his father.

  Eventually the army carried the day. Prime Minister Asquith sided with his generals over his admirals. Furthermore, as a result of their talk of a Prussian landing, his confidence in the leaders of the British navy was profoundly shaken.

  Within weeks of the meeting, a wholesale restructuring of naval leadership had taken place. The knowledgeable home secretary was transferred to a post where Asquith felt he could be more valuable to the country in the critical days ahead—First Lordship of the Admiralty.

  At thirty-seven, Winston Churchill was now in charge of the mightiest fleet in the world.

  As the crisis in Morocco dragged on, Italy meanwhile decided that she too deserved a portion of the receding Ottoman Empire. Taking advantage of the preoccupation of Britain, France, and Germany with Morocco, Italy declared war on Turkey in September. Immediately she seized Tripoli and the Dodecanese Islands.

  Further hostilities, it seemed, might be likely to break out anywhere.

  50

  Another Curious Invitation

  Sir Charles Rutherford read for the third time the letter and invitation which had arrived earlier that day. He already had a pretty good idea what he intended to do. But the invitation was addressed to them both, so he needed to discuss it with Jocelyn. He rose and went downstairs.

  Dear Charles, the letter began.

  I sincerely hope you and your dear wife will be able to accept the enclosed invitation. I am aware not all your concerns were satisfactorily addressed when we met previously. However, I am confident that the more you learn concerning our purposes, the more you will find yours
elf in agreement with our objectives. Others who share our concerns will be in attendance, and I believe you will find both the event itself and the discussions it affords to be most stimulating, as well as illuminating with regard to some of the questions you raised at our last gathering.

  I am sincerely yours,

  Dr. Morley Redmond

  The invitation itself was formal and disclosed few particulars other than time and place, which again, was located in Cambridgeshire:

  3 October, 1911

  Sir Charles and Lady Rutherford

  H. Barclay, Esquire, and friends

  request the pleasure of your company at an Evening Party,

  Heathwood Green Estate,

  Little Wilbraham, Cambridgeshire,

  on Saturday, 14 September.

  An answer will oblige.

  Dancing.

  Jocelyn read the two communications and handed the sheets back to Charles.

  “A formal ball is not exactly something I would look forward to,” she said. “But I would go for your sake. It might even be fun to dress up and dance with you again. We probably wouldn’t know anybody anyway.”

  “This is more than a social occasion, Jocie,” said Charles. “I don’t know what it is, but these people are up to something.”

  “Does it feel as strange to you as it does to me?” she asked.

  “It is certainly beginning to.”

  “Do you really think they are trying to get you to join their group?”

  “It seems that way. Whatever it is, they are doing all they can to win my confidence without divulging anything specific.”

  “And you still don’t know why?”

  “No,” replied Charles, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine why they are so intent about it. I am not an influential man. What could they possibly want with me? They are so vague about everything. It almost feels like a lodge or some secretive rite.”

  “I like the sound of it less and less,” said Jocelyn with a shudder.

  “But they’re so hospitable. When you’re actually with them, sitting talking informally, everything seems so normal.”

  “But wherever there are secrets, that is a warning sign that all is not as it should be.”

  Charles nodded his head. “But neither are they the kind of people you can ignore,” he sighed. “It feels like they are trying to force me to take one side or the other, without divulging what their side is all about. Once they’ve set their sights on you, neutrality doesn’t seem to be an option.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jocelyn asked. “Will you reply?”

  “Only with polite regrets that we will not be attending,” replied Charles.

  51

  Romantic Weekend

  Amanda spent the entire afternoon getting ready!

  She had been to many places with Ramsay Halifax—to lectures and plays, to horse races and on drives.

  But never to a formal ball!

  She had been to plenty of dances and balls, of course. But always with Geoffrey and Cousin Martha. This would be a weekend to remember—she just knew it.

  Ramsay’s words had been in her mind for two weeks:

  ————

  Amanda, I would like you to go with me for the weekend to a country estate up in Cambridgeshire.”

  “The weekend!” she had exclaimed.

  “Relax,” Ramsay laughed. “It is all very proper. My mother and some of her friends will be there. Your reputation will be perfectly secure. We will be guests of a diplomatic associate of Mum’s. He is throwing a lavish ball on Saturday night at his country estate east of Cambridge. It is an enormous place, from what I understand—guest rooms by the score. Most will be staying over.”

  “What kind of ball?”

  “I don’t know. Lots of dignitaries and foreign types will be there, according to Mum.”

  Whatever discomfort Amanda had felt from the evening at the theater was quickly vanishing. If she had been so naïve as to be shocked by what she saw, then she was glad for the experience. Perhaps at last she was ready to be a woman of the world, and put all those silly inhibitions from childhood behind her for good. A weekend in the country with Ramsay Halifax should succeed in accomplishing just that.

  “You’re sure you’re not working on some secret spy story you’re not telling me about?” she said jokingly.

  Ramsay laughed. “Purely social, I promise. Whatever the others may have in mind with their discussions and closed-door meetings with cigars and brandy, I assure you I will have eyes only for you.”

  “Then . . . I accept!”

  ————

  Amanda had made the mistake of blurting out news of Ramsay’s invitation at the very next meal. Sylvia had been noticeably cool ever since. It wasn’t the nature of the proposal itself. Sylvia didn’t like men at all. Her view was that no young woman in her right mind should have anything to do with any man.

  The awaited weekend finally came.

  Mrs. Halifax immediately put all Amanda’s anxieties to rest. Quickly she took her under her wing during the train ride north. When they arrived at the estate called Heathwood Green, Amanda shared a room with dear old Mrs. Thorndike, who fussed over her as if she were her own daughter.

  They arrived just before tea on Friday evening. Neither Ramsay nor his mother attended. Amanda and Mrs. Thorndike went downstairs to the dining room alone, and afterward retired to their room for the night.

  Amanda did not see Ramsay all day Saturday, though his mother was present most of the time. The two older women fussed with her hair and dress and shoes and jewelry for half the afternoon, until every hair was perfectly in place.

  At last Ramsay called for her at half past seven. He wore formal black trousers, black jacket, and black waistcoat with white tie and shirt. He bowed slightly, allowing the faintest hint of a smile to come to his lips as their eyes met. Amanda curtseyed, then walked out into the corridor in her floor-length white gown, took his arm, and together they descended to the ballroom. Around her neck hung a stunning string of pearls belonging to Mrs. Thorndike, which the lady had insisted she wear.

  “You look absolutely lovely, Amanda,” Ramsay said as they went. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dazzling.”

  Amanda felt the redness rising in her neck and cheeks. She only hoped he wouldn’t notice!

  They entered the ballroom, and the sight took Amanda’s breath away. Why did this occasion seem so much more glamorous than any before? Was it Ramsay himself? Was it the international flavor, the mix of many tongues all around her, the sense almost of danger and intrigue?

  Music was already playing. Without a word, Ramsay took her in his arms and they glided off across the dance floor. It was a dream . . . a fairy tale!

  She and Ramsay danced and danced. By ten o’clock it was already a night Amanda would never forget. And the hour was still young!

  The orchestra took a break from the music to relax and refresh themselves. Ramsay led Amanda outside to the veranda. They walked to the railing of a balcony overlooking the expansive gardens and stood for a few moments, gazing in silence out into the peaceful moonlit evening. The loveliest hint of a gentle breeze lifted fragrances of autumn grasses toward them. The setting could not have been more romantic.

  “The moon is almost full,” said Ramsay softly.

  Amanda remained silent. With all her senses, she breathed deeply of the magical moment. Ramsay gently placed his hand on top of hers where it rested on the edge of the railing. At the touch, a momentary tingle went through her frame.

  Was this really happening! Was she falling in love?

  “Oh, Ramsay, sometimes I get so afraid,” she all at once blurted out.

  Where had the words come from? Even Amanda herself could not have said. For at this moment she could not have felt more dreamy and content.

  “Afraid of what?” he asked.

  “I don’t know—what is to become of me, I suppose. Doesn’t the future frighten you?”

  �
�Never!” exclaimed Ramsay with easygoing laughter.

  Amanda glanced toward him. His face wore the irrepressible smile she had grown so fond of. Was it Ramsay’s confidence and buoyant optimism that made her like him? Or was there . . . more? As she looked, his eyes and teeth seemed to gleam in the glow of the moon.

  “I wish I could be so confident,” said Amanda. “You seem to have everything so—”

  Amanda stopped. She didn’t even know what she was trying to say.

  “So what?” Ramsay said, smiling down at her.

  “I don’t know—so . . . figured out, I suppose.”

  Ramsay laughed good-naturedly. “Well, don’t you worry, Amanda Rutherford, I’ll figure things out for you too. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always be here for you. Whenever you get afraid, all you have to do is come to me.”

  He grasped her hand, lifted it from the railing, and turned her toward him. Amanda gazed up into Ramsay’s moonlit face as he bent down and gently kissed her on the lips.

  How long the moment lasted, she could not know . . . a second, five seconds.

  It was an instant. It was an eternity.

  Ramsay lifted his head, then took her in his arms and pulled her close. Amanda relaxed as never before in his embrace. She leaned her head against his great strong chest and sighed. If only she could feel this safe, this secure, every moment.

  Yet the future was still out there, and still uncertain, and one wonderful evening like this couldn’t change it.

  Or could it?

  52

  Melancholy Memories

  Charles Rutherford set the letter he had just read down on his desk and glanced about his office. So much of his life, his past, his family heritage, was here.

  There had been another day when both past and future had been on his mind. With reminiscent fondness he recalled that time, when a very different sort of communication lay on his desk. The future he was now contemplating was now so very altered from what he thought it would look like back then.

  That was fourteen years ago. It hardly seemed possible.