“You are going somewhere—to get the car so nice and shinning?” Lewin questioned on the way out.
Quiet for a moment as he continued polishing, the taciturn Eckerd finally announced, “Today is Thursday. I always polish the car on Thursday.”
At the darkness of the night, when the village was asleep, Eckerd brought out the car. Alpharetta’s luggage had already been placed in it. With the motor softly purring, two people—Dow and Alpharetta—climbed inside, and without benefit of headlights, the black car slowly wound its way southward to Harrington Hall.
The honeymoon was over, and Alpharetta was to lead a cloistered life in the dower house until her arm had a chance to heal.
Chapter 23
Ben Mark St. John, accumulating enough missions to qualify for a weekend pass, found his way to London. In his pocket, he carried the letter from Rennie, his mother. The whole sordid mess about Alpharetta’s breaking their engagement had finally come to light.
He was mad as hell at Belline for deliberately lying to him, making him think that Marsh was taking his fiancée away from him. Instead, he had been trying to get the two back together in the meeting at the Ritz.
“You’re going to be sorry, Belline Wexford,” he said aloud as he headed for Rainbow Corner, where Belline worked. She was going to pay for keeping him from Alpharetta that entire weekend.
Then, he remembered. She had a powerful weapon of retaliation that she would use whenever it suited her. Why had he been such an idiot to spend the weekend with Belline?
Walking along the street, Ben Mark couldn’t believe the new devastation to the city—whole blocks gone, buildings nothing more than rubble. But luckily, the rockets were coming down in a different place now, south of London, giving the city a breather until the Germans found out that the newspapers were printing the wrong information to throw them off track.
“Sorry, Captain. No officers allowed,” the voice said, smiling at him as he entered the door of the canteen.
“I’m not staying,” he replied. “I’ve come to see my cousin who works here. Will you tell Belline Wexford I’ve arrived?”
“And what name shall I give?”
“St. John.”
He felt awkward because of the enlisted men’s stares and salutes as they entered the building. He was so much more at ease at Grosvenor House, where the cafeteria served good American food. It was the only place where he could get ice cream on the entire island. But he was well aware of the contention it stirred up among the more conservative element, who censured the Americans for using up fuel for refrigeration. They didn’t seem to understand that ice cream was to an American what tea was to the British.
“Ben Mark, what a pleasant surprise,” Belline said.
He grunted in acknowledgment, “Can you get off duty?” he said.
“I’m sure I can. Just let me tell Agnes. How long are you going to be in London?”
“Depends.”
Belline smiled. “I’ll just be a minute.”
In the small café across the street from Picadilly Square, Ben Mark sat opposite Belline and watched her as she ate shortbread with her tea.
“Belline, why did you pretend that Alpharetta and Marsh were interested in each other?”
A surprised Belline set down her cup and frowned. “What is this? An inquisition or something?”
“Just answer the question, Belline.”
Playing for time, she inquired, “Who told you any different?”
“My mother. I had a letter from her yesterday.”
Belline shrugged her shoulders. “So I was wrong.”
Her nonchalant attitude angered Ben Mark. “I’d thought you’d grown up, Belline. Instead, you’re still acting the spoiled brat you were back in Atlanta, always causing trouble between people.”
A hurt look came into her eyes as they suddenly moistened. “Don’t you be down on me, too, Ben Mark. I’ve had enough abuse heaped on me this past week.”
“Why? What did you do wrong this time?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she denied, “except to agree to go to a God-forsaken place in Scotland and pretend to be someone else. It was a disaster, but I wanted to get away from London, even for a few days. The buzz bombs had ruined my nerves.
“I thought it would be fun, but it wasn’t. It was a hush-hush project and I’m not supposed to talk about it. But I can tell you one thing, Ben Mark. Your little Alpharetta isn’t as lily-white as you think, Ben Mark. She’s been posing as the wife of some air vice-marshal in the R.A.F. And they went off together on a honeymoon.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, you don’t? Well who do you think I changed places with in Scotland, while she flew off for several days?”
At the look on Ben Mark’s face, Belline felt better. He turned white and his hand tightened on the corner of the table.
“When was this?” he demanded.
“Last week.”
“What day? What day did you get there? And what day did you leave? When was the last time you saw her?”
“She was supposed to have gotten back on Thursday. But I never saw her. They put me on a plane that morning.”
Thursday. A week ago. That was the day he had attacked an unidentified plane over the North Sea and heard the woman’s voice that gave him such a twinge in the pit of his stomach. The same feeling he had now in talking with Belline.
Ben Mark stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But I haven’t finished—”
“Yes, you have.” He put the money down on the table and, steering Belline by the elbow, rushed out of the café.
“Just tell me one thing, Belline. Who was your military contact?”
“I promised not to tell.”
“Dammit, Belline. I’m no spy. I’ve got to get in touch with the man. There’s a terrible possibility that Alpharetta might be dead. I’ve got to know.”
“Sir Nelson Mitford, the air marshal at Stanmore,” she mumbled.
Ben Mark left Belline at Rainbow Corner. “When am I going to see you again?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He dove into a taxi and a disappointed Belline watched as it disappeared.
“Hey, Red, you in the mood for a game of bridge?”
She smiled at the young soldier, a regular at Rainbow Corner. “Sure, Corporal. Let’s go for a grand slam.”
Dow Pomeroy, on his way to Harrington Hall for the weekend, stopped in to see Mittie at Air Defense. Ever since he had left Alpharetta in the dower house, with not even his father knowing she was there, he had wrestled with his conscience.
It wasn’t fair to Meg to remain engaged to her, when he had no intention now of marrying her. But to go against his father’s wishes would take its toll on him emotionally. Regardless, he had made up his mind. He would break with Meg that very weekend. And after a suitable time, he would declare himself to Alpharetta. He could assume his brother’s place in many ways. But he drew the line when it came to marriage.
With Eckerd remaining with the staff car, Dow walked into the building and started toward Mittie’s office on the second level, where it all began.
Dow remembered the sparks that flew when he first recognized Alpharetta. He had a premonition even then that she would turn his life upside down. And she had.
“Pom, it’s jolly good to see you,” Sir Nelson said, holding out his hand to Dow in greeting. “How’s our patient coming along?”
“I’m on my way to find out, Mittie. And to see my father. He hasn’t been well, you know.”
“Sorry to hear that. And you’ll be wanting to see Lady Margaret too, I expect.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Yes. Well, remember me to them all—and tell the young red-haired lady how much we appreciate what she did.”
“Have you heard from the scientists?”
“They’re working on it. A race against time. I can tell you that. Hoped the fighting in France would be further along, but it’s
a slow process. Lots of casualties, as you well know. And the troops are nowhere near the missile sites. Poor Monty’s got himself bogged down again, despite what the papers say.”
“Do you have any further orders for Beaumont?” Dow asked, trying to sound casual.
“She might as well come out of hiding now. Intelligence has picked up the two spies in Lochendall. You were right about one of them, Pom. The gardener, Lewin McGonegal. He was no more Scottish than the Rajah of Kohinoor.”
“And the other?”
“The pharmacist. Oh, by the way, Pom. Before you leave, I think you should speak with the young American captain in the next room. He’s awfully upset about his fiancée’s disappearance.”
“What does that have to do with me, Mittie?”
“Just talk with him. His name is Ben Mark St. John.”
Ben Mark stood at the window and gazed at the activity below. Sir Nelson had kept him waiting for quite a while. When the door opened, he turned to face him. But the man was not white-mustached, as Belline had said, or nearly as old as he expected.
“Captain St. John?”
“Sir?”
“I was told by the air marshal that you were waiting to talk with me. Something about your fiancée disappearing?”
“Yes, sir. Someone said that Air Defense would be able to tell me where she is.”
“I don’t see—”
“She was on a special assignment, sir.”
“What is her name?”
“Beaumont. Alpharetta Beaumont.”
A strange look came into Dow’s eyes and then he quickly concealed his chagrin by turning his back and walking to the desk. Alpharetta— engaged. He had not known. As he turned around, his face showed no emotion.
“She’s on my staff, Captain,” he announced. “And it’s true that she’s been on special assignment.”
The relief was evident in the smile that enveloped Ben Mark’s face. “Then she’s all right?”
Dow nodded. “Your fiancée is on my father’s estate, recovering from her assignment. I’m just leaving for Harrington Hall.” Forcing himself to be hospitable he inquired, “Are you free for the weekend, St. John? If you are, then you might wish to ride with me.” It was the least he could do in the light of this development.
“That’s good of you, sir. I would appreciate the ride.”
“You have luggage?”
“Just my flight bag. It’s in the taxi.”
“My driver, Sergeant Eckerd, is waiting in the staff car. I suggest you switch your bag from the taxi, and I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
“Than you, sir.”
“Not at all.”
When Ben Mark had gone, Dow remained motionless in the middle of the room, as if he had turned to stone. Then, with heavy steps, he left the building. It was fortunate that the young American had kept him from making a tragic mistake, but his heart refused to be comforted by the knowledge.
The dower house, located a mile from the main hall, resembled a small cloister, complete in itself with its own gates and its small walled garden where roses bloomed in delicate shades of peach and yellow.
A contented Alpharetta sat on the garden bench and watched the butterflies flutter and then light on the flowers in the unceasing search for nectar.
How lazy she had been the entire week, with her only visitor the doctor who removed the stitches and rebandaged her arm, and her only companion Brewster the sheep dog, who now lay like a great baby at her feet.
“Brewster, do you mind, old chap,” she said, affecting a British accent, “moving a bit? My foot has gone to sleep.”
Brewster lifted his sleepy head and Alpharetta took that opportunity to withdraw her foot.
The solitary confinement for the past week had not bothered her, for Alpharetta needed the time for her body to heal and for her mind, reliving the memories of childhood with Conyer and Duluth, to accept her grief.
A dower house was an appropriate place for that, designed as it was, for a woman alone— when she was no longer the mistress of a great hall, but a widow. The earl is dead. Long live the earl— a never-ending saga of birth and death, of titles and lands passing from one generation to another.
But Dow’s mother had died long ago. There would be no one to occupy the dower house, once old Sir Edward was dead and Lady Margaret had become the chatelaine of Harrington Hall.
Half dozing in the late-afternoon sun, Alpharetta heard a car stop and then the gate squeak as it opened. Warily, she sat up and listened, for she was not expecting anyone.
Dow Pomeroy stood for a moment, framed by the gate, a familiar, strong-boned face with a slight grayness at the temples of his sandy hair; tall, lean, strolling with one arm behind his back and his eyes, deep-set, searching in the shadows of the garden.
Alpharetta stood. “Dow! How nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.”
He stepped into the garden as she began to walk toward him. “Alpharetta, I’ve brought someone to see you.” His voice, cool, distant, was no longer a voice that she recognized.
“Who, Dow?”
“Your fiancé.”
She watched, unbelieving, as Ben Mark came into view from behind him. “Ben Mark!”
“I’ll leave you two to become acquainted. And I’ll send a car for you later, Captain. You’re both expected for dinner at the hall at 7:30.”
With mixed feelings, Alpharetta watched Dow disappear as Ben Mark St. John walked toward her, his boyish grin proclaiming his delight in seeing her.
Chapter 24
Ben Mark took Alpharetta in his arms and gave her a resounding kiss. Alpharetta, with an anxious glance toward the gate, whispered, “Stop it, Ben Mark. Sir Dow will see us.”
Ben Mark laughed. “The man has a fiancée of his own. I expect he’ll be doing the same thing in about ten minutes.”
“But . . .I’m not your fiancée, Ben Mark.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Alpharetta. I know the whole story. You can’t run away from me anymore.”
“Who—who told you?”
“Don’t pester me with questions at a time like this.” Again his mouth took possession of hers, stopping any further questions, any further vocal protest. A suddenly cynical Dow, seeing the two embrace, whistled for Brewster and walked back to the car with the dog at his heels.
Alpharetta’s sweater, draped over her shoulders, fell to the ground. And Ben Mark’s hand, seeking the softness of her skin, came in contact instead with the sight of the bandaged arm.
“Alpharetta! You’ve been hurt.”
“A small wound, Ben Mark,” she said, dismissing the injury as she stooped to retrieve her sweater. She began to walk back to the bench in the corner of the garden and Ben Mark followed.
“When did it happen?” he demanded, his voice suddenly harsh with urgency.
“Last week. But it really doesn’t matter now, Ben Mark. The doctor took the stitches out yesterday, and its healing nicely.”
“But it does matter,” he refuted.
She sat down on the bench and he stood over her, the scowl so familiar. “I talked with Belline in London yesterday. Alpharetta, were you flying over the North Sea toward the Scottish coast last Thursday—in an unidentified plane?”
Her eyes widened at the question. “I can’t answer that,” she replied, taking a sudden interest in the butterfly that had lit on the rosebush near her.
“You cried out, didn’t you—when you were hit. When the P-47 attacked you.”
“How did you know?” The incredulous expression and her sudden acknowledgement brought a moan that erupted from his throat like a ferocious growl.
He knelt beside her, took her hand, and in utter remorse, whispered. “Forgive me, Alpharetta.”
“You? You were the one who . . .?”
“Yes. I’m the one who attacked you, who injured you. I’m sure of it. I was going to blast you out of the sky.”
“What made you change your mind.”
&nb
sp; “The biddy on Uncle Reed’s farm.”
“What?”
“Well, that’s the reason I came back when the Messerchmitts appeared. You were already crippled. I didn’t think you knew it, but when you were hit, you broke radio silence. I think the voice was what stopped me at first, even though you refused to signal defeat. Then I kept seeing that poor little chicken you made me rescue in the barnyard—the one getting pecked to death.”
His eyes became fierce as he said, “This Sir Dow Pomeroy should be court-martialed, setting you up in such a near-disaster. And I won’t mind telling him so.”
“No, Ben Mark. Don’t blame Dow. It wasn’t his fault. I was flying a mission, just as you were. And if it hadn’t been for his coming to find me, I never would have made it to land.”
“Don’t make me feel any worse that I do already, Alpharetta, I’ve taken the blame for what I did.”
“I don’t blame you, Ben Mark, any more than I do Sir Dow. It was my decision and I knew the danger involved beforehand.”
“You’ve done more than your bit for the war effort, that’s for sure. Now it’s time for you to stop taking chances.”
He smiled a familiar, coaxing smile. “I can get permission for us to be married at once, and then you can go back to the States to wait for me.”
He was saying the words she had longed to hear, had dreamed of the entire time she was in training. Why then was she not happier? She looked into his dark brown eyes and shook her head.
“Ben Mark,” she said, “Conyer and Duluth are both dead. I have to remain, to take their places, the only way I know how, to do everything in my power to help defeat the Axis. Don’t you see? We’ve waited this long, Ben Mark. We can wait a little longer.”
“Conyer and Duluth? Both dead?”
Tears came into her eyes. “They were on the same ship.” She looked for her handkerchief, but it had disappeared.
Ben Mark took his, handed it to Alpharetta, and drew her close while the tears flowed.
He had never been comfortable with a woman when she was crying. He sat there awkwardly, patting Alpharetta’s shoulder until she drew away, dried her eyes, and made an effort to contain her emotions.
On Wings of Fire Page 21