He was surprised to see Carneades waiting for him . . . alone.
Their Greek colleague spoke first in answer to the look of question on Ramsay’s face.
“Your mother’s second telegram reached me in the middle of the night,” he explained. “She said you would be on the morning train.”
“Where’s the girl?”
“I don’t know. I never saw her.”
“What—didn’t you get our message to intercept her?”
“Yes, of course. I was right here, on this very platform, when last night’s train arrived.”
“And?”
“And nothing. She wasn’t there.”
“You imbecile! How could you let her slip through your fingers?”
“Watch what you call me, Halifax. She wasn’t on the train, I tell you. She must have gotten off between Vienna and here.”
Ramsay paused and tried to think, not an easy task given the shape his brain was in at the moment. He had seen Amanda with his own two eyes as her train pulled out of Vienna. The only stops scheduled between there and here were at Graz, Klagenfurt, and Ljubljana. She would not have gotten off in any of those cities. It didn’t make sense.
“She must have slipped past you,” he said at length.
“I tell you, Halifax—”
“Look,” interrupted Ramsay, “she has to be bound for Italy. There’s no other explanation. So she had to have come through here.”
“And I tell you, I saw nothing.”
“She’s making for the border as sure as anything,” Ramsay went on, ignoring him. “We’ll check when the next train departs for Italy.—Which way’s the ticket office?”
5
Liaison to the Admiralty
The British battle cruiser HMS Dauntless steamed out of Plymouth in the grey light of dawn. Its course would take it westward through the English Channel, then north through the Irish Sea, and around the west and north of Scotland to the sheltered waters of Scapa Flow in the Orkney Islands. Much of the crew was still relatively raw, and it was no time to risk encountering a German U-boat in the Channel or the North Sea, where the whole fleet command was in terror of the German submarines. It was the first time in its history that Great Britain’s sea barrier of safety had been breached. Throughout the United Kingdom people feared the U-boats entering their very harbors undetected. The news was full of it. Never had the British people felt so exposed and vulnerable.
The crew of the Dauntless would complete its training en route and in the Orkneys, then join the Mediterannean fleet later in the year.
Belowdecks in his private cabin, Commander Charles Rutherford—his commission in His Majesty’s Navy newly activated—special assistant to the captain and personal liaison to the First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill, stood at his porthole gazing at the passing landscape of the Devonshire and Cornwall coast.
The emotions stirring within him were many and conflicting. The feel of the sea beneath his feet reminded him fondly of his youthful service in the navy. Those had been happy times, and were associated with his meeting and then falling in love with Jocelyn, and their first contented years together at Heathersleigh Hall.
But watching the coastline pass reminded him also of the present, and the wife he was leaving behind. Times were different now. Today’s was a dangerous world. He had seen the anxiety in her eyes of what this parting might mean when they said good-bye two days ago.
————
But, Charles,” Jocelyn’s voice had pled, “I still don’t see why you have to go. I’ve almost reconciled losing a son to the war . . . but a husband as well!”
“You are not losing us, Jocie,” replied Charles. “We’ll be back before you know it,” he added, trying to sound cheery and optimistic. “Don’t you know what all the papers are saying, that the war will be over by Christmas?”
Despite his words, neither of them believed the reports.
Charles had had too many frank discussions with the First Lord of the Admiralty not to realize the gravity of the situation, and the personal risk to which he was exposing himself by answering Churchill’s summons to the war effort.
“Come, Jocie,” said Charles after a brief pause, “let’s have one more time of prayer together in the heather garden.”
Husband and wife left the house and walked slowly across the lawn toward the wood. In front of them spread the heather garden, which had become such a special place of prayer as they had developed and expanded it through the years.
No one in the family knew when the first species of the wiry shrub had been planted at Heathersleigh Hall. But following Charles’ and Jocelyn’s own spiritual awakening, and encouraged by their friend, London pastor Timothy Diggorsfeld, to use it as a prayer garden on behalf of their daughter Amanda after her painful departure from Heathersleigh, Jocelyn and Charles had cultivated and widened it to its present state.
The heather garden had now become a complex maze of twisting paths through more than a hundred plants of heather of probably three dozen varieties. It was most spectacularly colorful during the two prominent blooming seasons, between July and September for summer varietals, and from Christmas to February for winter species. However, on hand also were more unusual forms of the shrub, such that something was always in flower—in either white, pink, or purple, and dozens of intricate blends and variations of each.
Jocelyn’s thoughts on this day, however, were not on the beauties of the garden. They sat down on their favorite bench in a secluded alcove amongst several dwarf pines.
It was silent for five or ten minutes as they sat hand in hand. Silence when they were together did not bother them. Their spirits were equally communicative with or without words.
At last Charles began to pray.
“Lord,” he said softly, “as long as we have been trying to obey you and listen to your voice, it sometimes seems you are so silent. It is difficult to know what you want us to do. We desire to do your will. But what is that will . . . ? It is hard at times to know.”
He paused. Silence settled again for a few moments. Then he continued.
“As we now embark on this new phase of life, we pray that you would keep us in your will. I ask that you would comfort my family in my absence—my dear Jocelyn and Catharine. Encourage them during this time, which we pray will be brief. Protect our whole family as the separations increase. Watch over George and me. May we grow closer together as father and son through this experience.
“And we pray for our Amanda, wherever she is at this moment. Though such seems impossible to my limited sight, and though she tells us she is now married, I ask again, as I have so many times before, that you would bring her home and restore her here once more as part of our family. As terrible as war is . . . use it, Lord, in all our lives for the perfecting of your purpose for us. We pray especially that in Amanda’s life, these times would work toward the healing of her confused and wayward heart. Reconcile her to us, and restore her to yourself. Place within her being the desire to be your humble and obedient daughter.”
Charles’ voice fell silent. He exhaled a long sigh. Jocelyn was softly weeping.
For another twenty or thirty minutes they remained together in the garden, quietly talking over many things. That evening they spent in the library with their daughter Catharine. George had already been gone for a month. It was a quiet and peaceful family time together, though tears flowed several times from the eyes of the two women.
Early the next morning, Sir Charles Rutherford left Heathersleigh for Plymouth.
————
Charles’ thoughts came once more to the present. Still the coastline passed outside his porthole as the Dauntless gradually increased in speed. When would he see his beloved Heathersleigh again? he wondered. He had tried to reassure Jocelyn and Catharine that his duties would not keep him away for long, but in truth he knew how very dangerous this mission was. British naval losses in these opening months of hostilities had been greater than anyone had expect
ed. So far six British steamers had been captured by the Germans and four battle cruisers sunk by German submarines. On land the German advance into France had been halted at the Seine, the Marne, and the Meuse. The Germans had begun a slow retreat, but the prospects of this conflict being a long and arduous one were grim indeed.
Shaking such concerns from his head, his thoughts and prayers returned to Amanda.
Where was she at this moment? What would she do now that Europe was at war? The thought brought a lump to his throat and his eyes briefly filled. He could not help wondering if he would ever see her again. He loved her so much. He and she were so much alike. He smiled as he remembered her spunk, laughter, and sense of humor.
The thoughts were too painful to bear. He blinked quickly several times and drew in two or three deep breaths.
At least, thought Charles, he would soon be reunited with his son, Amanda’s older brother George, who had preceded him to the Orkneys. If there was any consolation in all this, that was probably it. Churchill had assured him, as part of Charles’ resuming his commission in this capacity as his special liaison, that they would be assigned duty on the same ship. George’s orders would transfer him to the HMS Dauntless once Charles arrived at the Scapa Flow battle station.
He turned back into his cabin, sat down on his bunk, and read again the communiqué from Churchill that had been delivered upon his arrival by a young lieutenant by the name of Langham, the First Lord of the Admiralty’s assistant.
My dear Charles, it read.
Words cannot express the respect I have for you, and my personal sense of gratitude for the sacrifice you are willing to make for your nation at this perilous hour. I told you before the war that I needed people I could trust. You are such a man, and my load is lightened knowing that you are on my leadership and advisory team. We both realize that the fight before us will not be as easy as some newspapers try to tell the citizenry. Everything depends on the fleet, and in these opening months the British fleet is disquieted about the very foundations of its being. We have our mighty ships, and every man from stoker to admiral is ready to die in carrying out his duty. And yet it cannot be denied that the U-boats have caused the Grand Fleet to be uneasy. Our ships have no resting place except at sea. Conceive it, Charles—I scarcely can do so even as I write the words—the ne plus ultra, the one ultimate sanction of our existence, the supreme engine which no one has ever dared to brave, whose authority encircles the globe—the British fleet . . . is no longer sure of itself. The notion is so astonishing as to seem incredible. Yet it is true. The idea has infiltrated everywhere that the German submarines are coming after us into our very harbours.
On the South Coast no one would mind, for we can take our vessels inside the Portland breakwater and literally shut the door. But on the East Coast no such sealed harbour exists. We had hoped that Scapa, where you will be bound even as you read this, could remain protected from the submarines by its currents. And yet, Charles, just days ago submarines have been spotted in Scapa Flow. At least such is the report. I am not sure whether I believe it, but it has certainly had the effect of increasing the trepidation of the fleet. The mere apprehension of submarines attacking the sleeping ships on which all else reposes would be sufficient to destroy that sense of security which every fleet demands when in its own harbours.
In any event, it is into this tense and uneasy atmosphere that I am sending you. I hope wise and level heads such as yours will be able to exercise a calming effect on the men. Only so will the Grand Fleet be able to regain the courage and confidence so vital to our success. This, then, is your first assignment—work to instill courage and confidence. Assure the men that we shall prevail.
I hope and—though I hesitate to say it to such a devout man as yourself for fear you will think I do so employing a mere figure of speech, but I assure you I mean it most deeply—I also pray that this separation will not prove unbearably difficult for your wife, who must love you very much. I wish you the best in this endeavour, my friend, and a speedy homecoming, and give you again my hearty thanks.
Yours,
Winston S. Churchill*
* Parts adapted from Winston Churchill’s own words, found in Chapter 17 of The World Crisis, vol. 1, 413–414.
6
Close Encounter
Amanda darted nervously from the train across the platform area while the stocky man was glancing the other way. She kept close to the opposite side of a large woman with three children, trying to look as if she were with them. Quickly, when the coast was clear, she ran into the Trieste station.
The next scheduled train into Italy did not depart until 7:13 a.m.
Standing with bag in hand in front of the schedule board, she thought a moment.
The man would come this way looking for her any minute.
She turned and hurried outside into the darkness. The night air was warm and fragrant. On the slight breeze she could faintly smell the Adriatic Sea less than a mile away.
She began walking in search of a hotel but quickly tired of it. There was nothing nearby and the night was getting late. She did not particularly like the looks that came her way from the few people who were about, especially the men.
Exhausted, and much too warm in her heavy winter coat, Amanda finally crept back toward the station. Watching the entryway carefully, she made her way inside, then hurried to one side of the room into the corner shadows. The man appeared nowhere in sight.
She sat down on a nearby bench and tried to make herself comfortable. Slowly, one sleepless minute went by, then another. The night hours dragged on. She was afraid to close her eyes lest the man might still be about, yet was unable to keep her head from drooping in sheer exhaustion.
Somehow the dreary, miserable night passed. As light finally began to dawn Amanda was more weary than ever. Her eyelids sagged yet more heavily. Before long she was sound asleep.
Suddenly she came to herself.
She jolted upright and her eyes shot open in a fright. It was bright and light. Morning had come!
She glanced quickly at her watch. It was 6:55. She had nearly missed her train!
Hastily she jumped up, grabbed her bag, and ran to the ticket window.
With ticket in hand a few minutes later, her money now nearly three-quarters gone, she looked hurriedly around for the platform she needed.
She had just located the way to track three when suddenly Amanda’s feet froze. For an instant she stood motionless, like a terrified frog suddenly caught in the death stare of a snake whose mouth was three times its size.
How could it be!
There was Ramsay walking into the station!
He had just entered from another platform with the same man she had seen last night!
Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, Amanda forced her legs into activity. She turned in the direction of platform three.
Resisting the impulse within her to break into a run, she began walking toward the train, which was scheduled to depart in just four minutes. Deliberately but with measured step, she made her way toward the tunnel as quickly as she dared. Any second she expected to hear a voice behind suddenly call out her name. Surely he would see and recognize the back of her coat and the hat with her brown hair coming out from under it! Every step was an agony of steady determination.
She rounded a corner out of sight of the station hall and ticketing area. Instantly Amanda broke into a frantic dash for the track.
Two minutes later she seated herself on board, as far from a window as she could get.
7
Across the Border
As Carneades led him into the Trieste station Ramsay hurriedly glanced about.
The place was filled with the general buzz of conversation, bustle, and noise as the morning crowd of travelers moved about in all directions at once. Ramsay looked to his right and left, scanned the area, then located the schedule board. He ran toward it.
It revealed a 7:13 departure for Milan.
; “That’s it,” cried Ramsay. “Seven-thirteen. Where’s platform three? It might not be too late!”
“This way,” answered Carneades, lumbering into a run.
Ramsay broke into a sprint, quickly passed him, and now ran through the tunnel almost in Amanda’s very footsteps of only a few short minutes earlier.
Unfortunately, the engineer of the Milan express, a crusty Italian who had worked for the railroad since he was fifteen, kept rigorously to the schedule and sent steam to wheels at the precise instant the second hand of his watch rounded the apex of 7:13 on the dot.
When the two men hurried up to the platform, therefore, it was only in time to see the last coach of the westbound train departing the station about fifty yards down the track.
A great imprecation exploded from Ramsay’s lips. He saw nobody at the windows this time. But an inner conviction assured him that Amanda was on that train.
“Do you have a car?” he said to the Greek.
“A friend’s,” replied Carneades. “It’s outside.”
“Let’s go, then!” cried Ramsay. “The train will stop at the border. If we fly, we just might be able to make it. We’ll catch her there!”
Forty minutes later Amanda stepped out of the coach and followed the other passengers toward the border inspection station.
Though Italy was the third member of the Triple Alliance and on friendly terms with Germany and Austria-Hungary, she had become angered by the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia in August and had declared her neutrality. She was presently engaged in a shrewd diplomatic game between the two sides in the war. Amanda knew she would be reasonably safe once inside Italy. The delay while passports were checked would not be long. Yet with a war on, security even at a friendly border such as this had been tightened.
Amanda stood in line pulling out Gertrut Oswald’s passport. Hurry, hurry, she thought. Can’t you move any faster!
Heathersleigh Homecoming Page 4