The minutes dragged by. One by one each of the passengers was cleared through the gate, then returned on the Italian side back to the waiting train. Impatiently Amanda shuffled and glanced nervously about.
The roar of an automobile engine broke through the faint hissing coming from the stopped train. Amanda turned toward the sound. A black sedan was racing toward the scene. It screeched to a stop on the other side of the tracks about a hundred yards away. Two men jumped out from each side.
Amanda’s heart suddenly leapt into her throat.
No . . . not again! How could he have followed her here!
Almost at the same moment the lady in front of her walked through the gate.
“Pass,” said the guard.
Amanda shoved the stolen passport into his hand, glancing nervously back and forth between the guard and her pursuer.
Ramsay was running toward the inspection booth! His footsteps echoed on the pavement stones.
“That man,” she said frantically to the guard. “He is—”
A shout sounded.
“Stop that young woman!”
Amanda glanced fearfully behind her.
“Don’t worry, Fraulein,” replied the guard, gesturing Amanda through as he handed back her passport. “We will take care of him.”
Amanda dashed through the gate and toward the train.
Ramsay ran up to the small guardhouse.
“You’ve got to detain that woman,” he said, flashing his passport as if to run straight through. “She is—”
“You’re the one we will detain,” interrupted the guard. He stepped forward to block Ramsay’s way.
“What are you doing, you fool!” exploded Ramsay. “She’s English, and a spy. She’s trying to get—”
A shrill whistle drowned out whatever else he might have been planning to say. Within seconds Ramsay found himself in the grip of two Austrian soldiers clutching both his arms.
“You’re making a mistake,” he cried. “I’m not—”
“None of your impertinence,” rejoined the guard. “You’re the one who made a mistake trying to accost that young lady.”
“You won’t get away from us, Amanda!” Ramsay shouted through the gate. “I’ll follow you wherever you go. You are my wife now. You cannot escape me!”
Trying desperately to shut out his voice behind her, Amanda stumbled into the train.
She found her seat and looked out the window. They were leading Ramsay away. He was struggling and straining, but to no avail. The first soldiers had now been joined by two others.
The passport line contained ten or twelve more people. If only the train would get moving before he managed to convince them that he was telling the truth.
Ten minutes later, seeing no further action outside involving Ramsay, Amanda felt the train jerk again into motion.
8
Dreariness
The ride to Milan was anything but pleasant.
As the minutes dragged by, Amanda’s spirits slowly began to sink. Despite her success thus far, she had not managed to lose Ramsay. He knew right where she was. And she knew he would never give up.
Maybe Ramsay was right. She could never hope to escape.
What was the point of trying?
They would never let her into France anyway. Ramsay would find her eventually and take her back to Austria. What was the use? She would never get back to England.
And with what she knew, they would probably kill her. Murder did not seem to bother them. They had killed the archduke. She would likely be next.
The chilling words she had overheard from Mr. Barclay’s mouth several nights ago came back to Amanda’s memory: “Find some means to eliminate her.”
The words rang over and over in her brain . . . eliminate her . . . eliminate her.
Gradually despair stole over her. She could almost feel Mr. Barclay’s eyes probing, staring, searching. As she imagined his gaze upon her, the former drowsiness of will slowly settled over her consciousness.
It was hopeless. Why didn’t she just give in? Where was the hope in anything? What did she have left to live for?
A young lady several seats forward in the coach turned to speak to a companion. Something about the shape and expression of her face reminded Amanda momentarily of Catharine. The thought of her younger sister only saddened Amanda all the more. Catharine had always seemed so young and small that Amanda had taken her for granted. She had been shocked during her brief visit to Heathersleigh to realize what a striking woman she had become. Suddenly Amanda missed her very much. How comforting it would be to have a sister with her right now.
But she didn’t. She had sacrificed that relationship along with everything else when she left Heathersleigh. She had thrown away her past back then. Now she had thrown away her future as well.
And for what? For a man who had never really loved her at all.
Nausea swept over her at the thought of what she had allowed herself to become involved in.
It was a dreary, drizzly, disheartening day in England as well as Italy. A great cloud had descended upon the whole continent, with the five Rutherfords of Devon, spread out now across Europe, under the very middle of it. Even George, training in the Orkneys, was feeling more alone and downcast than usual. Only Catharine, the youngest of the three young people, had not been affected by the grey, dismal atmosphere.
The mood at Heathersleigh was subdued and quiet. Charles had now been gone for two days.
As she walked up to the second floor of Heathersleigh Hall, Jocelyn tried to buoy her spirits by imagining where her husband might be at this moment. He was to have set to sea at daybreak this morning, she thought. It was now midmorning. That should put them somewhere probably just off Land’s End. They would soon be turning to head north.
She entered the library, where she knew Catharine had gone to read. Her younger daughter was dressed in a cheery yellow dress. Jocelyn smiled. How like Catharine to defy the weather!
“Hello, dear,” she said. “How would you like to join me for some tea? Sarah will be up with it shortly.”
“Yes, thank you, Mother—that sounds good,” replied Catharine.
“I thought I might come up and sit with you,” added Jocelyn, taking a chair opposite her daughter. “I need to lose myself in a book to get my mind off your father’s being gone. Any suggestions?”
“I told you how much I am enjoying Ben Hur. I’m almost finished. Why don’t you read it next?”
“I think I need something more along the lines of an old-fashioned romance and mystery. I don’t want to have to think. It makes me too sad.”
“Because Father’s gone?”
“And George . . . and Amanda.”
“I’m still here, Mother,” teased Catharine with a cheerful smile.
“I know, dear,” replied Jocelyn. “And you can’t know how thankful I am for it! Your being with me is the one thing that makes me able to keep my head up at all.”
“Mother!”
“I mean it, dear. But at the same time, it is so incomplete when our whole family isn’t together. Don’t you feel it?”
Catharine nodded. “Of course. George is my best friend,” she said. “Well, except for you, I mean. But they’ll be back, Mother. We just have to keep believing and praying for that day when we are all together again.”
“When you say that, do you include your sister?”
“Of course,” replied Catharine. “I pray every day that Amanda will come home.”
“I suppose I need to take a lesson from you,” said Jocelyn with a thin smile. “But I have to admit, praying with faith gets more and more difficult the longer she is gone. I know I have to keep hoping, but—”
The tears—always nearby—suddenly arrived on the scene again without warning.
The next instant Catharine was on her feet and at her mother’s side. She knelt down beside her mother’s chair and put her arms around her. Jocelyn wept freely for a few moments on the great strong shoulder
of her youngest daughter, who had become a very compassionate young woman.
Gradually the two women eased back. Jocelyn dabbed at her eyes, then kissed Catharine affectionately.
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “I hadn’t had my cry yet today.” She tried to laugh. “It always makes me feel better to get it over with.”
She drew in a deep breath, then rose.
“But I still think I need that mystery,” she said. “Perhaps I shall peruse the shelves a bit.—That is, after tea,” she added. “I think I hear Sarah coming with the tray.”
After two stops and the passage of about four hours, Amanda’s train arrived in Milan. It was early in the afternoon.
A three-hour layover was scheduled before the next train for France. Ramsay was sure to catch up with her now, Amanda thought hopelessly. He might even have called ahead to notify the authorities to hold her until he arrived.
The train stopped and the doors opened. Half expecting to be arrested on the spot, tentatively she picked up her carpetbag and crept out. She stepped onto the platform. No uniformed guards were waiting. But Ramsay would probably appear any moment. Her brain was in such a fog she did not think that it would have been impossible for him to arrive ahead of her.
With three dozen other passengers Amanda walked into the station, found a vacant seat, and sat down. Feeling hungry and more forlorn than she had ever been in her life, Amanda was too despondent even to find something to eat. She was beginning to feel weak. She had not eaten since sometime yesterday.
Tears of hopelessness began to fill her eyes.
Hardly realizing what she was doing, she began silently to pray. “God, I was so stupid for not listening. I never thought I needed anyone, but now I realize I do need your help. Please, God . . . help me.”
Amanda glanced up.
Across the station a lady was eying her strangely.
9
Clandestine Beacon
Even as Charles Rutherford was bound north by sea, on England’s opposite coast, Irishman Doyle McCrogher and Charles’ friend and former parliamentary colleague Chalmondley Beauchamp sat high in a lighthouse situated on a coastal plateau on North Hawsker Head east of the Yorkshire moors. These were times which made of men both heroes and traitors, and Beauchamp had chosen for his personal destiny the latter.
McCrogher was at the light’s controls. Beauchamp was studying the code book he had managed to pinch from the Admiralty before defecting from London. It gave the disposition of many of the fleet’s ships as well as depth charts for all its harbors, along with the secret codes for passing on the information.
The mist on England’s east coast had lifted, and they had climbed the whitewashed column of the slender lighthouse about thirty minutes before. At present they were the only two inhabitants of the red-roofed house which sat below. It would be the scene, however, of many comings and goings in the months ahead—activity which they would do their best to keep out of the London Times. With England at war, the sorts of people who would be coming here would definitely not want their presence known.
Built to keep vessels from disaster on the shoals and reefs of the Yorkshire coastline at night and during storms upon the North Sea, it might have seemed peculiar that the unlikely pair were so busy shortly after noon on a calm day with the sun high in the sky. It was indeed an odd time for a lighthouse to be about its business. But the objective of this particular lighthouse was not to warn ships off the rocks, but to guide German U-boats toward their destinations, and signal instructions to be relayed to their counterparts in Germany and Austria.
A few minutes after McCrogher’s initial message, a series of return lights flashed back in code.
“They say they’ve got a bloke what’s needin’ t’ come ashore,” said McCrogher.
“Do they say who?” asked the Englishman.
“One o’ their spy blokes that’s wantin’ t’ fetch that book o’ yours there.”
“Anything else—is anyone coming ashore to stay?”
“Don’t know, Mr. Bee’ch’m.”
“Right. Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Signal them back, then get down to the dinghy and go out for him.”
10
Milan Station
Amanda did her best not to look at the lady she had noticed a few moments ago. But she could not prevent her eyes from periodically wandering in that direction. Whenever she glanced toward her, the lady seemed to be watching her.
At length the brown-haired woman rose. She was of medium height but somewhat stocky build, with round face and tall forehead. She approached Amanda where she sat.
Ramsay Halifax sat on the express out of Verona. He had been lucky to get on another westbound so quickly. He was only a couple hours behind Amanda now, which this particular express should make up half of by the time he reached Milan.
Just wait till I get my hands on that vixen, he thought to himself.
His hand unconsciously tightened into a fist. Had Amanda seen him now, she would not have recognized him from the dashing man who had so charmed her back in England three years before.
If Ramsay had been angry before, he was enjoying one of Mr. Barclay’s white furies now. He had been detained for questioning at the border more than an hour before the imbecile guards finally realized he was telling the truth.
The fools! he thought. The absolute idiots!
He nearly had his hands on her. If they had just let him through to begin with, by now he would be almost back to Vienna with her. Was he going to have to chase her all the way to France before this was over!
The idea roused his passion to yet greater heights. When he did get his hands on her, he would make her pay for this ridiculous escapade!
Amanda glanced away as the woman approached. Should she get up and run away? But before she could think what to do, it was too late.
“Young lady,” said the woman in a kindly voice, “you look lost . . . do you need some help?” she said.
“Why . . . what do you mean?” replied Amanda. Her tone was uncertain.
“Only that you look like you need a friend.”
The statement took Amanda off guard, as did the woman’s English.
“But . . . are you British?” she asked.
“No, but I speak English and German. Something told me English was right in your case.”
“Is it that obvious?” replied Amanda in a nervous half laugh. “I have been trying to pass myself off as an Austrian.”
“Perhaps not,” smiled the lady. “I just had a feeling. My name is Gretchen Reinhardt, dear,” she added, sitting down beside Amanda. “What’s yours?”
“Uh . . . it’s Amanda. Actually, you’re right—I do need help. I’ve got to get to France.”
“Why France?”
“I need to get back to England. A man is chasing me. I am in dreadful trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Should we alert the authorities?”
Amanda’s face fell. “I am afraid that would hardly help. He is Austrian, and actually . . . he is my . . . I can hardly say it . . . I should never—”
She broke down in tears and glanced away.
A moment later Amanda felt the woman’s hand on her own.
“If you can trust me, Amanda dear,” she said tenderly, “I think perhaps I may be able to help you. Would you come with me?”
“I don’t understand,” Amanda said, sniffling and looking back up toward her. “Come where?”
“I am leaving on a train north in a few minutes. I was waiting for it just now when I saw you. We will get you a ticket. If you can trust me, I would like to take you with me.”
“You mean . . . north—out of Italy?”
“Yes, Amanda dear.”
Could she believe her ears! It sounded too good to be true. Yet . . . who was this woman? She couldn’t just leave with a total stranger.
Or could she? Something in the lady’s tone and expression, mostly her eyes, told Amanda she could indeed trust her.
“But . . . but where are you going?” she asked.
“I live in Switzerland,” the lady called Gretchen replied. “Switzerland is neutral, you know. Once there you will be safe. Then you can decide what to do next. But first it might be wise to get you out of your immediate situation.”
“Will they let me across the border?” asked Amanda.
“The Swiss authorities are very understanding,” answered Gretchen. “I am certain they will.”
She had not proved herself a very good judge of character up till now, Amanda thought to herself. Perhaps it was finally time she began looking inside people for the right kinds of things. And if she did intend to begin now—
For an instant she was almost reminded of her mother. Again tears tried to rise in Amanda’s eyes. If ever she wanted her mother, it was now. Just to feel her arms around her, to be safe again, sitting on her bed, listening to her soothing voice.
She had never felt so lonely and sad in her life. How could she have let herself stay away from her mother for so long? All she wanted at this moment was to be a little girl again, safe and secure in her mother’s arms.
She looked up through her tears . . . yes, she had the distinct sense that this lady was trustworthy and good, and would let no harm come to her.
Amanda tried to smile, then nodded.
“Yes . . . yes, I will go with you,” she said.
“Good,” said Gretchen, rising. “Here, let me take your bag.—Have you had any lunch?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t eaten all day,” said Amanda, standing wearily to follow her.
“You must be famished! We must take care of that too. I have some sandwiches. We shall eat them together once we’re on the train.”
“But I still don’t understand why you would do this,” said Amanda as they walked to the ticket window. “You don’t even know me. Why would you help me like this?”
Gretchen smiled.
“We have been expecting you, dear,” she said.
“We?”
“Myself and my friends. The moment I saw you I instantly asked the Lord if you were the one. He told me you were.”
Her statement met only a look of yet deeper perplexity on Amanda’s face.
Heathersleigh Homecoming Page 5