A New Dawn Over Devon Page 11

  “I thought it was time I drove down to Devonshire for a visit.”

  “I’m afraid your uniform is a sight,” said Catharine.

  “Not to worry,” replied Langham, brushing himself off. “A little honest dirt is occasionally good for naval trousers and jackets.”

  “Come inside,” said Maggie, “and we shall have tea.”

  “I want to see this quilt I had a hand in saving from the destruction of the goose,” said the lieutenant as he followed his hostess through the open door.

  “I’ve been laying out squares for weeks, sir,” said Maggie as they entered the kitchen. “If that creature had got inside, they would have been sent flying in every direction. I am greatly in your debt.”

  A pleasant, lively talk around Maggie’s table followed. An hour and a half later, the three Rutherford women walked leisurely with their visitor through the wood toward the meadow that led from Heathersleigh Cottage back to the Hall. They had made arrangements for Betsy to remain with Maggie and spend the night.

  As they walked, Lieutenant Langham reflected how wonderful it was to see these three attractive and aristocratic women—a stately mother and her two grown daughters—in simple dresses, heavy shoes, and muslin aprons splotched with dirt from their work in the tulip bed. The country bred a different outlook on life than was possible in London, he thought to himself. In his naval uniform—notwithstanding its own soiled spots from the goose incident—he was the most overdressed of them all!

  Langham glanced from one to the other as they went, noting the sisterly resemblance between Amanda and Catharine, as well as the obvious affection and respect the two young women had for one another. The older was obviously more careworn, carrying a slight melancholy in her expression that hinted at experiences no young lady of her years should have had to endure. The younger was tall and robust and still possessed the exuberance and innocence of youth. He also detected a hint of mischief in her eyes, whose acquaintance he had already had occasion to witness a time or two on previous visits. She was attractive, even what he would call pretty, as well as nimble on her feet. But at the same time was nearly as big as he. She had the look of one who could take on the world, and probably would not be afraid to try. Neither of the two girls was so much younger than he at twenty-seven.

  His glance now passed to Lady Rutherford. He was unable to keep his eyes from dwelling momentarily on the red mark that so defined her face. Yet she seemed serene and perfectly at ease with the blemish, and bore the aspect of a lady in whom the years had deepened a mature serenity with respect to who she was.

  Why were some women, he wondered, chosen to bear tragedy, while others, it seemed, went through life unscathed by heartbreak? This was quite a family, he thought, that Commander Charles Rutherford and his son had left behind.

  “Let’s go by the stream!” said Catharine, bounding ahead.

  “But that way is longer,” said Jocelyn.

  “And more lovely. I haven’t gone that path in ages.” Already Catharine was running ahead. “Come, Lieutenant Langham, I’ll show you!”

  By the time the rest of them reached the clearing in the pine wood, Catharine had already bounded across the vigorous little brook.

  “Now I remember why I don’t come this way,” laughed Jocelyn. “The stream is too wide. Catharine, my legs are not as long as yours!”

  “It’s easy, Mother—look!” replied Catharine. She leapt back and forth twice more with the ease of a deer.

  Jocelyn laughed. “You were always my young athlete, Catharine! But it’s not so easy at my age.”

  “I don’t want to get my feet wet either,” objected Amanda.

  “I will help you across, Miss Rutherford,” said Lieutenant Langham.

  Taking a run of several steps, he jumped over to join Catharine, then turned back at the water’s edge and stretched his hand across to Amanda.

  “Take my hand, Miss Rutherford, then just give a little jump. You will be over in no time.”

  Amanda did so. Five seconds later she was safely on the bank beside Catharine.

  “Now, Lady Rutherford . . .” said Langham, turning and reaching across again.

  “I don’t know if I—”

  “You can do it,” encouraged the lieutenant.

  “But I can’t quite reach your hand.”

  The lieutenant inched closer to the flowing water, placed one of his feet at the water’s edge and bent his knees, then stretched his hand as far as he could and strained to take Jocelyn’s hand.

  She was just able to clutch his fingers.

  “There we go,” Langham said, though his own position was slightly precarious as he leaned off-balance toward her. “I’ve got you. Now give a jump and I’ll pull you over.”

  Jocelyn hesitated but a moment, then gave a leap. Langham yanked as gently as he could while his foot dug into the soft earth of the stream bank. But he had miscalculated the pull of Jocelyn’s weight. As she flew onto the opposite bank, his one foot slipped.

  “Look out!” shouted Catharine.

  It was too late. His other foot sloshed into the water as he struggled desperately to keep his balance.

  “Lieutenant!” cried Jocelyn.

  Catharine jumped into the stream to grab his flailing hand. On the bank, Amanda reached for the other, and together they steadied him and kept him from tumbling on his face into the foot-deep water. With some effort they pulled him back to the bank, his white naval trousers soaked above his boots to the knees. Catharine’s dress was in a similar condition, though she was loving every minute of it.

  “I will never live this down,” he said, “having to be rescued from a little stream barely four feet wide. We naval officers are supposed to be more skilled on water than that!”

  Still laughing, they recovered themselves and gradually continued on their way, their footsteps squishing as they walked.

  “I am so sorry, Lieutenant,” said Jocelyn. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it was mine,” said Catharine, “for insisting we come this way. I apologize to you all,” she added. But even as the words were out of her mouth, she was giggling again.

  “Not to worry,” laughed the lieutenant. “No harm done, except to my pride. It was an adventure I am sure I shall long remember . . . and never live down among my naval colleagues—if I tell them, that is!”

  “You can put the blame entirely on me,” laughed Catharine.

  “But tell me about little Betsy,” Langham went on, changing the subject as they sloshed away from the stream. “Who is she?”

  “Actually, we know very little about her,” replied Jocelyn, and then went on to explain briefly.

  Even before she had finished explaining Betsy’s strange appearance at Hector’s side at their kitchen door, Catharine was again romping ahead.

  Lieutenant Langham and Jocelyn continued to talk while Amanda listened quietly.

  “Both Mr. Churchill and I have been concerned about you all,” the lieutenant was saying. “One of the reasons for my visit was to see how you were getting on.”

  “I will not say it is not difficult without my husband,” replied Jocelyn. “But we know that God is good, and that helps us manage.”

  “His memory is highly respected in the navy.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “And Mr. Churchill sends his personal regards.”

  “Thank you. Please express my appreciation to him.”

  “I will be certain to do so.”

  They walked awhile in silence.

  “One thing I have been curious about, Lady Rutherford,” said Lieutenant Langham as they now made their way out of the woods and into the more open country that would lead them toward the Hall, “—has Miss Rutherford—Miss . . . Amanda, that is—told you everything about what happened at the lighthouse, and how brave she was?”

  “No . . . no, she hasn’t,” replied Jocelyn. “—What is all this, Amanda?” she added, turning to Amanda.

  “It all happened so s
uddenly,” she said, “and then with Father’s death and the funeral . . . we just never seemed to get around to talking about it.”

  Langham glanced toward Amanda. “May I tell them?” he asked.

  Amanda smiled and nodded. Overhearing the lieutenant’s question, Catharine now joined them again.

  “It was a story of high intrigue and no little bravery on the part of your daughter, Lady Rutherford,” Langham said. “It all began one day when a London minister came to the door of the Lord of the Admiralty, asking to speak with Mr. Churchill, with a certain very attractive young lady at his side.”

  As she listened Amanda smiled, then laughed occasionally to hear the lieutenant brag of her exploits. Gradually she quieted, and Jocelyn noticed a change come over her mood. Catharine, meanwhile, hung on the lieutenant’s every word, supplying the narrative with just the right number of questions and exclamations.

  By the time the tale was completed, they had nearly arrived back at the Hall.

  “Would you join us for tea, Lieutenant?” asked Jocelyn. “Sarah made fresh bread this morning. In fact, as it is too late to return to London today, we would be delighted to have you stay the night. We have not had enough occasion to make use of our guest rooms lately.”

  The invitation took the lieutenant by surprise, though he was clearly pleased.

  “I made arrangements at the inn in Exeter,” he said slowly, revolving the thing in his mind. “But . . . yes, I think I would like that very much. I accept your kind offer.”

  16

  Name Out of the Past

  Two hours later Amanda left the house following evening tea, still in a thoughtful mood.

  The reminder of what had happened at the lighthouse sent her thoughts plunging back to Ramsay and the years of her prodigal sojourn in London and on the Continent.

  As if he had read her mind, Lieutenant Langham followed her outside a few minutes later. Amanda heard him coming and slowed her step. He quickly caught her, fell into step beside her and offered his arm. She took it as they continued on in the same direction, unintentionally moving toward the heather garden.

  “I hope I did not embarrass you earlier,” said Langham, “when I was telling your mother and sister what happened.”

  “Only that you greatly exaggerated my role in it,” said Amanda, glancing toward him with a smile.

  “Not so much,” rejoined the lieutenant. “Such organizations that surround themselves with the gloss of piety and respectability, and which use a certain amount of mind control, can never be brought down without the help of someone from the inside exposing the deception for what it is. Had you not come to us with what you knew, we would never have been able to shut down the spy ring connected to the lighthouse.”

  “Did it really help?”

  “Absolutely. It has already made a difference.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Mr. Churchill believes the tide of the war is turning. And that fact is certainly aided by the assurance that our shores are safe from German and Austrian spies. Although I am sorry to say that he is falling under a great deal of criticism for his conduct of the Dardanelles campaign. I fear he may not last much longer as First Lord of the Admiralty.”

  It fell silent. They entered the narrow, winding paths.

  “This is a wonderful little garden—and so many varieties of heather,” said Langham, glancing about him. “Is this how Heathersleigh got its name?”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Amanda. “Perhaps it did originally, but no one knows exactly where the name came from. My father and mother planted most of these shrubs.”

  “A great deal of work.”

  “They were always out here when I was young—planting, weeding, pruning, making new paths.”

  “They must have loved this garden very much. Their care and hard work is obvious. It is a lovely setting.”

  They continued to walk. In a first-floor window behind them, Catharine watched as they disappeared from view. She was pleased that Amanda had someone besides her and her mother who understood what she had been through.

  Slowly a smile spread over her face. You two look very nice together, Catharine said to herself. Maybe . . .

  She allowed her youthful romantic musings to drift off vaguely without completing the thought, though the smile remained on her lips.

  “I am glad for this opportunity to speak with you alone, Miss Rutherford,” Lieutenant Langham was saying as they walked. “I was hesitant to bring up the subject until we were free to talk, but I did have another reason for coming than merely conveying Mr. Churchill’s concern for your mother.”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” asked Amanda.

  “Our intelligence sources have located Ramsay Halifax,” Langham replied.

  Amanda immediately tensed.

  “Where?” she said in a shaky voice.

  “On the Continent . . . southern France, then Austria.”

  “Will he . . . ?”

  “We do not think you are in any danger,” the lieutenant went on. “But we felt you ought to be informed. Colonel Forsythe has been instrumental in shutting down their operations on British soil.”

  “At least that is a relief.”

  “There are, however,” he added, “indications of continued activity by the Fountain of Light on the mainland. There has been no attempt to contact you?”

  “None,” replied Amanda. “Do you think they will?”

  “There is no way to know. We only want to make sure no danger comes to you or your family.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I cannot tell you how much your concern means. But I hope I never see any of them again.”

  “Be assured we will continue to monitor the situation. I am in close touch with Jack Whyte of the intelligence service. We will not let them come near you.”

  “I appreciate your confidence,” said Amanda, “though knowing them as I do, I realize all too well that they have not forgotten me. I cannot help occasionally being nervous. They are not likely to forget my defection anytime soon.”

  17

  Difficult Thoughts About the Future

  Two mornings after Lieutenant Langham’s departure, Jocelyn awoke to strange sounds above her in the house. Her first thought was a reminder of George. As her brain made its rapid journey from sleep to wakefulness, she found herself wondering if his ghost had returned to carry out the explorations of the house he had been unable to complete before.

  Gradually she came to herself, then rose, put on her dressing gown, and went to investigate. Almost directly above her own bedroom she found Betsy rummaging about on the third floor.

  “Betsy dear, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “Just exploring,” replied the girl enthusiastically. “The house is so huge. I never knew houses were so big in all the world. Catharine said it would be all right.”

  “Yes, that’s fine,” nodded Jocelyn, smiling to herself in humorous though poignant disappointment that it had not been George whom she had discovered. “You may go into any room that is unlocked. Only leave things as they are.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  On her way downstairs, Jocelyn glanced through the window and saw Amanda outside walking. She paused and now saw Catharine come bounding out of the house as well. The morning was windy, and in the distance clouds appeared to be approaching at the front of a storm. After a moment, Jocelyn continued down to the ground floor and outside to join them.

  Amanda had awoken early. After an hour with her Bible, retracing many now familiar scriptures for insights she might have missed, she had gone out into the frenetic morning. Lieutenant Langham’s visit had stirred many thoughts—both happy and sad, both new and old—and she had been restless ever since his leaving. She left the house, enjoying the blustery summer tumult.

  She had scarcely been out of the house five minutes when she heard footsteps running up behind her. She turned to meet them.

  “Catharine!” she exclaimed. “Good morning—you’re u
p early!”

  “So are you. Thinking of Terrill?”

  “Terrill!” laughed Amanda. “You are on a first-name basis so soon?”

  “Only to myself. I so love it when he calls me Miss Catharine,” she giggled.

  “You’re as bad as a silly schoolgirl! Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. It just sounds funny, so old-fashioned and formal. What does he call you?”

  “Miss Rutherford, I suppose, now that I think about it.”

  They walked on a few steps.

  “I saw you and him alone in the heather garden the other evening,” said Catharine in a teasing tone. “With your hand through his arm, you looked very . . .”

  She allowed her voice to trail off significantly. Her intended meaning was not lost on Amanda.

  “What are you suggesting, Catharine?” said Amanda, glancing toward her sister.

  “Only that he is very handsome, and that despite whatever he said to Mother about Mr. Churchill and the war and all that, he obviously came out here to see you.”

  “To . . . see me?”

  “You know what I mean, Amanda. You must know that he likes you.”

  “You’re not actually thinking—” she began, then paused briefly and looked at Catharine in disbelief. “—Catharine, I’m married,” she said. “Much as I would like to forget that fact, I cannot.”

  “Perhaps you won’t be forever,” persisted Catharine with a coy smile. “And he is handsome.”

  “There is nothing between Lieutenant Langham and me,” insisted Amanda good-naturedly but firmly. “I cannot imagine you would even think it.”

  Just then Jocelyn walked up behind them.

  “I agree with you, Catharine,” she said. “The lieutenant is indeed a handsome young man. In a way, he reminds me of your father when he was young—dashing, friendly, courteous, full of hopes and plans. No wonder I fell in love with him—Charles, I mean,” she added laughing. “If anyone’s going to fall in love with Lieutenant Langham, I’m afraid it will have to be one of you!”

  Amanda said nothing. Catharine realized she had disturbed her sister’s tranquility. She now turned back for the house so that the other two could be alone.