Ashton Park (33 page)

Holly lay still. Her face was mottled with red and white patches, her breathing too quiet to hear. Harrison watched the slow rise and fall of her chest.

“I believe she’ll live, Mr. Harrison,” said Dr. Pittmeadow, standing behind him. “I’ve seen several of these cases. She’ll survive.”

“Thank God for that.”

“But you must understand that her mind is not altogether there. The last time she was awake she didn’t recognize any of the servants. Nor did she recognize you.”

“Wouldn’t that be a passing thing to do with the illness?”

The doctor put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and sucked in his lower lip. “The fever broke yesterday. We can only hope it’s a temporary lapse of memory on her part and not permanent. But for now we are strangers to her.”

Harrison kissed her hand. “She’s no stranger to me, sir.”

Norah Cole walked into the room carrying a tray of oatmeal and tea. “I have Miss Holly’s meal for her when she wakes up. The doctor said oatmeal would be the best thing for her if she could get it down.”

Harrison looked up, anger in his eyes. “You! Are you the best they could come up with?”

The doctor looked at Harrison in surprise. “What’s that?”

Norah frosted over. “Apparently.”

“Where were you? They couldn’t find you at all yesterday.”

She smiled at the doctor. “Oh, it was my day off and I’d gone in early to the village to do a bit of shopping. I should have told someone. Todd drove Sally in to get some things the doctor ordered for Miss Holly, and she was the one who told me what was going on. So I came back with them. I’m happy to feed Miss Holly if you like.”

“Wonderful,” replied the doctor.

Harrison shook his head. “Out of the question. I have a half hour. I’ll see if I can rouse Miss Holly and get some nourishment into her.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her while you’re gone.” She smiled at the doctor again. “I’ll be back soon, sir, and lend a hand where it’s most needed.”

The doctor shook his head at Harrison after Norah had left the room. “What’s gotten into you, man? Why, she’s pure gold. The Danforths are fortunate to have such a devoted servant in their household.”

May 1920

Robbie straightened his tie and suit jacket quickly before entering the church. He genuflected and took a seat at the back, remaining there when others went up for evening communion. When Mass was ended he left the sanctuary and walked down a long hall, entering a room that was filled with broken furniture and boxes of decorations. There was no window and no electricity. Only the light from the hallway allowed him to see. Everything appeared empty. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair.

Two hands covered his eyes. “Password.”

He smiled. “Tipperary.”

“Welcome, friend.”

He turned around and the same two hands brought his face down. “It’s been weeks. Where have you been hiding from me?”

He kissed her lips and put his arms around her back, the cloth of her coat soft under his fingers. “I’m sorry, Shannon. All the fighting—”

“Shhh. I’m teasing. I thank God you’ve not been harmed.”

He kissed her more deeply and would not stop. Finally she pulled away with a laugh.

“I’m drowning.”

“I lie in bed,” Robbie said, “and every part of my body aches to have you close, take in your perfume, taste your skin and your lips.”

She kicked the door shut with her foot. “Does it now?”

“I swear.”

“The priests said we could have an hour. Then it’s your catechism. Have you been reading the books?”

“I’m ready, don’t you worry.”

“I don’t worry. I pray. Where’s that big chair of ours?” She stumbled about in the dark, tripped and giggled, and finally found it, one hand brushing against the stuffing that spilled out of a crack in the leather. “Come. Have a sit. I’ll curl up in your lap.”

When they had settled themselves in, she ran a finger around each of his eyes and his mouth. “We have so much to say to each other.”

“I know that. But right now I’d rather kiss.”

Even in the blackness her smile was obvious. “Would you?”

“We can chat later. I’m half-dead from not seeing your face or feeling your hands in mine.”

“I’ve missed you too, Robbie Danforth—you’re not the only one who has been feeling out of sorts.”

He pressed his lips against her hair as she clasped the back of his head. Then he began to kiss her without stopping. This time she did not pull away for air.

The crash of a machine gun outside broke their spell.

“What’s happening, Robbie?” she asked, bewildered.

“It sounds like there’s a gunfight going on right outside the church.”

The door swung open. It was one of the younger priests.

“Listen to me,” he said. “A British patrol has been ambushed on the side street. There’s IRA all around the church. Stay here and don’t come out. I’ll be back for you when it’s safe.”

“Father—”

The priest saw the restlessness in Robbie’s face. “It’s bad enough. There’s dead on both sides. But the patrol has caught the worst of it.”

He closed the door. Shannon found his hands in the dark and gripped them tightly.

“I should be out there,” he said.

“But it’s not your fight.”

“Of course it’s my fight.”

“It’s not your patrol.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m British army and those are British soldiers. The Lord knows I haven’t any great desire to fight the Irish. But I can’t stand by and let my men be butchered.”

“Robbie. Listen to me.” She released his hands and grasped his face. “Are you listening?”

They saw each other’s eyes. He nodded.

“You go out there in your suit and tie with your pistol in your hand and both sides will shoot you. They’ll not hear what you shout or care who you say you are. You won’t look like a soldier to the British and you won’t look IRA to the Irish. They’ll both gun you down.”

The blast of a bomb going off shook the wall.

“I have to take that chance, Shannon.”

“Why? Why do you have to? Your heart’s not in this fight. You said so yourself. Running out the front door or back door to save the day won’t make any difference. Except to me. They’ll kill you and take you from me.”

The crackle of gunfire continued.

“I don’t know what to do. If I had my men with me—”

“But you don’t. Not today. Another day, if you must fight. But not here. Not now, no.”

They stood in the dark, clutching each other’s hands, while the shooting intensified and then suddenly petered out. The silence seemed worse to them than the sound of the guns. Sirens began to wail far off. They grew louder and louder as the vehicles approached the church.

“So now it’s the ambulances,” Robbie said in a flat voice.

Special to the
Times
—Londoners will be pleased to learn a new civilian aerodrome has opened just north of the city. SPAD aircraft will provide our citizens with the opportunity for flying lessons or short hops as well as ferrying them between all points in southern England that have access to an airfield or an adequate equivalent. The South England Air Service also has contracts with the Royal Mail, the government, and a number of businesses that wish to move mail, packages, legal documents, and other items as swiftly as possible.

Rates appear reasonable, and the Air Service is run by three men who flew with the air arm during the Great War. Indeed, one of them is a gentleman and an aviator who was awarded the Victoria Cross in the recent conflict. So potential customers can relax knowing their goods or indeed themselves are in the best possible of hands when it comes to flying from one location to another in our country. The SEAS may be contacted by telephone at the number printed at the bottom of this article.

Libby stood by the pole the windsock flew from and watched the two planes coming in from the south. They circled the Park and then dropped lower as they prepared to land. A cool wind made her pull her jacket tightly around her neck.

“It’s supposed to be warmer than this in May,” she grumbled out loud.

The first plane touched down. It rumbled along the same stretch of pasture that had been used for an airstrip at Ben’s and Victoria’s wedding. The aircraft was painted in a light gray with blue and red on its tailfin and had two seats, with the pilot in the front one. A man sat behind him in the second seat. She recognized her father as the man in the passenger’s seat and Kipp as the pilot. It rolled to a stop, its propeller still whirling, just when the other plane touched down. It had a sky-blue paint scheme and was the same kind of aircraft that Kipp was flying. There was only the pilot in this one—the passenger seat was empty. Libby knew that pilot as well. It was Michael Woodhaven.

She half-ran across the grass once both planes had come to a standstill. Michael lifted her off the ground with a hug and they approached Kipp and Sir William, their arms around each other.

“So these are the planes you and Michael talked our parents into investing their money in,” Libby said.

“They are,” responded Kipp, tugging his leather helmet off. “And both Mr. Woodhaven and Dad have already received a return on their investment.”

Libby kissed her father on the cheek. He was dressed in flying gear just like his son and Michael. “How was your first flight, Papa?”

“Capital. Excellent. It certainly beats long journeys on the train or in a car.”

“What sort of aircraft are they?” Libby asked.

“SPAD S.XXs,” Michael told her. “Almost like the one I flew in the war.”

“But that was a one-seater.”

“Right. They had this second seat for a rear gunner. The war ended before the S.XX could be used in combat. So now it’s been developed for civilian use. We were lucky to pick up a pair.”

“I like its lines.”

“Hey. This is the fastest plane in the world. Jean Casale reached 176 miles per hour in one back in February.”

“I can’t believe that. You didn’t fly that fast with Papa on board, did you, Kipp?”

Sir William laughed. “They did not. Or so he assured me.”

“We did 150 most of the way. That’s fast enough and easier on the gas. Did Harrison fix up that tanker truck like we asked him?”

Libby leaned into Michael’s arm. “He did. It’s full of airplane fuel now. Why? Are you in a hurry to get back?”

“No. We’ll stay the weekend and then get Dad back to Westminster and the House of Commons on Monday. Ben and Vic are holding the fort back at our airfield. We need to work on wedding plans with Mum.”

Sir William peeled off his heavy leather flying gloves and slapped them against his leg. “A double wedding in the chapel. Kipp and Christelle Cevennes. Libby and Michael Woodhaven IV. Wonderful.”

Michael and Kipp found the heavy wooden chocks at the edge of the field and placed them against the SPADs’ tires. Then the four of them began to walk toward the manor.

“Why don’t you take your helmet off, Father?” asked Libby. “It’s a bit nippy now and then but it’s not that bad.”

“No. I want your mother to see me in it. I’ll pull my goggles down for her too.”