Heathersleigh Homecoming (6 page)

 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.

“Don't worry,” said Gretchen cheerily. “You will understand in time.”

Amanda
didn't
understand yet. But if she had decided to trust this woman, she would do so immediately.

Ramsay ran into the waiting area of the Milan station.

A quick glance about revealed no sign of Amanda. He ran to the ticket window.

“I just arrived from Verona,” he said. “When was the last departure west?”

“The westbound to Turin has not left yet,” the man answered. “The two trains join here in Milan.”

“When does it leave?”

“Not for another thirty minutes—on platform four.”

Already Ramsay was making for the train. Within minutes he had talked the conductor into allowing him on board.

A thorough search of every coach, however, did not turn up Amanda anywhere. He descended back onto the platform, now more confused than angry. What could have happened to her?

He would keep watch, he thought. She must be hiding somewhere, waiting for the last moment to board.

Behind him on an adjacent track, the northbound train for Switzerland ground into motion and began to pull out. Absently Ramsay turned and glanced toward it. For a fleeting moment the horrifying idea struck him that maybe he was mistaken about Amanda's destination.

Just as quickly he dismissed the thought. He turned around again, wondering if he should search the Turin express again.

In one of the windows of the northbound behind him sat a certain Swiss woman on her way home from a visit to her sister in Milan. Had she observed the young man stewing about on the platform trying to decide what to do, she would have had no idea that he was searching for the very one she was now doing her best to make comfortable beside her.

Spread out on the seat between them were a few simple sandwiches, which looked to Amanda like the very bread of heaven. For once in these last two days Amanda's attention was not drawn outside. Neither of them ever knew, in those few fateful moments, how close to each other they had been.

Seconds later the northbound was gone.

Ramsay Halifax, meanwhile, stood alone in Milan on platform four more mystified than ever.

By the time he began walking back into the station, however, the temporary detour of his mood into perplexity was well on its way back toward rage once again.