Summerset Abbey: Spring Awakening (Summerset Abbey Trilogy) (29 page)

“No! Stay here!” Eleanor said, running down the hall.

Andrew and Victoria clung to one another as the screams subsided to low moans.

Andrew swayed on his feet and Victoria led him back to his seat.

He buried his head in his arms on the table, and Victoria decided not to bother him. Like her, he was barely keeping it together. Instead she went over to the couch and sat heavily, her body trembling with exhaustion and dread. She shut her eyes against the glare of the light.
Please God
, she prayed.
Please don’t let anything happen to her
.

Victoria was aware of the passage of time the moment she opened her eyes.

She looked around, completely confused. Hadn’t she spent last night in the boardinghouse in France? Or the night before? She sat up.

Prudence!

How could it be possible that she had slept?

She turned her head, but even before she spotted the empty table, she knew she was alone. She stood, staggering a bit as her muscles cramped. Andrew must be with Prudence.

Victoria swallowed and moved toward the door as if in a dream. Her heart thudded in her ears—the only sound she heard in the night-hushed hall. Her limbs were as solid and cumbersome
as stone as she inched her way toward the room she’d seen Eleanor enter earlier. Fear almost paralyzed her. Would she would find Prudence and Andrew celebrating the birth of their child, or grieving its loss? Or, at the worst, would she find Andrew alone? She reached the doorway just as she heard voices.

She grabbed on to the doorjamb as dizzy relief overcame her. Prudence. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner. Prudence’s eyes were closed, and her long, dark hair was spread out, lank and matted, against a white pillow. Andrew sat by her bedside, his hand clinging to hers. For a moment Victoria’s heart cried out, fearful the baby had been lost, but then she realized that Prudence’s face held a peace that Victoria had never before seen and her lips were curled at the corners.

“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” Andrew said, his voice low. “The fault was mine. I volunteered for the duty in rebellion against you. I put myself in danger knowingly because I was being a fractious child instead of a good husband.”

With her eyes still closed, Prudence raised his hand to her lips. “You’re right. There is nothing to forgive. We have both made mistakes. It’s just important that we learn from them.” She kissed the back of his hand, smiling. “We may be flawed, but as long as we love one another, all will be well.”

Victoria’s lip trembled. She couldn’t see Andrew’s face and Prudence still had her eyes closed, but the contentment that surrounded them made her heart swell.

How she yearned to have that for herself. Not the baby, but the love. The comfortable, secure, steadfast love that had bloomed between her sister and this man.

Kit
.

And to think she had thrown away her chance at a love like
this. What folly. What lunacy. What had she been thinking? And now she might never see him again.

“You know, eavesdropping is just bad manners,” Eleanor whispered, causing Victoria to jump. “Come. Let them have this moment. I have something more interesting to show you anyway.”

“Is the baby all right?” Victoria asked as Eleanor led her down the hall.

Eleanor nodded. “Apparently Prudence was further along than the doctors had thought. The baby is still small, but not dangerously so, as long as care is taken.”

“This baby will have the best nurse and the best care under the sun,” Victoria vowed.

“Thank you so much for everything you have done!”

Eleanor laughed. “I didn’t do anything. Prudence did all the work.”

Victoria shook her head, unable to explain for the tears clogging her throat.

Eleanor led her to a room where Victoria was handed a cap and an apron.

“Be careful,” Eleanor warned.

Victoria began to roll her eyes, but the sight of a nurse dressed in head-to-toe white, holding a tiny bundle in her arms, completely shut her down.

“Would you like to hold Margaret Rose?”

The nurse’s voice was appropriately gentle for this quiet kingdom. Apparently not many babies were born in the hospital as only four bassinets were in the room and all appeared empty. The nurse tilted her head toward a rocker, and wordlessly Victoria moved toward it. Once she was seated, the nurse gave her brief instructions.

“Let your arm curve like this. Don’t let her head bobble, and don’t get up.”

Victoria nodded, and then her arms were full of Margaret Rose. Though it was not the boy Prudence had been expecting, Victoria couldn’t imagine a more beautiful child than this one. Warmth spread through her chest as she stared. How had she made it almost twenty years on this earth without ever holding a baby before? Her arm curved around the bundle naturally, and the weight felt both light and satisfyingly heavy.

The baby’s eyes were closed, and her dark sweep of lashes cast a shadow against skin so pale and fine it looked almost translucent. With her eyes, Victoria traced the gentle curve of the baby’s cheek and the well-defined bow of her upper lip. Tears stung Victoria’s eyes with a tenderness so fierce she would have started to sob if she weren’t so frightened of waking the child.

“I will always take care of you,” she whispered. “You are going to be my favorite, little Maggie Rose, but let’s not tell any future babies that, all right? Let’s keep it our little secret.”

The baby shifted and Victoria tightened her arms around her. A song she didn’t realize she knew came unbidden to her mind. It couldn’t have been from her own mother, who had died when she was as small as the child in her arms. It must have come from Prudence’s mother. She sang softly:

Sleep, baby, sleep,

Thy father tends the sheep.

Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree

And down fall pleasant dreams for thee.

Sleep, baby, sleep,

Sleep, baby, sleep.

R
owena walked through the hangar, a bounce in her step. If she could whistle, she would. She hadn’t felt this light and irrepressible since before her father died. Or maybe she had never felt this way. She was on her way to what would surely be another glorious flight, and April was behaving just as a spring should with gloriously balmy days interspersed with drenching rains that turned all of England into a patchwork quilt of brilliant greens.
Spring can only be truly appreciated by air
, she thought.

But more than just the changing season buoyed her spirits: Sebastian would be getting leave soon, and they were to be married. The wedding plans this time around were simple, and Aunt Charlotte had acquiesced to everything Rowena suggested. Rowena assumed Aunt Charlotte had begun to worry that if they didn’t wed soon, it wouldn’t happen at all, but she needn’t have worried. Rowena was as sure of her decision as she was about her love of flying.

Rowena waved at one of the men who noticed her passing, but didn’t stop. She wasn’t sure where Dirkes was sending her, but if it was a long trip, she would want to get started early. Recently, and unofficially, the army had been using her to transport men about England, as well. They were usually high-ranking
men that needed to be somewhere in a hurry, and since Rowena was there and so incredibly reliable . . .

She grinned, remembering one self-important toff who’d been completely demoralized by having to fly with a woman. Most were so terrified of flight it didn’t matter who was piloting the aeroplane, but this man clearly resented its being a female. He’d sat in the aeroplane stiffly, torn between his desire to show his disdain and his survival instincts, which told him not to insult the person with his life in her hands.

After they’d landed, she’d left him out on the field to figure out on his own how to unlatch his harness.

She opened the door that led to the offices, hoping to catch Mr. Dirkes alone. She wanted to again beard the lion in his den about crossing the Channel. With each passing week she was feeling more and more confident that he would eventually be forced to give in. Because of the change in the weather, the fighting was once again heating up. Aeroplanes were playing an ever-increasing role in the war effort, and production had been trebled. The armed forces needed every pilot they could get for the fighting, and sooner or later he would be forced to admit that she was needed for ferrying aeroplanes across the water.

Today, she was going to make sure it was sooner.

The office door was open and Mr. Dirkes was sitting at his large, cluttered desk. For once he wasn’t rapping out orders into the telephone or writing in his famous chicken scratch across aeroplane schematics. Instead his hands were folded across his broad waistline and his face was turned toward the window.

“What? Has the war ended? Does the world no longer need aeroplanes? Is that why you’re lollygagging about?”

He turned toward her and Rowena sucked in her breath.
Mr. Dirkes was an older man, but his ruddy good health and vibrant personality always gave the impression of his being younger. Today, however, all the joy that usually lit his face was gone and its lines were pronounced. He looked as if he had aged twenty years since she’d last seen him.

“What is it?” she cried.

“Oh, lass. It’s a sad day. The saddest day you could imagine.”

The trembling began in her heart and spread throughout her body. She knew. Without even hearing him say the words, she knew.

“Jonathon.”

Fumbling, she made her way to a chair and sat. With her hands twined in her lap, she waited.

He nodded once. “His mother just sent word. His aeroplane went down during a dogfight over eastern France. They found the aeroplane, but not his body. Or I should say, what was left of the aeroplane.”

Rowena gripped the arms of the chair. “It was a bad crash, I take it?”

“Not sure. The plane had been purposely burned.”

Relief coursed through her body, making her dizzy. “He’s alive then. I’m sure of it.”

“Or at least he was when the aeroplane crashed. French troops in the area are looking for him, but have seen no sign. They have, however, seen many signs of German scouts.”

She leaned forward, her neck and shoulders tensing. “He is fine. Jon is smart and he was raised in the country. He has good instincts. He would know how to survive out there.”

Mr. Dirkes took a deep breath. “That is what I told his mother. Thank you for reaffirming my hopes.”

Rowena nodded. At least Mr. Dirkes was reassured. Rowena felt as if she were going to fall apart at the seams and crumble into a helpless heap on the floor.

They both sat in silence for several minutes, the enormity of their mutual fear paralyzing them.

Mr. Dirkes shuffled some papers on his desk and cleared his throat. With effort, Rowena focused.

“I ran into a woman you may have heard of,” he said. “Marie Marvingt.”

Rowena tried to remember where she’d heard the name before, but her shock made it difficult to rein in her thoughts. Then it came to her. “The French aviatrix?”

He nodded. “The French government is allowing her to fly in combat missions against German bases.” He paused as if waiting for a reaction, but Rowena was numb. “If they are allowing a woman to do aerial combat missions, there is no reason why I shouldn’t allow you to ferry our aeroplanes across the Channel.”

Rowena blinked. “Are you serious?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid I am. The need has never been greater. Besides, I’m afraid the government is going to lure you away from me with the promise of more exciting missions, like taking off from a naval ship, if I don’t loosen my reins on you at least a little bit.”

She expected to feel triumphant at the news, but she felt nothing. Knowing he was watching her carefully, she mustered a smile. “When would you like me to start?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Actually, I was going to have you start this morning. We’re in a bit of a bind, and both the French and British are losing planes quicker than we can make them. They have been breathing down my neck for more aeroplanes,
but I am running at capacity now. I need more workers, but so many men are fighting . . .”

“Hire more women.”

“I’ve already thought of that. I would like you to help me interview women next week, if you would.”

“If you’d like. I really don’t know anything about hiring.”

“It would be helpful regardless. Now, do you think you can fly today after . . .”

“After hearing about Jon, you mean? Of course. I’m not going to fall apart, if that’s what you think.”

If only she felt as confident as her voice sounded.

It seemed as if only a few minutes had passed before Rowena was preparing to start her aeroplane, but it had been more than an hour. Mr. Dirkes made Albert go over the flight plan with her until she had it memorized. They would be flying the latest SPADs into Dover, refueling, and then crossing the Channel to a naval base in Calais.

“Follow Albert. He is under strict instructions not to leave you this time. There’s no place to make an emergency landing in the Channel.”