Heathersleigh Homecoming (41 page)

 83 
What Next?

Amanda arrived at Charing Cross Station about eleven that same morning. She was filled with so many thoughts and emotions she could hardly think what to do with them all.

Over and over she was reminded of Ramsay's words,
I know where Amanda goes.
I'll find her
.

Even as she departed the train and walked into the station, excited to hear English being spoken everywhere and to see the familiar sights of the station again, unconsciously she glanced about nervously, as if any second Ramsay might appear from out of the crowd to nab her. He had turned up in every train station she had been in for months!

But she mustn't forget the urgency of her mission. And the foremost question in her mind was: What to do now?

Now that at last she was back in London, she had to get in touch with
somebody
and tell them what she knew.

But who?

Whom should she tell what she had overheard in Vienna and Antwerp? She couldn't just walk up to Westminster Palace or Ten Downing Street and announce, “I have important information. Please let me in to see Mr. Asquith immediately.”

Maybe she should march up to the gates of Buckingham Palace, she thought with a smile, and say, “Hello there, King George. I met Queen Victoria when I was a little girl, and now I'm here to help you win the war!”

The thought of such a sight almost made her laugh out loud.

She would never get within a mile of the prime minister or the king. She would be turned away on her heels with the words, “Shoo, little girl . . . don't bother us!”

Who did she know who might be able to help her figure out what to do?

Her thoughts suddenly turned to the only person in London who fit the bill—Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld, the man who had led her father toward his conversion to Christianity.

For so many years she had resented the very thought of the London minister, blaming him, as she saw it, for the disruption of their family. But now she realized he might just about be the only person in the city she could completely trust. And there was no way Ramsay could know anything about him. With him she would be safe from Ramsay.

She would go see Rev. Diggorsfeld immediately.

 84 
Surprise Caller

Within the hour Amanda found herself walking along Bloomsbury Way from the corner where she had asked the cab to leave her.

There was the sign and name exactly as she remembered—NEW HOPE CHAPEL, T. DIGGORSFELD, PASTOR.

She took a deep breath, then walked to the door and tried the latch. It was open. Slowly she walked inside. She had not been inside a church for so long, the very atmosphere filled her with inexplicable feelings she could not describe. There was no sign of life, only cool, dark silence. For several seconds she took in the peaceful, quiet ambiance, then began looking about. She saw a small placard reading PASTOR'S STUDY, and followed in the direction indicated by its arrow. A minute later she was knocking on a door which stood slightly ajar. From inside she heard movement.

The door swung open. There stood Timothy's tall, lanky form. A bright smile of welcome, disbelief, and a host of other emotions only he could have identified immediately broke across his face.

“Amanda!” he exclaimed, as if he wasn't quite sure whether he was gazing at an apparition or the real thing.

“Hello, Rev. Diggorsfeld,” she replied.

“Come in . . . come in!” he said exuberantly. “It is so wonderful to see you again!”

“I'm not really here on a social call,” she said, following him inside.

Not to be dissuaded of his enthusiasm, nor the inward rejoicing of his heart for this answer to prayer, he offered Amanda a chair.

“You are welcome for whatever reason you have come,” he said cheerfully. “And if it is not social, why have you come, then? What can I do for you?”

“I know it may be somewhat awkward,” Amanda began, “and that I haven't been the kindest to you. I've been out of the country, you see . . .”

As she spoke, Timothy nodded. He knew far more about her sojourn in the far country than she realized.

“In fact, I only arrived back this morning,” she went on. “I came to you immediately. I haven't even had anything to eat all day.”

“Oh, then by all means,” said Timothy rising and starting for the door, “I'll have Mrs. Alvington prepare us some lunch.”

“There's no time for that,” said Amanda.

“No time . . . why?” asked Timothy, pausing and turning back.

“I've been involved with some people, you see, who are on the side of the Austrians,” said Amanda. “Actually, I think they are spies. One of the men is English, and . . . I know it sounds crazy, Mr. Diggorsfeld, I think I may have information that the War Office needs. But I don't know where to go or whom to see.”

“I see,” said Timothy, his tone immediately serious. “I'll get my coat and hat right away.”

“What do you think I should do?” asked Amanda, not quite understanding him.

“Just give me a minute. I'll grab something quickly for you to eat on the way.”

Before Amanda could say anything further, Diggorsfeld disappeared. He returned two or three minutes later with a small bag and wearing coat and hat.

“Your father is acquainted with Mr. Churchill,” he said, gesturing for Amanda to follow. “I have never met him myself,” he went on, leading her out of the church, “but perhaps he will see you. If it is important information, we might as well go to the very top.”

“We?”

“I will take you straight to the Admiralty myself,” said Timothy.

Already they were on the street and he was urgently waving for a cab.

 85 
The Admiralty

After a good deal of searching about, inquiries, and red tape, the unlikely duo of Amanda Rutherford Halifax and Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld at last reached that portion of the Admiralty they hoped might be in the vicinity of the office they were looking for.

They had come down a long, wide corridor, luckily without being stopped as they already had at several previous junctures, and now stood before two large closed doors, upon which in bold black letters were painted the words FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTY.

“I think we have found it at last,” said Timothy. He opened one of the doors for Amanda. She entered and he followed.

“We would like to see Mr. Churchill,” said Timothy when the door was closed behind them.

“And you would be—” said the receptionist, gazing up from her desk to look upon the most unmilitary and unmatched pair of individuals she had ever laid eyes on, with an aloof expression of humorous scorn.

“Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld,” replied Timothy. “It is really most urgent that we speak to the First Lord of the Admiralty.”

“In the middle of the war? Surely you can't imagine that he can—”

“What we must see him about concerns the war,” persisted Timothy. “I have with me here Miss Amanda Rutherford.”

“Really, Mr. Diggorsfeld, I am afraid your seeing Mr. Churchill is absolutely out of the—”

“Rutherford . . . did I hear the name
Rutherford
?” now sounded a gravelly voice somewhere. It appeared to have come from an adjacent room whose door stood ajar.

A moment later the massive form of the First Lord of the Admiralty filled the space between the reception area and his inner office. He looked over the two visitors without betraying his thoughts by any change of expression.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Churchill,” said the secretary. “These two people were just leaving. I have explained that you are extremely busy and just making plans to—”

“Who is the Rutherford around here?” interrupted Churchill.

“I . . . I am Amanda Rutherford,” said Amanda, who could not help being intimidated by the presence of the man.

“What Rutherfords? You're not by chance the daughter of Sir Charles?”

“Actually, yes . . . I am.”

Churchill took in the information with a knowing nod.

“So you're the young lady who wrote that troublesome political pamphlet a while back,” he said.

“I am sorry to have to admit it, but I'm afraid I am,” replied Amanda. “Much has changed since then. All I can say is that I feel very badly for my part in it, and I am no longer associated with the people who put me up to it.”

“I am very glad to hear it, Miss Rutherford,” intoned Churchill. “It was a grief to your father to see how they were using you to retaliate against him.”

“I'm sure it must have been,” said Amanda. “I will apologize to him later. But there's no time for all that now. The reason we are here concerns those same people, and something far more serious than just a pamphlet.”

“In what way?” asked Churchill, growing steadily more intrigued. Gradually he approached from the doorway.

“I am almost certain they are involved in a spy network against England. And I think I may have information that will help you uncover it.”

“I brought her to see you, Mr. Churchill,” Timothy spoke again, “because I was aware of your acquaintance with Charles. He is a dear friend of mine as well.”

“Well . . . you came to the right place. What did you say your name was?”

“Timothy Diggorsfeld.”

The two men shook hands. Churchill now shook Amanda's hand also.

“Come into my office,” he said. “Mrs. Templeton, get Lieutenant Langham and Admiral Snow in here immediately.”

“Yes, Mr. Churchill.”

“And contact Colonel Forsythe of the army and Jack Whyte. Ask them to come over as well. They both need to hear this. Tell them it's urgent.”