Wayward Winds (41 page)

 80 
Stealthy Escape

A thick fog settled over the east coast of England during the night. As dawn now broke, nothing but grey whiteness was visible anywhere. The North Sea was calm. If the fog lifted, even for an hour, all should go well.

Doyle McCrogher awoke at dawn. He put on the teakettle, then took a brief walk out to the edge of the Hawsker bluff and peered into the dim nothingness. He loved thick misty mornings like this! The moist air felt so good in his lungs he could almost taste it along with the sweet scent of the sea. The sounds of a few gulls in search of breakfast, and the waves lapping against the rocks below met his ears. But he could see nothing. He drew in another full and contented draught, then ambled back to the house with the red roof to enjoy his tea.

His employer had arrived the night before. There was no need to wake him yet. He wasn't going anywhere in this muck.

Hartwell Barclay arose an hour later.

“Any word yet?” was his first utterance to the Irish keeper of the lighthouse.

“Havena been up there yet, guv,” replied McCrogher. “Can't see a thing.”

“Get up the tower, McCrogher,” the white-haired Englishman snapped back. “I don't pay you to be impertinent.”

“Won't do no good, Mr. Barclay.”

“I've got to get out of here! I don't want to miss my opportunity.”

“Ay, but I can't send the signal till it clears.”

“I want to know the instant the fog breaks up, do you understand? For all I know, they've picked up my movements and are on the way here even as we speak!”

“Won't be afore eleven, if it lifts a'tall.”

“Don't argue with me, McCrogher! Get up there, I tell you, and get the light on.”

The Irishman turned, stopping at the kitchen for his tea on his way, and left the house to do as he was told. With a cup of tea, the company of the gulls and the fog up in the lighthouse would be preferable to this anyway, given his employer's present mood.

Midway through the morning, as Barclay was still grumbling about the fog, and as Doyle McCrogher sat up in the midst of it in the lighthouse whose beacon was not even visible from the ground much less the sea, the sound of an automobile approached up the lonely road along the bluff. Barclay went out to meet his expected colleague.

“You weren't followed?” he said by way of greeting.

“Of course not,” answered Lady Halifax, climbing out of the Mercedes. “I'm no amateur. No one suspects me.” Her tone was a little brusque at Barclay's manner. “Frankly, I'm not at all sure you're in as much danger as you think,” she added as they walked toward the house.

“There were enough suspicious questions floating about concerning the secret service,” rejoined Barclay. “I didn't intend to take any chances. From here on, you and the others will have to carry the work forward. I'll be safe with our friends in the east.—But what was so important that you had to make a trip all the way up here to see me in person before my departure?”

“Do you have water for tea?”

“There on the stove.”

Lady Halifax proceeded to prepare a pot. When it had brewed, she poured out a cup for each of them and they adjourned to the lounge to continue their discussion.

“Carrying the work forward, as you say, may prove more difficult than we had hoped,” she said, sitting down and taking a sip from her cup.

“What do you mean?”

“A letter came for the Rutherford girl some time ago.”

“What is that to me?”

“I took the liberty of writing out a copy when she was away,” she answered, holding a sheet of paper toward him. “
This
is the reason for my visit. I think you may find that it concerns you very much.”

Barclay read it, his expression clouding.

“This Rutherford is proving more trouble than I anticipated. I am beginning to rue the day Redmond mentioned his name to us. You don't suppose he learned of our contact with Wildecott-Browne?”

“Not that I am aware. Unfortunately, this is not all,” Lady Halifax went on. “A father writing to his daughter with advice is one thing, but it may escalate beyond this.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I learned from my son that an article is about to go to press in several of the major newspapers, an interview with Charles Rutherford. Ramsay has seen the article and says Rutherford speaks of the Fountain by name and warns people against involvement.”

“What! That's impossible—he wouldn't dare!” cried Barclay, leaping to his feet. His cup of tea nearly fell to the floor as he began to pace about the room in white fury.

“Does your son know of your connection?” he asked at length.

“Not yet. He only shared the news because it concerned Amanda's father.”

“It may be time he is brought in.”

Lady Halifax nodded.

“In any event, Rutherford has to be silenced!” added Barclay. “I simply cannot believe he would go on the attack like this. What possible motive can he have against us? What harm have we ever done him? Is there any way to stop the interview?”

“My son said it is as good as on the press, and that it would be impossible to stop.”

Barclay stewed as he took in the news.

“What about Beauchamp?” he asked.

“I have not heard from him in weeks. I fear he is exactly the kind that could waver as a result of this Rutherford development. How many others in the network might this affect—it could have devastating results.”

“Exactly why Rutherford must be discredited!” rejoined Barclay. “If we cannot stop him, then we must invalidate whatever he might say about us.”

“It is our only possible response.”

“It was a serious mistake to try to bring him in. We should have seen him for too independent a thinker from the beginning. We have to ruin him before he ruins us. We'll have to taint Rutherford somehow so that his article does us no ultimate harm.”

“What do you suggest?”

“We must get something in print about him.”

“And the girl?”

“This makes her all the more important to us. We had hoped to use her to get him to join us. Now we will have to use her
against
him.”

“How will we make her go along?”

“That is your concern. She's in your home—I shouldn't think it would be difficult.”

“You are probably right, given the tension that already exists between them.”

“If we cannot have him as one of us, we must have her. She must be all ours. Once her allegiance is gained, we will get
her
to speak against him. There is no more powerful and effective way to discredit a man than from the lips of his own children.”

“She has been gradually coming around. She may be nearly ready to speak on our behalf.”

The lady paused briefly. “And I have another idea,” she added, “which could solidify her loyalties yet further.”

Lady Halifax then explained what had come to her on the trip north from London.

Barclay smiled. “I like it,” he said. “Very shrewd, Hildegard. Would the old woman go along?”

“The timing could not be better. She has been talking of a voyage. I will make sure that she thinks it is her idea.”

“And the girl?”

“I don't think there is a great deal to keep her here. There are also financial considerations which may play into our hand.”

A few minutes later Doyle McCrogher burst into the room.

“The fog's lifted an' I've reached them, Mr. Barclay,” he said excitedly.

“She's there?” Barclay exclaimed rising, turning to glance out the window. Indeed the fog had almost completely lifted as they had been talking.

“She's sittin' about a mile offshore,” said the Irishman. “I returned their signal with the message that ye'd be along within the hour.”

“Good—excellent. Good work, Doyle. Is the dinghy ready?” Already Barclay had sprung into action.

“I'll check it while ye're gettin' yer duds, Mr. Barclay.”

“Well, Hildegard, it looks like I am off,” said Barclay. “I will handle affairs from the Continent. Keep me apprised concerning the two women. We'll keep in touch through the usual channels. And I'll meet you back here at the lighthouse as events warrant.”

Ten minutes later, the thin, white-haired man made his way down the steep rocky steps to the sea, carrying a single bag, to the concealed little dock beneath the bluff. Doyle McCrogher already had the engine of the dinghy's motor running in readiness for the voyage out to meet his employer's hidden transport south toward a warmer port.

In reality the so-called dinghy was a good-sized seaworthy craft of thirty feet, which would be capable of transporting a good many people—for whom more public modes of transport would not be advisable—onto and off Britain's shores safely when the time came. This particular location had not been chosen by accident. Far enough away from any large cities or military installations to avoid detection, the sea channel here was deep enough near shore to allow the approach of certain vessels it would be well were not detected by the First Lord of the Admiralty.

Into such a vessel, about thirty minutes later, one Hartwell Barclay, formerly of the British secret service and now carrying secrets of his own away from his homeland, climbed steeply down. Even as he was shown to his quarters for the cramped voyage, the captain had begun the dive.

 81 
An Offer

Lady Halifax did not remain in the north once her colleague was out of sight and McCrogher safely back on the rocky shore of the protected inlet. Immediately upon her return to London, she cunningly set in motion a new series of events which resulted in a conversation between her two houseguests.

Within the week, Mrs. Thorndike sat down for a little talk with Amanda over tea. It was only the two of them, as their hostess had contrived it should be.

“Amanda dear,” began Mrs. Thorndike. “I have been terribly bored of late, and I simply do not feel up to the season this year. I need to get away for a while, have an adventure. Lady Halifax and I have been talking about a voyage, perhaps to the Mediterranean, then to the Continent.”

Amanda took the information in with polite interest, though she had no idea why the good woman was confiding in her with such plans.

“Unfortunately,” Mrs. Thorndike went on, “Lady Halifax is unable to leave London for several months. But now that the idea has come to me I don't think I can bear to postpone it. This winter cold has just been too dreadful. I must get away. But I need a companion. A woman such as myself cannot undertake a journey like this alone. So, my dear, what would you think of accompanying me?”

“Me?” said Amanda in surprise. “I could never afford such a trip.”

“You misunderstand me, dear,” replied Mrs. Thorndike. “I didn't dream that you should have to pay. I mean for you to accompany me as my companion—you would keep me company and help me dress and make tea for us. You are young and would be a great help to me, as well as being a lovely companion. I would of course pay for all your expenses. Lady Halifax would meet us in the spring.”

Amanda took in this new information with a flicker of heightened interest. She did not have many prospects. There could be no denying that her life had become tedious. And if both women left London, she could not remain in the Halifax home. Her funds were almost gone. She couldn't support herself for long. Like it or not she was to the point of being dependent on Ramsay's mother. If she didn't accept Mrs. Thorndike's offer, what was left her?

“Where will you be going?” asked Amanda.

“I don't know—everywhere . . . Paris, Vienna, perhaps Rome.”

The mere names of such cities sparked more interest in Amanda's ears than anything had for a long time. Maybe an adventure on the Continent was just what she needed.

On the other hand, what about Ramsay . . . and Sylvia . . . and her own future? Had she sunk to this, that from balls and dances and parties, the only option before her now was to become a lady's maid to a dull old lady like Mrs. Thorndike?

“I . . . I will—thank you for the offer, Mrs. Thorndike,” she said at length. Her voice did not sound very enthusiastic. “I will think about it.”

Momentarily her father's letter crossed her mind. But the next instant she dismissed his warnings. Dear innocent old Mrs. Thorndike had nothing to do with any of those things he had been talking about. For that matter, neither did Ramsay or his mother. They had all been wonderful to her.