Wayward Winds (7 page)

“Please do not read diplomacy into my words, Mr. Halifax. I really am completely uninterested in my father's affairs.”

Geoffrey, who had been growing more and more uneasy relegated to the role of listener, finally broke up the conversation.

“Nice to see you again, Halifax,” he said. “Come with me, Amanda.”

 10 
A Surprise at Hastings

Amanda sat down on the side of her bed, removed her shoes, and lay back with a deep sigh. The day had certainly ended more hopefully than it had begun.

During the drive home in Geoffrey's expensive new motorcar, she had wished she was riding with Ramsay Halifax instead.

Anyone but Cousin Geoffrey!

Yet she supposed she owed him at least a minor debt of gratitude for taking her to the Gardens in the first place. She had wondered after two or three years if she was
ever
going to meet anyone in London besides the Pankhursts! And now, thanks in part to Geoffrey and Cousin Gifford, she had made the acquaintance of the mysterious journalist from the
Daily Mail
.

“Amanda dear,” said Mrs. Pankhurst the following afternoon at dinner, “you remember the meeting this Wednesday down in Hastings. You will be with us, I hope?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Amanda.

“We shall take the train down in the morning. The event is scheduled for two o'clock.”

“Is it indoors or outdoors? What shall I wear?”

“Your finest!” chimed in Sylvia. “I am. For once no one will be throwing things at us!”

“Or yelling obscenities,” added Christabel.

“Indoors, to answer your question,” said Emmeline. “The southern England committees have all joined to rent a large facility in Hastings. We will be speaking to every woman in the cause for miles. They will come from everywhere between Cornwall and Dover. And not a man among them!”

“That's a relief,” said Sylvia.

“But how will it help?” asked Amanda.

“To rally the troops, Amanda. Imagine five or six hundred women, on fire for women's rights, taking the message to every city and town across southern England!”

When it occurred four days later, the Hastings Women's Suffrage Rally turned out to be everything Emmeline Pankhurst had hoped for. The hall was packed with enthusiastic supporters, and, except for a few hecklers outside, once the round of speeches and music and hoopla and organizational meetings began, the day went off without a hitch.

Only one of the prophecies concerning the day proved inaccurate, that voiced by Emmeline herself. Just moments before she was scheduled to begin the opening address to the crowd of ladies, her daughter Sylvia came hurrying backstage to speak with her. The noisy hubbub of the hall filling with women finding their seats could be heard through the heavy curtain.

“Mother, there is a man out there!”

“I don't think one man will cause us too many difficulties,” smiled Emmeline. “Dear Mr. Pethick-Lawrence could use some company. If only more men shared his vision for our cause. We need more male supporters. Who is he?”

“I don't know,” answered Sylvia. “But he is sitting in the middle of the front row!”

“Well, if he interrupts,” laughed Mrs. Pankhurst, “I shall call upon every woman in the place to throw him out!”

The unknown intruder, however, uttered not a peep throughout the proceedings. When the daughter of former M.P. Charles Rutherford was introduced, Amanda walked to the podium. Instantly, she saw the man whose presence had so unnerved Sylvia.

His eyes bore straight into hers. A slight smile spread over his face. With difficulty she flustered her way through her speech in support for the cause of women's rights.

As soon as the gathering broke up, which was to be followed shortly by a meeting of all the committee chairwomen, the uninvited guest sought her out. Amanda sensed his approach but did her best to pretend she did not see him.

Such a presence, however, was impossible to ignore. The small group of women nearby quieted. Slowly Amanda turned. His eyes again stared straight into hers.

“Mr., er . . . Mr. Halifax,” she said, attempting without success to act surprised, “whatever are
you
doing in a hall full of ladies?”

Some of the women tittered. The newsman took it in stride.

“My paper ran a piece yesterday announcing your little shindig,” he answered with a good-natured grin. “I thought I ought to come down and report on the affair firsthand.”

“And what will you report?” asked Amanda. She drew in a steadying breath which she hoped would be invisible. Among so many women, she must
not
let it show that she was nervous around a
man
.

“I must say I am impressed at the turnout,” replied Halifax, gesturing about the hall.

“What about the content of what you heard?”

“I must decline committing myself,” he smiled.

“And we all know what
that
means,” rejoined Amanda with significant yet playful tone. “It is a rare man who has the courage to approve of what we are doing,” she added. Her voice contained more fun than jab. It was impossible not to be charmed by the man's smile.

“I told you when we first met, Miss Rutherford, that I was adept at walking many sides of many fences.”

“Did you say that?” she laughed.

“I think I said
something
like it,” Halifax rejoined. “So don't be too quick to judge my opinions. I think you will find me more open-minded than most men, even most progressives.”

Seeing that she was apparently acquainted with the stranger, the three Pankhursts now joined Amanda. Mrs. Pankhurst did little to hide her curiosity.

“Emmeline,” said Amanda as her mentor approached, “I would like you to meet Mr. Ramsay Halifax—our lone male listener today. Mr. Halifax—Emmeline Pankhurst.”

“I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Pankhurst,” said the journalist, extending his hand. “I have followed your career for some time with interest.”

“Mr. Halifax is a reporter for the
Daily Mail
,” added Amanda.

“Now your presence makes sense,” said Pankhurst, shaking his hand and allowing a smile of heightened interest onto her face. Publicity was the stock-in-trade of the movement she was spearheading. “These are my two daughters—Christabel and Sylvia.”

“Charmed,” said Halifax, shaking each of their hands in turn.

“You are doing a story on our cause?” said Pankhurst.

“Actually, no,” replied Halifax. “I am here chiefly because of my acquaintance with Miss Rutherford.”

A moment's hesitation followed.

“Ah, I see . . . well, we are happy to have you here in any case,” said Mrs. Pankhurst. “There are many men, you know, who support our cause. So you are welcome anytime. I hope your paper will see fit to give the event the attention it deserves.”

“I will speak to my editor about running a feature piece.”

“This is the largest such gathering yet.—But now you must excuse me. I see they are waiting for me across the hall. I am pleased to have met you, Mr. Halifax.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Pankhurst,” he replied, with a respectful nod of the head.

Both Pankhurst daughters smiled, then turned and followed their mother. Amanda and the journalist were left alone for the first time.

“How did you come down from the city?” he asked.

“By train,” Amanda answered.

“Do you have more duties here?”

“If you mean more speeches,” laughed Amanda, “no—I am through for the day.”

“What would you say, then, to accepting an invitation to ride back to London with me?”

“I don't know—do you mean on the train?”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “Anyone can ride the train. I mean by motorcar. It's a lovely day—we'll have a drive up the coast to Dover, then back up into town.—What do you say?”

Amanda did not have to think for long.

“I say that I will accept your invitation, Mr. Halifax!”

 11 
Larger World

A warm sun shone down on the two people walking as they made their way across the grassy coastal plateau of Capel-le-Ferne a mile east of Folkestone.

The drive in Ramsay Halifax's bright new Rolls-Royce convertible touring car across Romney Marsh, and then along the shoreline of the Strait of Dover, made the suffragette rally in Hastings seem another world away.

The wind blew Amanda's hair in a thousand directions as she and Ramsay Halifax laughed and talked and sped along in the greatest invention, according to Ramsay, of the modern age. He had driven up the steep hillside from Folkestone, pulled off the road and parked, jumped out and run around to open the door for Amanda.

“Come with me,” he said. “—I want to show you one of my favorite places!”

After the windy ride, as they walked slowly away from the car, suddenly all became quiet and still. The grass underfoot was springy, soft, and thick. From this vantage point the sea was not yet visible, though the unmistakable aroma of salt spray in the air gave evidence that it was nearby, accented by the faint cries of gulls in the distance.

Halifax paused, reaching out his hand to Amanda's arm.

“Stop right here,” he said. “Now look around you—”

Amanda obeyed.

“—and imagine yourself out in the middle of a wide, flat moor.”

He waited a moment.

“Can you picture it?”

“I think so,” she replied.

“All right . . . now come with me.”

He reached out his hand. She took it, and they continued forward.

After another ten or fifteen paces, only yards in front of their feet the grass ended abruptly at a sheer cliff dropping some five or six hundred feet straight down to the water's edge. The earth seemed to give way utterly. As if appearing from out of nowhere at the end of the bluff, the vast blue of the sea stretched out as an infinity far before them.

Amanda gasped. Her hand tightened on Ramsay's.

“Don't worry,” he laughed as they stopped. “It's not
quite
a straight drop. There are several precipices and juts to catch you if you fall.”

“Don't say such a thing!” said Amanda, still struggling to catch her breath and steady her quivering knees.

They waited a few moments, then once more Halifax urged Amanda gently forward.

“Believe me, there is nothing to fear,” he said.

They reached the edge. She now saw that indeed the edge was not exactly a perpendicular drop-off, but that the surface gave way to the white cliff below them by degrees.

They sat down, legs over the grassy incline, and remained several long minutes in silence.

Far below and to the right, the city of Folkestone stretched away from the water's edge toward the inland hills. Ships and boats of all sizes came and went from its harbor. Smoke drifted lazily upward from its red and grey rooftops. Forward, their gaze met only blue, broken by a few clouds in the distance. Closer by, seagulls played on the gentle breezes. Their shrill cries and the occasional distant drone of a ship's horn were the only sounds to meet their ears.

“Oh, Ramsay—it's breathtaking!” exclaimed Amanda. “I've seen the Channel many times, but never like this.”

“Imagine it on a stormy day. The coastline can be wild too.”

“Do you come here on such days? I would think you would be afraid.”

“I come here in all weather. I love the sea during a fierce storm, with the wind howling and waves shooting up off the rocks.”

“I can see why you say it is one of your favorite places. How did you discover it?”

“Just the way you and I did today,” he replied. “I was driving along here one day and decided I wanted to have a look at the Channel. I walked away from the road. Suddenly I found myself at the edge of the world, with this stupendous view stretching out in front of me.”

“It is wonderful—now that my heart is out of my throat and back where it belongs!”

Halifax laughed. “Part of the magic of the place is that there is a
little
danger associated with it,” he said. “But do you know why else I enjoy it here?”

“Why?”

“Because I consider it a
significant
spot—perhaps one of the most significant places in all England.”

“Significant?”
repeated Amanda. “I'm not sure I understand you.”

“Look there,” said Ramsay, pointing with his arm out across the Channel in a southeasterly direction.

“I see nothing but water.”

“Squint—way off there in the distance . . . can you see it?”

“All I can . . . oh yes—I
do
see land. I thought those were clouds on the horizon.”

“It takes a clear day, one like this. But that is the coastline of France you're looking at, from Cap Gris Nez to Calais.”

“How far is it across?”

“Twenty-two miles from Dover, probably twenty-three or twenty-four from here.”

“It's not that far really, is it?”

“Far enough to have kept England and the European continent separated since 1066. Twenty-two miles of water is better than a thousand miles of open terrain. No European general or dictator in nine centuries has been able to conquer that twenty-two miles.”

“So why do you call this a significant place?” asked Amanda.

“Because at this exact spot, like no other I know of, you can see just how narrow the Channel really is. Now that the modern age has come, that distance will shrink all the more.”

“Shrink—what do you mean?”

“Like the motorcar,” Ramsay replied, nodding his head back toward where his Rolls was parked. “Look at us—today we've gone from London to Hastings, here to Folkestone, and we'll both be
sleeping in our own beds back in London again tonight. We've toured nearly all southeastern England in a day! We could never have done such a thing thirty years ago. Industry and transportation, progress and invention—they're changing everything, Amanda. The motorcar is just the beginning—aeroplanes will fill the sky before we know it. You shall no doubt ride in one someday.”

“Now you're sounding too much like my father,” said Amanda, with disinterested feminine scorn. “He always used to talk about such things.”

“My stepfather spoke well of your father once or twice in my hearing.”

“Your . . . stepfather?” said Amanda.

“Lord Halifax—he died two years ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“He was old—a genial enough man. But he and I were not especially close.”

“But you—”

“My mother married him when I was a boy. She wanted me to take his name. But all that's in the past. I'm more excited about the future,” Ramsay went on enthusiastically. “I tell you, Amanda, aeroplanes
will
fly over this Channel within a very short time, back and forth from England to the Continent, as if this narrow stretch of sea doesn't even exist. Mark my words, the time is coming when England will no longer remain separate from the Continent as it has for centuries. More and more will our fortunes and our future be bound up with those of France and Germany and Austria-Hungary, and even Russia.”

The sound of the word “Russia” sent a chill up Amanda's spine. Even though its royal families were intricately related, and their two nations had generally been friendly enough, the huge colossus at the eastern edge of Europe remained full of dark mystery in her ears. It was difficult to imagine modern and progressive England having to do with an ancient eastern power ruled by tsars.

“
France
and England might draw closer,” she said, almost with a shudder, “but Russia seems too remote and different and far away.”

“Russia is England's ally now,” said Halifax. “It's a changing world. Change is happening on the Continent more rapidly than most English realize. Especially in Russia. Forces are at work there that very few understand, even though socialism began right here in
England. Conflict is coming, and England will not be able to avoid being drawn into it.”

The talk of changing times unsettled Amanda. She could not have said why. Though she prided herself on being part of the
avant garde
, she was uncomfortable when events moved beyond her capacity to influence or understand them. Women's rights were one thing. Alliances with Russia were another. She didn't like the sound of it.

“Why are the cliffs white?” she asked at length.

“The rock here is mostly chalk.”

Again it was quiet. Halifax glanced down at his watch. “Almost four-thirty. It's probably time we thought about getting you back to the city. We don't want Mrs. Pankhurst upset with me.”

He rose, took Amanda's hand, and pulled her to her feet and safely away from the cliff. She sighed deeply, taking one last gaze up and down the coast. They turned and walked back to the car.

“Emmeline won't worry about me,” said Amanda. “She's not my mother, after all. She lets me do as I please.”