The train began to slow as it approached Bellingham village. I peered out of the window of my compartment, trying to see through the hoarfrost that had rimed it all the way from London. We're in for a cold winter, I thought.
I was home. And a fortnight before Christmas. "Well done, Petersholme," I mumbled, congratulating myself, "despite Max Molloy's best efforts to ruin it."
I tried to envisage myself submerged in the Hall's Christmas preparations, but the farmer in me kept coming to the fore. As the train continued to slow, I began to tick off a list of tasks I'd need to deal with.
Forcing thoughts of farming from my mind, I stood and stretched to loosen muscles cramped by the long trip. I watched as the station began to appear and smiled as I spotted the man who had become the love of my life standing in the centre of the platform. Barry Alexander peered into each carriage as it moved past him, looking for me. I couldn't help smiling.
He wore a plaid coat, earmuffs, and stocking cap that covered his head and which instantly caught my eye. It was a flaming orange, setting off his ginger hair absurdly. The bright green of the ball at the end of its tail made the effect even worse.
I shuddered and hoped that no-one else had seen him wearing it. No Englishman would wear anything so outlandish. I chuckled to myself then. Barry was definitely no Englishman, though he put on a fairly decent act of it in London where his classmates at the School of Economics might see him or his grandmother would collapse in shock.
He was a warm, witty, intelligent American who did things the American way. And I loved him - partly, I suspected, because he was so absurdly American.
I still didn't know how he'd got past my defences during the summer, but I was happy that he had. The two years since I had inherited my title had been lonely ones - until he entered my life.
My carriage reached the platform and the train shuddered to a stop. I hoped that he'd remain in England after he had earned his degree from the London School of Economics. An absurd and forlorn hope, I supposed, but my hope none the less. I buttoned my coat.
Stepping from the carriage, I was hit by a bracing chill.
"Miss Elizabeth arrived yesterday afternoon, Lord Petersholme," Barry said loudly as I stepped onto the platform. Barry was playing the role of servant - and failing miserably. Here in Northamptonshire, he was my housekeeper's nephew and, in public at least, our relationship was entirely formal as it had to be. Barry made me realise the subservience of one class to another was absurd. We could well learn a thing or two from the Americans, I thought.
"I brought her friend and the brother down to catch their train back to Leeds half an hour ago-" He grinned as he reached me, his freckles spreading across his face until he looked like a young imp. "And waited around for you. It was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone."
"Today is what? Friday? You last saw me at the beginning of the week - before you left London with Willi."
"Lord Molloy's had you under his thumb since we all returned from Poland, your Lordship." He arched a brow playfully. "I don't know what he's been doing to keep you so occupied - but this past month it's like your mind's been a million miles away. But, here, I've got you for the next three weeks and there's no Foreign Office, no Lord Molloy, and no affairs of state to keep you away from me."
Barry had definite plans for me, and I suspected that I would have little say in how they were carried out. And he was quite right - Molloy had kept me more than occupied since I had escaped the talons of the German eagle and brought with me the young boy who was now my son. I was now an active member of the Foreign Office group charged with countering Berlin's diplomatic efforts.
"How's Willi?" I asked.
"Your new son still misses his real dad but he's coming around nicely." Barry lowered his eyes and asked quietly: "Aren't you even going to tell me that you're looking forward to being with me as much as I am with you?"
"I love you, Barry," I told him, gripping his arm for emphasis. "I've missed being with you the last month and a half - at least, I've missed concentrating on you." I took a deep breath and smiled as sheepishly as I could. "I've been neglecting you since we got back from Poland, and I promise that will change just as soon as we're in a quiet corner of the Hall. You're going to have my undivided attention for the rest of the month." I wasn't promising that simply to make him feel better. I was promising it because it made me feel better.
"I can hear Miss Alice and Willi now, dressing you down the first time you ignore them for me, Robbie," he chuckled. "You're going to have to give the farm and your factories some time. The family's going to need you too. I'll be glad to just have you hold me in the evening or make love to me without most of your mind being on whatever Max and his buddies have cooking over there in Europe."
* * *
We pulled to a stop at the front entrance of Bellingham Hall and, before Barry could turn off the ignition, the big oak doors had flown open.
"Uncle Robert!" came a scream in German as I opened the car door and began to turn. "Uncle Robert, you're here at last!" A ball of energy crashed into me, pushing me back against the gear box and Barry. Somehow, it landed in my lap and transformed itself into a five year old boy with his arms encircling my neck and his face buried in my coat.
"Willi." I ruffled his hair and returned his hug, tears welling in my eyes. "You must speak English here, you know," I told him gently, surprised at how happy I was to be holding him again. I looked up and saw Aunt Alice standing in the entranceway, shaking her head slowly and smiling at us.
Barry pulled the key from the ignition. "Carry him inside, Robbie," he said to me as he opened his door. "I'll get your things."
"Glad to see me, are you?" I asked Willi, holding him, as I walked towards Alice.
Willi nodded against my chest and then looked up at me, his eyes blue as the Prussian sky. "I thought you were never going to come, Uncle Robert. I thought that you had decided not to spend Christmas with me."
"I promised, didn't I?" I asked. He nodded. "I always try to keep my promises, Willi."
"Promise me that Father Christmas will bring me a horse for my very own then, Uncle Robert."
We had reached Aunt Alice and I hugged her to Willi and myself.
"This lad of yours has driven everyone insane asking after you, Robert," she grumbled, patting his back and hugging us both.
"I have not!" Willi said indignantly.
"Don't believe her, Robert," Elizabeth said from the step. "Our Aunt Alice has had her heart completely stolen by young Wilhelm."
Alice Adshead harumphed and pulled away from us. Before she could get away, Willi leaned over and placed a wet kiss on her cheek. She smiled.
"May I steal a small kiss from your Uncle Robert, Willi?" asked Elizabeth.
Willi permitted my cousin to kiss me - as he had Aunt Alice's hug earlier.
"How do you like the wreaths?" he demanded before Elizabeth could step back.
I looked at the double doors. Boughs of holly had been shaped into two wreaths, one adorning each door.
"They're pretty," I told the boy. "Did you make them for us?"
He nodded, beaming. "Miss Murray and Aunt Alice helped. Let's go inside. I want you to see what's there."
My eyes suddenly watered and I blinked back tears. This was the first Christmas since I was younger than Willi that I had not helped prepare the Hall for Christmas.
"Uncle Barry said he would help me put up the Yule tree, Uncle Robert," he said as I stepped into the house. "But I wanted both of you to help me, not just him."
I smiled. "We'll do it this Sunday then, lad. But we'll need to make it a family project. If we're not careful, the ladies will think we don't need them."
I felt Elizabeth poke me in the side. Hard. Alice chuckled. Willi sagely nodded his understanding.
* * *
Logs burned in the fireplace of the sitting room. Willi sat on my lap, holding on to me and sucking his thumb as he slipped into sleep. Near the fire, Aunt Alice knitted. Elizabeth and Barry were going on about Schöpenhauer's suicide in quiet voices. I began to doze.
The Foreign Office had impinged on my life. I had come to know far more about the state of the world than most Englishmen - and far more than I was happy knowing. During the last month and a half, I had woken to nightmares of the German eagle spreading its wings across Europe and a bloodied England caught in its talons.
Most of those nights, Barry had been in the bed beside me. Elizabeth and Willi were in their own rooms in the Mayfair house. The nightmares had seemed more real in London and had separated me from those I loved. Here, they had already begun to retreat into the distance. Now I was home, my sense of perspective seemed to be returning.
"Robert?"
I jerked, pulled from the safe, comfortable haze I had slipped into. I looked over to Alice and saw that she was watching me. I hoped that she hadn't realised I was napping.
"Are you going to stay for New Year, Robert?"
"Stay?"
"I mean, you aren't going to have to dash off to London because of this business with the Foreign Office, are you?"
Barry and Elizabeth stopped talking. I shifted the child on my lap and faced them. "Aunt Alice, the only government thing that I'm involved with is the Lords," I told her and felt my face flame at the transparent lie. "I only helped Max out with that excursion to Berlin-" I was burying myself deeper. I could see it on Barry's face.
"All right," I said, changing tack. "It's probably safe to say that I have been roped into doing some work for Whitehall." For a moment I wondered how much I should reveal. "But it will not interfere with our Christmas. I won't allow it." I smiled at the three of them. "I'm home. I am with the people I love. This is where I want to be." I forced myself to chuckle.
"Robert," Aunt Alice frowned, chose her words with care, and went on, "what exactly is going on in the world that has made you so concerned?"
I forced a smile to my lips. "You understand that there's much I can't tell you - any of you?" All three of them nodded that they understood.
"Very well then - you know Hitler has gobbled up Czechoslovakia? Not just the Germanic Sudetenland that Chamberlain surrendered to him at Munich but the Czech and Slovak lands as well?"
Each of them nodded but I noticed that Barry seemed to be holding himself back. Of course, it had been Barry who had held me in his arms when the nightmares had got too bad.
"The government has told Berlin that there can be no more territorial acquisitions. It will be war next time."
"War?" Alice gasped.
"And-?" Barry asked.
"We've got a nasty situation," I answered. "Look at the face of Europe. Spain has gone fascist. Italy is already fascist and allied with Germany. Hungary is as well. They have Austria and, now Czechoslovakia. The Low Countries and Scandinavia are neutral. That leaves only us and the French - and France is pacifist."
"And-?" Barry asked again.
"Britain needs five years to re-arm - if we are to go into a war with Germany on an equal footing."
"And we don't have five years?" Elizabeth asked.
"We don't," I admitted.
She glanced to Barry. "What about the Americans?"
"Impossible," he said, answering for me. "It'd take the Krauts bombing New York to push us into war." He shook his head slowly. "The America First crowd has half the Congress eating out of their hand; Roosevelt could never talk them into it."
"So, we stand alone?" Elizabeth groaned, looking at Barry and then to me. "Have we started to rebuild our army yet?" she asked.
I sighed. "No, we haven't. But we can defend against a general invasion with the Navy - besides, the Wehrmacht would have to get through France to threaten us. Where we will hurt the worst is in the air. Hitler's generals proved how effective the aeroplane can be in Spain. We'll be bombed - far worse than in the Great War. It won't be pretty."
"I think, Robert," Alice said, firmly changing the subject, "that it is time for a certain young man to be put to bed." She smiled tightly. "I also think that this is probably not the most pleasant topic of conversation, given the season."
* * *
Early on Saturday morning, I left Barry asleep and stole downstairs to my study. There were two months of reports from the Petersholme factories in Coventry waiting for me in addition to the farm manager's reports. The time spent in Germany for the Foreign Office had played havoc with my business commitments.
Around nine, Barry knocked quietly at the door and backed in, carrying a breakfast tray. "You need nourishment, Robbie," he said as he laid his tray on the table beside the window.
Before I could protest that I wasn't hungry, my stomach growled. "Perhaps I do," I agreed as I stood up. "Will you join me?"
He grinned. "I did have Cook make enough for two-"
I laughed. "So, you are joining me then?" He nodded.
He poured the tea. "Do you still have money, Robbie?"
"The tractor factory is still profitable-"
"Sounds like you've got good men running it then." He grinned. "As I remember from this summer the fertiliser plant makes money all by itself. And your farm manager is a jewel as well."
I looked up at him. If I knew anything about Barry, it was that, when he began to close off lines of conversation, he had one particular thing he wanted to talk about. "To use your phrase, what's up?"
He nodded absently and sipped at his tea. "What have you got that boy for Christmas?"
"Willi?"
"Last time I looked, Wilhelm von Kys, now William Adshead, sure looked like a boy, Robbie - have you got him anything for Christmas yet?"
Blast! This practical American had me on the spot, and he knew it. Max had kept me so busy since I escaped from Germany that I hadn't had time to think about Christmas presents.
It wasn't just the family, either. Tradition dictated that I give each employee a gift, farm and factory.
"Have you got him anything yet?" I asked defensively.
"It arrived in London last week - just before we left for Bellingham Hall." He grinned. "A cowboy outfit, including the boots and a toy six-gun. Caps too. Mom sent it over from New York. What about Elizabeth and Miss Alice?"
I quickly glanced down to the reports on my desk to avoid his gaze. "I haven't … Do you think perhaps you and Eliza-?"
He smiled so sweetly at me. "Robbie, come Monday morning, you, Elizabeth, and I are driving over to Coventry. We have some shopping to do."
"I couldn't possibly-"
"You owe it to your people, Lord Petersholme," he said quietly, hitting home. "And you'd better get the family and servants something nice - or I'll write you off faster than you can spell Mississippi."
"Damn," I growled.
After Barry had left I called in Aunt Alice. She had already bought gifts for the staff in anticipation of my forgetting to do so. With the exception of putting up the tree on Sunday, there was nothing left for me to do.
I telephoned the managers of my factories and authorised the customary five shilling Christmas bonus in the pay packet of each man who had been with Petersholme for at least a year. I intended to do the same for the farm hands later when I met with the farm manager.
I could hear young Willi running through the great hall, goading Alice to hurry up. Barry had told me that he would be entertaining Elizabeth by reading the American poet Walt Whitman. I was home and in the arms of my family. I couldn't think of a place that I would rather be, even if I was working instead of playing.
A knock at my door pulled me from the reports in front of me. "Come," I called.
"M'Lord," Miss Murray said as she opened the door.
Looking towards the door, I saw Max Molloy stand aside to allow a short, pudgy man to enter the room. I recognised his bulldoggish face immediately, even if there had not been the thick cloud of cigar smoke around his head to identify him. Winston Churchill! I swallowed as both men stepped into the study. What could he possibly want with me?
Miss Murray closed the door behind them.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I knew that something was going to happen to ruin Christmas for us and I feared it, whatever it proved to be. For a moment, the idea of hiding crossed my mind. I stepped out from behind my desk instead and walked over to Molloy and Churchill.
"Happy Christmas, Max," I said. "And to you as well, Mr. Churchill."
Molloy stepped closer, his blue eyes intense and serious. I realised that he'd lost the several inches of extra girth that I'd noticed in September. I thought that Alan Dudding was having a nice effect on my friend until I saw his face. His round face actually seemed haggard. "You know Mr. Churchill then, Robbie?" he asked.
"We haven't actually met but, of course, I recognise him." I glanced from Max to Churchill and back. "Would you like tea, gentlemen?"
"Thank you, no, your Lordship," Churchill said, wagging his cigar. He stepped into the centre of the room and control gravitated to him naturally. "Lord Molloy and I need to return to London this afternoon." His gaze held mine and I knew I would agree to any request he made of me. "May we just sit for a while?"
"Lord Petersholme," Churchill said after we were comfortable in front of the fire. "I understand that you are pretty cool-headed -nothing like the firebrand that the press makes me out to be-" He paused and smiled. I found myself instinctively smiling back. "I fear," he continued, "that Fleet Street has been drawing me with longer fangs than the mirror tells me I have."
His gaze moved quickly over the room. "You haven't changed a thing, Petersholme," he said a moment later.
"Mr. Churchill?"
"I stood in this same room with your father that first year of the Great War." He chuckled and looked at me as a proud father would his son. "I even held you on my lap for a few moments-"
"The tanks we made for the Crown," I said, remembering my father's pride at the contract Petersholme had garnered. We had built the first British tanks.
Churchill laughed. "We were so afraid they would become known as water closets for Russia."
"Water closets, sir?" I asked hesitantly.
"Our lads at the Admiralty were calling them hot water tanks for Russia to keep them secret. Several wags had already started calling the water closets. That was before I talked with your father." His nose wrinkled and his bulging eyes flashed. "But that was an earlier war. Almost a gentleman's war, if you will. It's no longer Kaiser Bill, but Uncle Adolf-"
I was quickly drawn in by his intimate, yet hoarse, barking voice and the brilliance that drove it. "We are going to have a war, Petersholme. The signs are now so obvious that even our Prime Minister has begun to see them." He nodded towards me. "From what you said in your debriefing, you, sir, have seen them yourself - the long Wehrmacht troop trains in Berlin, that damnable rocket they tested while you were at Peenemünde, their occupation of Czechoslovakia, and their increasingly insufferable attitude. We have less than a year, Petersholme. Less than a year."
He studied me for a moment and I felt as if I were a small boy summoned by the headmaster.
"England will sorely need every friend it can find, Petersholme. Molloy here and Mr. Dudding from the Admiralty have been instructed to make you aware of how woefully unprepared we are for this coming war." He glanced to Max, and my old school chum nodded in agreement. "At present, we have only the French in Europe as an ally. Our most accomplished diplomats are vying with von Ribbentrop to win over the Bolsheviks in Moscow."
"We have the Navy-" I said, reflexively parroting the common line.
"You are a flyer, sir. You can well imagine what a powerful and modern air arm can do for a country at war - look at what those Stukas did to the Spanish Republicans a few years ago. They gained air supremacy and then bombed the Loyalists into surrender. Worse from Britain's point of view, a young Army Air Corps officer in America named Billy Mitchell proved what an aeroplane could do to a Navy a couple of years ago. He sank one of America's largest destroyers with bombs from just one aeroplane. The Germans will have more than one hundred divisions in a fully trained and modern army by the summer - they have the men for them now that they have Austria and the Sudentenland."
"Will we be able to bring men in from the Empire?" I asked, conscious of my ignorance.
"Hardly, Petersholme. Germany is allied with Japan, and they're already casting hungry glances at our possessions in the Orient. We'll have to keep both the Navy and the bulk of the army in India and beyond - Hong Kong, Singapore and the Malay peninsula especially - to hold them at bay."
I knew that I had been snookered. Of course, I had known that the moment I saw Churchill standing at my door, his bowler in hand. "What do you need me to do, Mr. Churchill?" I asked in surrender.
The corners of his lips twitched and I suspected that I had seen the ghost of a smile there. "Petersholme, I'm not on the King's official business today-"
"Churchill, you may not be the Prime Minister; but you need me to do something - something for my King and country." I shrugged and tried to smile. "I suspect that I have just volunteered."
Churchill slowly brought the fingers of both hands together to make a steeple and nodded. "You know that the present French government is even more pacifist than ours is-?" I nodded. "We do have a friend there - Paul Reynaud … Do you remember him?"
"I can't think-"
"He was a hero in the Great War - quite well known to his people. He's the Minister of Justice in the present government." I remained silent. "He and I have similar doubts about Hitler. We both see war on the horizon, and he has some support in both the government and army." I waited. "He is quite interested in this rocket business of the Germans, Petersholme. He would like to be briefed on everything you saw in Germany."
This didn't sound dangerous. I allowed myself to smile. "You want me to go to Paris then, Mr. Churchill?"
He chuckled. "Actually, Monsieur Reynaud has invited you to his country place in Deauville. It would be more private, you understand."
"You're thinking only a few days then?"
"No more than two or three, Petersholme. You'll be back well before Christmas and your family obligations here."
"Mr. Churchill?" Max asked. Churchill and I both turned to Max. "Robert has both his cousin and an American guest here for Christmas - both of them students at the School of Economics. They would provide him with any cover that he might conceivably need - a British nobleman showing his cousin and guest the French sights, you know."
Cover? I glanced sharply at Molloy and saw the faint whisper of a smile touch his lips. It dawned on me then what he was doing, and my face began to burn.
"Cover?" Churchill asked, as surprised at Molloy's suggestion as I was.
"I'm not suggesting he actually needs a cover, Mr. Churchill. But one doesn't know, does one? If this Barry Alexander and Robert's cousin Elizabeth accompany him, they'll provide cover if someone becomes too interested in why a member of the House of Lords is spending time in France this close to Christmas."
"You may be right, Molloy." Churchill pursed his lips and thought a moment more. "Yes, definitely. We'd have everything on the ground to draw away any suspicion that could conceivably arise. Good thinking, sir. Very good thinking."
He turned to me. "Petersholme, I'll have an aeroplane from the Fleet Air Arm waiting for you on Monday morning. It will fly the three of you to Paris. I'll also have a car collect you at nine o'clock and take you to Coventry." I instantly nodded my acceptance. "Good. I'll telegraph Monsieur Reynaud to have a driver waiting for you then."
"Should I fly over then?" I asked. "If there's need for me to have cover, that is? Perhaps I should take the ferry and train?"
Churchill smiled. "Jerry won't know that you're coming and we do want to get you in to meet Monsieur Reynaud and his friends from the French army. If there's need for you to seem to be something you're not, that need will come after you're in France and in Deauville." He shifted in his chair and began to rise. I had the distinct impression that he considered the interview closed. I didn't. There were still aspects of this assignment I wanted clarified.
"Mr. Churchill, this Reynaud chap is their Minister of Justice," I said and the man sat back to wait for me. "While you've said he was a war hero, I can't conceive of him gleaning anything from what I might tell him. He's not military. It took your lads at the Admiralty to see a military significance in what I saw in Germany-"
He chuckled. "Reynaud is a strange one, Petersholme. He's surrounded himself with military men since he's been in government. Presently, he and a Colonel de Gaulle and his clique are quite tight."
"De Gaulle?" I questioned.
"Quite a brilliant chap, so I understand - armour. St. Cyr too. But far too iconoclastic. A few years back, he wrote a book on tank warfare-" He chuckled again but I sensed nothing mirthful there. "Our lads think the German general staff have been eating that book whole. I hear that they even tested his theories in the Spanish civil war - along with aerial bombardment of civilian populations."
"Iconoclastic?" I asked.
"Unlike Reynaud, I don't trust him. And neither does the French general staff. He's reputed to see himself as a law unto himself. He has no network of friends. He uses allies to get what he wants and, then, discards them."
"Should I be careful what I tell him then?"
He pursed his lips again. "Your friend von Kys had permission to show you this rocket thing of theirs. The Nazi high command obviously wanted that reported back to us and, presumably, France - probably to frighten us. French and English visitors have seen the troop trains you saw in Berlin. They've also seen armament trains loaded with tanks." His eyes glazed for a moment as he pulled his thoughts together. "Tell de Gaulle anything he asks. With the exception of that damned rocket, he's probably already heard it all. If you take any other missions for the Crown that involve him however, remember to be careful with what may get back to him."
Churchill rose from his chair and Max stood.
"Thank you for seeing us this afternoon, Petersholme," Churchill said. "You've quickly become invaluable to England in this difficult time."
I shrugged. "I'm happy to be of service."
"A car will collect you and your party at nine on Monday, my Lord. And Reynaud will have you met in Paris."
He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "As your ward will be going with you, I feel I should mention this-"
"What's that, Mr. Churchill?"
"One of the aviators flying you to France - Pettigrew his name is - has a reputation as a lady's man." His lips twitched. "He's a young, handsome lad. A word of warning-?"
I stood in the drive in front of the Hall and watched as Churchill and Molloy motored away. The realisation of what I had agreed to finally began to sink in.
I was flying to France after the weekend - on His Majesty's service, part of my brain pointed out, trying to reassure me. The Christmas preparations I'd promised to make would have to wait until I returned.
I tensed as I thought about what Churchill requested. It sounded innocent enough, but my harrowing escape from Schloß Kys was still fresh. I forced myself to relax. This time, there would be no danger in the offing, and I would have Barry with me - and Elizabeth. I should be able to work in a day in Paris before we returned. That would take care of my Christmas shopping. It would also be jolly good fun to introduce my cousin and my lover to the city of light.
Willi's horse! I'd almost forgotten! And the boy was so set on having one too.
A gentleman should be able to ride, and I intended to raise the lad as a gentleman, didn't I? Wilhelm von Kys, now William Adshead and my heir, was young at five to have his own horse - but not too young. My father had put me on a horse when I was three. I had my own before I was seven. I could do no less for my newly adopted son.
A gentle mount would go perfectly with Barry's gift to the boy. A cowboy outfit indeed! Janus von Kys would absolutely chortle at the vision of Willi riding across the flat plains of Prussia dressed like some escapee from an American wild west film.
A horse that was used to children was a necessity. The farm manager could help me there. He was a good man, and he had a good sense for horseflesh. He'd find a suitable one for the boy while I was away.
I shivered and realised that I'd walked my visitors to their car with only a pullover on.
I stepped back into the Hall and, before I could reach the study, Miss Murray approached me. "Is everything all right, m'Lord?" she asked.
I smiled as I nodded to Jane Murray. I was glad to have her, and not only because she accepted what her nephew and I had between us. "Send someone down to the farm manager and tell him to join me." She said nothing but her brow arched in question. "Elizabeth, Barry, and I will be away most of next week," I said in way of explanation. "You'll need to tell Cook that she won't have us that week to fatten up for Christmas dinner."
She started to turn but a thought struck her and she stopped to look back at me. "Was that Mr. Churchill who came to visit just now, sir?" she asked. I nodded. "Nothing good comes from that man," she mumbled.
"Why's that, Miss Murray?"
"I hear that he's looking for a war with those Huns, sir. I just hope he doesn't find it, or a lot of good boys won't be around to take care of their mums when they've grown old."
"Some American general once said that war is hell, and I suspect that's he's quite right about it, Miss Murray," I told her. "But, in this case, I fear the Germans are readying themselves for war and, if it comes, England will have to fight it. Perhaps alone. We'll need Winston Churchill then."
Miss Murray nodded sadly and started towards the kitchen.
* * *
I stepped into the library and pulled the doors closed. Barry stopped reading Whitman's Leaves Of Grass and looked up. Elizabeth sat watching me. I cleared my throat. "I have something to tell you," I said.
"That's quite obvious, Robert," my cousin said. "And what did the Honourable Mr. Churchill ask of you?"
I stared at her, taken by surprise by her perceptiveness.
Barry laughed. "Robbie, it's pretty obvious. Molloy and this Churchill guy come here, you three hole up in your study, they leave, and you come and say that you have something to tell us. What else could it be?"
"You'll both need to pack a few things for Monday," I told them. "We're going to France."
"France?" Barry yelped, staring at me in surprise.
"We fly to Paris on Monday. I assume that we'll then be driven out to Deauville where we will stay for several days-"
"Deauville?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes lighting up.
"Deauville?" Barry asked suspiciously. "What's there?"
"A casino," she explained to him, "gaming tables, the latest fashions, even actors from the cinema-"
"Ooh-la-la!" he said and rose. Reaching Elizabeth, he raised her hand to his lips. "Mademoiselle! I vill sveep you off your feet-"
"My God!" I yelped.
Elizabeth tapped her foot. "Barry, I said actors - from the French cinema. Like that darling man Maurice Chevalier. Not Germans."
I groaned for their benefit but still smiled. They were looking forward to this little junket. And they would help to make it fun for all of us.
"And, Robert, why are we going to this place mal famé?" she asked, turning to me, suspicion written in bold characters across her face.
"I need to meet with their Minister of Justice, Eliza. You and Barry will accompany me to make me appear to be just another mad Englishman - if anyone is interested."
I turned to look at Barry. "And you will accompany this girl everywhere while we're there. Aunt Alice would have my head if the virtue of a Petersholme ward were ever compromised."
"No good-looking Frenchmen allowed within ten feet?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with the same mirth as my cousin's.
I tried to imagine how Mr. Churchill would handle this repartee if he were here. I knew then that he wouldn't have. I decided simply to ignore it - and enjoy the time the three of us would share once there.
"Willi is not going to be a happy boy, Robbie," Barry said, his face suddenly serious.
"We'll be back home before the end of the week," I told him.
"Of course we will," Eliza seconded quickly.
"I don't know - the poor kid has had a whole series of knocks in a really short period of time," Barry explained, looking directly at me. "You're the one secure thing in this whole new world that he's been thrown into. And you need a chance to relax completely - away from all that stuff that filled your head all the time in London."
"Dagold arrives for Christmas tomorrow," Eliza offered. "And Willi will have Aunt Alice watching over him like a mother hen. He won't even know we're gone."
"You'd better tell him," Barry said. "Privately. Robbie, make it a man-to-man talk - maybe he'll understand that your going is a duty or something."
"I suppose so," I mumbled as I turned back to the hall, already planning how I would handle telling the boy. I thought, however, that Barry was greatly exaggerating how Willi would take my departure. The boy had behaved perfectly normally the last month in London since I'd brought him to England.
* * *
I followed the path through raised flower beds and found Aunt Alice sitting on a bench in the centre of the garden. The green of the holly bushes and the red of their berries added a festive colour to the winter bleakness around us.
Willi ran back and forth along the path that led back to the outbuildings. He had what looked like a model aeroplane in his hand. I nodded to her and looked down the path to see my new son pretending to be a bomber.
"He's a good boy, Robert," she said softly, following my gaze. "He will be a Baron worthy of you when that time comes."
"I can only hope, Aunt." I took a deep breath and looked back at her. "I'm going to France for a few days."
"That's what that Mr. Churchill wanted with you then?"
"You knew he was here?"
She giggled like a small girl, her strong face breaking into a broad grin. "Robert Adshead! There is nothing that happens at Bellingham Hall that I don't know about. Nothing."
"Elizabeth and Barry will be with me." She arched a brow and fixed me with her gaze. "It's nothing dangerous, Aunt. They're perfectly safe. I'm only going to brief a member of the French government about what I saw in Germany - him and some officers from their army."
"And Elizabeth needs to accompany you?"
"Max convinced Churchill that the two of them would provide me a cover if anyone became interested in my presence there."
"You'll watch her carefully?"
"If I get involved, Barry will accompany her everywhere, Aunt Alice."
She stood and pulled her coat close. "Then I think you'll need to tell your heir about your plans, Robert." She glanced up the path at the boy now moving towards us. "I'll leave you men alone."
"Hello, Willi," I called to the boy. "Please come here. We need to talk."
I heard the rustle of my aunt's skirts as she left me. I watched as my son came closer, his face lit up by both the air's chill and an inner fire I could only guess at. "You've decided Father Christmas can give me my own horse then?" he asked as he neared me.
I chuckled and held out my arms to him. He dropped his aeroplane down in a flower bed and flew to me, nearly knocking me over. "You'll say yes to Father Christmas, won't you?" he demanded against my ear. "About the horse?"
"Do you think you're old enough, Willi?" I asked. "A horse is a lot of responsibility, you know-"
"Please, Uncle Robert!"
"We'll see, Wilhelm. I really must think about it first, though." I set him down. "Let's walk a bit, shall we?"
We walked along the garden path, Willi holding my hand possessively. I couldn't remember a time in my own childhood when my father had allowed me to hold onto him as this lad now did me. My throat tightened; his hand in mine felt damned good. At that moment, I pitied my father for never having learnt how good a young boy's trust felt.
We reached a bench and I sat down, pulling him to me. "You're a big boy, aren't you?" I asked in German. I wanted him to understand me completely.
He stepped back, pulled himself to attention, and studied my face. "I am not an infant any more, Uncle Robert. I am the Graf von Kys."
"Good!" I breathed a sigh of relief. I told myself that this was not going to be anything like difficult as Barry had imagined. "His Majesty's Government have asked me to carry a message to France-" He continued to study my face. I felt strangely like a bug under a microscope. "I have to go, Willi - but I'll be back in plenty of time for Christmas," I finished hurriedly.
"You can't go!" He stared at me, his blue eyes large.
"Oh, let's be serious here, lad. There's nothing dangerous about going to a stodgy old government minister and delivering a message to him. I'll be home before you can even miss me."
"You're going to leave me then?" He pushed off my lap, his feet finding the ground.
"Dagold will be here tomorrow, before we leave-"
"I don't want to see Vati's whore!" he cried.
"Willi!" I growled with shock. Where had he learnt that word?
His face contorted and his small hands became fists. "I'm tired of speaking English all the time," he hissed, continuing to speak in German. "It is a pig's language. And England is a pigsty."
Tears welled in his eyes and began to run down his cheeks. "I am here because of you. To escape Mutti. But you don't want me! I want to go home - to the Fatherland - where I belong-" He turned then and began to run towards the house.
He reached the kitchen and slipped inside.
So much for any special understanding between the boy and myself. I took off after him.
Von Kys, what in God's name have you got me into? And what was I to do with a five year old child who was angry and hurt? One who was now legally my son?
If this were twenty years earlier, my father would have seen the boy's behaviour as a childish tantrum. When I was still five, I was allowed to see him for no more than an hour a day. Nurse would have me on my best behaviour for the event. I doubted that the man cared much for my feelings and thoughts. I was his heir and that had been the extent of his thinking about me when I was Wilhelm's age.
But I was not a product of the nineteenth century. I cared for the boy whom I had brought back from Germany and whom I had taken responsibility for. He made my life somehow more complete by being in it and a part of it.
I reached the great hall in time to see Barry and Elizabeth reach the foot of the stairs. Aunt Alice breathed hard as she set foot on the landing above me. I held back then.
* * *
Alice Adshead had been discussing with Cook how many Christmas cakes to bake in the coming week. She stopped in mid-sentence and looked towards the door as it slammed open.
Willi ran through the kitchen and skidded to a stop before the door to the hall. She saw that his face was screwed up and heard him breathing in hard gasps as he pulled the door open and pushed through. She turned to Cook and told her to decide on dinner and started after the boy.
He was stomping up the last of the stairs as she reached the bottom of the staircase. "Willi?" she called to him. He reached the landing and ran along it to his room, ignoring her.
She followed after him.
"Willi?" she asked as she opened the door to his room.
He turned into his pillow and Alice heard him sob. She hurried to him and sat on the bed beside him. "What's wrong, child?" Her hand went to his head and stroked his hair.
"Nein!" he wailed. "Nicht mehr auf englisch." He buried his face deeper in the pillow and cried louder.
Alice's hand caressed the boy's shoulder absently. She sat quietly beside him. She could not understand what he had said but sensed that she could not push him until he'd finished crying.
Barry had heard the door slam out in the hall and turned in time to see Willi begin to climb the stairs rapidly. Before he could do anything, however, he saw Alice Adshead quickly cross the hall and start up the stairs after the boy.
"I think Robbie just blew it with the kid," he told Elizabeth and started for the hall.
"What do you mean?"
"The kid's madder than an old wet hen. He ran up to his room and Miss Alice just went up after him. Want to go and see if we can help smooth things out?"
They climbed the stairs and started along the landing, following the sound of the boy's sobbing to his room. Barry smiled when he saw Alice sitting beside the boy and trying to console him. Elizabeth stepped into the room and Alice glanced up to see the two young people. She shrugged at their unspoken question.
Barry moved to the bed and knelt beside Wilhelm. "Come on, big guy," he said softly as he leaned closer to the boy. "Nothing can be this bad."
Willi sobbed louder. Barry took the small fist from the pillow, wrapping his hand around it.
"What's the matter? Come on, tell Uncle Barry-"
Willi lifted his head and looked at him. "No! I'm never going to speak English again," he wailed in German and buried his face in the pillow again.
Barry looked to the two women. "What did he say?" he mumbled.
"Something about English," Elizabeth offered. Alice shrugged and continued to stroke the boy's shoulder.
"Willi," Barry said softly, leaning closer. "I can't speak German. I speak English. Talk to me, buddy - so that I can understand."
Willi shook his head vehemently against the pillow. "English is a pig's language," he sobbed in German. "I'll never speak it again."
Barry glanced to the two women again. "Schwein is pig, I think," Elizabeth offered. "And Sprache is language." She forced a tight smile to her lips. "I think young Wilhelm is really quite angry, Barry."
The American nodded and looked back to the boy. He didn't know what Robbie had told the kid about their trip to France but, whatever it was, it hadn't been taken well. "You know that we love you-" he began.
Willi turned his head to gaze directly at Barry, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You don't love me, no-one loves me!" he said, speaking English slowly. "Only Vati loved me, and he's dead. I heard Dagold say that Mutti killed him when he was taking me to the aeroplane. She'll do that to Uncle Robert there in France too."
Barry leaned back slightly and smiled down at the boy. "The King of England has asked Robert to go to France for him, Willi. Robert loves you - he loves us all - but this is his King asking him to do this. He can't refuse to go."
"He'll die. But maybe Mutti won't have him killed if I go back to her. She always said that I was a son of the new Germany. She said that I belonged to Germany. The Reichsführer said it too the time that she took me to his house. Let me go to her, Uncle Barry. That way, Uncle Robert will be safe. All of you will be."
Alice harumphed and stood, looking down at the boy. "This creature who killed your father, Willi - your mother. She can't touch you here - this is England. We don't allow things like that. Robert is only going to France, and that's a free country. That woman can't touch Robert there. We're all safe from that mess."
"Elizabeth and I will be going with him to France, Willi," Barry told him. "That way, he'll be safe. And we'll have him back here all in one piece a whole week before Christmas."
The child blinked. "You'll go with him to keep him safe?" he sniffed.
Barry nodded. "I think I can convince him that you're big enough to have that pony you've been talking about too. Would you like that?" Willi nodded slowly. "Then you're going to have to get up and wash your face, kid. Big boys don't cry and carry on like this. We've got to show Uncle Robert that you're old enough to have that pony."
"You'll take care of Uncle Robert?" he demanded. Barry nodded again. Willi looked to Elizabeth. "You will too?"
She smiled. "I love Robert as much as you do, young man," she said. "I'll bring him home alive and well. I promise you that - Barry and I both will."
* * *
Clive was sprawled across the tractor seat, his left leg resting on the tyre. He raised the jug of plum brandy and took a mouthful. Swallowing, he passed the jug down to his friend Neville leaning against the gear box. He looked back up towards the manor house.
"It's bloody cold out here, Clive," Neville said as he lifted the jug to his lips.
"You ain't ever satisfied, mate," the blond youth answered. "It's always too hot or too cold for you." He dropped his foot to the floor of the tractor. "At least, we ain't spreading manure and sweating our bollocks off in this weather. Me balls itched wicked all bloody summer doing that shit."
His eyes narrowed as he remembered his Lordship sentencing him - and all he'd done was try to have some sport with that queer Yank.
He and Nevie were just looking to have a bit of fun with the American. The Yank'd have enjoyed it too - being all snooty and proper all the time. A regular nancy boy, he was. Clive figured every queer wanted dick. They had been going to give it to him too.
Only, the Yank fought them. He'd known some funny moves too - Nip moves, he reckoned. Busted his nose, the Yank had. Clive was in pain for a good month after that. He was also sure he would never breathe right again.
And his Lordship. Bloody arse! Giving him and Nevie a choice of gaol or slaving at the dirtiest jobs on the farm. And the farm manager had found every one of them too. Pitching manure all through the autumn. Sweated his bollocks off, he had. And smelling that shit!
He wondered what it would be like, fucking a pansy like that Yank was. Fucking anything was more like. He was seventeen and his dick had only known his hand. He glanced down at Neville and his cock twitched. He tried to push the thought beginning to take shape out of his head.
Nevie and him, they'd been mates since they were wearing nappies. They even shared a cottage now that they were grown up. Just the two of them. His lips twitched. He could think of one way to warm Nevie up. Him too, most like. And no-one would ever even know. Maybe Nevie would like it - like that Yank would have.
"Wonder where that stuck-up bitch is going?" Neville asked, his words pulling Clive from where his thoughts had taken him.
"Who's that?" the blond asked, sitting up - his dick forgotten as the possibility of something interesting happening took possession of him.
"That girl who works in the kitchen now."
"That tease!" Clive growled as his gaze found her coming down from the manor, his thoughts diving back into what was in his trousers. "Remember back at school how she'd look us boys over, even handle the goods a bit?"
Neville nodded. "She'd toss a lad off, all right. But she'd never drop her knickers for us to have a look-see."
Clive laughed. "She knew better, she did. It wouldn't have stopped with a look-see, and she knew it. All of the boys tried, but no-one managed to get those knickers down so we could see her fanny." For a moment, he watched the girl as she came closer. "Wonder if a lad ever found his way in to give her what's what?"
"I heard she's sweet on a lad from the tractor plant in Coventry now," Neville told him. "Only, her dad's right there when he comes to visit, keeping his eye on the two of them."
Clive watched the girl pass the tractor shed and sniggered at her giving it a decent berth. "She's going down to the cottages," he said.
"She's probably off from the kitchen then," Neville offered. "Her daddy would want her to come straight home."
"Naw, they'll be still cooking his Lordship's supper up there now. I'll wager they sent her down here to get the farm manager for our haughty Lordship to question and all."
"Whatever the reason, I wish that she'd have come closer," Neville chuckled. "I got me something that would make her forget those manners she's learnt up there at his Lordship's."
"Now, mate, don't be having that sort of thoughts," Clive told him. "You'll be too randy around me." He laughed. "I wouldn't want to hurt you none, mate. Lest you be the one bending over - and that wouldn't hurt you at all."
Clive watched the girl from the kitchen in silence until she'd reached the manager's cottage and knocked on his door. His fingers stroked his growing erection through his woollen trousers, imagining what he could do to her. It wasn't until his bollocks were drawing up against his shaft that his thoughts began to move to the purpose of her visit.
It'd only been the week before when he and Neville had been down at the pub in the village that the blacksmith had sidled up to him and put a new pint of bitter in his hand. Nevie was leaning against the wall, his eyes glazed, already pissed. But then the lad never could handle his spirits, they went right to his head.
"You're young Clive from up at Bellingham Hall, aren't you?" the smith had asked.
"Aye." He looked down at the full pint in his hand. "And thank you," he said.
"Lord Petersholme pay you well up there, does he?"
Clive shrugged. "As well as any other bloke, I figure."
"I hear that you don't particularly like his Lordship, Clive."
"Why should he have everything and a bloke like me have to work his arse off for a few shillings a week?" the youth answered with more feeling than he'd meant to show.
The smith smiled and nodded. "A man with a good head on his shoulders then." He took a long draught of his beer before continuing. "Would you like to make a bit of money now and then - on the side, that is?"
Clive had studied the smith closely. The man was young and big. Very big. Clive thought of muscles on top of muscles as he took in the man's chest and neck. Curly, black and unruly hair covered his ears and reached almost to his collar. His moustache was the same colour and extended out past the planes of his cheeks. He dug into his memories and found the smith's name. David Rice.
Clive was sure that David Rice had something underhanded up his sleeve. It sounded like it. He allowed a small smile to pull his lips up. "And what would I have to do to make this bit of money?" he asked.
Rice grinned broadly and patted him on the shoulder. "That's a good mate, Clive. I thought you would be interested-"
"Perhaps," Clive said, holding up his hand. "It depends on what I'd have to do."
Rice nodded and drained his pint. "Just keep your eyes and ears open there at Hall. I have friends who are interested in the doings of Lord Petersholme. Him and his friends - but him mostly."
It had turned out that David Rice wasn't interested at all in Miss Elizabeth or Miss Alice or even the Yank jessie boy. But he'd paid five shillings to know that German brat had arrived on the farm - more than a day's wage, it was.
Clive wondered what he'd pay to know whatever was going on at the Hall now to have them send a girl down to the manager's cottage. He knew he'd better find out what it was if he wanted to make any money out of it.
"Drink up, lad," he told Neville. "Mum said this jug was from her best lot."
"Can't get too pissed, Clive," Neville mumbled, bringing the jug to his lips. He took a long draught from it.
"You can handle what's there. It's almost gone."
Neville up-ended the jug and drained it. Lowering it back to his lap, he smacked his lips and grinned to his friend. "Good to the last drop, Clive," he said, his words slurring. "My compliments to your ma. She makes a good brew."
The blond laughed. "Nevie, it's time for you to lie down a bit." He saw the girl step out into the sun followed by the farm manager. "Can you make it down to the cottage on your own, lad?"
"I'm not some child, Clive!"
"Course you're not. You just need to sleep off the brandy, that's all."
"Don't."
"You want to go to the pub tonight?"
Neville hung his head and, conceding defeat, slipped carefully off the tractor. He made a show of raising his arm and pretending to sniff. "You'll wake me in time to get ready?" he asked as he stood and looked back up at his friend. "Got to smell pretty in case there's some tart around."
Clive nodded.
"I'll be off then." He began to make his way along the path, stumbling towards the cottages. Clive watched the farm manager shake his head as he and the girl passed Neville.
Clive grinned. He thought that it was just as well that the manager's attention was drawn to his friend. That kept it away from him and his doings. He waited until they had passed him and began to follow them.
From behind the nearest outbuilding, he watched the girl lead the farm manager into the kitchen. When they were inside, he ran across the clearing to press against the stairs to the terrace off of the ballroom. Pressing against the wall to catch his breath, Clive reckoned his Lordship would interview the manager in his study. Staying close to the wall, he moved along the backface of the house peering in each window until he saw light filtering through the thick curtains. He could just make out the bookshelf on the far wall and Petersholme sitting at a desk. He grinned when he heard the knock at the interior door and knew he would be able to overhear whatever was said inside. He could almost feel the smith's coins weighing his pocket already.
Clive listened as the two men exchanged the pleasantries a landowner and his manager made. He recognised them for what they were and ignored them. His ear pressed against the cold glass of the window as Petersholme told the man that he was leaving for France the coming Monday and would be taking both his cousin and the American with him. They expected to be gone only three days but would definitely be back in residence by the end of the week.
Clive was already pulling away from the wall when he heard his Lordship mention that another guest would be arriving before they left - a German named Jorsten. He left when the men's conversation moved on to the Christmas bonus Petersholme intended to give the farm help.
Barry watched as Willi burrowed deeper into his coat. They were alone on the railway station platform in the village. The sun was bright, gleaming off the rails as they could see. For several minutes, the boy attempted to amuse himself by exhaling and watching his breath condense.
"It's so cold," he groaned finally and, throwing his arms around Barry's waist, pressed his body harder against his leg.
"Want to go inside?" Barry asked.
At that moment, a shrill whistle sounded beyond the trees and Willi pulled away. "No!" he answered. "I want to see the train."
He looked down the track, in the direction of the sound. Unable to see past the first line of trees, he leaned forward, his hands on his bare knees, to try to follow the gleam of the tracks through the woods. The cold was forgotten. Barry's hand found his shoulder.
"May we get closer?" He grabbed Barry's hand with both of his and looked up at him. "Please?" he pleaded.
"Not too close. Stay back from the edge, Willi." Barry smiled and, taking one of the boy's hands, stepped closer to the tracks. "Think you could see better if I put you up on my shoulders?"
"Ja!" the boy cried, momentarily lapsing into German, his eyes wide instantly at the unexpected treat.
Barry lifted the boy, swinging him onto his shoulders. Barry's hands covered his reddened knees. "Your hands are so warm," the boy told him, wiggling around on his shoulders to find the most comfortable place. "They feel nice."
"Can you see better now?"
"Much better now, Uncle Barry." He peered down the track and saw puffs of steam and the gleam of metal through the trees as the locomotive came nearer. Its brakes had become a constant squeal. "Do you think Dagi will like Bellingham Hall?" he asked over the noise.
"He liked the house in London, didn't he?"
"Yes, but there he was always talking about the things he could do in London, Uncle Barry. Things that big boys can do. I don't think that there's that much around the farm for them to do."
Barry snorted. "Christmas is a time for family, Willi. It doesn't matter if it's your own family or one you adopt for the season - it's the warmth and love that makes it Christmas."
"So?"
"Well, your Uncle Robert and I - and Elizabeth - have sort of become Dagold's family since he came back to London with us. And we've become his family too."
"Ja." He raised his bottom off Barry's back and leaned over to look upside down into the American's face. "He was in love with Vati, wasn't he? Like you and Uncle Robert are in love?"
Barry blushed. He couldn't help it. His face suddenly felt far too warm for the middle of an English December. "Why do you think that?" he asked carefully.
"I could tell. They were always together. And they were always sending me off to play when I was with them."
"What do you know about love, Willi?" Barry asked carefully, wondering how much he was going to have to explain to the child. Blood pounded in his temples.
"I know a lot!" he answered indignantly and pulled Barry's orange stocking cap off his head, holding it as far over himself as he could.
"And what is that?"
"My Vati loved me. He loved me so much that he asked the best man in the whole world to bring me up when Mutti killed him."
"You loved him, didn't you?"
"Ja! But I also love you and Uncle Robert. You love me too."
Barry chuckled. "Yeah, we love you too, brat - even when you're bad."
"What is this word 'brat'?"
"It means a mischievous little boy - like you are, Willi."
"What does this 'mischievous' mean?" he asked suspiciously. Before Barry could answer, Willi hollered: "There it is! See?" His thighs tightened around the American's neck as he raised up. The engine cleared the trees. "The train is so big, Uncle Barry!" he said as the engine began to bear down on the station. "It is like a - what is the word? - a house. A mountain even - how do trains ever move?"
"They do weigh a lot, Willi," Barry answered slowly, trying to remember a little of his year of high school physics. "But they burn coal inside this furnace thing that takes up all of that front part-" He pointed to the engine that was now almost upon them. "That heats up the water and makes it into steam. That keeps building up pressure until it forces the wheels to start to move-"
He couldn't see the boy's face, but he could already tell that he had lost him with his explanation before Willi spoke again. "Do you think Dagi will still like me?" he asked as the engine began to pass them, its brakes screaming as it continued to slow.
"Why wouldn't he?" Barry asked as the coal car eased past them.
"I think that I said a naughty thing about him when I was angry that Uncle Robert was going to leave me."
"You didn't mean it, though?"
"Nein, I didn't mean it. I was angry and was afraid for Uncle Robert."
"Dagold didn't hear it either, did he?"
"Of course not, silly. He was still in London yesterday."
"Then, he won't know about it and won't be mad at you."
"But if it was a naughty thing-?"
"If you feel that way, then you should tell Dagold what you said - that and ask him to forgive you."
"And if it was really, really naughty, Uncle Barry?"
"Are you ashamed of saying it?"
Willi was silent for a moment. "I didn't mean it," he said slowly. "I don't even know what it means. But, yes, I am ashamed-"
"Then you need to tell God in your prayers and ask him to forgive you. And, if you still feel bad about it, you need to tell Dagold and let him forgive you too."
Steam billowed into a cloud around the engine. Metal squealed harder on metal. Barry looked out at the carriages beginning to cross slowly in front of them and his gaze followed them back towards the line of trees. He saw the blond hair first. In moments, he could make out the German's face as well.
Barry shook his head slowly. He couldn't believe it. The damned boy had opened his window and stuck his head out to watch his arrival in Bellingham. The nut was going to have his face covered with a sheet of ice! And soot too!
"Do you see Dagold, Willi?" he asked.
"Ja!" he cried. Barry felt the boy wave. All of his small body seemed to become a part of his greeting. "Dagi! Dagi!" Willi cried, his body bouncing on the American's shoulders.
Dagold waved, and Barry smiled. The German was one of the best looking men he'd ever seen. The only one who looked better was Robbie. The man pulled back into the carriage and disappeared. Only a minute later, he was standing at the top of the steps at the front of the car as it shuddered to a stop. He waved to them again.
Barry grinned. Yeah, the boy shouldn't have stuck his head out of the window. He'd washed the soot off his face, but that shade of chaffed red just did not go with his ash blond hair at all.
"Let me down, Uncle Barry," Willi demanded and the American quickly lifted him over his head and lowered him to the platform.
Barry watched the boy walk slowly to within a couple of feet of the train and stop. He was surprised at the grave dignity that the five year-old took on. Willi raised his head and seemed almost to come to attention. As Dagold stepped onto the platform, Barry heard Willi say: "Welcome to Bellingham Hall. We are happy that you could come." Metal screeched again and the train shuddered to a stop.
Dagold was obviously having none of the boy's formality, Barry decided. He scooped him up and hugged him. Willi laughed and threw his arms around his neck.
* * *
"What does 'whore' mean, Dagi?" Willi asked as he pulled Dagold Jorsten's arm around his shoulders. They walked through the garden between the manor and outbuildings. Willi had insisted on showing the young German Bellingham Hall almost before their car had pulled into the estate's drive. Dagold had laughed and agreed that he did indeed want the Graf von Kys to show him around - but only after he'd put away his bag.
"What?" he yelped and stopped to look down at the boy. "What did you say, mein kleiner Graf?" he demanded as he squatted before his dead lover's son and looked into his face
"What is a 'whore'?"
Dagold blinked. He wished he knew how to answer the boy. Almost anything he said could be wrong. They had been speaking in German and the boy had used the German word. He reckoned that he could dismiss the idea that the boy had learnt the word here in England. That left Germany. "Where did you hear this word, Wilhelm?" he asked more sharply than he'd intended.
The child looked down, unable to continue to meet the man's gaze. "Mutti used it, Dagi-"
"It is a very vulgar word, kleiner Graf. A gentleman would never lower himself to use it - your mother called someone this word?" Willi nodded and looked away.
"Who?"
Willi tried to pull away. "Please, Dagi - I don't want to say."
"Wilhelm, Graf von Kys, look at me."
Willi slowly brought his gaze up to meet the only man who worked with his real father who had been his friend. "You aren't going to like me any more, Dagi," he sniffed. "You're going to hate me."
Dagold pulled the boy to him and hugged him. "I could never do that," he whispered against his ear. This boy was his one remaining connection to Janus. He could never hate him. He loved him. "Who did the Gräfin call that word?"
"You," Willi sobbed.
"And why would I be angry with you for what she said?" he asked, nuzzling the boy's ear with his cheek. The memory of kneeling naked before the fat woman, looking up at her and the pistol pointing at him, flooded through his mind. He could still taste the fear that had paralysed him as he accepted that he was going to die.
"I-" The boy sobbed and began to shiver.
"Come, kleiner Graf. There is nothing to fear. I am your friend."
"I said it yesterday. I called you that-"
"Why?" Dagold asked softly.
"I was angry, Dagi. Uncle Robert goes to France tomorrow. Mutti will find him there - I know it!"
Dagold pushed the boy back a step and held his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You were angry - and frightened. You said something bad, but did you mean it when you called me that?"
"No!" Willi threw himself back against the man. "Never. It was just that I was so scared. I didn't want Uncle Robert to go. I don't want Mutti to have a chance to do to him what she did to Vati. Uncle Robert said that you would be here with me - I told him that I didn't want you." He sniffed. "I didn't mean it, Dagi."
"I know." He patted the boy's back and continued to hug him close. "It's all right."
Willi pulled back and studied the man. "You forgive me?" he asked softly.
"Of course, I do." Dagold leaned forward and gave the boy's nearest cheek a small peck. "Willi, France is not like Germany. Your mother cannot hurt Lord Petersholme there. The insanity that has taken over our old country is there only. The French are not crazy - they're like the English."
"You promise?"
"I promise. Shall we continue our walk then?"
Willi extended his hand and Dagold took it as he stood. "So, what does 'whore' mean, Dagi?"
"It's a very naughty word."
"I promise not to use it - ever. I just want to know what it means."
"It's a woman who makes love for money."
Willi thought about the explanation for several minutes as they continued along the path in silence. Finally, he stopped and turned to look up at Dagold again. "How can that be?" he asked suspiciously.