But she’s your heir, Charlotte reminded herself, and one day she will be the keeper of the record books. And the matriarch of the Swann clan. And anyway Ceci made the oath when she was twelve. The oath to protect the Inghams with her life. So she would be silent, would never reveal anything to a soul.
Knowing she must now go downstairs to join Charles and the grandchildren for lunch, Charlotte pushed this matter to the back of her mind. For the moment.
* * *
“I hope I’m not bothering you, Diedre,” Cecily said, gripping the telephone tightly. “But Greta told me something earlier today, and I thought I ought to tell you.”
“What did she say?” Diedre asked, her ears pricking up. Anything to do with Greta Chalmers and the Steinbrenners interested her no end at the moment.
“Greta told me that she understood why you hadn’t been able to help her family, because you had no real contacts in Berlin now. Then she went on to add that Sir Anthony Parry was going to try to get the family out of Berlin, by pulling a few strings. That’s what he had called it.”
Diedre was startled by this announcement and sat up straighter in her chair, pressing the receiver closer to her ear. “What strings does he intend to pull?” she asked curiously, her voice rising slightly. “He’s an academic with no political connections.”
“Yes, I know, and I think perhaps he was just making that statement in order to give the professor a bit of hope, don’t you?”
When Diedre was silent, Cecily prodded her. “Well, don’t you? After all, you said there were no more visas being issued, and that your contact’s contacts had dried up, gone away, finally fled.”
“I did say that, and it is true. But sometimes strange things happen in life. Perhaps he has a way of helping the professor, although I doubt it, to be honest. Look, I really appreciate having this information, Ceci, and I’m going to pass it on to my contact in Berlin. I think that this would be really wise. After all, we don’t want Sir Anthony doing something … silly. Now do we?”
“That’s right, Diedre, we don’t, and you know what men are like, they think they can solve every problem in the world.”
“I didn’t know men thought that about themselves.” Diedre chuckled, showing a little levity for once. “I thought it was women who believed that. And why not? Because we can.”
Cecily laughed with her sister-in-law, and said, “Let me know if you hear anything at all. Anything.”
* * *
Deep in thought, Diedre sat at her desk for a while after hanging up with Cecily, pondering several matters. Then she picked up the receiver once more and made four telephone calls.
The first was to Valiant. She used the admiral’s private line, a safe line, at Abwehr, the headquarters of German military intelligence in Berlin. They spoke for four minutes only.
The second call was to Tony Jenkins at the British embassy in Berlin. They spoke for five minutes on Tony’s private line, which he deemed to be safe.
The third call was to Lady Gwendolyn, her great-aunt who lived at Little Skell Manor on the Cavendon estate. They spoke for ten minutes, because Diedre had to start out with a certain amount of small talk before getting to the point.
The fourth call was to Cecily, whom she reached at her office in the Burlington Arcade shop. They spoke for two minutes.
Once these calls had been completed, Diedre got up and went out into the hallway, followed the short corridor down to William Lawson’s office. She spoke to his secretary, Lois Bedford, and confirmed that she was available to meet with him at five o’clock.
LOVE IN MANY GUISES
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
—Alice Meynell
Twenty-five
William Lawson was, in certain ways, somewhat similar to Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. Both were career naval officers who had bravely served their countries on ships in the Great War, were drawn to the clandestine work of naval intelligence, had proven to have a genuine talent for this, and had become brilliant spies.
Lawson, like Canaris, had moved from naval intelligence to military intelligence, when he joined MI6 in 1930. Honorable and compassionate, Lawson was a man of honesty and integrity, as was the admiral. And both men were gentlemen.
Now, as he walked back from 10 Downing Street to the War Office, William Lawson’s thoughts were not on the talk he had just had with the prime minister. They were focused on Diedre, and the meeting they would have later that afternoon. He knew from Nevile Henderson, the British ambassador in Berlin, that Diedre and Canaris had chatted together at the embassy reception last week, and he was quite sure this was the reason she wanted to see him. To report in, as she usually put it.
He liked Canaris, admired him really. The German admiral was a man of principle and they shared the same code of honor peculiar to naval men all over the world. And that was why he wasn’t duped by Hitler and was anti-Nazi. They had met twice—once in Portsmouth and once in Kiel— and they understood each other instantly, had bonded, in a sense.
Thoughts of Diedre pushed the admiral out of his mind. He couldn’t help wondering what he was going to do about her. Nothing. He couldn’t. She was his best, most clever operative, and he needed her as war loomed. And yet he had developed strong feelings for her, much to his surprise, and she rarely left his mind.
Who would have thought that he of all men would fall for a woman he worked with? Forbidden. Especially to a man like him, who was devoted to his work night and day, and who hardly noticed what a woman looked like. He was forty-seven, and had long given up thoughts of marrying again. His wife, Nora, had become an invalid in the last years of their marriage and had died fifteen years ago. It had never been a good relationship and his marriage had not been happy. On the other hand, he had found the greatest happiness and solace in his work, and still did.
He sighed under his breath as he strode on, not noticing the admiring glances thrown his way by women who walked past him. He was six feet three, masculine in build, with black hair brushed back from his handsome, rather rugged face.
As always, he was well dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and striped blue-and-white tie. Like his father before him, William favored Savile Row suits, the finest shirts and ties, and fortunately his father had left him enough money to indulge himself.
Sir Roger Lawson had been the owner of a string of popular magazines which had been very successful. His mother had died some years before his father, and when he, too, had passed last year, William and his brother, Ambrose, had become quite wealthy men.
William was well aware he could no more give up on his work than he could stop breathing, and his brother, a neurological surgeon, felt the same way. The money was nice to have but neither would change their lives because of it.
He was curious about what Diedre wanted to tell him about Canaris, yet he also needed to talk to her about two new agents he had found. He hoped that Diedre would handle them, and supervise their special training.
He smiled inwardly when he went into the War Office building, deciding he was a fool for even thinking of inviting Diedre to have dinner with him. He was the last man she would ever look at, and anyway, he believed she was still grieving for Paul Drummond. Wasn’t she? He didn’t know the answer to that.
As he mounted the stairs to the offices within the Administration Bureau he shook his head, puzzled by himself. He might be one of the best spies in the business but he certainly didn’t know much about women. Nothing at all, really.
* * *
It was Charles who reminded Charlotte that she had promised to go across the park to Little Skell Manor, to collect Lady Gwendolyn and bring her to tea.
“How on earth could I have
forgotten that,” she exclaimed, immediately standing up. “I must go at once, darling, and bring her over. It’s easier if I talk her into using the wheelchair.”
“It’s easier if you have Goff drive you there and back,” the earl shot back, smiling at his wife indulgently.
“I think she likes to get a bit of fresh air,” Charlotte murmured, kissing Charles on his cheek, then moving down the terrace, as graceful as usual. “See you shortly.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Charles answered, and picked up the book he had been reading.
Walking down the stone steps of the terrace, Charlotte realized she had been so focused on Margaret Howell Johnson she had forgotten about her promise to Lady Gwendolyn, made earlier in the week. Now she understood what a great opportunity this was; she had a good reason to go over to the manor, and would find it easy to start talking about the past. Somehow she must bring the conversation around to the child Great-Aunt Gwendolyn had given birth to all those years ago. She needed to know exactly how old the girl would be today.
* * *
When Charlotte arrived at Little Skell Manor, she knocked on the door, opened it, and walked into the entrance hall. At the same moment, Mrs. Jasper, the housekeeper, came hurrying out of the drawing room.
“Oh there you are, my lady,” Mrs. Jasper exclaimed, smiling. “Lady Gwendolyn is waiting for you.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jasper, and how is her ladyship?”
“Very well, quite spritely, and looking forward to tea with you…” Mrs. Jasper hesitated for a split second before adding, in a lower tone, “But there have been moments this week when I thought she seemed a little bit sad.”
Frowning, Charlotte murmured, “I’ve noticed that myself on occasion lately, but I think older people are often like that at times, perhaps remembering things long gone.”
“Yes, Lady Mowbray,” Mrs. Jasper agreed, and showed her into the drawing room.
Walking across the room, Charlotte said in a cheerful voice, “Hello, Great-Aunt Gwen,” and went and joined her in a seating area near the bay window looking out into the garden. She was delighted to see how well Lady Gwendolyn looked, her white hair well coiffed and gleaming like silver in the sunlight coming through the window. And her face still retained much of its beauty. Now there was a big smile on it, and her blue eyes were as bright as ever, and twinkling.
“It’s so kind of you to come and collect me, Charlotte, my dear, and don’t you look splendid. Just wonderful today.”
“I’ve never felt better,” Charlotte answered, and sat down in the chair opposite, suddenly noticing that Lady Gwendolyn was clutching a book on her lap, but making no comment.
“Have you any news, Charlotte?”
“Well, yes, Cecily and Miles are back in London, as is Diedre. The others will all return by the weekend. Everyone will be joining us for tea on Sunday.”
“It will be like old times. I knew Diedre was back. She telephoned me, to tell me she had run into Sir Anthony Parry, the husband of my good friend Regina.”
Lady Gwendolyn stopped abruptly, reminding herself not to say another word about her conversation with Diedre. Glancing down at the object in her hands for a long moment, she then looked at Charlotte. “I’m so upset. I’ve lost the little key to this old diary and now I can’t open it, and I did so want to read it.”
Charlotte got up and went over to her. “Can I have a look at it? Perhaps I can get it open.”
Passing the worn, tan leather diary to her, Lady Gwendolyn said, with a chuckle, “It’s Daphne who knows how to pick locks, isn’t it?”
Charlotte stared at her in surprise, amazed that she remembered that incident from years ago, when Daphne had wanted to retrieve the stolen jewels from her mother’s safe.
“Where do you usually keep this book?” Charlotte now asked, turning it over in her hands, staring at the lock, which would not open because it had been locked with the missing key.
“In the oriental chest over there,” Lady Gwendolyn answered, looking across the room. “There are a number of diaries and photograph albums in there, but no keys. I’ve had Mrs. Jasper look.” She shook her head. “It’s not like me to lose anything, and wouldn’t you know it’s the key that really matters.”
“I could try to pick it with a bit of wire or maybe a hairpin.”
“I’ve already tried that and I couldn’t get the thing open.”
After another close examination of the diary, Charlotte said, “The one thing I can do is to simply cut part of the lock off. That would be easy. But then you wouldn’t be able to fasten the clasp at all, you know.”
“I don’t believe that matters, Charlotte dear. I can put it in my safe.”
“Very well then. Excuse me for a moment, Great-Aunt Gwen, I’ll go and get a pair of scissors from Mrs. Jasper.” Placing the diary in Lady Gwendolyn’s hands, she hurried out.
Within seconds she was back, and taking hold of the diary, she cut off the clasp and handed it back to Lady Gwendolyn.
Letting out a long, satisfied sigh, Lady Gwendolyn smiled at Charlotte, and said, “Thank you, my dear. It’s nice to be able to read about the past. When you get really and truly old like me, you tend to live in your memories. It’s such a funny thing, you know. I can remember, and very clearly, the things that happened thirty, forty, and fifty years ago, but I’m very forgetful at times about the present.” A little smile played around her mouth as she said this, and then she began to turn the pages. “I’m looking for the twenty-ninth of August,” she explained, peering at the pages as she flicked through them. After a moment, she stared at Charlotte.
“I need my spectacles, I can’t really see without them. Would you find the page and read it for yourself?”
Leaning forward, she offered the old diary to Charlotte, and went on, “You know so much about my past, and about Mark Swann and our love for each other. August the twenty-ninth was a few days after our baby was born, the one that lived…” Her voice faltered and tears came into her eyes. “I’ve thought of her every day.”
Holding the diary in her hands, Charlotte gazed at Lady Gwendolyn, her heart going out to this very old lady of ninety-eight, and for a moment she was choked, unable to speak. And she could not help thinking of the woman she had just met in Harrogate.
At last Charlotte asked, in the gentlest of voices, “What was the date Margaret was born, Great-Aunt Gwen?”
“August the twenty-sixth. An amazing event, actually, since I was forty-eight. If she is still alive she will be fifty this year.”
“In about a week,” Charlotte murmured, her mind suddenly racing with myriad thoughts, and a plan forming in her head.
* * *
The front page of the diary had the year imprinted on it: 1888. Charlotte flipped through to August 26, which was a Sunday. The page was empty. Three days later, on Wednesday, August 29, there was a short entry in Lady Gwendolyn’s fine, rather neat handwriting.
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte plunged in, began to read: “Our little daughter Margaret has been on this earth for only three days. She is beautiful. Today she has been in my arms once more. I am happy I have been allowed this special time with her. Tomorrow she will be taken away by her adoptive parents. Mark and I will never see our sweet Margaret again. We hope and pray to God that they will love and cherish her and give her a good life. I have come to understand that you have to love a child so much you are willing to let it go, if that is for the best. I will think of my Margaret every day of my life until I die. And she will be in my heart forever.”
Charlotte’s eyes were brimming with tears and she tried to blink them away without success. Reaching for her handbag, she took out a handkerchief and dried her eyes, then looked across at Lady Gwendolyn. She was so choked up she could not speak, full of emotion, and heartache for Great-Aunt Gwen.
Lady Gwendolyn said, in a slightly quavering voice, “Not long after I’d written those words, Mark came to the hospital with the photographer from the studio in Leeds. Marga
ret was brought to me again, wearing her lovely christening robes. Don’t you remember, Charlotte, I showed you that photograph years ago?”
“Of course I remember.” Rising, Charlotte walked over to the small antique desk at the other side of the room, where she had spotted Lady Gwendolyn’s glasses with the morning post. Picking them up, she brought them over to her. Handing her the diary, and then the glasses, she said, “Now you can read it whenever you want, Great-Aunt Gwen.”
“Thank you, Charlotte, I will. But later.”
“Where shall I put the diary for safety?”
“The safe is in the library, you can tuck it in there before we leave, lock it up. In the meantime, I just want to tell you something else. Although I wasn’t supposed to, I wrote a note to the adoptive parents, and put it inside the box of baby clothes I’d bought, along with the christening robe. It was on plain paper and unsigned, and it was only one line … Her name is Margaret. Was I wrong to do that?”
“Of course not, and I know why you did. Because she was Margaret to you, and you wanted to think of her as Margaret always. And I believe they would have understood that, somehow, and kept the name.”
Lady Gwendolyn’s face changed, the sadness flushed away by sudden smiles. “Oh do you think so, Charlotte? I do hope you’re right. That makes me feel happy … are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Charlotte murmured. Her mind was racing; she couldn’t wait to go back to Harrogate to see Margaret Howell Johnson, and hopefully get a few answers to some very important questions.
Twenty-six
When Diedre knocked on the door and then walked straight into William Lawson’s office, he was standing by a window, looking down into the street.
He immediately swung around, walked over to greet her. “Welcome back,” he said.
“Back where I belong,” she answered.
For a moment, he wondered what she meant but was sure she had been referring to the office.