Authors: Murray Pura
London Dawn (2 page)
LONDON DAWN
Copyright © 2014 by Murray Pura
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Pura, Murray
London dawn / Murray Pura.
pages cm.—(The Danforths of Lancashire ; book 3)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5887-5 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5888-2 (eBook)
1. Aristocracy (social class)—England—History—20th century—Fiction. 2. Social classes—England—History—20th century—Fiction. 3. World War, 1914-1918—England—Fiction. 4. Baptists—England—Fiction. 5. Lancashire (England)—Fiction 6. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.P87L66 2014
813'.6—dc23
2013028685
All rights reserved.
No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
For Sean Lougheed and Martina Halwass. I give thanks for our friendship forged in sunshine and in storm. God bless you both for your faithfulness to my family and myself.
Contents
More Great Harvest House Books by Murray Pura
London Dawn
marks the seventh book I have worked on with Nick Harrison. The longer we work together the smoother it goes and the stronger the novel that results. Thanks for everything, Nick. Thanks also to the team at Harvest House—Barb Gordon, Kim Moore, Gene Skinner, Shane White, Katie Lane, Laura Knudson, and many others.
Cheers to my family and also to my cat Kokomo—she sits by my side day after day and watches every story come into being on my Mac.
And special thanks to the many veterans, living and dead, whose words I took to heart as I researched this novel, delving into book after book and watching interview after interview on YouTube. Men like Robert Stanford Tuck, whose tale is found in Larry Forrester’s
Fly for Your Life
; Douglas Bader, immortalized in Paul Brickhill’s
Reach for the Sky
; Geoffrey Wellum, who wrote his memoir in
First Light
; Brian Lane, who penned his personal account in
Spitfire!
before being killed in action; and many others whose stories are included in histories of the Battle of Britain, such as
Fighter Boys
by Patrick Bishop and Stephen Bungay’s
The Most Dangerous Enemy.
Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.
Lord Preston (William Danforth)—
husband to Lady Preston, father, and Member of Parliament (MP); head of Ashton Park, the family estate in Lancashire, as well as Dover Sky, the summer home in the south of England, and Kensington Gate, their house in London
Lady Preston (Elizabeth Danforth)—
Lord Preston’s wife and mother to their seven children
Sir Arthur—
Lady Preston’s father
Lady Grace—
Lord Preston’s mother
Edward Danforth—
the eldest son, a Member of Parliament, and a former Royal Navy officer
Charlotte Danforth—
Edward Danforth’s wife
Owen—
their eldest son
Colm—
their youngest son
Kipp Danforth—
an RAF pilot and the middle son of Lord and Lady Preston
Caroline Scarborough Danforth—
his wife
Matthew—
their son from Kipp’s first marriage
Charles—
their son from Caroline’s relationship with Tanner Buchanan
Cecilia Printemp—
their daughter
Robbie Danforth—
the youngest son, who serves in the British army in Palestine
Shannon Danforth—
his wife, from Dublin
Patricia Claire—
their daughter
Jeremy Sweet—
Anglican clergyman
Emma Sweet—
his wife and the eldest of the Danforth daughters
Peter and James—
their twins
Billy—
their youngest son
Albrecht Hartmann—
German professor and theologian
Catherine Moore Hartmann—
his wife, widow of Albert Moore, and second Danforth daughter
Sean—
their son from Catherine’s first marriage
Angelika—
their daughter
Terrence Fordyce—
officer in the Royal Navy who serves on HMS
Hood
Libby Fordyce—
his wife, widow of Michael Woodhaven, and third Danforth daughter
Jane—
their adopted daughter
Ben Whitecross—
an RAF pilot and Victoria Cross winner
Victoria Whitecross—
his wife and the youngest of the Danforth daughters
Ramsay—
their eldest son
Tim—
their youngest son
Harrison—
groundskeeper at Ashton Park
Holly—
his wife, the Ashton Park manager, and the youngest sister of Lord Preston
Skitt—
butler to the Fordyce family
Montgomery—
his American wife and a maid to the Fordyce family
Paul Terrence William—
their son
Tavy—
butler to Lord and Lady Preston at Kensington Gate in London
Norah Cole—
maid to Lord and Lady Preston at Kensington Gate
Mrs. Longstaff—
cook at Kensington Gate
Baron Gerard von Isenburg—
German acquaintance of the family and also a high-ranking member of the Nazi Party and the SS
Eva—
his daughter
Tanner Buchanan—
Member of Parliament and nemesis of the Danforth family
Lady Kate
—his consort
Wolfgang von Zeltner—
German pilot and lifelong opponent of Kipp Danforth and Ben Whitecross
April, 1934
Ashton Park
“There you go! There you go!”
Lord Preston threw the ball as far as he could. The three Belgian shepherds raced after it, yipping with excitement, and vanished among the tall ash trees. The leaves were fully open after two days of rain followed by two days of sunshine.
“Top of the morning, m’lord.” Harrison lifted the fedora off his head. “Those three are hard at it.”
“Good day, Harrison. They need a strong run. I’ve been absent for weeks and I’m not sure old Todd Turpin ever gets the fire out of them. Too many parliamentary sessions tie me down in London. Well, if they catch scent of a hare I shall not see them again in a fortnight.” He put his hands behind his back. “I have renamed them, you know.”
Harrison shifted his staff from one hand to the other. “I’d heard that.”
“Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. From the American poem.”
“Very good. How are they responding?”
“Badly. If at all. But I shall keep it up. Something had to be done to address the baron’s treachery.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“The dogs and I needed a fresh start.”
“I expect you did.”
“I saw him, you know, Harrison. On a newsreel from Berlin. Hopping
and stomping in a black SS uniform with Herr Hitler and his stooges. Ghastly. I thought I knew the man.”
“A chance at power changes many a good soul.”
“Is that what he considers power? I suppose it is power after a fashion. The way a freak windstorm knocks off chimney pots and tears brick walls to pieces and hurls trash bins down an alley—raw force, out of control, of no benefit to man or beast.”
“Have you heard from Lady Catherine or her husband, the theologian? Are they well?”
Lord Preston listened a moment to the distant barking of the dogs. “I believe they have caught the scent of something. No ball ever rolled that far.” He began to stride into the ash forest. “No, Harrison. Not a word. You might pray about that, please.”
Across the English Channel in Germany, Catherine was well aware she was behind in her letter writing. She had finally finished one to her sister Victoria, who was living in Africa with her husband Ben and their two sons. Now she felt guilty she hadn’t sent so much as a note to her mother and father in more than a month. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and lifted her fountain pen.
Dear Mama and Papa,
You will wonder at my long silence, and you have, I suppose, fretted a good deal over it. I apologize. Life has been a mad rush here in Tubingen. But let me set your minds at rest about your grandchildren—Sean is doing very well indeed at school, and baby Angelika has never been better.
A soft knocking sounded at the front door.
Catherine was seated at the dining room table on the ground floor. Albrecht was upstairs chatting with Sean and Angelika while he worked on his university lectures for the next day. She knew she should be the one answering the door, but she hesitated. It was past nine o’clock and dark, and she was not expecting anyone. Clutching her pen, she waited.
The knocking sounded a second time.
“Are you going to get that?” Her husband’s voice came down the staircase. “Please?”
“
Ja
,
ja
, Albrecht,” she replied. “I was just working on a letter to my parents.”
She got up and went to the door, continuing to hope the knocking would stop and whoever it was would walk away. Risking Albrecht’s annoyance, she stood facing the door but did not open it. The knocking came a third time—soft but rapid. Certain her husband would call from his office again, she took hold of the door handle.
“I have it, Albrecht. You needn’t worry.”
A smell of rain on pavement rushed in as she swung the door back, surprising her. She hadn’t noticed any drops against the windowpanes.
“
Ja
?” she asked the figure on the sidewalk.
The man slipped into the house and shut the door behind him.
“
Was
?” exclaimed Catherine. “What are you doing? Get out of here!”
The man took off his hat.
“Baron!” She didn’t know what to say next. “Of all people I did not expect to see you!”
“Where is Albrecht?”
“Upstairs.”
“The children?”
“They’re with him. He’s working at his morning lectures.”
“There will be no morning lectures. The Gestapo will arrive here at two in the morning. You must be well gone by then.”
Cold air seemed to fill the room, pouring off his trench coat.
“The Gestapo! Gone where? Where can we go?”
“My plan is to get you to France or Switzerland. But first we must get you into a hiding place outside of Tubingen. If they don’t find you here they will go to all of your friends’ homes. They will go to the university professors. Comb the city from one end to another. I have a car around back. You have half an hour, and then you must be in it and we must be gone.”
“We can’t be ready in half an hour. Angelika is only four. There is so much we must prepare.”
