A Zephyr Rising Read online

  A thump behind the door reminded Ginger of the children inside. “Mrs. Martin, what can we do? How can I help you? Surely my father will assist you.” In times like these, her father’s earldom—as well as his work in the Foreign Office—might be more influential to people like the Martins.

  “I’d be so grateful for you to make some inquiries about Friedrich and John’s whereabouts.” She gripped Ginger’s forearm tightly. “What if they’ve sent them to Germany?”

  The thought was frightening. Ginger knew little about the Aliens Restriction Act, but surely they had more decency than to repatriate honest men with homes and families in England?

  “I’m certain my father will help get Mr. Martin and John back home, if he can.” Ginger put a hand on Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. “In the meantime, do you and your children have all you need?” How was the woman to feed and care for seven children without her husband?

  Mrs. Martin wrung her hands, her handkerchief fluttering to the ground. Her face reddened. “For now. I don’t have the money for the order until Friedrich returns, Lady Virginia. I apologize, we can’t fill the order. The farmer never brought our own order yesterday.”

  Ginger regretted having mentioned the order at all. “Oh, never mind that. We’ll make do.” Ginger dropped her hand to her side. “But if you need anything at all, Mrs. Martin, please let me know. We all must care for each other, especially during these precarious times.”

  The statement sounded hollow to Ginger as she rode back toward Penmore, replaying the conversation in her mind. She should have offered to cancel the debt entirely, even if it wasn’t her place to do so. Or offered them food and shelter.

  She would talk to her mother. They’d return tomorrow with some money. Her mother wouldn’t let the Martins go hungry. And Ginger was sure the church would have resources to help them.

  But why had the police arrested John, too? He was a boy, just sixteen.

  The chauffeur swung the car around a pothole and the entire frame jolted in response, bumping her against the side. Dust flew up and Ginger waved it away, distractedly.

  Something had to be done for the Martins.

  Chapter Two

  Ginger hastened into the library, removing her hat as she approached her father. He stood by one of the tall windows in the room, glancing through a long, official-looking letter.

  She slowed as she drew closer to him. Her father’s gaze was pensive, focused outside. His face was half in shadow. The silver streaks in his dark hair stood out in the dim light. She caught her breath, feeling like she had as a young girl. Back then, she’d always had orders not to disturb her father.

  Obeying the order had been tricky, considering how much she’d loved the library. Even now, the scent of it—old books and sweet pipe tobacco—made her want to curl up in a nook and read.

  A floorboard creaked under her feet and her father looked up. His brow furrowed as he studied her expression. “You look flushed. Should I ring for the doctor?”

  He must have been truly concerned. Her father was rarely an alarmist.

  “No, I’m well, thank you.” Ginger fidgeted with her hat. “Father—I’ve just come from town.” She sat on a sofa by the fireplace. “Mr. Martin never came with the order for the kitchen this morning. He couldn’t because the police have arrested him. John Martin, too. Mrs. Martin mentioned something about the Aliens Restriction Act.”

  Her father lifted his thick, dark eyebrows. “John?” He didn’t seem surprised about Mr. Martin, though.

  “Apparently, he was born in Germany. We must help them.” Ginger placed her hands on her lap, though her fingers curled in. Her father had already appeared to be troubled when she’d arrived. Perhaps she’d caught him in a foul mood. Either way, behaving emotionally would make her plea seem immature.

  “And they never thought to naturalize?” Her father grimaced. “I’m uncertain much can be done. Foreign nationals of military age will all be under intense scrutiny. And in some ways, it may be for their own safety. There have been attacks on the German-born in England already.”

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that.

  Not having even considered the opposite perspective made her feel foolish.

  Still, the anguish on Mrs. Martin’s face at being separated from her husband and son reminded her it wasn’t so simple. And John Martin couldn’t help his parents’ decision not to naturalize. “But John is as English as I am, raised here. His mother was born here. And all his siblings are British subjects.”

  Her father tapped the letter in his hands against the window frame. “There may be a better case for the younger Martin than the old codger. He was a fool not to have the young man naturalized years ago—or do so himself. But everything is changing quickly now.” He was silent for a few beats, then drew in a sharp breath, straightening. “I’ll make some inquiries with a solicitor. See what can be done.”

  At least his practical side didn’t prevent his willingness to help. Relieved, Ginger relaxed her shoulders. “Mrs. Martin asked if you could learn their whereabouts. The poor woman is terrified the government may repatriate them back to Germany.”

  “And with good reason. Not everyone will have as much sympathy for the Martins as you and I. But consider the fact that repatriation might be better than being imprisoned for however long this war lasts.”

  The hypocrisy of it infuriated Ginger. She huffed. “The king himself has German relatives—including the Kaiser.”

  “Yes, and see how well that familial relationship worked out for the whole of Europe. It’s why we’re in this mess.” Her father’s gaze followed the swirl of dust motes swimming in the sunlight pouring through the windows. With a look of resignation in his face, he moved toward a secretary against the wall. “Mrs. Martin would do well to stay indoors for a few weeks.”

  Ginger stood. She’d thought her father would show more alarm over the matter than he had. “And that’s it then? You’ll inquire with a solicitor, and she should stay indoors?”

  “Dear girl, what more would you have me do? I have many far more pressing matters.” Her father opened a drawer and put away the letter he’d held. “The Foreign Office is already calling me to a new post.”

  No wonder. Ginger cringed. The news would devastate her mother. “For the army?” She hadn’t thought her father would be amongst the first to be asked to serve.

  “To service in their offices in Cairo.” A tired expression crossed her father’s face, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “They want me ready to board a ship in a fortnight.”

  Cairo? Ginger’s jaw slackened. The whole family had spent a year in Cairo when she was seven—she still remembered some of the Arabic her Egyptian governess had taught her. Warm memories of sitting on open verandahs, stealing sips of sweet tea spiced with cardamom, and skipping by busy markets came rushing back. “But…” Ginger blinked rapidly, taking his words in. “Why Cairo?”

  “There’s concern about the allegiances of the Ottomans. If they enter the war with an alliance to Germany, there will be a need to transition the khedivate into something more friendly to the British. The Suez Canal could be at risk.”

  Her father spoke of that area of the world with an ease which displayed his expertise. She made a mental note to borrow some of his books on Egypt and Arabia from the library later—brush up on her own understanding of the Arab world.

  Then another, more worrisome thought occurred to her. “Wait—a fortnight? Just you? Or will you be taking us all to Cairo?” Wartime life here at Penmore had seemed daunting enough. But if they all went to Cairo…

  The changes to their lives would be drastic. Far more than she’d considered. She toyed with her necklace apprehensively.

  “We still have the house in Cairo, which is more than adequate and comfortable accommodation for the family. Really, it will come down to the wishes of your mother.” Her father rubbed his jaw and gave her a stern look. “No one is to know of this, though.”

  “Of course.” Despite
her father’s sober demeanor, she appreciated when he gave her a straight answer, rather than telling her it was of no concern to her. She eyed the secretary where he’d placed the letter. She suspected he’d just learned of the assignment himself, given his behavior. Was he afraid? Disturbed? He certainly didn’t seem to welcome the news. “Have you told mother yet?”

  What would her mother say about going to Cairo? Mama wouldn’t be happy to have the family separated.

  “Not yet. I don’t want to put anything else on her this afternoon. She’s thrown herself into transforming this garden party into a fundraiser so admirably. No need to upset her now.”

  Ginger nodded. Given how unsettling the news about the Martins was, it would be more than enough to worry her mother for now. “That reminds me—I should go and warn her there won’t be a butcher order. Thank you for promising to investigate the matter for the Martins.” She headed toward the door.

  “The Fishers will attend this afternoon, won’t they? I believe I heard from your mother they’re invited.”

  Ginger froze mid-step. Her back grew taut as she swiveled her head over her shoulder. “Yes.” She’d hoped to avoid this conversation before the party.

  “And?” Her father folded his hands in front of him.

  A burning sensation rose in her esophagus. If she’d experienced any joy at the declaration of war, it had been as it regarded to this: she’d hoped the war would allow her to delay answering Stephen altogether. An engagement seemed an odd thing to consider while everyone else concerned themselves with looming battlefronts. “And I still haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Stephen deserves your answer, Virginia. And we could still just about arrange a wedding before this conflict takes him away.” Her father’s lip curled under his trim moustache. Her chest tightened. She hated when he put so much pressure on her.

  “In just two weeks? I hardly think so. Besides which, I gave him my answer.” Prickles went up the back of her neck. “The only reason I even agreed to consider the matter further is because you demanded I must. In which case, I need more time.” Ginger thought of the giant diamond Stephen had flashed when he’d proposed two weeks before. A beautiful jewel straight from his family’s diamond mines in Kimberley. “I told him I’d give him my definitive answer in a month and I intend to.”

  She wished she’d had the strength to refuse to reconsider. She already knew what her answer would be—didn’t she? The thought of marriage to Stephen made her ill.

  “He was practically a fixture at your side all Season.” Her father’s dark brown eyes glittered. “And you’ve always known my wishes for you both.”

  Those wishes had led to this current unpleasantness. She was too fond of her father to argue with him again—doing so after Stephen’s proposal had kept her up many nights the last few weeks. Their relationship had never been less than cordial. Her father expressed his admiration for her in ways that made her feel respected. She didn’t want to disappoint his expectations.

  “He was by my side because Henry was around—not because I welcomed his company.” Ginger gritted her teeth. She hadn’t been able to get rid of Stephen, in fact.

  Her father bristled, obviously as irritated as she. “You can’t put him off, Virginia. What reason can you possibly have for refusing him?”

  “To begin with, I don’t particularly trust him, Father. Or like him much.” Ginger dipped her chin defensively. She wouldn’t mention the way he acted so possessively of her. “It may be easy enough for you to marry me off to him. But there are many other wealthy, respectable gentlemen out there, if you’re worried.”

  “You may accuse me of being unromantic, but Stephen has loved you for years. You haven’t given him the chance he deserves.” Her father sighed. “Not to mention the match is something our families both wish for.”

  Much as she hated to be the only one opposed to the apparent happiness for everyone, Ginger set her lips in a firm line. Arguing with her father was pointless. He would accuse her of being too young to know what she wanted, as he’d done before.

  “Papa—” she rarely used the term, but now seemed a good time “—you must trust me to decide about this. I have to be married for life to whomever I choose, after all. What if I want more than Stephen is offering? You can hardly fault me for hoping to love the man I marry.” More than that, she longed for the thrill of romance, even if she wouldn’t admit it to her father.

  Her father approached, his posture as perfect as ever. He held out a hand for her and she offered one. Gently, he patted her hand between his. “Hard days lie in store for us all, Virginia. I’d like to see you settled with a young man who can provide for you and give you all the comfort you need. Stephen’s a wealthy man already. You’ll want for nothing with him. And in time, you may even grow to love him. If it’s the fact that he’s not the heir to Lord Knotley’s title—”

  If love made one’s skin crawl the way Stephen’s attentions did hers, she wanted nothing to do with him. “It’s the man, not the title. Though, to be honest, I find Rufus Fisher a much nicer prospect. Think he’ll divorce his wife for me?” She smiled jauntily.

  Her father’s eyes widened, aghast.

  Ginger chuckled, and she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’d never bring scandal to the family. Besides which, I’m not interested in Rufus, either.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.” He squeezed her hand warmly.

  Ginger turned back and hurried out of the library before her father said anything more. Ginger heard him chuckle softly as she closed the library door behind her. Beyond the hall, Henry descended the massive staircase gracing the heart of the stately house, newspaper in one hand.

  Henry would want to know about the Martins. “Going somewhere?” She fell into step beside him.

  “Not precisely.” Henry eyed her. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the garden party?”

  “Not quite yet.” Ginger spotted Mrs. Williams crossing the foyer. “Oh—Mrs. Williams, would you be so kind as to tell mother there won’t be any delivery from Mr. Martin today, after all? I’ll be outside to explain it to you both directly.”

  “I’ll tell her ladyship immediately.” Mrs. Williams’ face was sober as she rushed out of the foyer.

  “No delivery for the garden party? What is the world coming to?” Henry grinned and ran a hand through the dark locks of hair over his forehead. “Now, what is it you needed?”

  Ginger motioned for him to follow her. “The delivery leads to a much bigger issue and partially why I wanted to see you.” Ginger paused as Henry opened the door to the parlor for them. They went into the room and Ginger recounted the way she’d found Mrs. Martin earlier.

  Henry slapped his newspaper on a table beside a settee. “That’s outrageous. John Martin is no threat. And neither is his father. And how is the woman supposed to scrape by in their absence?”

  Thank goodness. Henry had often been her refuge in disagreements with her father. “My point exactly. Father seems preoccupied, though. Is there anything you and I can do about it?”

  Henry frowned. “What did father say?”

  “He said he’d ask a solicitor.” Much as Henry often spoke boldly, he rarely went too far outside their father’s wishes. Would he defer to her father here, also?

  Henry drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll see who I can get to help. A solicitor may help see about naturalization, but I don’t know if that’ll be enough. We may need to speak to someone within the Home Secretary’s office.” He gave Ginger a serious look. “But you should prepare yourself for there being little we can do. They passed the Aliens Restriction Act for good reason. Now that we’re at war, Germany won’t hesitate to reach her fingers into the country with spies. And there are many likely already here, waiting for instructions.”

  His words made worry snake its way tightly around her chest, strangulating her. Could there really be spies among them? Even in places like Penmore? No. They were safe here.

  Bu
t they may not even be staying here. Did Henry know about Cairo? She wanted to discuss the matter with someone. If they went to Cairo, who knew how long they would be there?

  The door opened and the butler, Mr. Pierce, stepped inside. He came toward them. “Lord Stephen Fisher is here to see you, my lord.”

  The worry about spies seemed to dwindle compared to seeing Stephen right now. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Ginger’s eyes darted to the door, hoping she had time to escape.

  A tall, thin man, Mr. Pierce had a keen eye—and always seemed to guess the gravity of the situation at hand. “Would you prefer for me to wait to let him in until you’ve slipped away?” Mr. Pierce asked Ginger.

  “Pierce, don’t indulge her.” Henry’s words were dry. His loyalty to Stephen had always been at the expense of what Ginger wanted.

  Ginger ground her teeth. She gave Mr. Pierce a grateful look. “Yes, please.” She headed toward the back exit.

  “You won’t be able to avoid Stephen at the party,” Henry called behind her. He crossed his arms.

  “Don’t remind me.” Ginger cut her eyes at him, but smiled. “But I can avoid him now.” Henry knew what she thought of his best friend and fortunately never tried to press the issue beyond a gentle ribbing.

  She would have appreciated him telling Stephen to let the matter rest, though. Instead, he only seemed to tell Ginger to adjust herself to the idea.

  She raced from the room into a darkened hallway leading to a back staircase. Her life felt as though it was being placed in a vise—everything more uncertain than ever. This was going to be a long party indeed.

  Chapter Three

  The music from the string quartet drifted through the trees and Ginger fingered her champagne flute with gloved hands. Guests strolled over the lawn, enjoying the perfect weather. Small groups formed clusters throughout the grass—the groundskeeper would grumble to see all the pits from the women’s heels come morning.