Chapter 9 #2
“Ironic, when your chief complaint is about men who have actually been imprisoned.” Henry chuckled and nudged her side. “Father worries you’re growing alarmingly political, little sister.”
Her father would be worried about such a notion. She gave him a wry smile. “We wouldn’t like that, would we?”
“All I’ll say is you ought to be careful. Our lot is not the same as Dr. Clark’s, for example, regardless of his father’s knighthood and his mother’s wealth.”
Her jaw dropped. She didn’t know whether to be furious or find him endearing. “You looked him up?” Now it was Ginger’s turn to laugh. Of course, Henry had. She hadn’t given too much thought to her aunt’s claims the day before, but Henry would have. He’d always been protective of her.
His findings about James were intriguing, though. The good doctor apparently had more to recommend him than she’d first imagined. He could easily make a match with any girl from a proper family. No father could object to that background—including hers.
“Given your interest in him, I felt obliged to.” Henry didn’t look the least apologetic.
She shifted in her seat, adjusting her gloves so that they dug into the spaces between her fingers less.
“Well, as much as I appreciate the research you’ve done into his background, there’s nothing to be concerned about.
And I know my place—or at least the one defined for me.
But I won’t sit about during this war and do nothing to help.
The life I’ve lived has been comfortable, but it’s also been a handicap, Henry. I don’t know how to do anything.”
Henry’s green eyes were thoughtful, as though he was seriously considering her statement. “But will being a nurse truly make you happy? The labor is something you’re wholly unaccustomed to.”
“I think so, yes.” At least he didn’t seem to rule out the idea with the same lack of consideration he’d displayed the day before.
“I’m not certain Father will agree.” Henry leaned forward, his face relaxing in the breeze coming from the window. “This is perfect hunting weather, by the way. It’s a pity I missed what will likely be the last shoot of the year.”
Ginger reached over and touched his arm.
“Tell me it doesn’t make you feel more worthwhile to be helping the Martins than out there on a silly shoot.
” A loud motorcar roared by, filling the air with fumes.
She focused on the ugly bruise on her brother’s face.
“I’m proud of you. You were quite heroic. ”
Henry gave her a light-tipped smile. “Heroic is a generous word, but thank you.” His gaze drifted out the window once again.
“I only hope someday to be worthy of the favorable opinion you have of me, Ginny. I’m not as good as you.
The world appears uglier to my more cynical mind, I suppose, and I know the part I must play in it. ”
Something about his words seemed ominous. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a good person. Better than I am. I always seem to be the one getting into trouble.”
The somber tension that had crept into their conversation eased as Henry snorted. “Well, I suppose that’s true. I only wish I could take credit for all those tricks you played on our governesses.”
Despite diverting from the more serious conversation to reminisce about their childhood, the conversation they indulged in for the rest of the drive was soothing to the heaviness on Ginger’s heart.
By the time they reached David Peterson’s office, Ginger felt more herself than she’d felt for days. Henry had always had a knack for that.
David ushered them into his office, his brown shoes squeaking as he walked.
He was rather a dandy—Ginger was convinced his coat alone was more expensive than her own outfit.
He’d carefully slicked back his groomed dark hair with pomade.
In his hand, he held a fine cigar and quickly offered one to Henry by displaying a case.
Ginger’s eyes drifted over the pictures on his desk, a few of him with what appeared to be foreign dignitaries and one on safari in Africa, where he stood beside a prized kill. She averted her gaze as he sat at his desk and invited them to sit in the two chairs across from him.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you,” David said to Ginger. “Stephen tells me you are to be married soon.”
Has he really? Ginger fumed, arranging her handbag on her lap with delicate care as she restrained her anger. “It’s not quite settled.”
David gave her a blank, confused, blinking expression.
Would he be less apt to help her if he didn’t believe her to be Stephen’s fiancée? She gritted her teeth and then tried, more amicably, “Well, with the war, it’s not the best time to plan a wedding.”
“Ah, quite right.” David nodded and tapped his cigar, the ash swirling into a crystal tray on his desk. “I see.” He turned his gaze to Henry. “So as I understand it, you’d like to sign a statement to support a—” his eyes scanned a paper in front of him “—John Martin. To keep him from repatriation.”
“Actually, Mr. Peterson,” Ginger cut in, “I wanted to discuss the possibility of preventing the repatriation of both John and his father, Friedrich Martin. We’ve known them for years.”
David frowned. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. Mr. Martin has a—”
“Yes, Stephen informed us of the situation.” Ginger leaned forward eagerly. “But, Mr. Peterson, you must see it would be wrong of us to make assumptions about Mr. Martin based on his brother.”
“I don’t see that, Lady Virginia, and neither should you.” The friendly tone with which David had addressed her earlier grew frosty. The corners of his eyes narrowed. “We can’t put the comfort of one man above the safety of our country, and there’s no reason to believe he’s not a risk.”
His curt tone made her feel insignificant. The man might have a point, but she wouldn’t concede it. Not when he’d been so rude about it.
Henry, who could always be far suaver than she was in these situations, gave David a smooth smile.
“Mr. Peterson—you mistake my sister’s zeal for this situation for a lack of patriotism.
My sister knows Friedrich Martin’s wife quite well—” a lie, but Henry could pull it off effortlessly “—and given their close relationship, she’s had no reason to question Mr. Martin’s loyalty to the Crown.
But I assure you, she’s as devoted to the cause as one can be. ”
Ginger wanted nothing more than to be quickly done with this meeting, her face flushing. “Yes, in fact. I’ve just come from St. Thomas’ Hospital. I’m planning on joining the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Nursing Service.”
David looked from Henry to Ginger, as though trying to decide what to make of them.
Then his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing.
“That’s wonderful.” He removed some papers from a file in front of him.
“As I was saying, John Martin has a few things recommending him to be simply kept in internment during this conflict. I’ll need you both to sign these statements I’ve prepared for you.
” He set the papers down in front of them.
Henry lifted the papers and scanned them.
Ginger’s gaze drifted back to the safari picture.
“Did you know, Mr. Peterson, Stephen recently bought an estate in Cape Town?” She was glad she’d paid polite attention while Stephen had droned on about it over the summer at one event they’d attended together.
It lent her the advantage of being certain David Peterson didn’t know about the Cape Town estate.
Stephen had reiterated throughout the conversation several times about how the estate would be for his exclusive use, far from the reach of the many friends who hung about him “like gnats, waiting for fruit to drop.”
Given his clothes and his pompous attitude, she wouldn’t be surprised if David Peterson was one such friend.
David gave her a faltering glance.
Yes, exactly, you silly little man.
She settled back in her seat, crossing her feet by her ankles.
“He’s quite excited about it. And he’s very keen to invite some close friends after the war.
” She avoided Henry’s watchful gaze, knowing he’d be aware of what she was up to.
The thought threatened her poise for the briefest moment.
“Given your willingness to help me in this matter, I’ll be sure to tell Stephen you’re to be the first to see it. ”
Just as she prepared to ask about Mr. Martin again, Henry handed her the papers.
“What are the chances of speeding along John Martin’s naturalization?
His siblings and residency make him an excellent candidate.
He’s lived in our village all his life, save for three months after his birth. ” Henry handed Ginger a pen.
Ginger gritted her teeth, her frustration with Henry growing. She’d been so close to her goal of pressing David again about Mr. Martin—why on earth had Henry stolen her opportunity and refocused the conversation on John again? She scrawled her elegant signature on the space beside Henry’s.
David pursed his lips and flipped through the file in front of him.
His eyebrows drew together. Glancing up, his gaze landed on Ginger first, before going back to Henry.
“It certainly seems like a good possibility. But I’d have to hurry.
And ask for some favors. He may be required to sign up for service. ”
“Excellent.” Henry stood. “I’ll come back to inquire about the matter tomorrow.”
Ginger understood Henry’s cue to leave and got to her feet.
David placed his hands on the desk and leaned against the top. He addressed Henry. “And will you be signing up?”
“I’ll be joining my father at the Foreign Office in Cairo,” Henry said. “We leave the week after next, which is part of our urgency with the Martin matter.”
“Cairo?” David broke into a smile. “I have a friend who’s just recently returned from there. I should make an introduction. The man is an absolute genius of a linguist. He might give you some wonderful insights into the political climate there now.”
“I’d be in your debt.” Whether Henry had any intention of contacting David’s friend wasn’t clear, but he did a good job of making even Ginger think he was truly interested.
David leaned down and scribbled on the back of a card. He handed it to Henry. “Mr. Noah Benson. I’ll send him a note.” He lifted his chin toward Ginger. “Don’t take your sister with you to meet him. Half of the ladies I know I are in love with him—including my sister.”
Ginger laughed. “With such a recommendation, I’m sure I’d be happy to stay away. Men surrounded by admirers are boorish.” She was also certain any man who was a friend of David Peterson would likely be a man she’d want to steer clear of.
She put her hand on Henry’s elbow. “We should leave, Mr. Peterson, but thank you so much for your help.”
As they made their way onto the street, Ginger allowed herself to seethe at Henry. “Why did you stop me from asking about Friedrich Martin—he’s going to be sent away.”
“You were overplaying your hand, Ginny. It was a good attempt and I think it will motivate Mr. Peterson to help with something realistic. Like John’s naturalization. But Friedrich is beyond our help. You must accept that.”
“Well, I don’t accept it.” Ginger glared at Henry and scanned the street for the car. Still, if John naturalized, it would mean he wouldn’t be interned at all. Having her son back would be a relief to Mrs. Martin—and a help. “You took advantage of the suggestion I made and took a gamble.”
Henry’s lips curled into a smile. “Precisely. And if it works, I’ll give you full credit.” He held out his arm for her as they stepped into the road. “Though David Peterson won’t be too happy to learn you’re doing your very best to turn Stephen down.”
Ginger dodged around a motorcar honking at them as they crossed the street. “David Peterson doesn’t need to know.” She batted her lashes at him. “For now.”
“Poor devils. I’m practically complicit in your treachery, Ginny.” Henry rubbed his jaw.
“Always. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her laughter belled behind them, and they hurried toward the car.