Page 2 of A Zephyr Rising
The housemaid would be more useful at Penmore.And it would give her something to do instead of mill about and worry over the war and the looming confrontation with Stephen.Ginger shook her head.“I can go into town instead of Florence.I’d like to know if anything has happened sooner rather than later.”
“You’re a dear.”Her mother’s lips curved in an affectionate smile.
Ginger left the two older women in the tent and strode toward the house.Passing her lady’s maid, Ginger turned.“Oh, Violet—I’ll wear the striped dress I got in London two weeks ago.I’m going into town, so I won’t have as much time to get ready for the party.If you don’t mind—tend to Lucy first.”Her younger sister would be happy to have Violet’s attention.She always complained about how long Ginger’s hair took.
“Yes, my lady.”Violet curtsied, her red hair gleaming in the sun.Henry joked Violet was well-suited to be Ginger’s maid because only she understood the tribulations a redhead had in matching clothes to her hair.Ginger smiled to herself.The trait she shared with her maidhadbonded them.
Only a week earlier, she and Violet had gushed over some of the latest styles coming in for the fall from Paris.She wouldn’t use those types of dresses now.Then again, Henry seemed certain they would resolve the entire conflict by Christmas.Her father was more wary.
For weeks, Ginger had followed the building tensions between the governments of Europe in the papers.When the Archduke of Austria had been shot in Bosnia, most Britons didn’t believe it would lead to war with Germany.But Germany had been aggressive, hungry for war.Despite the many declarations of war between the countries toward the end, she’d still hoped for peace.But when the Germans had refused to respect the neutrality of Belgium, the patience of the British government had ended.
Now it was all too late.
She found the chauffeur in the courtyard, reading his newspaper.“I hope you made it further into the dreary news than I did,” she said.“Would you give me a ride into town?”
Bosworth blinked at her from under his cap.“Right away, my lady.”He frowned at his newspaper.“I expect they’ll need good drivers in the army.”
Not another one.She said nothing as he readied the motorcar.At the rate they were losing servants, she might have to learn to drive.Her lips twisted in amusement.That wouldn’t be the worst thing.
The small village of Penmore was only a few minutes’ drive from her family’s estate.As the car wove its way over hills, Ginger reclined into the leather back seat of the car, a breeze blowing a few face-framing stray hairs into her eyes.The war had been declared the day after a bank holiday and so many people had been away.Her family had only just returned from London.
The familiar greys and whites of the stone buildings standing on either side of the main street of the hamlet set her heart at ease.The townspeople milled in the streets on their way to the market.From the open market, the scents of freshly baked goods, cinnamon, and cooking food filled the air.
Home was the most welcome place to be right now.She only hoped all she loved about it would stay as it was.
The motorcar pulled up at the butcher shop and Bosworth held the door for Ginger.She stepped out onto the street.A few women passed behind the car on foot, and continued around it, as though avoiding the pavement in front of the Martins’ shop.
How odd.
Shutters hung over the front windows.Perhaps the Martins had heard what had happened to the bookseller’s shop and wanted to protect their house?The front door appeared to be locked.She shook the knob in her hand and the door rattled with a hollow wooden sound—but didn’t budge.The Martins lived behind the shop.Would they be there?Ginger gave an uneasy glance to Bosworth.“Wait here for me.I’m going to the back.”
She unlatched the gate in the waist-high fence beside the house.The unpleasant, earthy scent of livestock mixed with chicken droppings stung her nose.She pulled out a perfumed handkerchief from her handbag and pressed it against her nostrils.A young goat stood on top of a small enclosure, its eyes fixed on her.Ginger adjusted her hat.A goat wouldn’t attack her.But then again, what did she know about goats?
She edged her way toward the back of the house, staying close to the outer wall.The goat bleated, and she jumped.“I’m a friend,” she whispered.The small horns on top of its head appeared more threatening than at first glance.
She turned the corner, and a sudden honk made her heartbeat thud.A large white goose flapped its wings at her.She pressed a hand over her racing heart and caught a breath.Good gracious.She was the one being a goose.
Hurrying the last few steps to the back door, Ginger paused.The animals continued to watch her curiously.If there was a war on the horizon, she needed to be made of stronger stuff than this.Twenty years of gentle breeding had done little to prepare her for anything.The skills she had learned in finishing school seemed awfully vapid, given what they might be facing.
She rapped on the door with the back of her knuckles.“Mr.Martin?”
From the window beside the door, a pair of eyes peeked over the ledge.One of the Martin children, no doubt.Whispered voices followed, and then the child hid once more.
If something had happened, it was likely the Martin children were living in fear.Ginger tried again.“Mr.Martin.It’s Virginia Whitman.”
A few beats passed, and the lock scraped against the frame.The door opened a crack.Mrs.Martin stood there, her dark hair in disarray, her eyelids red and puffy.She wiped her hands on her apron.“Lady Virginia.”Her voice was a hoarse whisper.“It’s good of you to come.”A girl no older than two clutched her skirt.
Somethingwaswrong.Ginger tried to blanket her alarm, her reaction subdued.“Mrs.Martin, what’s happened?”
Mrs.Martin took a furtive glance behind her and slipped out, pushing the toddler back inside.She closed the door.“How did you hear of it?”A glassy expression hazed her eyes—as though she hadn’t slept.
A heavy feeling sank through Ginger.“I heard nothing, Mrs.Martin.We were waiting for Mr.Martin to arrive this morning with the order for the garden party.When he didn’t turn up, I thought I would come and check on you.”
Mrs.Martin covered her mouth with a crumpled handkerchief.“Oh, the garden party.”Tears fell onto her cheeks.“I’m so sorry, my lady.They took Friedrich.My son John, too.”
Ginger gasped.“Taken?By whom?”
Mrs.Martin dabbed at her eyes.“Officials came to the house with papers, arrested them.”She sobbed.“They’ve imprisoned them both.”
