Billy Boyle: A World War II Mystery, Vol. 1 Read online

  I held out my hand and looked into her eyes. They were deep blue, and a shock of her bright blonde hair draped itself down one side of her face. She was wearing blue coverall with the sleeves rolled up and rubber Wellingtons, probably for working in the barn. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. Horse manure and straw were stuck to her boots, and the general odor was of, well, a barnyard.

  She took my hand and I felt her soft, warm skin, as well as the strength in her handshake, almost like a man’s. I could see a faint ripple of muscle in her forearm and I held on to her right hand as she wiped her forehead with the other.

  “Please forgive me, Lieutenant, I’ve been shoveling a mountain of horse shit for the last hour.”

  “Diana! What did I tell you about foul language?” an angry, stern voice said from behind the gate.

  “Father!” Daphne said as she ran over to him. His sternness dissolved as she kissed him. “Is Diana still cursing like a trooper?”

  “Yes, she is. A terrible affliction in an otherwise wonderful daughter. Now, tell me, what are you doing . . . ah, Baron, so good to see you!” Sir Richard walked over to Kaz and extended his left arm. His right sleeve was empty, pinned up at the shoulder. He had a full head of white hair and a short white beard, very neatly trimmed. He was tan and looked in good shape for a one-armed retired naval officer. He was wearing the same outfit as Diana and had also obviously been at work, one-handed.

  “Sir Richard,” Kaz said, with a slight bow as he shook his hand, acting every inch the aristocrat. “Allow me to present my associate, Lieutenant William Boyle.” For a second I didn’t know what to do, whether to bow or which hand to shake with. Then I noticed I was still holding Diana’s hand. I could feel myself redden as I let go. She smiled and Daphne laughed. Sir Richard’s forehead wrinkled up as his eyes darted between Diana and me. I tried to gather what few wits I had.

  “Very glad to meet you, sir,” I said as I gripped his offered left hand somewhat clumsily. “Most folks just call me Billy.”

  “You see, Father,” Diana said, obviously picking up the thread of a previous argument. “See how informal Americans are, offering their first name right off. Billy probably feels more at home having someone curse around him, don’t you, Billy?”

  “Well, we don’t shovel much horse . . . manure in South Boston, Miss Seaton, and not every American is as friendly as I am.”

  Diana’s smile vanished, her attempt to rally me to her side having failed. She tossed her hair back and turned toward the barn.

  “I just need to finish up a few things. Daphne, dear, come chat with me while I clean up. Father, will you show our guests inside?” Without waiting for a response, Diana and Daphne went off, arm in arm, whispering to each other, ignoring the three of us.

  “Well, gentlemen, I am glad to welcome you to Seaton Manor,” Sir Richard began, “but would you mind telling me the reason for this unexpected visit?”

  “Daphne wants to take the Riley Imp out,” said Kaz. “I need to get to London and Daphne has to drive Billy up to Southwold. It is a matter of some urgency—”

  “The Imp hasn’t been driven in months,” Sir Richard cut in, “what with rationing and the petrol shortage. I put her up on blocks and drained the crankcase. She’s under a tarp in the barn, waiting for better times.”

  “These are hardly better times, sir,” I said, “but it would really help us out to have the use of another vehicle.”

  “I take it this is a military matter?” Sir Richard asked Kaz, cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

  “It is indeed, Sir Richard. Perhaps we should explain—”

  “Explanations can wait,” Sir Richard said, the authority of a former captain easily asserting itself. “We need to get to work on the Imp. Follow me.”

  Within minutes Sir Richard had us in coveralls and was pulling the tarpaulin off the Imp. It was a bright red two-seater sports car, slung low to the ground and as sleek as a Spitfire.

  “It’s a beautiful car,” I said.

  Sir Richard smiled. “Yes, she is. Ships and fast cars, they have their own certain beauty, don’t you think? Now man that jack, will you?”

  We worked for an hour or so, mounting the tires and adding engine oil. Sir Richard brought in a can of gasoline and we poured it into the fuel tank as he ran a clean rag over the hood where we had left some fingerprints.

  “Well, shall we start her up? Baron?” Sir Richard handed him the keys. Kaz slid into the driver’s seat as Sir Richard walked to the barn door to swing it open. The Imp started up smartly and Kaz shifted into first gear, rolling forward toward the door, the engine rumbling with a low, sustained growl.

  “Switch off, Baron!” Sir Richard held up his hand, as heavy raindrops started to splat across the dusty courtyard. Kaz cut the engine and we watched as thick, gray clouds blew across and obliterated the blue sky.

  “Looks like a storm blowing in from the northeast, probably a North Sea front. Could be nasty. Just leave the Imp there for now. I must see to the horses. . . .”

  His eyes scanned the fenced fields beyond the barn as we heard the growing sound of hoofbeats coming toward us. Daphne came into view, dressed in one of the blue coveralls that seemed to be the uniform of the day at Seaton Manor, astride a brown horse—chestnut, I think they called that color at the racetrack. She was leading about a dozen horses, or ponies maybe, by their size, to the safety of the barn. We walked over to the fence and watched them draw near, satisfaction showing on Sir Richard’s face. I saw Diana riding a jet black horse at the rear of the little herd, when suddenly a thin slash of bright light seemed to hurl itself into the trees to our right, followed by a loud crack of thunder that split the sky above us. I jumped. The horses began to swirl in an agitated mass. One of them reared up on his hind legs and let loose a terrifying sound, all teeth and wide fearful eyes. He took off from the herd crazily and ran back the way they’d come, tail flicking wildly in the electric air. Diana turned her horse on a dime, pulling down on the bridle with her right hand, leaning in the direction she wanted to go, kicking her heels into him at the same time. The horse responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted. Diana galloped past us after the stray, her long blonde hair flowing behind her, as another bolt of lightning arced through the sky. She turned her head for a split second and smiled at me, so fast that I wasn’t sure it had happened. I climbed the fence and watched her vanish over a rise, her horse’s hooves sending clumps of dirt and grass flying as if a machine gun was chewing up the ground behind them. My heart was pounding. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Everything about the moment—Diana, the black horse, her hair, the lightning—was burning itself into my mind. I stepped down from the fence and saw Sir Richard fixing his gaze on me as the rain began to beat down harder. Kaz was shaking his head wearily.

  “The girls will finish up with the horses. They’re quite capable. Let’s get ourselves indoors and cleaned up,” Sir Richard said. He turned and walked toward the house, Kaz talking long strides to keep up with him. I followed, since it sounded more like an order than a suggestion, but I did it with my head turned toward the field, where that black horse still ran with a vision on its back.

  By the time we got inside it was a real downpour. We shed our boots and coveralls in the kitchen, while the cook brewed up a pot of tea. She was a stout, white-haired matron with ruddy cheeks. She stood with arms akimbo and held a wooden spoon in one hand like a field marshal’s baton. Her eyes narrowed sternly as she watched us doff our wet and dirty garments, as she had warned us not to venture any farther into her kitchen before they were hung properly on the hooks near the doorway.

  “It’s right nice to have both girls back home, isn’t it, Captain?” she said to Sir Richard as she eyed our progress.

  “Indeed it is, Mrs. Rutledge. Do you think you could accommodate three more for dinner tonight?” he answered.

  “Sir,” I interrupted, “we need to be on our way—”

  “Young man!” Mrs. Rutledge thun
dered, “you will not drive in here for the afternoon with Miss Daphne and then drive out before eating at least a proper meal, you hear me?” She shook the wooden spoon at me and I was instantly reminded of my drill instructor.

  “And specially not in a rainstorm like this, not in that little red automobile, you aren’t. Right, Captain?” She looked to Sir Richard, daring him to contradict her.

  “I believe Mrs. Rutledge is correct, gentlemen,” he said diplomatically. “You could leave in daylight but you’d both soon be driving in darkness, and rain, if this keeps up. With the black out restrictions that could be dangerous. You’ll stay here tonight and get an early start in the morning. Right, Mrs. Rutledge?”

  “Right, Captain, quite right indeed.”

  “Kaz, she’s incredible!” I half whispered as we walked down the wide hallway to our rooms.

  “You looked like lightning had struck you when she rode by,” he said.

  “That’s what it felt like. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

  “Don’t get carried away, my friend,” Kaz said. “We’re only here for one night, and remember, Diana is in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. She could be assigned anywhere, anytime.”

  “I don’t care. I have to see her.” I felt like nothing else in the world mattered. I didn’t know what FANYs did or where they went, and I didn’t care.

  “As I said, don’t get carried away. She may not be as interested as you are, Billy. And you have to deal with Sir Richard.”

  “First, she smiled at me. That’s all I have to go on, but it’s enough for me. Second, why would I worry about him? He seems to think you and Daphne are an OK item. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Well, first, I didn’t jump up onto a fence to stare at his daughter’s behind bouncing on a horse the first time I met him. . . . That’s your room, I believe.” Kaz leaned on his doorknob and pointed to the room opposite.

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Billy, seriously, some advice. Sir Richard is very rare among upper-class Englishmen. He does not seem to have a built-in bias against all foreigners. There are many men in his position who would not want a Pole to court their daughter, even if he is a baron. They would also not look kindly upon a young American of Irish extraction. But do not depend on his liberalism. He is very protective of his daughters. Especially Diana, who seems to have no fear.”

  “No fear of what?”

  “Fast horses, cars, whatever attracts her fancy. Perhaps you are now in that category.”

  “One can only hope.”

  I was in my room, dressing after a hot bath. My uniform had been brushed and pressed while I soaked. So far, except for stray bullets and dead bodies, life in fancy English houses wasn’t too bad. There was a knock at the door, and a servant told me that dinner would be served in an hour, and that the captain had asked if I would be so kind as to have sherry with him in the library, first. Again I could tell this was no suggestion, and said I’d be right there. I walked downstairs, hoping to bump into Diana on the way. No luck. I found the library, and Sir Richard walked in a minute later. He was dressed in a dinner jacket, and I tried to picture everything in black and white, like in the movies, which was the only place I had ever seen anyone in a tux, outside of a wedding or the mayor at the policeman’s ball, and dollars to doughnuts those had been rentals.

  “Lieutenant Boyle, I’m pleased you could join me,” he said as he poured out two glasses of sherry from a decanter. No first names between us, I guess. He replaced the stopper on the decanter and it settled in with that nice glassy clunk that said real crystal.

  “Glad to, Sir Richard . . . or do you prefer Captain?”

  He handed me a glass and gestured toward a chair. We sat. Books lined the wall in front of us, some of them really old, their faded leather bindings thick on the shelves. Others were new, with bright-colored covers showing off among the fading tones of the older books. I wondered if he had read them all. And if he had any Sherlock Holmes.

  “‘Captain’ suits me better,” he said. “I feel as if I’ve at least earned that title. The knighthood, well, that’s so much politics. As a military man, perhaps you understand.”

  “My military experience as an officer is really measured in weeks, but I think I do. My father and uncle were in the last world war. They lost their older brother in France.”

  “The shared experience of death. It tends to stay with you.” He shook his head sadly, and I wondered what else we were going to talk about. I figured more small talk was in order.

  “What sort of ship were you on, Captain? I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Royal Navy.”

  “A cruiser. She went down in the Battle of Jutland. The captain is supposed to go down with his ship, but all I could manage to send down was one arm.”

  He smiled to himself at what was now probably a well-worn joke.

  “It must’ve been tough.”

  “Losing the arm? No, that was easy, compared to losing my ship. And my men. Very difficult to come to grips with. You probably have yet to meet the enemy in combat, Lieutenant?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Once you do, you will need to keep all your wits about you. You must be totally focused on the job at hand.”

  I nodded. I waited. I couldn’t disagree with him, but I also didn’t know what he was getting at.

  “You work with Daphne and Baron Kazimierz at the U.S. headquarters?”

  “Yes.”

  “She seems to be quite happy these days. With the baron, with her post there.”

  “Yes. They seem quite devoted to each other.” Thunder boomed, a distant, low sound. Rain pelted the windows as the winds blew it sideways against the house. I wondered what in hell we were talking about.

  “It is ironic that people in wartime find each other who never would have met otherwise. For some it can be very good, having a relationship forged during time of war. For others, it can be . . . dangerous. It may entail a loss of focus.”

  “You mean, like thinking of loved ones back home when you’re dodging bullets?”

  He took a drink, keeping his eyes leveled on me over the rim of the glass. He set the glass down, still gazing at me. “Yes, that sort of thing. It’s why the commandos don’t want men with families. On a dangerous job, one shouldn’t be thinking about anything but the objective.”

  “Well, at HQ the most danger we ever face is a paper cut.” I couldn’t very well brag about almost getting shot by accident to a guy with one arm at the bottom of the North Sea.

  “Every job has its rigors. More sherry?”

  I drank a second glass of the stuff and we talked some more. About Eisenhower, U-boats, London, lots of idle chitchat. Maybe this was how the swells entertained a guest. Tiny glasses of liquor my grandmother might drink and lots of small talk. It went on until a butler, in a swallow-tailed coat even fancier than the captain’s, announced that dinner was served.

  I followed the captain out of the library and down the hall, thick carpeting deadening the sounds of our footsteps. We passed portraits of two men in naval uniforms from the last century. I wasn’t introduced.

  We turned a corner and came to the main staircase at the front, the formal entrance to the house. Diana was waiting at the bottom. She looked a lot different than she had earlier. The absence of horse manure on her shoes was nice. She wore her FANY uniform, a light gray outfit that wasn’t designed for fashion, but she looked like a movie star in it anyway. Her hair was brushed and gleaming, falling over her shoulders like sunlight.

  “Billy, there you are,” she said. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

  “The captain invited me to the library for sherry,” I said, trying to sound cheery about it.

  “Oh, how nice of you, Father,” Diana said, falling in beside me and taking my arm.

  The captain bowed his head. “No trouble at all, my dear.”

  Daphne and Kaz were already in the dining room. I walked with Diana to the table to pull out her chair
, but the captain had other plans. He seated his daughters to his left and right, and put me next to Daphne. There were only five of us at the table, but somehow I ended up as far away from Diana as possible. Out of footsie range, anyway.

  The dining room was wood paneled, a dark cherry color. It was lit entirely by candlelight, candlesticks on the table, sideboard, and flickering in wall sconces. It produced a mellow, golden light, reflecting off the polished wood and giving the room a sense of age and dignity. A brisk fire in a huge fireplace behind the captain kept the damp chill from the rain outside from creeping in. Firewood snapped and sparked as wine—claret according to our host—was poured. He raised his glass in a toast.

  “To our American allies. Lieutenant Boyle, I hope you are the first of many more to come.”

  “They’re on their way, sir. You can depend on that.”

  We clinked glasses, and there were smiles all around.

  “We are depending upon it,” Captain Seaton said. “After fighting alone for two years, 1941 was a godsend to us. First, Hitler attacked Russia in June, taking the pressure off England, and then America came into the war in December. Made us breathe a little easier over here, I can assure you.”

  “When will the Americans get into the fight?” asked Diana. “It’s been over six months since Pearl Harbor was attacked, and we’re just beginning to see you Yanks over here.”

  “Diana!” barked the captain. “Don’t be rude!”

  “That’s OK,” I said, trying to avoid an embarrassing moment. “Miss Seaton may not understand how difficult it is to mount a military campaign.” I took another swig of wine, warming to my subject. I was on Eisenhower’s staff, after all.

  “You see, there’s the matter of strategy, logistics, target selection—”

  “Billy,” Daphne interrupted, “I think you can spare us the lecture. Diana actually has more experience with military campaigns than any of us, excepting Father.”

  “Diana was with a FANY detachment that served as switchboard operators with the British Expeditionary Force in France,” Kaz said, jumping to my rescue. “In 1940.”