85 
The Admiralty
After a good deal of searching about, inquiries, and red tape, the unlikely duo of Amanda Rutherford Halifax and Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld at last reached that portion of the Admiralty they hoped might be in the vicinity of the office they were looking for.
They had come down a long, wide corridor, luckily without being stopped as they already had at several previous junctures, and now stood before two large closed doors, upon which in bold black letters were painted the words FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTY.
“I think we have found it at last,” said Timothy. He opened one of the doors for Amanda. She entered and he followed.
“We would like to see Mr. Churchill,” said Timothy when the door was closed behind them.
“And you would be—” said the receptionist, gazing up from her desk to look upon the most unmilitary and unmatched pair of individuals she had ever laid eyes on, with an aloof expression of humorous scorn.
“Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld,” replied Timothy. “It is really most urgent that we speak to the First Lord of the Admiralty.”
“In the middle of the war? Surely you can’t imagine that he can—”
“What we must see him about concerns the war,” persisted Timothy. “I have with me here Miss Amanda Rutherford.”
“Really, Mr. Diggorsfeld, I am afraid your seeing Mr. Churchill is absolutely out of the—”
“Rutherford . . . did I hear the name Rutherford?” now sounded a gravelly voice somewhere. It appeared to have come from an adjacent room whose door stood ajar.
A moment later the massive form of the First Lord of the Admiralty filled the space between the reception area and his inner office. He looked over the two visitors without betraying his thoughts by any change of expression.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Churchill,” said the secretary. “These two people were just leaving. I have explained that you are extremely busy and just making plans to—”
“Who is the Rutherford around here?” interrupted Churchill.
“I . . . I am Amanda Rutherford,” said Amanda, who could not help being intimidated by the presence of the man.
“What Rutherfords? You’re not by chance the daughter of Sir Charles?”
“Actually, yes . . . I am.”
Churchill took in the information with a knowing nod.
“So you’re the young lady who wrote that troublesome political pamphlet a while back,” he said.
“I am sorry to have to admit it, but I’m afraid I am,” replied Amanda. “Much has changed since then. All I can say is that I feel very badly for my part in it, and I am no longer associated with the people who put me up to it.”
“I am very glad to hear it, Miss Rutherford,” intoned Churchill. “It was a grief to your father to see how they were using you to retaliate against him.”
“I’m sure it must have been,” said Amanda. “I will apologize to him later. But there’s no time for all that now. The reason we are here concerns those same people, and something far more serious than just a pamphlet.”
“In what way?” asked Churchill, growing steadily more intrigued. Gradually he approached from the doorway.
“I am almost certain they are involved in a spy network against England. And I think I may have information that will help you uncover it.”
“I brought her to see you, Mr. Churchill,” Timothy spoke again, “because I was aware of your acquaintance with Charles. He is a dear friend of mine as well.”
“Well . . . you came to the right place. What did you say your name was?”
“Timothy Diggorsfeld.”
The two men shook hands. Churchill now shook Amanda’s hand also.
“Come into my office,” he said. “Mrs. Templeton, get Lieutenant Langham and Admiral Snow in here immediately.”
“Yes, Mr. Churchill.”
“And contact Colonel Forsythe of the army and Jack Whyte. Ask them to come over as well. They both need to hear this. Tell them it’s urgent.”