88 
North Hawsker Head

Dawn had just begun to break over the Yorkshire moors when several automobiles and a single army transport and communications truck drove the last few miles along the narrow deserted sea road between Whitby and Scarborough on the east coast of northern England. Half of those present had come from London by train, where they had met the army contingent arranged for by Colonel Forsythe at Whitby.

Immediately after the previous afternoon’s meeting in his office had broken up, Churchill, Forsythe, and Whyte had coordinated plans for today’s dawn raid, which was now a joint operation between the army, navy, and Secret Service, with the First Lord of the Admiralty in charge. Churchhill had put Amanda in the care of Lieutenant Langham, who had arranged for her to have a hot meal, bath, and several urgently needed hours sleep in a guesthouse while final arrangements were being concluded. He returned for her later that evening. Once they were en route she slept most of the night in private quarters aboard the train. By the time morning came, and they had eaten breakfast at the hotel in Whitby, where the force met at dawn for final briefing, she felt reasonably rested and refreshed.

A mile or so from their objective, as the road crested a small rise next to the bluff of the shoreline, Churchill ordered his driver in the lead vehicle to stop. His eagle eyes thought they had spotted something in the distance down on the water.

“Hold here just a minute, Sergeant,” he said. “I want to take a look.” He got out of the car and was joined a moment later by Lieutenant Langham. From his vantage point on the bluff, Churchill peered down onto the ocean, then sent his binoculars panning the horizon.

“What is it, sir?” asked Langham.

“A small boat,” replied the First Lord. “I would say it is carrying several people. I see no sign of ships or other activity.”

“The lighthouse appears to be sending signals too,” Langham said, looking along the bluff toward the white tower about a mile away. Two automobiles were parked in front of the house, and smoke came from the chimney. Despite the early hour, the place was already up and about its clandestine activities. “There are flashes coming from the tower on and off in bursts.”

“Obviously they are signaling something out there,” said Churchill. “A sporadic light pattern like that is not for keeping ships off the shoals. Although all I see is the little dinghy.”

“Do you suppose we’re observing the method of infiltration we’ve been looking for?”

“We just may be, Lieutenant.”

“Do you want me to tell the others to move in, sir?”

“Not yet,” replied Churchill. “We’ll maintain positions out of sight here for now until this boat is ashore. I don’t want to tip off whoever this is coming in. I want them all in custody before we leave. We’ll let them get inside, then make our move.”

Twenty minutes later the dinghy was docked. Churchill watched from the same vantage point as the newcomers made their way up the bluff. When they were safely inside the house, he headed back to the lead car, raising his arm to the small waiting convoy to again begin moving slowly forward.

“It is a brave thing you are doing for your country, Miss Rutherford,” Lieutenant Langham said as they sat together in the backseat riding the final mile.

“Thank you,” she replied. “That is very kind of you to say. But I don’t feel brave. Actually I feel like something of a nincompoop for causing so much trouble. And right now I have to tell you I’m a little afraid. My heart is starting to pound.”

“Perfectly natural in these circumstances,” smiled the lieutenant. “To be honest, my heart is beating a little more rapidly than usual too. I think it started when the First Lord asked me back at the hotel if my pistol was loaded. Until then I don’t think the danger of what we’re doing had really sunk in.”

“I hope there is no shooting. I think I would be terrified.”

“We will do our best to prevent it coming to that. You know another thing I wanted to tell you,” the young lieutenant went on, “in case I don’t have the chance later, is that I have always admired your father.”

“How do you know him?” asked Amanda, glancing over in surprise.

“My father and he served together years ago,” replied Lieutenant Langham. “He always spoke highly of him. My father followed his career even after they parted ways and said how much he admired your father years later, too, when he resigned from the House of Commons. I remember my father telling me what courage that took, to go against convention and popular wisdom and step aside right at the height of his popularity. I had the chance to meet Commander Rutherford myself before the Dauntless put to sea.”

“When was that?”

“Mr. Churchill sent me down to Plymouth to deliver a personal message to your father. I was also in Scapa briefly later and met your brother . . . George, I believe.”

“Yes . . . yes, that’s him.”

“I found what my own father said was true. The exchanges between the commander and me were brief, but he treated me with the utmost respect.”

While Amanda was trying to think how to reply further, she felt the automobile slowing again.

“This will do fine, Sergeant,” said Churchill to the driver.

“It looks like we’ve arrived,” said Lieutenant Langham.

“Everyone out,” said Churchill, “but quietly.”