Chapter 1
The plans for the investiture were all set.Lily’s family had arrived earlier and been brought out to the Abby.Sebastian and Mallory had gotten them all settled down with some help from Freda and Lily.As Sebastian played host, pouring each a beverage of choice he turned to Lady Barrington and spoke, “Before we met up with you in Russia, we saw you in Munich, in 1945 Nazi Germany handing the Lance of Longinus to General Patton, knowing that it would lead to his untimely death.”She winced at that blunt statement.“The Solicitors we met in Atlanta that started us on this whole adventure let the cat out of the bag.”WITCH!MY JOB! Floated above the cat loaf of Sir Edgar Allan Kipling, magical cat extraordinaire, “You were MI6.It is time you tell us what you were doing for British Military Intelligence, Aunt B,” he continued ignoring Sir Kipling.
“I suppose if I don’t tell you the story you will contemplate something along the lines of drawing and quartering to an old lady,” she said with a twinkle in her eye?
“Old my butt,” they heard Lily’s mother Freda mutter, while Mallory was ‘just inspecting’ a very sharp looking knife.
“Fine; I will tell you my story.It is a long, and somewhat disjointed story, and yes nephew, it will give you a better understanding of why I loathe most witches.I am going to skip over my wedding and pinching of my father’s watch, you already are familiar with that misadventure.And you know that I served on the Western Front.I think I’ll start with fleeing Russia.In May of 1919…”
Chapter 1
Early in May 1919 a bedraggled, worn English woman in a mishmash of discarded, worn and torn uniform pieces from several nations slipped between the pickets of the White Army soldiers and American’s of the 85th Division near Obozerskaya, a small town about 80 miles South of Arkhangelsk, or Archangel, near the White Sea.Her target was the headquarters of the Sir Frederick Cuthbert Poole, General of the British forces in Northern Russia, her goal:to get out of Russia before she was put up against a wall and shot.
Once she was escorted into Sir Frederick’s august presence, otherwise known as any room where there was a roaring fire and tea, the woman said by way of greeting, “Aylesborough Abby by the Sea serves Green Tea to the Romanovs of La Dame Blanche.”
The general looked a bit surprised, then barked out a laugh, “I never thought the wayward daughter of Miles Barrington would show up on my door, especially in the middle of amuck up in Russia.What can I do for you … ahhhh … and what should I call you know?”
The tired twenty-three year old with eyes that had seen too much, “Oddly, my Lady mother said that my Lord father granted me one boon: I may still use the family name when needed.So I am known to Captain Cumming as Ethel Barrington, and despite the hurt it causes me, I shall continue to be known by it.As for what you can do, my war is over.I’d like to go home and put my life back together after my failures here,” she concluded wearily.
“Your failures?It’s mighty presumptuous of you to think you failed when His Majesty refused to help, when Nikolas kept thinking everyone loved him and wouldn’t lift a finger to get even his heir or other children out.Damn him!No Lady Ethel, I’m guessing by the Navy blouse you now wear that you had something to do with the HMS Marlborough being in the Black Sea a fortnight or so ago.You might have failed convincing your father of your worth, but if Mansfield Cumming’s gave you a private cypher, rest assured, you earned it!I’m guessing you wish to avoid meeting Mr. Trotsky or his ‘comrades’?”He looked her over thinkingaloud,“The Yanks are pulling most of their forces out as soon as the ice finishes breaking up.Their medical detachment, a field hospital and ambulance company were hard hit.Do you have any experience that way?”
“I was a section leader for the VAD for six months before Captain Cumming’s asked about my language skills,” she told him truthfully.
“Perfect!I’ll send you over to them telling them that you were caught by the events here and that His Majesty’s forces would be grateful if they returned you to your loving …” noticing her raised eyebrow, “Er, returned you to England.Is that acceptable?”
“It will suffice.Thank you,” she answered earnestly.
By mid-June Ethel, now wearing the blue Polar Bear Patch of the 85th Division’s 337th Ambulance Company, boarded a ship bound for France.It was her intention to leave the Americans in Breast after assisting with the interning of over one hundred Americans who were killed in the undeclared war in Russia.While at the cemetery an envelope was slipped to her.Opening it up she recognized Mansfield Cumming’s distinctive script advising her not to return to England, her father had actually grown more bitter; perhaps she would enjoy seeing the Spanish moss and the warmth of the American South.He had heard that Atlanta had recovered from their set back from fifty years ago.The note was signed “C” in green ink.There was also a Bank of England check for one hundred pounds, a full year’s pay!
The Americans didn’t mind her presence on board the troop ship; the officers thought a British lady kept some of the more exuberant troops in line.They weren’t wrong.Her soon to be patented ‘raised eyebrow’ at churlish behavior was perfected on that cruise across the Atlantic.Once they landed in Boston on July 12th, Ethel made her thanks and left the American troops wearing her widow’s beads from 1916.It would stave off unwanted questions like, ‘where is your passport’ and such and the gambit worked perfectly.
Before she hopped the train to New York, Ethel opened a bank account at Wells-Fargo, a national bank of some repute allowing her to draw funds from her MI 6 advance across America.The signature card showed the name as Mrs. Arthur Altsheler.At first the head teller was going to refuse, women weren’t allowed to open accounts without their husband’s permission in 1919.However, the bank officer recognized a war widow and approved it.Unbeknownst to Ethel, his son was lost when the USS San Diego struck a German mine in Long Island Sound and went to the bottom.
With a full bank account and a second class ticket, Ethel Altsheler was on her way to Atlanta.
