The Big House

by Larche Davies

  As she spoke, the doorbell rang, and Dorothy dashed downstairs.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Miss Clements,” said Gwen, as she came hurriedly into the hall. “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

  She followed Dorothy up to the top floor, where Paul lay fast asleep on his little bed under the window in Lucy’s room. Dorothy shook him gently.

  “Paul, wake up.” He rubbed his eyes and asked if it was morning. “Not yet,” said Dorothy, “but you’re going to visit Mrs Jones tonight instead of tomorrow night. You’ll be able to go back to sleep again when you get to her house. It’s because Miss Clements isn’t very well. She’ll get better soon, so it’s nothing serious.”

  “Will Lucy know where I am?” he asked, anxiously, as he clambered out of bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As soon as Paul had left, sleepily clutching Mrs Jones’s hand, Dorothy and David sprang into action.

  “Hurry!” said Dorothy. “We mustn’t panic! For Bag’s sake, David, what are you doing with that clock? You don’t want to take that with you.”

  He threw the clock down and shoved the screwdriver into his pocket.

  “How can we get out without being seen?” he said. “They’ll be watching.”

  “You’ll have to go over the side wall at the back,” snapped Miss Marilyn. “You’ll get onto that path that runs up the hill alongside the house. They might not have noticed it.” She paused and twitched. “On the other hand, they might have, so don’t raise your hopes.”

  She disappeared down the stairs, but reappeared shortly. Her hair was wet and her cheeks were flushed. She looked even crosser than ever.

  “I need your help. I can’t get the ladder out on my own,” she said. “Anyway, you can’t go now. It’s pouring with rain. You can go in the morning, very early.”

  They followed her down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the yard. A sheet of rain drenched them immediately, but they hardly noticed. The storage shed was built into an extension to the left of the back door. Miss Marilyn reached inside and switched on a light. They could see the bottom rungs of a ladder sticking out from under a bucket and a pile of garden tools.

  “Be very quiet,” she said sharply. “The slightest noise will carry.”

  Dorothy and David slipped inside. They moved the tools and bucket out into the yard. Silently, they lifted out the ladder and laid it flat on the ground.

  “It won’t be long enough,” whispered Dorothy.

  “It is.” Miss Marilyn was abrupt. “It unfolds.”

  The rain ran down her face, and dripped off her nose and her chin. David straightened the ladder out to twice its original length and they quietly propped it up against the side wall of the yard, to the left of the backdoor. It almost reached the top.

  “We’ll just have to pull ourselves up that final bit when we get there,” whispered Dorothy. “But it’s a bit wobbly.”

  David wedged a piece of wood underneath one foot of the ladder and gripped it firmly. “It seems OK,” he said.

  They hurried inside, dripping all over the kitchen floor.

  “Go and change into something dry. Have you packed yet? Get some sleep, and I’ll wake you at four. And put on layers of your warmest clothes. There are sandwiches in two plastic carrier bags by the door, and a little money. Very little, but it was all I could find. Put them in your backpacks.”

  *

  When Miss Marilyn knocked on their doors at four o’clock on the Friday morning, Dorothy and David were already up and dressed.

  “Eat something first,” said Miss Marilyn.

  They gobbled down some toast and coffee, pulled their anoraks over their uniform jumpers, and grabbed their backpacks. Miss Marilyn pushed them out through the back door into the yard. The hill rose almost vertically behind the house. The ladder looked miserably short up against the side wall.

  “There’s a steep path going up the hill on the other side of that wall.” Miss Marilyn gabbled so fast they could hardly understand her. “Get onto that and just keep walking. You’ll go through a golf course and then along the top of the cliff, and once you get to the other side you’ll be in among caravans and no one will have seen you get there, because they’ll be watching the roads that go out of town.”

  David was steadying the ladder. “It’s still a bit wobbly.”

  Miss Marilyn held it firmly at the bottom as he climbed up. He heaved himself over the last two feet, looked down the path towards the road and gave a silent thumbs-up.

  “I don’t know how much it costs to go to London,” said Miss Marilyn as Dorothy started up the ladder, “but try and get there if you can, even if you have to hitch-hike.”

  Dorothy stopped. “Thank you for everything, Miss Marilyn,” she whispered. “We’re truly grateful.” She turned. “Oh, but we haven’t said goodbye to Miss Clements.”

  “No time. I’ll say it for you. Just go!”

  As soon as Dorothy and David had disappeared over the wall, Miss Marilyn ran back into the house and up the stairs. She found Miss Clements slowly putting on her shoes.

  “For heaven’s sake, Primrose, do you have no sense of urgency?”

  Miss Clements smiled placidly. “More haste makes less speed, does it not, Marilyn, dear?”

  “So, you’re back to normal!” was the exasperated response.

  They left the house before dawn. Miss Marilyn locked the front door behind them. She laid the briefcase flat on the floor of the porch. The money was intact, and she placed a large sheet of paper on top of the case, saying ‘NO DEAL’ in clear capital letters.

  Their modest little car was parked in a side road running up the hill to the right of the house. Miss Clements puffed her way up the pavement with difficulty. Miss Marilyn strode ahead of her and kept looking back.

  “For God’s sake, Primrose, do you have to be so slow?” she whispered crossly.

  *

  “There they go,” said the gentleman in the passenger seat of the car on the double yellow lines. He and the driver watched as two almost-middle-aged ladies, draped in transparent plastic macs, pulled their wheelie suitcases up the slope.

  “Where’s the briefcase?” said the driver. “They must have put it in one of the bags.”

  The passenger got out of the car.

  “I’ll check the house.” He grabbed a bunch of keys out of the glovebox, pulled his collar up against the rain, and disappeared up the path.

  After several minutes he returned, carrying the briefcase and a bit of paper. “I’ve been through the house. There’s no one there.” He threw the briefcase into the boot and climbed into the passenger seat, waving the bit of paper. “This was left in the porch on top of the briefcase. It says ‘NO DEAL’. The holy leaders aren’t going to like that.”

  “I don’t like it either,” called Isobel from the back of the car, “Nor does the Magnifico.”

  “Look! They’ve loaded their stuff into the boot,” said the driver. He switched on the engine. “OK, they’re in. Here we go!”

  *

  “Thank God, at last!” said Miss Marilyn, as she drove past the harbour, over the mouth of the river and out of town. “If only this rain would stop, we could be on the motorway in just over an hour.” They both relaxed and had time to think.

  “I’ve changed my mind!” Miss Clements announced suddenly.

  “Don’t make me jump like that! You made me swerve. I nearly hit that lamp post!”

  “We must phone the police! She said they were infiltrated, but, even so, I should have done it straight away. And I couldn’t remember where I’d put that Mr Lovett’s phone number. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I just can’t think straight. My mind’s gone to pieces.”

  Miss Marilyn groaned. If she had known any swear words she would have used them at this moment.

  “Keep your
eyes open for a public phone box,” said Miss Clements. “You look that side, and I’ll look this side.”

  They cruised through one village after another, their eyes darting left and right, looking for a tall, red booth.

  “There must be one somewhere,” said Miss Clements.

  “This is why people have mobile phones,” said Miss Marilyn bitterly. “When I wanted us to get one, you said we didn’t need one of those new-fangled things.” Her mouth, which had forgotten its pursing and twitching since last night’s shock, now started working away furiously.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that, dear,” said Miss Clements. “It’s so unbecoming.”

  “Do what?”

  Miss Clements didn’t reply.

  “There must be one in the next village,” said Miss Marilyn, “and, now I remember, I’m sure someone told me they’re not red any more. They’re glass, like bus stops. It’s deliberate, so you don’t notice them.”

  The road wound and curved, and rose up steep hills and down others. It was now almost light. The car behind them switched off its headlamps, but they didn’t notice. They swooped up the next hill and round a bend at the top.

  “The sea looks rough,” said Miss Clements looking across her sister and down to their right. “The land is so flat down there it’s a miracle those farms have not been inundated. I wonder how high up we are.”

  Miss Marilyn wasn’t listening. “That car behind us is much too close,” she said indignantly.

  It was speeding up to overtake them.

  “Stop! Turn back!” screeched Miss Clements. “I forgot Donald!”

  Miss Marilyn swerved across the road. The car behind caught up and, with a twist and a shove into their side, it sent them hurtling over the cliff towards the flat farmland below. The little car turned over and over, and landed on its left side in a crumpled heap halfway down the cliff in the middle of a cluster of gorse bushes. Miss Marilyn’s right arm was free enough to enable her to turn off the engine. She just had time to marvel at her own presence of mind before her mouth opened wide of its own accord and let out a piercing scream. Then everything went blank.

  When she opened her eyes again it was broad daylight, and she could see the waves dancing down below. With her right hand, she prodded her leg to check that she was still alive. Apart from turning her head to look at her sister, that was the only movement she could make.

  “Primrose?” she called, but there was no reply. All she could see was a large mound of grey cloth. Angry tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Serves you right, you silly, old bat!” snorted Miss Marilyn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The rain had stopped. David looked behind him. It was still too dark to see anything, but Dorothy was there somewhere. He could hear the soft swish as her legs brushed against the bracken.

  “There’s a light back there,” she whispered as she loomed out of the darkness. “It’s moving.”

  He pulled her away from the path and down into the gorse. The prickles tore at their hands and clothes, but they didn’t move. They waited and listened to the approaching sound of heavy breathing. A torch flickered back and forth along the path, and a figure lumbered past them up the hill.

  As soon as the light had disappeared, David stood up and pulled himself away from the thorns.

  “Inland,” he whispered.

  *

  David could kick himself. What an idiot he was! Weeks ago, he’d dragged them all up that cliff and worked out alternative escape routes, but it had never occurred to him to explore the hill above the house. And now they were lost.

  Dorothy was just a moving blur in front of him. It should be almost daylight, but the clouds were so full and heavy that it was still as dark as night. They had crossed rough ground, a golf course, and stiles and paths, and neither of them had a clue where they were. Supposing Lucy rang the house and no one answered? She would be frantic with worry. What if she came home next week and they weren’t there? They had vowed never to be separated, and this was exactly the sort of thing that could happen if they were.

  He stood still and tried to find some sort of bearing. It started to rain again. He was almost blinded as it swept into his face in horizontal gusts, but he thanked his lucky stars as at least it told him something. The wind here usually blew inland. He was facing the sea. They’d been going round in a circle and had come back on themselves.

  Dorothy disappeared down a slope and then reappeared. “It’s the railway shed!” she spluttered, wiping the rain from her face. “Let’s get under cover till this stops!”

  They scrambled down the embankment and over to the further railway track, where the train stood under its shelter, waiting for its next descent.

  “I’m getting into the carriage before I drown,” said Dorothy. “Holy Bag!” she muttered to herself as the rain swept through the open front. “It’s as bad in here as out there.”

  David tried the door in the back of the railway shed. It was padlocked, but seemed pretty flimsy. He fished the little screwdriver out of his pocket and jiggled it about in the lock and then gave the door a good shove. There was a loud cracking sound and it flew open. In the dark, he felt along the far wall and found a switch, but didn’t turn it on. They couldn’t risk lighting themselves up for all the abductors in the world to see. As his eyes became more used to the dark, he could just about make out another switch and a pedal.

  “Hey!” he called out softly. “We could go down in the train.” Through the beating of the rain on the shed roof, he could hear Dorothy laughing. “Don’t you dare!”

  A moment later there was a scrambling sound and she came hurtling through the door. “I saw a face! On the bridge! It was looking directly at me.”

  They clutched each other and listened. All they could hear was the wind and the driving rain. Together they peered out through the doorway.

  “Perhaps I imagined it.”

  As she spoke, a man’s shape loomed against the skyline to their left. It slithered awkwardly down the bank, crossed over the empty track to the waiting train and, with difficulty, pulled itself up into the front carriage.

  There was a grunting noise, and then a growl – “I know you’re there,” The torch flashed over the carriage floor and under the seat, and then up towards the back of the shed. “Gotcha! Here I come!”

  David moved quickly. He darted back to the switch and pressed it. If there was supposed to be a light it didn’t work. Never mind that now. He threw his weight onto the pedal. The train lurched, trundled steeply downwards and picked up speed.

  “Stop!” cried Dorothy. “He’s jumping off the wrong side. He’ll crash into the wall!”

  The train clattered on for a few more yards and then stopped. It left behind the crumpled figure of a man squeezed up against the concrete wall.

  “Perhaps he’s dead,” whispered Dorothy. The man moved and uncurled himself. He struggled to push himself up, but collapsed. “He’s done something to his foot.”

  “Look, he’s trying to use his mobile,” said David, “and it’s not working.”

  Suddenly, the phone went hurtling down the track.

  “Wow! He’s in a real temper,” said Dorothy. “Thank goodness he can’t get up.”

  “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “Don’t be daft. Of course we can. Let’s go!”

  “Did you see who it was?” whispered David as they scrambled up the cliff.

  “It looked like Bernie, the caretaker from the Copse commune.”

  *

  Down on the coast road, a car cruised along at a sensible pace, attracting no attention and without even a mark on its bodywork.

  “Fancy turning down that money!” said the driver. “They must ’ave a screw loose.”

  “Yeah, well. It was fake, anyway,” replied the passenger.

  Isobel sat in
the back seat, talking to head office on her mobile phone. She turned it off and leaned forward. “Change of instructions,” she said. “I’ve got to go back.”

  Both men groaned.

  “They’ve lost contact with Bernie. He’s supposed to be trailing the kids, but his phone’s gone dead. No reception, I suppose. You’re both to go on to London, but I have to switch cars down a lane further on. I’ll tell you when we get there. It’s just past a pub called the Red Lion.”

  They drove on through a small seaside town of prettily coloured houses, up yet another hill.

  “That’s it,” called out Isobel from the back of the car. “Turn next right, just past the garage.”

  A car was waiting for her at the end of a quiet lane, facing out to sea. They pulled up behind it and stopped.

  Isobel thanked the driver as she climbed out, giving him and his passenger her warmest smile. It was important to treat inferiors with appreciation and respect. You never knew when you might need some extra little favour. She pulled her suitcase out of the boot, and stepped over to the other car.

  “Hello there!” she said. “Get out and have a cigarette, or stretch your legs or something, while I just sort myself out.”

  She threw her case onto the back seat and opened it up. Her medical equipment lay on top, and she laid it to one side.

  “I think I’ll wear the mousy one,” she said aloud to herself, as she rummaged in the case. “It’ll suit the location.”

  A dull, brown wig and a small make-up bag transformed her. Five minutes later, the car drove off. In the front passenger seat sat a drab-looking woman with permed hair, thin lips and round glasses with pinkish-rimmed frames. She wore a khaki-coloured mackintosh with a hood, and its place in the suitcase had been taken up by a smart, black jacket.

  *

  It was broad daylight. Dorothy and David stood on the cliff top and looked down at the caravan site.