“There she is. Flaming flesh! There’s a man with her,” whispered Dorothy. She dashed to the kitchen just as the doorbell went. “I’ll get it Mrs Jones, you stay there,” she said breathlessly.
Paul scrambled down from a chair and tried to come out, but she gently pushed him back.
“I want to answer the bell,” he said indignantly.
“Not this time. You go and help Mrs Jones get the lunch ready,” she said.
Gwen gave her a quick nod. “Come on, Paul. I want you to stir this pudding mixture for me.”
Dorothy gave him another little push, and shut the door after him.
David was already opening the front door. There stood Sandra Williams and an official-looking gentleman in a dark-blue suit, with a clipboard in his hand.
“We’ve come to see Mrs Gwen Jones,” said Sandra Williams in her crisp, business-like voice.
Gwen appeared in the hallway.
A second later Paul’s face peeped round her legs. “My feet are still in the kitchen,” he called.
“Good morning, Mrs Jones. It’s Sandra Williams. We met yesterday. This is my colleague, Mr Preston.” She was already in the hall as she spoke, and Mr Preston was close behind her.
“Oh,” said Gwen. She was at a loss for words.
“Paul go back in the kitchen and talk to Mr Jones,” snapped Dorothy. She shoved him in once more and said fiercely under her breath, “and don’t come out till I tell you.”
“We have been informed that you have four children here who are supposed to be in care, and we have documentation from the court ordering you to hand three of them over to us for safe custody,” said Sandra, pushing her pink-rimmed glasses firmly up on her nose. Damn these things, she thought. They kept slipping, and the wig was itching. She hoped this wouldn’t take long.
Dorothy stepped forward. “Good morning, Miss Williams. Good morning, Mr Preston. I’m Dorothy. Of course we’ll come with you, if the court orders it.”
A humming sound floated out from the kitchen, and Mr Jones was laughing. “You’re a good hummer.” The humming got louder and louder.
“Shall we go into the sitting room, Miss Williams,” said Dorothy, ushering her in to the front room. “We can talk quietly in there. Would you like to come through, Mr Preston? Then you can show us the court order. This hall’s too narrow for us all.”
As they filed in, David turned to Gwen who was standing speechless, almost ready to faint. “You go into the kitchen, Mrs Jones,” he said quietly. “Dorothy and I will look at the papers, and we’ll call you if we need you.”
He turned her gently and held the kitchen door open for her. When he came back Dorothy was carefully scrutinising the court order. He slipped his hand into his pocket.
“Yes, you’ve got all the names right,” Dorothy was saying, “though Lucy Copse isn’t here. She left early this morning and we’re not sure where she is at the moment. David and I will come. Should we go and pack?”
Miss Williams was just in the process of saying, “Come as you are,” when David jabbed his syringe into the back of her thigh.
“What on earth?” she exclaimed, slapping her leg. Then she swayed.
“You’re faint,” said David. “Let me help you into a chair.”
Mr Preston realised at once what had happened.
“Why you little devil!” he snarled, and grabbed at the syringe in David’s hand. As he did so, he felt a sharp jab in the back of his leg and swivelled round to face Dorothy. He lunged at her. She stepped back, and he fell forward. He made a feeble effort to rise, and then his head dropped face-down on the floor. The humming in the kitchen stopped.
“He’s gone,” whispered Dorothy.
David waited for the buzzing in his ears to die down before slipping out of the room and putting his head round the kitchen door. “Would you like to come in now, Mrs Jones?” he said, trying to sound calm. “Paul you stay where you are. Mr Jones might want you to make him some more toast.”
Gwen stood transfixed in the sitting-room doorway. Dorothy and David stared in awe at their handiwork.
“I cannot believe that we did that,” said David eventually.
“Nor me.”
Sandra Williams lay sideways across an armchair. Her permed wig was askew, and her real hair, pinned in little circles close to her scalp, gleamed silver against the lifeless brown. Her bag had fallen to the floor and burst open.
“Fire of the melting flesh! Just look at that!” cried Dorothy, pointing at the three syringes that had spilled out onto the carpet. “Those were for us!”
The hairs rose on the backs of their necks.
Gwen Jones’s soft voice cut across the shocked silence. She had recovered just enough from her initial horror to realise that some sort of action was required. “Don’t touch anything,” she said. “I’ll ring the police.”
“No, we can’t!” chimed Dorothy and David in unison. “Infiltrators!”
“Mr Lovett will know who to trust,” said Dorothy. “He’ll send someone. How long should the drug last?”
“About four hours,” said Gwen. “It lasted longer on Evan because I gave him a tablet as well.”
Dorothy shuddered. “Well, let’s hope we don’t need to do that! I’d be sick if I had to shove a pill into their disgusting mouths.”
Paul’s face appeared round his grandmother’s legs. He surveyed the scene with satisfaction. “Good,” he said. “She was bad. She made my hum come.”
There was a sound of shuffling chairs in the kitchen.
Gwen darted off. “You can sit in the back room this morning, Evan,” she said. “I’ll put the gas fire on for you. David and Dorothy are giving the front room a good spring clean, so you won’t get any peace in there.”
She waited for him to object, but he was in an amenable mood today.
“That’ll make a change for me,” he said affably. “Sometimes I get tired of that front room without Maria to come and sit with me. I shall sit by the fire and read my paper, and Paul can keep me company and do some drawings at the table.”
While Gwen was settling her husband, David picked up the scrap of paper by the telephone. His fingers fumbled as he dialled Mr Lovett’s number.
“Their car’s on double yellow lines,” he remarked as he waited for a reply. “I wonder if the traffic warden’s seen it. Ah! Hello. May we speak to Mr Lovett please?”
Mr Lovett was not available, said the receptionist.
“But it’s urgent!”
“He’s in court all morning, and he won’t be back till half past one.”
“Could you please tell him to ring us back as soon as he gets in?” said David. “It’s urgent. Tell him it’s David who was a witness in the arson case when the Copse house burned down.” He gave the number, stressed the urgency, and put the phone back in its cradle.
“I bet she won’t tell him,” he said despondently. “She sounded as though she didn’t care. She said he won’t be back till half past one. That’s in an hour and a quarter. They shouldn’t have woken up by then. If he doesn’t ring back we’ll ring again, and just keep ringing.”
“Were there any more syringes in the drawer?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes. Two.”
“Good. If one of them stirs before he rings, we’ll give them another dose.” She eyed the three syringes that lay on the carpet next to Sandra Williams’s handbag, and David followed her gaze.
“There’s something very tempting about those particular syringes,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “So humane!”
David gasped. The blood rushed to his head. “Don’t even think it!”
“No, no. Of course not. It was just a joke.” Dorothy herself was shocked. “Holy fire!” she said, “I’ll turn into one of them if I’m not careful. Now that’s something that really would frighten me!”
Cha
pter Twenty-Two
Gwen was white-faced and shaking and moving aimlessly about, wondering whether she should peel some potatoes, or try to hide the bodies, or ring the police.
David hugged her. “You’ve been good to us,” he said, “and we’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”
Dorothy put her arms round them both, and for a moment they held each other close.
“Right!” said Gwen, eventually detaching herself. “I must pull myself together.”
They decided on a cup of tea, and sat silently round the table. Time seemed to stand still.
“It’ll never be half past one,” sighed Dorothy. She tossed her head and stood up. “I’ll find something to do. It’ll help pass the time.”
She popped her head in the back room. Mr Jones was asleep in the chair. Paul held up his picture and whispered, “It’s Lucy.”
Dorothy admired it. In fact, it did look very like Lucy – and very like the twelve-year-old Maria in the photograph.
“That’s exactly how she stands, and how her hair floats away from her face,” she said, genuinely impressed. “I don’t know how you do it!”
Paul wrote his name at the top of the paper and put his crayons back into his pencil case.
“That’s a tidy boy,” said Dorothy quietly. “And now I’d like you to come up with me to make the beds. Don’t thump on the stairs because we don’t want to wake Mr Jones.”
David helped Gwen finish preparing the lunch, not that any of them felt like eating. He scraped some carrots and peeled the potatoes, and put some washing in the machine, but whenever he looked at the clock the hands had hardly moved. Every now and then, he or Dorothy would unlock the sitting-room door and check the contents. The two bodies lay exactly as they had left them.
When one o’clock came, the time seemed to go even more slowly.
“If we can’t get hold of him straight away,” said Dorothy, “we’ll just have to give in and call the local police, and keep our fingers crossed that they’re genuine. Someone simply has to come before they wake up.”
At twenty past one, Dorothy and David told Paul to stay in the kitchen and help Mrs Jones lay the table, and they locked themselves in the sitting room. Mr Lovett rang just before half past. Despite the anticipation, they nearly jumped out of their skins. The bodies didn’t move.
David took the call. Mr Lovett knew at once who he was. David tried not to gabble as he explained the situation.
“So they’re still asleep here in the sitting room,” he said finally, “But they might wake up in an hour or two.”
Mr Lovett was already on another phone. Dorothy had her ear right up against David’s head. They could hear him speaking urgently.
“Get on to him double-quick, but no one else,” he was saying.
Back to David, he said, “Stay put. Someone local will come. You can trust him. He’ll give you a code name of Peter Pan. Don’t let anyone else in, except for the men he brings with him, and don’t leave the house. I’ll get hold of Beverley. If she’s free she’ll come for you today, and if she’s not, it’ll be tomorrow, Wednesday.”
Lightheaded with relief they squeezed each other tight.
“Let me speak to Mrs Jones,” said Mr Lovett.
David unlocked the door and called Gwen in, and locked it again behind her.
She trembled as Mr Lovett explained the instructions he had given to David. “It’s going to be alright,” she assured herself as she put the phone back in its stand. She averted her eyes and stepped round Mr Preston’s body. “Once they take these dreadful people away, we can relax.”
A hand rattled the door knob.
“What dreadful people?” came Evan’s voice. “What’s the matter with this door? It’s stuck. It’s not locked is it?”
As Gwen’s shaking hands unlocked the door, Dorothy positioned herself beside her to block any view into the room.
“It’s alright dear.” Gwen’s voice was steady. “Dorothy and David didn’t want Paul to come in before they finished the cleaning. He was laying the table for me, so we can eat now.” She put her hand on her husband’s arm, and gently turned him towards the kitchen.
Dorothy clenched her teeth for a moment to stop them chattering and then took a deep breath. “Did you have a nice nap, Mr Jones?” she called after them, as brightly as she could. “You’ve woken up just in time for lunch.”
“It’s not lunch, it’s dinner,” he said rather grumpily. He didn’t like having doors locked in his own house, especially by people who didn’t belong there. His wife could see the early signs of a rage, and was silently praying that it wouldn’t erupt.
Dorothy tried to smile, but he turned away from her and didn’t see the horror in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr Jones. It’s dinner,” she said. “I’ve got to get it right. I’m really grateful when you tell me how to do things properly.”
His face cleared. “Now, tell me your name again, you pretty girl,” he said, as they settled themselves around the table. “I’ve forgotten why you are here.”
Gwen had difficulty eating. Her hands trembled so much that Dorothy jumped up and served the meal for her.
Her husband was concerned. “You must go and lie down, cariad,” he said. “There’s something wrong with you. Somebody had one of those modern bugs around here the other day, but I can’t remember who it was.”
“I’ll be alright in a little while,” she said. “I’m just a bit shaky, that’s all. I think I might have been overdoing things lately.”
“You do too much. You should get them to change your shifts at the hospital – or perhaps you could ask them to let you go part-time. I don’t how you do it, working full-time and running this house, and looking after me and Maria.”
She smiled at him and patted his hand. “It’s never too much for me to look after you, cariad.”
The atmosphere round the table relaxed, and the children tried to eat.
“I like to see good appetites,” said Mr Jones.
The doorbell rang before they had finished the first course. David jumped up. “I’ll go,” he said hastily.
They heard him open the front door. There were voices and someone went into the sitting room. David poked his head into the kitchen.
“It’s alright. Please don’t disturb yourselves. Just carry on eating. It’s visitors for Dorothy and me.” He could see the look of puzzlement gathering on Evan’s face as Dorothy scrambled to her feet. “I do apologise, sir. I know it’s a cheek having visitors at your house, but they’ll be gone in a minute,” he said.
“Off you go, my dear,” said Evan to Dorothy. “Maria’s friends, and their friends, are always welcome in our house.”
He carried on eating, and Paul had a second helping, while Gwen toyed with the food on her plate.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Someone took photographs. The bodies were quickly removed into a waiting van, and the handbag and its spilled contents were taken away, together with an interesting assortment of clothes and wigs that were found in the boot of the car. Peter Pan waved off his helpers, and both the van and the car drove off. Dorothy straightened the cushions in the sitting room, and the whole thing was over in less than ten minutes.
“That’s it then,” said Peter Pan. “Well done, you two. You can relax now. I’m told your escort will contact you and tell you what to do next. Don’t leave the house till you’ve spoken to her.”
Mr Jones heard a familiar voice, and appeared in the hall. His face lit up. “Well, hello there, Sam, old boy! How are you? I haven’t seen you for months. Are you still rounding up all the crooks?”
Peter Pan shook his hand warmly. “Yes. I’m still at it, Evan. As soon as we round up one lot, there’s a fresh supply coming in. I was just passing, and thought I’d pop my head in to say hello and see how you were.”
Evan was delighted.
His wife smiled nervously behind him, always afraid of what he might do next.
“This house is getting just like the old days, when people were always in and out,” he said happily. “Our young friends had visitors only a few minutes ago, and now you’re here. Come in and have a coffee.”
“Just a quick one then. Thank you.”
He followed them into the kitchen, where Paul was on his third helping of pudding. Sam gave him a big wink.
Paul inspected him with interest, and then smiled. “The hum’s not coming,” he said, to no one in particular.
“Maria’s not here,” Mr Jones was telling Sam. “She’s away at university somewhere.” He turned to his wife “Where is her college, cariad? Oh, I remember. It’s in London. She’ll be back in a few weeks. You’d never recognise her, old boy, she’s so grown up. Such a little beauty!”
When Sam stood up to leave he patted his old friend on the shoulder and gave the others a cheery wave, but his face was sad as he left the house. He turned and gave Gwen a card with his private number on. “Ring me any time if you need help, Gwen, love,” he said. “Lovett and I will be keeping each other informed.”
He gave her a kiss on the cheek and left. She went back to the kitchen and warmed up a plateful of cottage pie in the microwave.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, my dear,” said her husband as he watched her eat. “It does us both good to have all this company. We’ve missed Maria while she’s been away.”
As soon as Mr Jones had gone for his afternoon nap, Dorothy rang the big house to give Lucy the news, but there was no answer.
“She’s probably gone to the hospital,” said David. “We’ll try again later.”
They didn’t have the chance, because Mr Jones hardly slept a wink. He woke up revitalised and sat in the kitchen chatting non-stop about old friends and happy days gone by. He went upstairs a few times to look for Maria. “She must have popped out,” he said each time when he came down. “I expect she was feeling better. She’ll be back in a minute.”
The Big House Page 20