Be Not Afraid

by Christopher Nicole

  “And everything that entailed?”

  “I haven’t told them about that.”

  “But it’s fairly common gossip.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Does that bother you?”

  “Of course it does; I’m a human being.” She glanced at him. “Or don’t you believe that any more?”

  He swallowed. “I love you and I wish you to be my wife.” Did he mean that? he wondered. Or was he just playing the gentleman with a damsel in distress?

  Anna squeezed his hand. “I am so grateful. And so lucky to have you.”

  *

  “Mother, Father, I’d like you to meet Anna Townsend. Anna, my mother and father.”

  He almost thought Anna was going to offer them her hand to kiss, but she merely shook hands, while the elder Druces took her in.

  “You are very lovely, my dear,” Mrs Druce said.

  “Thank you,” Anna said.

  “Terrible thing about your father,” Mr Druce remarked.

  “He is alive, Mr Druce. That is what matters,” Anna said.

  “Of course,” Mrs Druce said. “But come in and sit down, my dear. You’ll take tea?”

  “That would be very nice, thank you.”

  Anna sat on the settee, leaving room beside herself. After a momentary hesitation, Druce sat beside her.

  His father sat opposite. “Shooting people here in England. They’re saying it was a member of the Salvation Army.”

  “And a woman,” his wife added. She had rung the bell, and the maid was bringing in the tea tray.

  “She was certainly a woman,” Anna agreed.

  “But we think her uniform was a disguise,” Druce added.

  “Don’t know what the country is coming to,” his father said.

  “But your father will recover?” Mrs Druce asked.

  “My father is not going to die of his wounds. As to whether he will ever recover from them, no one can say.”

  “Oh, you poor child,” Mrs Druce said. “All this, after . . .” She checked herself. “You may pour, Louise.”

  The maid obliged.

  “After everything else,” Druce said. “Anna has had a very difficult life.”

  “Oh, indeed,” Mrs Druce said. “We are so sorry for you, my dear.”

  “Please don’t be,” Anna requested, and looked at Druce.

  Who licked his lips. “The fact is, Mother, Father, I have been privileged to be able to take Anna out on several occasions, and, well, I have asked her to be my wife.”

  The Druces stared at the young couple, and Anna smiled at them and drank some tea.

  “I am happy to say that Anna has consented to our union,” Druce went on. “Her father’s approval was given shortly before he was shot. I had intended to speak to you of it before, but at that time we had been contemplating a long engagement. Now things have changed, and . . .”

  He paused, as his parents’ gazes had remained hostile.

  “Marriage?” his mother asked. “Are you not both somewhat young?”

  “Mother,” Druce said, “I am twenty-nine years old. And Anna will be twenty-one in a few months.”

  Mrs Druce looked at her husband.

  “I do think you need to consider the matter a while longer,” Druce senior said.

  “I have considered the matter in all its aspects, Father. I love Anna, and she loves me. There is nothing more to be considered.”

  “Unfortunately, there is,” Mrs Druce said. “My dear Miss Townsend, do forgive us, but I am sure you appreciate that this is a very important matter. Harry is our only son, and, well . . .” She flushed. “Do you think you could possibly wait in another room while we discuss this?”

  Anna looked at Druce.

  Who was now becoming angry. “Whatever you have to say, Mother, whatever we have to discuss, needs to be said and discussed in Anna’s presence, as it concerns her and as she is going to become a member of our family.”

  His father cleared his throat while his mother looked as if she had been slapped in the face. But she too was now becoming angry. “Very well, if you will have it so. Miss Townsend, were you not abducted as a little girl?”

  “I was twelve when I was kidnapped, Mrs Druce.”

  “And were you not in the hands of the kidnappers for several years?”

  “I was separated from my family for five years,” Anna said, carefully.

  Mrs Druce again looked at her husband. But he clearly intended to leave the interrogation to her, so she returned to the charge.

  “I assume these kidnappers were mainly men?”

  “They were mainly women. But I was rented to men on a regular basis.”

  “Rented . . .” Mrs Druce looked as if she were about to faint.

  “Through no fault of her own,” Druce said, “Anna was forced to spend those five years in various brothels.”

  Mrs Druce opened her mouth and then closed it again; that was not a word used in polite society.

  “But she was eventually rescued by her father,” Druce said.

  “After five years,” Mrs Druce said, faintly.

  Mr Druce finally accepted that he had to offer his wife some help. “Are you . . . I mean, have you ever been . . .”

  “If you mean, have I ever been a mother,” Anna said, “the answer is no. My madames always took every precaution. But I hope to become a mother now, for Harry.”

  Mr Druce retired hurt. Mrs Druce took up the challenge. “This fact, you were kidnapped as a child, is fairly widely known.”

  “I suppose it is,” Anna said. “It was mentioned during the trial of Helen Karlovy.”

  “Oh, yes.” Mrs Druce’s tone indicated that being involved in criminal trials was just another count against her prospective daughter-in-law. “And all the . . . er . . . ramifications?”

  “I have no idea,” Anna said. “I imagine the ramifications, as you put it, must be fairly obvious to anyone who thinks about it.” She stood up. “And now, Mrs Druce, I have had all of this that I am prepared to stand. Will you take me home, please, Harry?”

  Druce also stood up. He was looking most unhappy.

  “I have no desire to hurt your feelings, Miss Townsend,” Mrs Druce said. “I understand and appreciate that yours has been a singularly tragic life. However, surely you can appreciate that a marriage between you and my son is entirely out of the question. Harry has an important and hopefully successful career in front of him. This could be irrevocably damaged were he to marry a . . .”

  “The word is whore, Mrs Druce.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Thank you for tea,” Anna said. “I won’t say it has been a pleasure meeting you.” She went through the doorway.

  “Will you be returning for supper, after you have dropped Miss Townsend home?” Mrs Druce asked.

  “I don’t think so, Mother,” Harry said. “I may call tomorrow.”

  *

  They drove in silence until they were in the country. “I am most terribly sorry,” Druce said.

  “But you thought this might happen.”

  “I was afraid it might.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I will see what can be done. But there’s a chance they will not be at the wedding.”

  “Oh, Harry! You mean there is still going to be a wedding?”

  “Of course there is. I have asked you to marry me and you have accepted.”

  “I do not wish you to go through with it simply from a sense of duty or honour.”

  “I am marrying you because I love you.”

  “I am so glad. Will it really affect your career?”

  “Perhaps. But only in a small degree. Walton knows we are going to be married and he has raised no objection.”

  “Perhaps he thought your parents would object so strongly that you would call it off without the necessity of his interfering.”

  “That’s not so. He has offered to stand up for both you and your father if necessary.”

  “A character witness,” s
he said softly.

  “If you like.” He gazed at the road unfolding in front of them. “But you do understand that I am, well, going out on a limb for you.”

  “Are you not happy to do that?”

  “Of course I am. It’s just that . . . am I entitled to ask for anything in return?”

  “Certainly you are. And you will have my love, my faithfulness and my support for the rest of our lives.”

  “May I ask for something more?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I would like to ask you to renounce your past.”

  “I don’t think anyone can do that, Harry.”

  “I was thinking of this blood feud, and your determination to be avenged on the man Himmler.”

  “Those are duties to my father and my family.”

  “They are duties that are beyond your ability or strength to carry out, Anna. Attempting to do so will only bring additional misfortune on your family. I am asking you to devote your life, to your father’s health, certainly, but also to me and hopefully our children.”

  “I will willingly do those things, in so far as I can.”

  “But you will not renounce vengeance.”

  “No,” she said.

  *

  Druce stayed for dinner but declined Anna’s bed for the night. Conversation had been stilted and commonplace, and it was not until after he had left that Martina was able to sit down beside Anna and release her suppressed curiosity.

  “How did it go?”

  “It was a total and unmitigated disaster.”

  “Oh, my dear! Do you mean the wedding is off?”

  “That is up to Harry. He wants to marry me; he swears he loves me. But he wants me to renounce any thoughts of hitting back at Himmler.”

  “Did you agree to that?”

  “No, I did not. So we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “He’s not going to betray me, Martina. I am sure of that. Has anything happened while I was out?”

  “Johnnie rang. He just got your letter.”

  “Is he very upset?”

  “Yes. He wanted to come home. But I talked him out of it, at least until Berkeley is installed and that other matter has been cleared up. Do you think . . .”

  “I am sure of it,” Anna said. “But we have nothing to fear.”

  *

  Yet she was apprehensive. The next day’s paper had the murder of General Shrimpton as front-page news, with several theories being put forward, but the fact that he had been murdered in his pied-à-terre, the address of which was apparently known to very few people, was inclining speculation in the direction of murder and suicide involving himself and his housekeeper. But Anna had no doubt that the police would leave no stone unturned and, sure enough, on Monday morning, the day before Berkeley was due home, Chief Inspector Watt arrived at the farm, accompanied by another man with detective written all over him.

  “This is Detective Inspector Harriman from Scotland Yard, Miss Anna,” Watt explained.

  “Oooh,” Martina commented.

  Howard clapped his hands.

  “You’ve caught the woman who shot Papa!” Anna said.

  Detective Inspector Harriman looked somewhat taken aback by the domesticity with which he was confronted and the beauty of the two women.

  “Sadly, no,” Watt said. “Mr Harriman is here on another matter.”

  “Well, do come in and sit down,” Anna invited.

  “Will you take coffee, or tea?” Martina asked.

  Harriman glanced at Watt and received a quick nod.

  “Tea, thank you very much, Miss . . .”

  “Mrs Savos. I am Colonel Townsend’s fiancée.”

  This seemed to make Harriman more bemused yet. He followed Anna into the drawing room where she sat down, taking Howard on her knee.

  “This is my half-brother,” she explained. “His mother was murdered last year.”

  Bemusement was joined by embarrassment. Both policemen sat down.

  “So, tell me what I have done,” Anna invited.

  Harriman coughed, and left it to his superior.

  “We are merely hoping that you may be able to give us some information,” Watt explained.

  “Well, I do not think I can add anything to what I have already told you,” Anna said. “The woman—”

  “As I said, unfortunately we are not here about the woman who shot your father,” Watt said. “At least not directly. Did you read about the murder of a General Shrimpton in the newspapers?”

  “Oh, yes,” Anna said. “He used to be Papa’s boss in the army. We were very shocked.”

  “What did your father say?” Harriman asked.

  “Papa doesn’t know yet. He really has been very weak since he was shot, and he hasn’t been reading the papers. I felt I shouldn’t tell him until he was stronger, in case it upset him.”

  “Absolutely,” Watt agreed.

  “Especially as I must have been one of the last people to see the general alive,” Anna added. “Papa is actually coming home tomorrow. I’ll probably tell him then.”

  “It is the fact that you were one of the last people to see General Shrimpton alive that we would like to discuss,” Harriman said.

  “Of course. It gives me goose pimples every time I think about it.”

  Harriman opened his notebook. “You visited General Shrimpton at approximately half past three last Wednesday afternoon.”

  Anna nodded. Martina brought in the tea and started pouring.

  “May I ask what you saw General Shrimpton about?” Harriman asked.

  “It was about that woman; the attempt on Daddy’s life.”

  “You went to London, two days after your father had been shot, specifically to see the general?”

  “Not entirely,” Anna said, well aware of possible traps. “I was very upset, as I am sure you’ll understand.”

  “Of course you were,” Watt agreed.

  “I could think only that once the assassin, or whoever was employing her, learned that Papa was not dead, they would try again. I therefore went to see Mr Leighton, at the Globe. I knew he was an old friend of Papa’s. My idea was that if he would print in his paper that Papa was actually even more badly hurt than had been reported and was in fact likely to die, the assassins would leave us alone, at least for a while, which would give Papa time to recover his strength.” She gave a little sob. “I now know, of course, that he is not ever going to recover his strength.”

  “You poor girl.” Watt leaned across to squeeze her hand.

  Harriman was looking a little impatient. “But this second story has not been printed.”

  “No,” Anna said. “Mr Leighton refused to do it.”

  “You cannot blame him. For a reputable newspaper deliberately to print a false story is a serious business.”

  “I thought he would help,” Anna said.

  “And when you left the Globe offices, you went to the War Office. What did you do in between?”

  “Mr Leighton took me out to lunch. When I left the restaurant I went directly to see General Shrimpton.”

  “What did you wish to see the General about? I’m afraid he left no record of your conversation.”

  “I wanted to ask him if he could offer Papa some protection. I mean, there is just Martina and me, and Baby Howard. If any more people like the Karlovys, or even that woman, were to come here determined to kill my father, we would be absolutely helpless.”

  She looked from one policeman to the other, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “Absolutely,” Watt agreed.

  “I am terrified,” Martina confessed, doing some fluttering of her own.

  “Quite so.” Harriman felt called upon to agree. “And did General Shrimpton agree to furnish such protection?”

  Anna shook her head. “He explained that he could not.”

  “How unfortunate. Then what did you do?”

  “There was nothing more I could do. I left the War O
ffice, went to King’s Cross Station and caught the next train to Northampton.”

  “That would have been at what time?”

  “I don’t really know. I suppose I left the War Office before four. I know I was back in Northampton just after six.”

  “You were home here by seven,” Martina said.

  “I see,” Harriman said. “I wonder if you could tell me, Miss Townsend, what General Shrimpton’s demeanour was like when you were with him? I mean, was it quite normal?”

  “I really cannot say,” Anna said. “It was the first time I had ever met him.”

  Harriman raised his eyebrows. “You said he was a friend of your father’s.”

  “I never said that,” Anna protested. “I said he was my father’s immediate superior in the army, and Papa often spoke of him. But he never came here.”

  “He did,” Martina contradicted. “Once. I remember. But you were in the garden.”

  Once again Harriman was showing signs of impatience. “When you met the general, Miss Townsend, did he give any suggestion of being agitated or preoccupied?”

  “No,” Anna said.

  “Did he wish to arrange a further meeting with you?”

  “No,” Anna said. “Once he told me that he could not help Papa, there was nothing more to be discussed.”

  “Well, I think that is all I can ask you. Thank you very much for your cooperation.” He stood up. “Oh, by the way, Chief Inspector Watt tells me your father keeps firearms on the premises.”

  “I think he does,” Anna said. “Would you like to see them?”

  “If I may.”

  “Come up to his room.” Anna led the way. She opened the top drawer of Berkeley’s bureau. “There they are.”

  Harriman peered at them. “A Browning nine-millimetre automatic and a Smith and Wesson point three eight revolver.” He looked at Watt.

  “He also holds a licence for a Smith and Wesson point three two,” Watt said.

  “We don’t have that one any more.”

  “What has happened to it?”

  “Well, you see, he actually bought that gun for me. But after the attack by the Karlovys, well, I didn’t want it any more. I think I became afraid of the whole idea of guns. I had never seen anyone shot before.” Another flutter of the eyelashes.

  “I should think so too,” Watt agreed.

  “What did the colonel do with the gun?”