A Friend of the Family

by Marcia Willett

  Tom glanced quickly at Saul, took in his horrified expression and looked at William. ‘Do you think Meavy will be on?’ he asked, ignoring William’s question. ‘Any chance of a lift that far? Do you think this thing will get through?’ he added, hammering his fist on the bonnet.

  ‘Have a bloody good try !’ replied William cheerfully. ‘If Jack’s got out, we can follow along. In you get.’

  Tom and Saul hurried round to squeeze in the front with William and he started off gingerly. Saul sat in silence, adjusting his ideas. Some of the pure excitement had gone out of the adventure but an iron determination had entered in its place.

  ‘Jack’s got stock out on Lynch Common,’ William was saying. ‘So we should be OK that far, at least. It’s getting down the hill and over the bridge that worries me. Still, we’ll have a go.’

  Sure enough, at the turning towards Sheepstor the tractor’s tyre marks bore away to the right and the Land Rover continued slowly and cautiously towards Meavy. The road started to fall away to the bridge and the three of them sat barely breathing as, slipping and sliding, they began to descend. The snow had drifted into the narrowing valley and was soon piling up in front of the Land Rover. At the bottom of the hill, the road swings round to the right and left again over the narrow stone bridge which spans the River Meavy but, at this point, the Land Rover showed no inclination to remain with it. Despite William wrestling with the wheel—and Tom’s shouted instructions—it left the road to follow the old track which led to the now generally unused ford. William decided that if he could not make the turn towards the bridge he would try to use the ford instead.

  ‘Hold tight, chaps,’ he said as he straightened the wheel and gently accelerated. The wheels gripped and the Land Rover picked up speed as they followed the old track until suddenly there was a loud crash and they came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ cried William. ‘Now what? Can you get out, Tom?’

  They all scrambled out and waded through the snow round to the front of the Land Rover. The nearside front wheel had hit a pile of stones hidden by the snow and the hiss of air announced that the tyre had punctured.

  ‘We’ll have to change that wheel if we can. Have to move her back up a bit to get at it,’ said William. ‘You two shove and we’ll see what we can do. It’s worth a try.’

  With William in the driving seat, Tom and Saul heaved and strained but all to no avail. There was no prospect of moving it without more help.

  ‘Forget it,’ said William, switching off the engine and joining the others. ‘Why don’t you two go on and try and find a phone? See if you can get someone with a tractor to come and give me a pull out. You needn’t worry about me, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘OK,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t forget the rucksack, Saul,’ he added as he set off to cross the ford. The words had hardly left his lips when, slipping on a stone, he fell with a great splash into the icy cold water.

  William went down to help him. ‘Come on. Give me your hand.’

  ‘Christ!’ groaned Tom as William hauled him to his feet. ‘I’ve twisted my bloody ankle—or broken it!’

  ‘Hang on, don’t put any weight on it. Come on, Saul, you take that side and we’ll try to get him back to the Land Rover.’

  Between them they helped him to hop and hobble to the Land Rover, water cascading from inside his waterproof clothing, and up on to the front seat, his face clenched with pain.

  ‘We’d better get his boot off,’ said Saul, ‘in case it starts swelling. Look, the best thing is for me to get on up into the village and try to find some help. It’s no good,’ he said firmly, as Tom began to protest. ‘You can’t go any further like that and it doesn’t need both of us to go for help. I’ll find a telephone even if I have to go on to Yelverton. If I don’t come back with the rescue party, you’ll know that Meavy’s off and I’ve pressed on.’ He reached for the rucksack, took out one of the flasks and divided up the sandwiches, keeping for himself the slab of chocolate that Cass had put in.

  ‘He’s quite right, Tom.’ William was already struggling with the soaking laces of Tom’s boot.

  ‘I’ve left you a flask,’ said Saul, shouldering the rucksack. ‘I’ll be back in a minute if the telephones are on. If not . . . ’he shrugged, ‘see you when I see you.’

  ‘Well, for God’s sake take care,’ said Tom and cried out with pain as William started to ease the boot from his swelling ankle. ‘Christ, William!’

  ‘Sorry, old chap. It’s got to be done. Hang on!’

  ‘And no silly heroics!’ shouted Tom after his son.

  But Saul was already climbing the hill to the village and continued on his way without a backward glance.

  MICHAEL HAD NO DIFFICULTY in getting out of Plymouth. The lorries had been through behind the snowploughs, salting and gritting, and the traffic had made sure that the main roads were kept open. But, when he passed through Roborough and away from the shelter of the buildings and hedges, conditions rapidly deteriorated as the wind drifted snow on to the road and all signs of grit and salt had long since gone.

  As the open moor came into view, he caught his breath. The great white waste stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, all landmarks obliterated. He could have been crossing a desert. It had stopped snowing but the sky was as white as the snow itself and Michael felt a sense of desolation.

  If Hell wasn’t supposed to be hot, one could imagine it to be something like this: endless emptiness. Cold, bleak, featureless and oneself doomed to travel on in it for all eternity.

  He pulled himself together and switched on the car radio. ‘. . . is still at large. People in the area have been warned not to approach him as he is known to be dangerous. The severe weather conditions are hampering the police in their search . . .’ Michael switched it off and pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles more firmly on to his nose. He did not know the full details of the case, having heard of it secondhand from one of the nursing staff. Even so, he was beginning to feel very anxious. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered to himself. ‘It would all have to happen together. If only I’d insisted on bringing Hugh with us!’ He pushed a tape into the slot and switched the radio back on. Hummel’s Piano Concerto Number One filled his ears and he tried to relax.

  He crawled on, passing a number of abandoned cars. As he approached the outskirts of Tavistock a car appeared, travelling in the opposite direction. It grew closer, seemed to waver and then started to slide towards him.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ cried Michael. ‘Get over, you blasted idiot!’ He steered as close to the left as he could but the other vehicle struck his front wing. Michael had a glimpse of the set terrified face of an elderly woman before his own car slid out of control to plunge headfirst into a great wall of snow at the side of the road.

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ shouted Michael. He got out of the car but the woman was continuing on her way, veering first this way and then that, without a backward glance.

  Michael shut his eyes for a moment as various choice phrases concerning women drivers passed through his mind, then he opened them and looked at his car. It was obvious there was no possibility of returning the heavy Volvo estate to the road without the help of a number of strong men or another vehicle. He glanced round. For the first time he realised that he was almost opposite the turning that led down to Whitchurch—and in Whitchurch lived Kate and Chris. Without hesitation he switched off the engine, changed his shoes for gumboots, took his Barbour from the back of the car and, locking up, set off for Whitchurch.

  ‘I MUST SAY,’ SAID Jon, putting down his spoon and fork with a sigh, ‘it was a very good idea of yours to get stoked up first. I really enjoyed that.’

  ‘I didn’t think that it was very sensible to risk life and limb on an empty stomach,’ said Freddie, leaning back in his chair and glancing around the bar. ‘Thank God that the Bedford still has its electricity on. You must have been starving.’

  Jon stretched out his long legs to the fire while Freddie
went to get some coffee. If the truth be told, he was rather enjoying his adventure . He usually took his holidays fishing in Scotland and this was his first trip to the West Country for many years. He’d been back in the London office for just long enough to enjoy this rumpus and he was looking forward to his first sight of Dartmoor, even if it were under several feet of snow.

  Freddie returned with a tray on which stood a large pot of coffee. ‘Chap’s been telling me that there’s been a breakout.’

  Jon looked puzzled. He received his cup of steaming coffee and piled sugar in. ‘Sorry?’ he asked, taking a gulp. ‘Breakout? I’m not with you.’

  ‘A breakout from Princetown,’ explained Freddie. ‘The prison up on Dartmoor. It’s only a few miles away. Not far from your relations’ place. A car was left for him but he didn’t get far in it. Ran it off the road at Merrivale.’

  ‘Merrivale?’ Jon wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. ‘That rings a bell. I think Michael said something about Merrivale.’

  He paused. ‘That’s right. He said that if I came over the moor I would come through Merrivale and then I was to turn off to the right just after a cattle grid.’ He looked at Freddie. ‘Does that sound about right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Freddie nodded. ‘Well, it looks as if we might find your cousin having tea with an escaped prisoner.’ He laughed and swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘All set then? Fancy a man-hunt?’

  ‘Lead me to it!’ said Jon enthusiastically and gathering up their belongings they went out of the bar, down the steps and into the street.

  ‘IT’S NO GOOD.’CASS threw her book down. ‘I simply can’t concentrate. I wonder how far they’ve got. It’s awful to be so completely out of touch.’

  ‘No good getting in a state, Ma,’ advised Oliver. ‘They could be hours yet. It’s a long haul over to Yelverton in these conditions.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Cass got to her feet and wandered over to the fire. Crouching beside it, she poked at it aimlessly and then put another log amongst the flames. ‘It must have been perfectly ghastly in the old days. No television, no radio, no telephone, no lights. I can’t imagine how they filled the hours. And that reminds me. It’s getting on and I’d better get the paraffin lamps down. I hope they’ll be home before dark.’

  As she straightened up, the front doorbell pealed several times. Cass clutched at her heart and stared at Oliver. ‘Who . . . ? Could it be . . . ?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’ Oliver pulled himself out of his chair. ‘And that’s to go and answer it.’

  Oh, Oliver. Be careful. If only we still had Gus. He was such a good guard dog.’

  ‘Come on, Ma. Get a grip. Homicidal maniacs don’t go about ringing on doorbells. Perhaps it’s Saul and Pa back already.’

  He went out into the hall and, after a moment, Cass picked up the heavy brass poker and followed him. As they went down the hall, the doorbell rang again.

  Oliver pulled back the bolt which Cass had earlier put across and opened the door. Abby Hope-Latymer stood on the doorstep, her eyes wide and frightened in her small face as she hurried past Oliver into the hall.

  ‘Abby!’ cried Cass, trying to hide the poker. ‘How lovely. But should you be out on your own? Haven’t you heard . . . ?’

  ‘I certainly have!’ interrupted Abby. Her eyes fell on the poker. ‘And so, I see, have you. My God, Cass! William went out hours ago and he hasn’t come back. I waited and waited but I’m all on my own up there and my nerve finally cracked. I started to hear footsteps and doors opening. Jesus! What a man! Did you see what he did to his wife? She only went out for a drink with some chums. She wasn’t to know that the blasted kid would get up and burn the house down! Anyway. I decided to come down to you. Have you seen him?’

  Cass pulled herself together and, in the face of Abby’s panic, felt a slight sense of superiority. ‘Well, hardly.’ She gave a little laugh and attempted a joke. ‘I know my reputation is pretty widespread but even so I hardly feel that he’d make straight for me.’

  ‘I think she’s talking about William, Ma,’ said Oliver, grinning at Abby’s puzzled expression. ‘Not the escaped prisoner.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Oliver, go and find me a drink,’ begged Abby. ‘I’ve never run so fast in all my life and I had William’s gun with me, too.’

  A look of respect crept into Cass’s eyes. ‘A gun?’ she said. ‘Gosh, Abby! Makes my poker look pretty silly. Do you know how to use it?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue!’ Abby broke into hysterical laughter. ‘Which is just as well. I’d have probably shot anyone if I’d come upon them unexpectedly.’

  ‘But where is it now?’ Cass looked at Abby’s empty hands.

  ‘On the doorstep.’ Abby opened the front door again and picked up the shotgun. ‘It seemed a bit, well, unfriendly standing on your step and brandishing a shotgun. Apart from which, if you’re as nervous as I am, you might have batted me one with your poker.’

  They went up the passage together and into the sitting room where Oliver greeted them with large gin and tonics.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Abby leaned the gun against the sofa, seized the glass and took a great gulp. ‘I imagine that neither of you have seen William. Where’s Tom?’

  ‘Well, that’s the point.’ Cass sat down with her drink and motioned Abby to sit beside her. ‘Michael took Harriet into hospital last night to have the baby and Polly went over to look after Hugh and she’s stuck up there all on her own with the prisoner loose. Tom and Saul have gone off to try to find a telephone so they can warn the police.’

  ‘My God!’ Abby’s eyes had been growing larger and larger throughout this recital and she seemed to shrink back into the corner of the sofa. ‘Poor, poor Polly,’ she whispered. ‘What a nightmare.’ She began to search her pockets for her cigarettes. ‘She must be out of her mind with terror.’

  ‘It’s possible that she doesn’t know,’ said Oliver, perching on a stool by the fire. ‘It depends if she’s been watching the television. She’s probably been too busy with Hugh.’

  ‘Let’s hope, for her sake, that she doesn’t know.’ Abby inhaled deeply on her cigarette. ‘Otherwise she’ll probably be dead from fright by the time they get to her. And where the hell is William?’

  ‘Where was he heading for?’ asked Oliver.

  ‘He went out in the Land Rover to check on one or two of the oldies. Mrs Hampton and a few others. Just to make sure they could cope. He said he wouldn’t be long and that was two hours ago.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ said Cass. ‘You know William. Someone’ll keep him talking and he’ll have forgotten the time. He’ll probably panic when he gets back and finds you’re gone. He’ll think that the prisoner’s popped in and kidnapped you.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Abby firmly. ‘There’s no way I’m going back there alone. And suppose he’s not there and doesn’t come back for ages? I’m not staying up there on my own in the dark.’

  ‘No.’ Cass shuddered involuntarily at the thought. ‘You must stay here with us. You didn’t think to leave William a note?’

  Abby shook her head and took another gulp. ‘I just grabbed his gun and legged it,’ she said.

  ‘Oh well.’ Cass glanced out of the window. ‘It won’t be dark for a few hours yet. William will probably guess where you are. We won’t panic. Let’s have another drink.’

  Twenty-nine

  BY THE TIME THAT Saul had left the village behind and set his face towards Yelverton, his mind was made up. He would forget the whole business of finding a telephone and make straight for Polly, all on her own at Lower Barton.

  After all, he reasoned with himself on the long trudge up the back road to Yelverton, the police might not be able to do anything. They’ll probably go out and check that she’s OK but they’re hardly likely to leave anyone on guard. The prisoner could turn up at any moment. I can stay with her until he’s caught or until Michael can get back.

  He was lucky that some farm vehicle had done the trip earlier and he plod
ded along in a tyre track, his eyes fixed on the lane ahead, his mind full of his plans, trying to picture his arrival at Lower Barton. After a while, it seemed that his world had dwindled to this endless white lane, merging with an endless white sky. At least it had stopped snowing. Secretly he was delighted that Tom had twisted his ankle. He felt free, purposeful and excited. It was always better in times of crisis to be up and doing.

  Half an hour later, he was passing through the outskirts of Yelverton and heading for the main road, his conscience eased by a shouted conversation to a local, who was clearing his drive, which elicited the information that Yelverton had no power and that the telephones were off, too.

  At the roundabout, Saul looked around him. Very little was moving. One or two locals were about, some of the shops looked open and there was a group of children embattled in a snowball fight. There were several abandoned vehicles dotted about and one or two creeping gently along the road. It was obvious that the ploughs had been through and Saul’s spirits rose. With luck he might get a lift into Tavistock. He crossed the road and, sticking out his thumb to any passing car, set off again. He was well beyond the turning to Horra-bridge before anyone took the chance of stopping but, just when he had decided that people might be afraid to pick up a hitchhiker with a prisoner on the loose, a van slowed beside him and the passenger window was wound down.

  ‘Where’re you goin’, mate?’

  Saul leaned down and peered in. The driver was a young man, wearing overalls, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The back of the van was full of tools and equipment.

  ‘Tavistock.’

  ‘Yer in luck. ‘Op in.’

  Removing his rucksack, Saul opened the door and slid in gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Up to Mount ‘Ouse School. They’ve gotta burst pipe. Where d’you want ter be dropped orf?’