The 9

by Madalyn Morgan

  She was certainly too tired to concentrate on cycling home through blacked-out Lowarth and low-lying fog. She had enough money left to pay for a taxi home to Foxden and decided to telephone Clark’s Taxi from the factory.

  Ena walked up to Silcott’s. She had her own set of keys but she didn’t want a repeat performance of the last time she had let herself in after dark. Charlie Dawkins, the night watchman, had been dozing in his chair. He woke up, thought the Germans had invaded, rang the alarm, and in no time the air-raid sirens were wailing and Lowarth’s entire ARP brigade, including her father, were swarming all over the factory.

  Ena knocked on the door and peered through the glass to see if Charlie was about. She rested her forehead on the door, sighed through a yawn, and closed her eyes. When Charlie opened the door, Ena fell into his arms. ‘You all right, Miss Dudley?’ he laughed.

  Ena took a couple of stumbling steps before regaining her balance. ‘I am now you’re here, Mr Dawkins. Would you be a love and take me through to the annexe? I’m too tired to bike home. I’m going to see if I can get a taxi.’

  ‘Anything for you, Miss Dudley.’ The night watchman gave Ena a fatherly smile, and shining his torch on the floor, escorted her through the factory to the annexe. Ena took her keys from her bag, unlocked the door, and flicked on the light. ‘I’ll leave you to it, miss,’ he said. ‘Give me a shout when you’re ready to leave and I’ll see you out.’

  Already at Mr Silcott’s desk, Ena picked up the telephone. She watched Charlie Dawkins amble back into the factory. When he had disappeared into the darkness, she put the telephone back on its cradle and closed the door.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Ena looked around. She didn’t believe Mr Silcott or Freda were traitors. She knew them both too well. They were not spies, nor would they help a spy to steal her work. If it weren’t such a serious business, it would be laughable. She picked up the telephone again and waited for the operator. ‘But someone did,’ she said aloud.

  ‘Would you repeat that, caller?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Clark’s Taxi, please. Woodcote 835.’

  ‘One moment.’ Ena heard the phone go dead and then, ‘Putting you through, caller.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ena said, but the operator had already pulled the plug.

  ‘Clark’s Taxi,’ Ena heard her friend say.

  ‘Hello Beryl, it’s Ena. Would your dad be able to fetch me from Silcott’s?’

  ‘Dad’s finished for the night but I’ll come. We’re just having supper. Be with you in twenty minutes, all right?’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’ Twenty minutes would give her time to have a look around. ‘Thanks, Beryl,’ she said, putting the telephone down. Snooping on her friends felt wrong, but she knew that she hadn’t told anyone that she was taking work to Bletchley today or that she sucked pear drops when she travelled. She hated the thought that Commander Dalton could be right and someone she worked with had helped a German spy to sabotage her work, so she set about to prove him wrong.

  With one eye on the door in case the night watchman returned, Ena opened the top drawer of Freda’s desk. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she fingered through documents and worksheets regarding work assigned to herself and her friend. There wasn’t anything there that she hadn’t seen before.

  Closing that drawer, she opened the next one down. Dockets and notes attached to petrol coupons from the MoD. Several a month, dated and signed, going back to April of last year. Nothing unusual there.

  She pulled on the bottom drawer. It was stuck. She tugged again and it sprang open a couple of inches. Forcing it open further, until she could get her hand in, Ena ran her fingers along the wooden runners. She touched something. It felt like paper. On her knees, she peered into the cavity behind the drawer. An envelope was trapped between the back of the drawer and the back of the desk.

  On her side, her arm stretched as far as the gap between drawer and desk would allow, Ena tugged the envelope free. With the drawer fully open, she sat back on her heels and read the envelope’s contents.

  No wonder Commander Dalton had looked shocked when Ena told him they had to travel down to Bletchley by train because they hadn’t received any petrol coupons this month. Here they were. Ena put the coupons back in the envelope, and placed that on top of Freda’s desk.

  Except for several letters which had already been opened, the drawer was empty. Ena picked them up and glanced through them. Two were from Freda’s brother, Walter. She read the first page. Walter had referred to Freda as Dear sister. In the body of the letter he said that he was working hard, might have to go overseas soon, and ended with Hope to see you at Uncle’s in Northampton before I leave. He signed off with Keep up the good work, Walter. The second letter from Walter was much the same as the first.

  The last letter was from someone who signed off as H. A close friend if the salutation Dearest was anything to go by. It was clear from reading the letter that H and Freda were a little more than friends. But again, there was nothing out of the ordinary in the body of the letter. She returned all three letters to their respective envelopes and put them back in the drawer, making sure she put them in the order they were in when she had taken them out.

  Ena blew out her cheeks. Strange that Freda hadn’t told her that she was walking out with someone, if of course she was walking out with the man who signs himself only as H. Mysterious, Ena thought, but not a capital offence.

  Pulling herself up, Ena remembered the crumpled envelope containing the petrol coupons on the top of Freda’s desk. She couldn’t leave it there or Freda would know she’d been looking through her desk. The only thing she could do was put the envelope back where she found it and hope it would eventually fall into the bottom drawer where Freda would see it. Satisfied that there was nothing sinister in Freda’s desk drawers, Ena pushed the drawer closed.

  She went to Mr Silcott’s desk. The top drawer where the safe key was kept was always locked.

  Returning to Freda’s desk, Ena took the key that opened her boss’s desk from the top drawer. Again, there were only worksheets and documents stamped Top Secret in red, which she didn’t read. The second drawer was deeper than the first and held staff information. Ena fingered through the files until she found Freda’s details. Previous address Number 7 Manning Street, Oxford, Current address, since 1939, 24 Newbold Street, Lowarth. No Northampton address. But then it was her uncle’s home, not Freda’s. Ena put the file back and nudged the drawer to with her knee. In the bottom drawer were maps, train timetables, insurance documents and other business papers, but nothing that even hinted of espionage or spies.

  Locking the top drawer, Ena returned the key to Freda’s desk then looked at the clock. Beryl would be here in the taxi any minute. Ena needed to leave. As she turned the key in the door of the annexe she called Mr Dawkins. ‘I’m off home,’ she said, ‘would you lock me out, please?’

  ‘Is that you, Ena?’

  ‘Yes, Mam. Just taking my coat off.’ Ena looked in the hall mirror and tutted. Her hair was a mess. The usual deep wave at the front was so damp it stuck to her forehead in rats’ tails. She ran a comb through it and held it in place with a Kirby grip. It didn’t look any better, but it would have to do.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ Ena’s mother said. ‘I was beginning to worry.’ Putting her knitting down, she held onto the edge of the table and pulled herself up. ‘There’s a bit of stew left. I’ll get a bowl.’ But first she turned to the kitchen dresser. ‘This came for you a bit ago.’ She handed Ena a plain brown envelope. Ena felt her pulse quicken. What now? Her mother, looking over Ena’s shoulder, said, ‘I thought it was Bill come to give us bad news.’

  ‘Who? Margaret’s Bill?’

  ‘Yes, on that big motorbike of his. I mean with him and Margaret living in London, in all the bombing.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I was relieved when it wasn’t Bill, I can tell you. Go on then, open it.’ Ena ran her finger along the flap at the top of the envelope. ‘And th
en I thought it might be about our Tom.’

  ‘Don’t worry so, Mam. If anything had happened to Tom, you’d have been sent a telegram. And it wouldn’t be addressed to me, it would be addressed to you and Dad.’ The adhesive on the top of the envelope eventually gave way to the pressure Ena was applying. She took out a single sheet of white paper. It had neither the name of the sender nor a signature. It didn’t need one, Ena knew exactly who had sent it and where it had come from. ‘It’s an order for work,’ she said, returning the letter to its envelope.

  ‘Why did they bring it here to you?’

  ‘I was at their offices today.’ She waved the envelope as if in some way it backed up her story. ‘I took some work over.’ To Ena’s relief, her mother didn’t ask where the offices were, so she carried on. ‘They should have given me the order when I was there, but the boss was in a meeting. Anyway, we’ve got the work, that’s all that matters.’ Ena folded the envelope in four and put it in her pocket.

  If she hadn’t been so hungry, Ena would have gone straight up to her bedroom to read the document. but having only eaten a round of toast at breakfast and a slither of sponge cake at teatime, she was ravenous.

  Lily Dudley ladled stew into a bowl and placed it in front of Ena. It was mostly carrots and parsnips, which her father had grown in his allotment. Because of rationing there was no meat in it, but it was hot and it smelt good. While her mother cut and buttered a slice of bread, Ena tucked in. The document was burning a hole in her pocket but whatever Commander Dalton had to say would have to wait until she had eaten.

  At eleven o’clock, her father came in from a night on ARP watch. Too tired to do more than wash her face, Ena kissed her mum and dad goodnight and went up to bed.

  In her bedroom, she closed the door and undressed. She took the envelope from her jacket pocket, and hung the jacket up next to her skirt in her small wardrobe. Pulling on her nightgown, she jumped into bed.

  The letter was clearly not an order for work or it would have been stamped Top Secret and sent from the Ministry of Defence in London. Ena had never been privy to any personal correspondence from Commander Dalton at Bletchley Park but she was certain if she had it would have been signed. This document wasn’t. Pulling the blankets up to her neck, leaving only her hands exposed to the cold air in her bedroom, Ena began to read. Green vouched. Ena leant back against the headboard of her bed and looked to the heavens. ‘Thank you, Henry,’ she said aloud, before reading on. Do not speak to anyone about the events of today. The word ‘anyone’ was underlined in red. Imperative that no one learns of the loss on the train. ‘No one’ was also underlined in red. Work order to follow. Proceed as usual. Will be in touch. Ena stared at the letter in disbelief – and read it again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Freda was already at her desk when Ena arrived at the factory on Saturday morning. ‘Herbert didn’t come back here yesterday,’ she said, lifting her head and swivelling round in her chair to face Ena. ‘I was so worried, I telephoned the house, but there was no reply. Any idea why he didn’t come in?’

  Ena’s mind was blank. She needed to say something – to stop her friend from worrying, if nothing else. ‘I don’t know. I--’ The telephone on Mr Silcott’s desk burst into life. Ena put her hand up and mouthed, Hang on.

  ‘Silcott Engineering. Can I help you?’

  ‘This is Commander Dalton.’

  Ena’s mouth went very dry at the sound of the commander’s voice. He had never telephoned at the weekend before. She swallowed. ‘Ena Dudley speaking,’ she said, in as normal a voice as possible.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  She wondered how she could let him know that she was not, and said, ‘Mr Silcott hasn’t arrived yet.’ Her heart beat so loudly she felt sure Freda would hear it. ‘Can Miss King or I help you?’

  ‘He telephoned from the hospital.’

  Hospital? Gripped by panic, Ena felt the colour drain from her face and turned sideways, so Freda didn’t see. ‘I’ll get Mr Silcott to telephone you as soon as he comes in,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her fear.

  ‘He won’t be coming in today.’

  ‘I see...’

  ‘Mrs Silcott will ring to say he has the flu and is staying at home. I’m biking a work order to you. When you’ve completed the work, I want you to deliver it. Understood?’

  ‘Understood, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me until you know what it is I want you to do, Miss Dudley.’

  Ena laughed nervously. ‘I’m confident that we will do whatever is necessary to get the job done and delivered on time.’

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Dudley.’

  ‘Good bye, Commander.’

  ‘Is he giving us more work?’ Freda asked.

  ‘Yes. He’s biking up a work order.’ Ena pulled a mock-worried face. ‘We should have waited until he was out of his meeting yesterday and brought the order with us. Still, no harm done.’ The telephone sprang into life again, making Ena jump. ‘We’re popular today,’ she laughed, more from tension than humour. She picked up the receiver quickly in case Freda offered to answer it. ‘Silcott Engineering, Can I help you?’

  ‘It’s Dorothy Silcott here.’

  The boss’s wife sounded tearful. ‘Good morning, Mrs Silcott. I’m afraid Mr Silcott hasn’t arrived yet.’

  ‘He won’t be coming in today. He has the flu. The doctor says he must stay in bed until his temperature is back to normal.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Silcott.’ Ena glanced across the room at Freda, who was about to fill the kettle but had stopped to listen to the call, and mouthed, Mr Silcott is ill. ‘Wish him a speedy recovery from Miss King and I, won’t you? And tell him not to worry about the factory. We all have plenty of work to be getting on with. Oh, and would you tell him that Commander Dalton has just telephoned. He’s biking a work order up, which I shall be dealing with.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Silcott. Good bye.’ Ena put the receiver on its cradle and turned to Freda. ‘Mr Silcott isn’t coming in. He’s got the flu. Still, we can manage without him, can’t we?’

  Freda nodded, ‘Of course. Poor Herbert,’ she said. ‘Was he showing any signs of illness yesterday when the two of you were at Bletchley?’

  Pulling a thoughtful face by turning her mouth down at the edges and tilting her head, Ena said, ‘Now you mention it, he did look a bit peaky, but he didn’t say anything. The flu can come on without any warning, can’t it?’ Ena went over to Freda and took the kettle out of her hand. ‘The kettle won’t boil itself,’ she laughed, giving it a shake. There was enough water in it for two cups. While her friend was worrying about Herbert Silcott, Ena set the kettle down on the stove, lit the gas ring under it, and wondered what it was the commander wanted her to do.

  ‘Feeling ill explains why Herbert didn’t come into the factory yesterday afternoon,’ Freda said, suddenly. ‘But why didn’t you?’

  Deep in thought, Freda’s question had taken Ena by surprise. It took her a second to gather her wits. ‘I bumped into an old friend. You might have met him when you were at Bletchley. Henry Green?’ Freda pushed out her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘He and our Bess used to walk out together.’ Ena smiled as the memory of Bess and Henry came into her mind. ‘It was a long time ago now. He’s very nice.’

  Freda turned sideways, looked over her right shoulder, and batted her eyelashes. Ena felt herself blush. Freda had clearly taken her meeting Henry to mean she was sweet on him. ‘Not my type, so you needn’t start fishing for information,’ Ena laughed. ‘Anyway, Henry went off to university and met someone else.’ Ena felt it best not to mention that the someone else was thought to be a man.

  ‘Bess didn’t see much of Henry after that, but they stayed friends. They wrote to each other quite often, I think. So when he invited me to tea I said yes, which is why I forgot about the new work order.’

  ‘And your sick boss, by the sound of it.’

  ‘I didn’t forget
Mr Silcott,’ Ena said, laughing. ‘When I saw him at the station he looked fine.’ Which, in a way, was true. The last time Ena had seen Herbert Silcott was at the station – Rugby station, not Bletchley – and it wasn’t after they had finished work, it was before they’d even started. ‘Do you want to know what happened or not?’

  ‘Of course I do. I want to know all the juicy details. Don’t leave anything out,’ Freda said, tapping the side of her nose with her finger.

  ‘We went to the buffet on Bletchley station. Henry bought me tea and a slice of Victoria sponge, which was very nice of him. He was always a nice fellow,’ Ena said, as much to herself as to Freda.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And the train that I had intended to catch was delayed.’ Freda looked disappointed and Ena let out a loud sigh. ‘I don’t know, the trains get worse. And when it did eventually arrive, it was packed to the gunnels with soldiers. I had to stand all the way to Northampton. My own fault, I should have caught the earlier one.’ She realised she was waffling and was grateful when the kettle whistled.

  ‘So, what time did you get back?’ Freda asked as she ladled two spoons of tea into the pot. Ena poured boiling water onto the tealeaves and, to give herself time to think, took the spoon from Freda and swished the leaves around a couple of times.

  ‘Seven or thereabouts.’ Ena squinted into the middle distance as if she was trying to remember the exact time. She was actually racking her brains for something credible to say – and couldn’t think of anything. ‘It might have been a bit later. It took an age to get from Rugby to Lowarth. The bus from the station stopped at every bus stop whether there was anyone to pick up or not. The driver probably didn’t want to get back to the depot too early in case he was sent out on another run.’ Freda nodded, put milk into two cups and Ena poured the tea. ‘I was too tired to bike home, so I telephoned Clark’s Taxi to fetch me.’