After a tour of the other two common rooms—for girls and women—Falway hadn’t found anyone else who had seen Bernhardt that morning. They’d begun the operation after the start of the first shift, but if Bernhardt had been late for work and walking around the grounds, he might have seen the troops moving in.
He waited in the main hall for the MI5 men. Their suave air of superiority rankled him almost as much as the inmates had. They were the typical upper-class cream of the Oxford and Cambridge crop, accustomed to deference from people like him. He wondered if all that would change after the war. It changed to some extent after the Great War. Trench-seeking mortar had proved a great leveler, and now the bombs. The world had never before seen horror, death, and sacrifice on such a massive scale. Who’d want to kowtow after going through all that?
The men came down the stairs holding a couple of black leather shoulder bags and a cloth packet.
“Under the floorboards,” said Cummins. “One of those new compact transmitters and a wad of money. Bretton-Taylor’s finishing the search upstairs. Nothing in the attic. Did you find any sign of him?”
“No. The boys’ attendant said he’d seen him in the grounds early on and apparently he’s often late for his shift. He must have spotted us,” said Falway.
“Damn. We should have waited.”
“Yes, you should.” The man bristled at the implied criticism.
“Any idea where he might have gone? Any favorite haunts?”
“No idea. He wasn’t much of a one for pubs, I’m told. The woods, perhaps?” said Falway.
“Woods? Any around here?”
“Many. And you may have heard of the New Forest.”
“No need to be sarcastic,” said Cummins, his mouth pinched around the corners.
“He doesn’t own a car. He’d need transportation. I’ll check to see if any stolen cars have been reported.”
“Yes, do that, please.”
Mrs. Clancy arrived, a little flustered and breathless. “Telephone call for you, Inspector Falway. It’s Miss Rosie McInnis. She’s quite distraught and said the station told her to call you here. Jamie is missing.”
Falway sprinted up the passage to her office and picked up the phone.
“Falway here. What’s happened?”
“It’s Jamie. He told me he was going out to the greenhouse before breakfast, but Evans says he never saw him. And he didn’t come in for breakfast. I’ve looked everywhere. And Mummy’s car is missing. So’s Laddie.” Visser. Transportation. But what did he want with Jamie and the dog?
“Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know. He went out and dropped Mummy off at the hospital on his way to a meeting.”
He ran back to the hallway and told the men what had happened. “Bernhardt’s behind it, mark my words. Let’s go.”
21
He’d promised Evans he’d water the seedlings in the greenhouse before breakfast. As assistant gardener, he was in charge of things like that. Maybe he’d go out through the kitchen. Cook often passed him something tasty and he’d still got a while to wait until breakfast.
“Mornin’, Jamie.”
“Good morning. I’m just going to the greenhouse to do some watering. The little plants get thirsty a lot.”
“Good boy. Here, take a couple of biscuits with you. They’re ginger snaps, just out of the oven. Must keep your strength up, you know!”
“Thank you. I love ginger snaps.”
They smelled gingery delicious. He finished the first one and sniffed at the other. As he rounded the stable wall he spotted a figure opening the door where Lady Audrey’s car was kept. Wait a minute, he knew that man. Bernhardt again. He stood still and watched for a minute. He munched the second biscuit. What is he doing? He’s not allowed in there. He heard him cranking the car. Is he going to steal it? He crept close to the stable, staying close against the wall, and peered in.
Sweat dripped from Bernhardt’s forehead as he tried to get the car started. He stopped for a minute, panting as he leant against the dark-green bonnet. Jamie mostly finished chewing and swallowed, but it went down the wrong way, making him cough and splutter. Bernhardt reached him before he could run far. He grabbed the back of his collar, dragged him into the stable, and threw him into the car.
“Spying, are you?”
“You’re not allowed to take Lady Audrey’s car! That’s stealing!” It came out as a mumble, what with his mouth still having some biscuit in it.
“When Germany has conquered England, we will take everything from these people. Now be quiet or I will hurt you. I may have to anyway.”
“Are you Mr. Hitler’s friend?”
“You could certainly say so.” Bernard shoved him over against the door handle. “Get in!”
“Are we going somewhere?” Jamie stumbled as he climbed into the high seat.
“Oh, yes.”
Jamie closed his eyes and tried not to cry and make Bernhardt angry. He’d been frightened a lot since this horrid blitz business started, but this man scared him in a different way. Bernhardt had a face that didn’t have much showing on it. Roy, so very unkind, liked hurting Jamie and laughed while he did it. But with him it always came to an end, even when he’d hurt him so badly that time with the handle of Gran’s hairbrush. Jamie wished he could forget that, but he couldn’t ever. He’d thought about telling Gran, but it was something so dirty it had to stay a secret. Stupid to think about Roy now, gone forever.
Berhardt swore as he cranked the engine again. He opened his eyes a tiny bit. The man was sweating and very red in the face.
Breathe properly. He felt giddy, couldn’t breathe in enough. Jamie cupped his hands over his mouth to keep the cries inside. Breathing got easier. Think about something else, anything but Bernhardt and Roy.
Last week he’d come into the kitchen when Cook was getting rabbits ready for cooking. He stood in the doorway, his legs and arms all frozen up. They’d been so pretty once. She’d already taken off their skins. She slit the tummy open of one, cut out his inside bits and threw them in a pail. She was singing a tune, a cheerful pretty one. She stopped when she saw him there.
“Jamie, it’s all right. We have to eat. God put these good creatures on the earth to feed us. That’s what they’re for.”
She hadn’t felt sorry for the lovely rabbits, her face wasn’t sad at all. She was used to it, probably did it all the time. Bernhardt would be like that, only with people. Why couldn’t he think about nice things?
He opened his eyes when the engine started.
“Well, Jamie. Who did you tell about our little talk?”
“No one. Honest.” His heart was going too hard and he wondered if Bernhardt could hear the lie.
“Then why did the army come to Blexton, slinking around the place like hyenas?”
“Don’t know.” Mustn’t tell. Hy … what? Don’t ask questions.
“I need to leave now, earlier than I planned. Your fault, I think. You are lying, too, I think. I will make you talk when …”
A ferocious growling and barking interrupted and a black and white blur leapt at Bernhardt. He punched the dog in the chest, and Laddie was thrown against the wall.
“Stop it, you’re hurting him, stop!” Laddie lay there panting a little before struggling to his feet. Bernhardt jumped into the car and started to back out.
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to take you to the forest and leave you there. Then I will go down to the sea and find a boat to take me across to the Isle of Wight. There are people there who will help me.”
“You’ll leave me there all alone?”
“Who else would be there? You will not care by then.” He smiled, but that didn’t make Jamie feel better, because it wasn’t that kind of smile.
“Of course I’ll care. I’ll be scared.”
Bernhardt didn’t reply as he drove slowly along the driveway. Jamie looked out of the back window and saw Laddie limping after them. He lost sight
of him when they got out onto the big road.
Jamie didn’t feel like crying now. He felt too cold and heavy. His tummy felt funny, too, and the clever things that lived in his head lately had emptied out. He was breathing properly, though. He turned his head to look out of the window. There were pretty things to see. Perhaps this was his last chance to look at pretty things. Cheery flowers, a big old tree that reminded him of Evans. Would the baby plants die? Would he die? What would it be like? He’d be glad to see Gran, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to see Alan or Roy. Would it hurt?
This was the road they’d come on with Lady Audrey, the one with all the great big flowers. The car stopped.
“Get out.” Bernhardt didn’t sound angry.
He took a bag out of the back seat, grabbed Jamie’s arm, and walked fast into the trees. Jamie kept up as best he could, but he couldn’t help tripping sometimes, and then Bernhardt would yank him up and hurt his shoulder. The hurting made him want to cry, but he mustn’t. He couldn’t see the sky any more, too many trees too close together. How could they live so close? They were plants and all plants need space and air and light. Evans said so.
“This is where we say goodbye.”
Trying to be brave, Jamie stood up straight and put his shoulders back like a soldier. He looked at Bernhardt’s eyes. Not completely cold and mean, they looked back.
“We Nazis believe that people like you should be exterminated like rats. But you are not so useless. You know how to work in a garden. Not so bad. I will leave you here. If they find you in time, you will live. If not, well, that is how it goes. Sit down against that tree.”
Jamie sat, feeling the rough bark itch his back. The roots weren’t very comfortable. He squirmed to find a softer spot. Bernhardt took some rope and a big knife from the bag and tied his feet, then his hands. He gasped as another rope went round his body and the tree.
“Well, the knife was useful after all, although I did not think of using it for cutting rope.” He made a funny sound, like people who are doing a laugh they don’t mean. Bernhardt’s hand shook a little. He was scared too.
“Don’t worry. I think it will be all right.” Jamie looked up at him.
“What will be all right?” Bernhardt sounded surprised.
“Everything. You are a spy, aren’t you? Sir Geoffrey was telling me about spies at dinner last night. And Cook told me some things too.”
“Of course I am a spy.”
“They’ll hang you if you get caught.”
“I suppose they will.”
“I don’t want them to do that to you.” He certainly did want them to do it, and he hoped it would hurt. A lot.
“Thank you. You must not lie now. Did you tell anyone about what we talked of?”
“No, I always try to keep my word.” Will God punish me for that? Some lies are good. White ones, Rosie told him. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.
“I think I believe you. If you had said you told, I might have cut your throat.” Definitely a very white lie.
“Goodbye, Jamie. I hope they find you, but not too soon. Wish me luck.”
“Goodbye, Bernhardt. I’ll be brave. Thank you for not doing what you said with the knife. Good luck.” May he rot in hell. Gran said that about Roy’s dad once. It sounded nasty.
* * *
Bernhardt went a few paces and stopped. He must be mad, letting such a creature live. And he might have been lying. He should kill him. No worse than butchering hogs like he’d done every year with his father. At least they gave meat. That was their purpose. He opened his bag and took out the knife. He could creep up behind him. He’d only see it at the last moment. A good knife does its work quickly. He fingered its edge, a sharp slicing one. A surgeon would not have a better one.
Graham had only understood in the last few seconds what would happen to him. He had been terrified, could not move. Coward, Benhardt thought. He had even looked that way after death, his hands claw-like and his mouth stuck in its unfinished scream. Bernhardt had heard about people who died violent deaths being frozen in their last throes, but he had never seen it before. He had only seen the slackening before the eyes glazed over. He liked looking into eyes that could not look back. He turned back toward Jamie. The boy was shaking, but not crying. Trying to be brave, just as he had said. Wishing him good luck! Well, what could you expect from an idiot.
No time to waste, I must be on my way. Bernhardt shoved the knife back into the bag and ran to the car. He had parked it behind a wall of tall rhododendrons. Thank God the damned English rain held off for a few days so the ground is firm. He tossed the bag in and got out the crank. You would think these people could afford something better, but the Bentley had been low on petrol. This one was nearly full.
It would only take him one hour to reach Lymington, maybe less. The ferries were still running, but he could not run the risk of taking this car onboard. He would have to abandon it. But if he left it too near the dock, they would guess where he was going. He must think of some better way. At least he would be warm and dry on the ferry. Better than the rowing boat that dumped him on Barton Beach in the middle of the night.
Bernhardt needed to put more distance between the Manor and himself, but he should stop soon and change his appearance. Graham had done that quite well. Just a few simple changes made a person look quite different. No need to use silly disguises. He had already put on work clothes. There was not much time. They might be looking for him already.
I should not have let the boy live. What’s one more death in the struggle?
He drove up a small lane and parked. He pulled a cloudy old mirror from his bag, the one he stole from the female staff dormitory at the Institute. He taped the sides of his face so his eyes slanted down a little. Not much, but enough to deceive. Cheek pads; Graham had used those too. He had boasted about them, had never known when to keep his mouth shut. There had not been time to change his hair color, but a woolen work cap hid most of it. Must remember to keep his eyes down, magnificent Aryan blue eyes, unusual here. These English had such muddy coloring. Good enough. Time to get going.
Maybe he should take the car on the ferry. What else could he do? Nothing would point to him faster than someone finding the car abandoned. The car parks were mostly empty these days, and restaurants and pubs had not opened yet. And if he left the car somewhere, he might have to walk a long way. Time was his enemy. Scheiss, he had said Isle of Wight to the boy. The idiot would not remember. Should have killed him.
Have to piss; should have thought of it back there. Well, he was nearly at the turnoff that would take him into the town. He got out and walked a short way down a narrow rutted track. No one about.
His fingers froze as he buttoned up his trousers. What sounded like an army Jeep rushed past what must be the turnoff before coming to a standstill. Voices. He crept out to the end of the lane. The sounds came from around the corner. He could cut through the copse that filled the angle and see what was going on.
An army roadblock. Perhaps for him. Perhaps not. If he turned back, they would not see him. Verdammt, he should have planned a better escape route. He ran back to the car and cranked it. The engine came to life at the first try. God’s on my side. And the Fuehrer’s side, naturally. Always. He drove back to the road. What now? Where to now? He needed a hostage. Not Jamie, no one would sacrifice capturing a spy for such a one. And if he remembered the Isle of Wight, so much the better.
He smiled as the perfect solution came to him. Inspired. Brilliant, actually.
22
It was very, very quiet in the big dark forest. Not all quiet. Wind shook the leaves, little things moved. Thank goodness not big things, nothing big as a horse. Jamie closed his eyes and tried to think about nice things. Birthday cake. Gran couldn’t make the last one like usual because bl-itz came down. And Roy stopped her with a knife. Stop thinking about knives, nasty cruel things. He’d think about what he wanted for his next birthday cake. Chocolate icing on top and butter icin
g in the middle, and the butter icing would have chocolate in it too.
Twigs broke, his eyes snapped open. Better keep his eyes open, best to be ready. He couldn’t see much, even though it wasn’t nighttime yet; maybe one of those little animals Lady Audrey talked about. Not fierce, just shy. She said that.
He wanted to be proud of himself; he must be brave, all the time brave. He wondered if saying a prayer would help. Gran had taught him one once. It said … he couldn’t remember; he thought it started out, “Our father.” His father was dead though; so many people dead now, and if they didn’t find him, he would get dead. Bernhardt said that might happen. Be proud, think about nice things, and above all don’t cry. Does God ever let dead boys come back?
A little ant crawled up his leg. He’d seen people squish ants and thought that very unkind. He jumped when it bit him; sharp. He shouldn’t move, didn’t want to get more ants, didn’t want to get bitten; it didn’t feel nice when that ant bit him. That ant was lucky Jamie couldn’t reach to squish him. He’d like to squish him now. Maybe other people had the right idea.
Rosie. He’d close his eyes some more so he could see Rosie in his head. She’d have on that lovely blue dress he liked best. It was quite tight at the top and showed her shape. She’d got a very good girl shape, better than most girls. He wondered what her shape looked like underneath. Soft and white? Cuddly, probably, like a cushion. It would be nice if Rosie put her arms around me now and let me put my head on the softest part of her shape. He’d feel better then. Thinking about her often made him feel funny too. Better not think about Rosie too much, it made all those things happen.
If only he could marry Rosie. But brothers aren’t allowed to marry sisters. If she married somebody else, we could all live together, though. They’d be a family. It’s so nice having a proper family. I’ll see them all soon, if they find me.
The Blitz Business Page 19