Twilight had started to close in when Laddie stopped dead in his tracks, hearing something Geoffrey couldn’t, or perhaps catching Jamie’s scent on the breeze. Geoffrey sent his companion to round up the others when Laddie ran off, leaving Geoffrey to follow his barking. Close to despair, Geoffrey felt like weeping when he found the dog blanketing Jamie with his body. His emotions almost got the better of him just thinking about it. He’d even welcomed the rank stink of the boy when he lifted him off the oozing forest floor. He hadn’t stopped to cut his bindings until they got to the car and its hairy old blanket. Knowing how critical it was that Jamie be warmed up, he’d told one of the men to drive while he chafed the boy’s icy limbs all the way back to the Manor.
He passed his hands over his face, massaging his forehead to loosen his taught nerves.
“Sir Geoffrey? Are you all right?”
“Of course, Jamie, just a little tired. What else can you tell me?”
“He wanted to know how the police knew to go to that place where I used to live. He saw the cars. I told him I didn’t tell anyone anything. He said he’d have cut my throat if I had. I know he meant it.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“A boat. The isle something.”
“The Isle of Wight?” Geoffrey’s adrenalin rushed.
“Think so.”
“We don’t think he made it to the ferry because of the road blocks. But we’ll double check. We’ll find him, don’t you worry. Well, I’d better go and call Sir Ronald.” He turned back as he got to the door. “By the way, Jamie, it’s all sorted out. You’ll be part of our family in a couple of weeks.”
The beatific look on Jamie’s face as he struggled with words was something he’d always remember, and probably always with a lump in his throat.
“Thank you. Very much,” he finally managed.
Rosie ran over to her father and gave him a hug. He felt his face get rather red. He kissed Rosie on the forehead and left the room very quickly, leaving the door ajar.
“Did Sir Geoffrey’s eyes have tears?” he heard Jamie ask, sounding worried. He paused around the corner where they couldn’t see him.
“No, he’s fine,” said Rosie.
“I could have sworn his eyes had tears, but I know grownup men don’t do crying. I’m still hungry.”
“Eat up,” said Rosie.
“You never know when you’ll have to go without and make do with pretending all the tastes and smells in your head.”
Geoffrey pressed his handkerchief to his eyes and hurried to his study.
24
It had been a hazy, muggy day, quite a change from last week’s cold snap. The evening’s skin-caressing breeze reminded Rosie of the loving moments she’d shared with Robin before he’d shown his complete disrespect for her. What would it be like, going all the way? The girls at school used to talk and giggle about it all the time, but they hadn’t a clue, really. Josephine had never joined in their speculation, although she was the most developed of them all and behaved as if she were rather fast. She just frowned and walked away. Perhaps she’d done it and didn’t want anyone to know. She and Penny always seemed to be going off somewhere with their arms draped around each other, heads close as if telling secrets. Some of the girls whispered that those two didn’t like boys, that they were freaks of nature. Girls could be horribly cruel to anyone who seemed different. Although, looking back, Penny had always had plenty to say on the subject of boys and sex, like she did about everything.
She’d had a crush on the head girl at school once, lots of girls had. Jean Marshal told her that meant she didn’t like boys, only girls, and that she was a freak of nature, too, and wouldn’t ever get married. She’d dreamed of kissing that girl, holding her tight. Just a phase, she didn’t really like girls that way. But it was hard to be sure; it wasn’t something you could just try out. Or could you? Maybe if she found an attractive boyfriend, someone she could get close to and see if he made her want to be touched, then she’d know. There weren’t too many young men around these days—except maimed ones. Maybe she wasn’t patriotic enough, but looking at a stump wasn’t going to make her want to do it. Revolting idea. She’d heard a couple of her school friends had lost their brothers. They must be heartbroken, but it was surely better than being left so terribly broken.
Rosie wished she could ask Mummy about sex, but she couldn’t talk to her about things like that. Her parents were too old for that sort of thing, anyway. And maybe their generation only did it to get babies and didn’t really like it. She got funny feelings sometimes, though, like now, squirmy itchy feelings. She’d just have to wait until the right time came.
She’d left her mother trying to teach Jamie how to play draughts; she’d spent a lot of time with him since he came back. Mummy had never been interested in teaching her own daughter anything. Well, people change as they get older, and she probably had reserves of patience now that she hadn’t back then. Jamie was getting the hang of it, slowly. His eyes never left the board and you could see the effort it took to pay such close attention, sweet and heartrending. Why was he that way? What had done that to him? Dr. Gibson might know. She’d ask him next time he came.
She missed Laddie on these walks, but he rarely left Jamie’s side now. He feared for the boy. He’d sit at the greenhouse door and watch while he worked with Evans. He wasn’t allowed to work without Evans now, although God knows what an old man like that could do against Bernhardt. If only they’d catch that hateful man. Daddy told Jamie he’d probably go to prison forever. True in a way. They’d hang him.
She wasn’t allowed out alone either, even in broad daylight. They thought she was in her room. Home felt safe, though; she didn’t think he’d dare show his face at this point. He must know half of England was looking for him.
How would it feel to put someone to death? What sort of person became a hangman? Killing in cold blood. Officially. With society’s blessing and plenty of time to think about it. Did they like it, find it exciting, perhaps? Is that why they chose the job? It couldn’t be right to encourage that sort of person. Unless they thought it was their religious duty. Jesus would never have done things like that, though.
Rosie had never thought about hanging before. It probably wasn’t right. Not something civilized people should approve of. It wasn’t like her to think about things like that, Jesus and hangmen. Must be getting dotty like that old tramp who worked the last harvest and prattled on about the Second Coming all the time.
She wished she could walk through the orchard where the last of the apple blossoms were still falling, or close to the lake with its soothing, lapping water. She had strict instructions to keep close to the house, even with company, so she turned into the rose garden.
The gasp died in her throat as a clammy, oily hand clapped over her mouth and an arm clutched her body.
“Do not say a word or I will break your little swan neck.”
He dragged her around the back of the house, past the garage and stables, through the orchard to the lane outside the wall. He’d broken the gate. Rosie tried to struggle but only succeeded in pricking her thumb on her brooch. Drop it. Like Hansel and Gretel’s crumb trail. She managed to unhook it and heard the clink as it hit the stone paving.
She couldn’t see him, but knew it was Bernhardt. Who else? He gagged her with a filthy tasting piece of cloth and pushed her into the car. He tied her wrists with rope, much too tightly. She could see his profile now as he started the car. His mouth was half open in a sort of desperate breathlessness. The car wasn’t one she’d seen around the village.
“The high and mighty Sir Geoffrey McInnis will not let them put his precious daughter in harm’s way. He will get me what I want. Keep still and quiet.” He showed her his gun.
She didn’t know how long they drove, but it seemed like hours. What will he do with me when he doesn’t need me anymore? I’d better cooperate. He hadn’t killed Jamie, after all. Must keep eyes open. The car slowed, came to a
halt.
Bernhardt came around to her side and pulled her out.
“Walk quietly. We are going to find a boat, and then off to France.”
France. God, they’ll never find me there. They seemed to be walking along an alley of some kind behind a row of old cottages. The stink of the privies made her forget Bernhardt for a few seconds, until her mind pulled her back to her predicament. They saw no one. Where are we? Nowhere she’d been before. She heard and smelled the sea and all the groaning clanking sounds anchored boats made as they rode the swell.
“You scurvy little turd, put that fag out!” a rough voice said.
“Sorry, Sarge.”
Bernhardt swore under his breath as he gripped her arm until she cried out, a thin cry.
“What was that?” asked the little turd.
“Nothing, just some seagulls, I expect. Afraid of the dark, are we?”
“No, Sarge. But it’s nighttime. No gulls around now.”
“A rat then. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. I’ve got the whole bunch of you up and down here to keep an eye on. But I’ll be back. If one of those boats starts up, fire first and ask questions later. You know we’ve got a spy on the loose.”
“Yes, Sarge.”
Bernhardt and Rosie went back the way they came. Where would he take her now? The salty sea had smelled so free, a happy memory she could hold inside her. Another long bumpy ride and they pulled up outside a stone farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. He pushed her inside and shoved her into an armchair. He took the gag off and she took a deep breath.
“No one lives around here. Get some sleep. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
Sleep? He must be joking. They’ll never find me here, either. Where are the owners? She looked around. The door wasn’t locked. The windows looked normal. He’d have to untie her hands if she wanted to use the lavatory. Her eyes came around to Bernhardt. He watched her with an arrogant smile.
“Do not even try to escape. You cannot run faster than me. I have a gun. And I know other little tricks to make you come to heel, things you will not like so much.”
Bully! “But you need me alive, otherwise you won’t get what you want.”
“I do not need you alive if you cause me too much trouble. I will not hesitate to get rid of a problem and make my own way. They only need to believe you are still alive.”
Her fear was as cold as his eyes. He wouldn’t flinch. She didn’t want to die; she wanted a life, she wanted to fall in love and have all the feelings that went with it. She mustn’t let him see her panic. You’re a lady, show your mettle. She lifted her chin and met those poisonous eyes again, holding his gaze until he looked away. How odd he’d allowed her that little victory.
Nothing to be done for the moment, at least until he untied her wrists. She closed her eyes. She’d think about home. Start from the beginning, as far back as you can remember.
Rosie awoke with a start as Bernhardt pulled her up and out of the back door. She couldn’t believe it; only a complete nincompoop could have fallen asleep at a time like this.
“Cars. Someone is coming. Keep your mouth shut, or I will kill you.”
Her limbs felt stiff—she must have been asleep for an hour or more—and she stumbled as he dragged her up a small rocky hill and into a thick copse. Once deep inside, he switched on a flashlight and motioned her to sit on a tree stump. It was pitch black when he switched it off. All she could hear was the breeze riffling the treetops. He put a cold piece of metal against her neck.
“I will use this if I have to. So keep quiet. And still. Quite still.”
25
Geoffrey paced while Audrey sat, gripping the arms of the chair as if that were the only way to stay grounded. Geoffrey blamed himself. He knew how stubborn she was, he should have checked on her. He hadn’t even known she was missing until a couple of hours ago, when Audrey knocked on her door to ask her about some function or other. And where was that bloody gardener guard chap?
They turned in anticipation as Stanton entered with D. I. Falway. Stanton hovered, wringing his hands in agitation, his old face crumpled into crosshatchings of distress.
“Lady Audrey, do you recognize this brooch?” Falway asked.
“Oh, God. Yes, it’s Rosie’s. Where did you find it?” she asked, lips barely moving.
“Outside the back garden gate. Which was broken.”
“It’s that devil Visser.” Geoffrey fell into a chair.
“Probably, sir. Wants a hostage so he can make demands and make his escape. And we found our man. Dead.”
“God, no,” whispered Audrey. Geoffrey, too paralyzed by his own feelings, didn’t reach out to her.
“We can’t let him go, you know.”
“What the devil do you mean by that? You’ll do whatever it takes to get my daughter back. In one piece.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure we’ll all do our best. I’d like to talk to that boy. Jamie. Does he know the girl is missing?”
“No,” said Audrey. “We didn’t want to upset him. He’s devoted to her, you know.”
“Well, I’d like to talk to him, just the same.”
“I’ll fetch him, Sir Geoffrey,” said Stanton, not waiting for an answer.
They waited in silence, Geoffrey pacing again, Audrey staring at the Aubusson, Falway shifting from foot to foot.
“What’s the matter, Sir Geoffrey?” Jamie asked. “Stanton seems very upset.”
“Jamie, I’m afraid I have bad news. Rosie has been kidnapped like you were. We think by Bernhardt. Have you any idea where he might have taken her?”
“Oh, no! Not Rosie, not lovely Rosie!” Jamie’s eyes filled and spilled tears down his cheeks. His chest heaved.
“Pull yourself together, boy,” Geoffrey said, his tone so sharp it stopped Jamie cold.
“Think back to anything Bernhardt might have said. Not just when he took you, but before, at Blexton, about places he knew. Think! We’ve got to find her.” Geoffrey heard his voice rising. He mustn’t show his panic. Pull yourself together.
Jamie plopped down onto a footstool and covered his face with his hands.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“I’m thinking. This is how I think really hard.”
When he at last raised his head, he said, “I did hear one funny thing.”
“What? Come on, lad, out with it,” Geoffrey shouted.
“When I was still at that place, Rosie came to visit and Mrs. Clancy put us in a room next to her office. There were sort of window things high up on the wall and I heard Bernhardt on the telephone. I don’t know if he had permission to go in and use her phone. She would have been quite cross if he didn’t have permission.”
“Yes, yes, get on with it!” Geoffrey could have shaken him.
“There were a lot of funny words, not like words we say. Then I heard Bernhardt say, “In Old Ring Copse.” I know that place. It’s on the farm where Mr. Lake was so unkind to me. It scared me because I wondered if Bernhardt could be Mr. Lake’s friend.”
“I know the Lake farm,” said Falway. “Secluded. Lake’s in prison for what he did to this young chap. And he’s suspected of doing away with his wife. If Bernhardt’s pally with him, he might be using the place as a hideout.”
“Let’s go!” Geoffrey said, standing, ready to tear into action.
“Sir Geoffrey, this is a job for the army and the police. Let them handle it. I must insist.”
Geoffrey looked as if he’d protest, but dropped into his chair again. He sensed Audrey’s surprise rather than saw it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Unbearable to sit doing nothing while his child was in danger. He sprang up the moment he heard the front door close behind Falway.
“Stanton!” he roared. “Unlock the gunroom.”
26
Clouds ambled across the moon in an untidy parade, sometimes allowing shafts of light to reach through the canopy, sometimes sprawling out and fogging the night. The copse was at the top of an o
ddly knobby hill, and while a few ancient trees and waist-high thickets of gorse and bracken provided some cover, expanses of low prickly scrub made it difficult to approach on the sly.
Falway, Cummins, and Bretton-Taylor crept up the east side of the hill, flattening themselves when the moonlight searched them out. They’d asked Falway to lead the way since he knew the ground better than them, or because they deemed him more expendable. He didn’t know how many troops had been ordered out, but he spotted a few on their bellies and a couple behind the vast oaks, all armed.
He remembered some scandal he’d overheard his mother telling a friend, years ago, something about a fancy little folly amongst the trees up there where, it was rumored, there had been all sorts of wicked unnatural goings on. His mother never let anything ribald pass her lips, so he’d been left to his imagination. Only about eight at the time, he’d thought perhaps people took their clothes off in front of everybody and danced around like that, a titillating thought. Well, he’d probably got it just about right. His adult self smirked. Concentrate, stop being so bloody flippant. Whenever things got sticky, his mind tended to scatter into all sorts of odd corners.
He couldn’t see any kind of structure, although they should be almost at the edge of the clearing by now. He inched forward, hoping the recent showers had waterlogged the twigs and stems underfoot.
Hissing whispers. He strained for words, but couldn’t make them out through the rustling leaves. The breeze whipped itself toward wind, cold for May. He hoped the soldiers weren’t trigger happy—the three of them stood between them and their quarry, after all. An odd arrangement, he couldn’t see how it could work without catastrophe. They had orders to wait for Cummins’s call—All in!—but things could easily get out of hand.
He had an old revolver, issued earlier with great solemnity, but he knew himself a rotten shot. All he could hope for was to help flush the fellow out and let the army do the rest. Sir Ronald lurked out there somewhere, no doubt well out of range.
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