Bloody Right

by Georgia Evans

  “They’re doing nasty things to Others over there. Terrible stories are drifting out.” He stopped himself. He hadn’t come here to pass on bad news. “So, you’ve had yet another infestation in Brytewood?”

  “We have,” Mrs. Burrows said. “Two, from what we can make out. One is done for, thanks to Mary.” She smiled at the younger woman. “The other one we’re having a bit of trouble with.”

  “I congratulate you,” Clarendon said to Mary. “Not many could do what you did.”

  She really had a lovely smile. “I had help.” She paused, glancing at Mrs. Burrows, who nodded encouragingly.

  “He knows about Gloria, my love.”

  “Gloria helped me. We sort of got him front and back, after Alice repelled him and sent him staggering.”

  “These Germans picked the wrong village. So, one more?”

  “We think so.” Mrs. Burrows’s tea went cold as she told him what had happened the past couple of weeks.

  He was beginning to think life was quieter in Occupied France.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Gryffyth Pendragon was thrilled to sit down after a morning spent mucking out the stables and picking brussels sprouts. Even if it meant polishing silver.

  “Here we are,” Molly said, as she handed him a saucer of pink plate powder mixed with water, and a cotton rag. “I’ve got to get this lot done for tomorrow. Here, let me show you what to do.”

  Looked easy enough: rub on the pink stuff, then polish it off until there was nothing left and the fork shone. He picked up a soup spoon and started rubbing.

  “Thanks ever so, for pitching in,” Molly said. “I’ve got to get this done for the guests tomorrow, and get dinner started, as Miss Aubin is out this afternoon so I’m on my own.”

  “No trouble, honest. Makes a nice break and it’s nice to be able to sit down.”

  She gave him an odd sideways glance. “Does it bother you? The leg I mean. Don’t want to sound rude.”

  “You’re not. And no, doesn’t bother me. Not most of the time.” He wouldn’t tell her about waking up with a cramp in his nonexistent foot, or toes that weren’t there, itching. “Doubt I’ll be able to get a job as a ballet dancer or a professional footballer, but most things I can manage. Took a while to get used to it though.”

  “My brother got hurt.” She paused to rub at the handle of a teaspoon. “Wasn’t in action though, like you. It was down in Suffolk; he fell off the back of a lorry and broke his leg.” She shook her head. “Honest, makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “You can have bad luck wherever you are.”

  “Our dad said, if he’d done that in the last war, they’d have shot him.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Maybe. They’d nicked the lorry to go down into town for a beer and it happened coming back. The rest of his pals lost all their leave forever. He ended up in hospital.”

  “Is he alright now?”

  “Yeah, only now he’s going overseas any day. I think Mum wishes he’d break something else.”

  What could he say? Platitudes about coming back in one piece seemed worse than facile, coming from him. “Write to him,” he said, “as often as you can, and send him little things. They might not always arrive but when they do, it’s like Christmas.”

  “Really?” She looked at him. “I will then. Or I’ll try. Never was much at writing letters. Not much goes on here.”

  “I don’t know. Disappearing gardeners. Kidnapped people found naked in the stables. Sounds to me there’s more going on here than in London.” She looked a bit blank. Was he probing too hard? “They say you found him.” He hoped she didn’t ask who they were.

  “That’s what’s so queer.” She gave him a repeat account of what she’d told Alice yesterday. He learned nothing new. Wasn’t sure why he expected to. He added another fork to the polished pile. “Hey, you’re good at this.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll ask Sir Gregory for a job polishing silver.”

  “We used to have a butler, Mr. Whorpleston, but he retired just before the war and they never replaced him. Fancy being a butler?”

  “Don’t think I could be snooty enough. Besides, not sure where I’ll end up once this is over. Time will tell.” He was saved from what time might tell, by the phone ringing in the hall.

  “Drat,” Molly said, putting down her rag and forks. “Better get it. Probably Mrs. Worthington-James from over in Dorking wanting Lady Gregory to play bridge.” She made a face and went out, to come back right away. “Message for you, from Doctor Watson. Said she’d be up in half an hour or so if that was alright.”

  “You told her it was?”

  She grinned. “Why not? Miss Aubin’s gone. Who’s to know if you’re here or not?”

  “Half an hour? Let’s see if we can get this done between us.”

  “Want another cup before you go? I’m dry as a bone.”

  He might as well. All he’d gained so far was a sore back and aching shoulders. This undercover gardener lark was a dead end.

  “Thanks for your help,” the villager said, as Weiss put down his pickax.

  “Glad I could. Must be on my way though. Promised I’d meet a friend.”

  Howell Pendragon kept up shoveling rubble into the back of the open lorry. He might appear busy but his ears caught every word. It was him. He’d take an oath to it. Had to be. He was Other and yes, might be a stray Pixie or Elf but really, what were the chances?

  What now? As the creature (who’d never given his name within Howell’s hearing) walked down the end of the lane and turned away from the village center, Howell made up his mind.

  “Damn!” he said, looking at his watch. “Didn’t realize it was so late. I’ve got to go, lads. Need to get along to Whorleigh’s before he sells out. Gryff’ll be wanting dinner.”

  “Time you got yourself married and had a wife in the kitchen,” someone called good-naturedly.

  “He’s already snatched a good cook for himself,” another voice said.

  “But until then, lads,” Howell responded, “yours truly has to shop and peel the potatoes.”

  And tail suspected Vampires.

  He should, perhaps, call and alert Helen and the rest of them. Trouble was, he had no idea where the thing was going. Up to Wharton Lacey made sense, but was he? Anyroad, no point in calling The Gallop. Alice would be out on her rounds, and he wasn’t having Helen racing down on her bicycle to join the fray.

  Weiss scowled. This was not how things were supposed to be. Any witnesses he might have coerced into divulging information appeared to have perished in the raid Saturday night.

  Time to have a word with the cook, and maybe that servant, Molly, needed a little more interrogation. If she had any brain left, that is. He had wiped rather deeply.

  Keeping to the road, he began to run at vamp speed, racing past a female on a bicycle at a speed too fast to be seen by mortals. Until he realized who was riding.

  A gust of wind made Edith Aubin wobble. Odd, that. She steadied her bicycle and continued, until a hand on her handlebars made her stop short and almost pitch over them.

  “What do you think…” she began, then recognized the man blocking her way. “You!”

  “At your service, Miss Aubin. Are you totally at mine?”

  What had they instructed her to do? She slipped her hand into her coat pocket. An unpicked seam gave her access to her skirt pocket. Took a little fumbling to find and activate the switch with gloved fingers.

  It was done. Did he suspect? Seemed not.

  “I asked you a question, woman!”

  “Yes, you did.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself she now worked for the Secret Service. “And I have one of you. Where’s Mr. Smith? And what was he thinking about, abducting Mr. Whorleigh?”

  “What business is it of yours, woman?”

  “Plenty, since the place has been humming with policemen ever since.”

  That caught his interest. “How many?”


  “Three or four on Saturday.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  Time for a little judicious falsehood. “What could I tell them? They kept asking me where I thought Smith had gone. Wanted to know where his parents lived. That lie about him being a nephew has caused me no end of bother.”

  “You’re right.” What a nasty smile the man had. “And there is no end to the bother. You tell them…”

  “I’m finished with telling lies that will get me into trouble.”

  “Do you no longer care for your ailing mother and elderly father? They won’t last long in a camp.”

  “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? That you can really protect them? You told me that Paul Smith would be no trouble. He was just to work quietly until the new year. Working quietly doesn’t include abducting respectable people and keeping them tied to a bed! Downright nasty, that was. The police won’t be giving up. I don’t care if they find him. I’m not taking the blame.” Maybe she’d overdone it a bit. His eyes seemed to flare at hers, but she wanted to goad him into saying something. “Do you know where Smith is?”

  “How many police in the house right now?”

  “One. Where’s Smith? They keep asking me.”

  “Tell them he’s in hell.”

  “He’s dead?” Maybe she would get the truth.

  “Yes,” he replied, grabbing her by the front of her coat. “He’s dead. Has been for centuries and now, Miss Aubin, it is time to make yourself useful.”

  She screamed as he lifted her off her bicycle and tossed her on the ground. The fall knocked her out for a few seconds. As she blinked her eyes open, he was astride her, his face leering, as a wave of horror all but choked her.

  He was going to rape her, right here in the middle of the lane. She clawed his clothes, poked at his eyes and tried to bump him off by jerking her hips, but she might as well be trying to lift a ton of bricks.

  He didn’t even move. Just looked down at her and smiled at her futile efforts.

  “Do you know how much better you will taste, after fighting me? Terror always makes the blood sweeter.”

  His words made no sense, but his meaning was clear. She might not be able to physically fight him, but she could scream and let out the loudest she could, before his hand clamped on her mouth and muffled her.

  At least this was being recorded. If he killed her, the record was there.

  She bit his hand. He lifted it, just enough to hit her across the face and send her head crashing back on the ground.

  “Scream like that again, and I’ll break your neck. After I’ve finished with you.”

  He would anyway, no doubt. He’d be a fool to leave her here to identify him.

  Then he leaned close, his breath rank and fetid. For one hideous moment, she thought he’d kiss her, but instead he put an arm under her shoulders and lifted her. “Not a sound,” he said, as his other hand opened the top of her coat and ripped the collar of her blouse.

  She couldn’t help the cry as his teeth tore into her neck. Then her mind blacked out in a great wave of horror, pain and fear. She was past struggling, past fighting. She wanted oblivion and an end to the hideous pain that tore through her veins.

  Seemed time stopped and all she knew was agony, but the screams wouldn’t come, just stayed jammed in her throat as she lay limp and unable to move. When he finished, he let her drop. As the back of her head hit the road again, she gasped.

  “I told you to be quiet!” he said through bloody lips, as he stood and placed a foot on her stomach. “You mortals never learn but you’ll never forget me.” He stepped back but grabbed her ankle before she could even try to move. Taking her foot in one hand and holding her leg above the knee with the other, he twisted her ankle. She screamed as the bones cracked and he let her broken leg fall. “That’ll stop you riding off and giving warning.”

  Leaping over her and the fallen cycle, he ran.

  In the direction of Wharton Lacey.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Alice swerved to avoid the bicycle lying in the lane, then stopped, intending to move it out of the way. It could cause a nasty accident after dark. Then she saw the woman, a few yards off, dragging herself along the road.

  The bicycle could wait.

  She drove a little further, then stopped. As she got out of the car, the woman looked back. “Help me,” she said, her face covered in blood.

  Alice grabbed her bag and ran toward her and recognized her. “Miss Aubin, what happened?”

  “He got me!”

  Alice knelt beside her and realized the bleeding was from her neck. “How did he get you?” Miss Aubin shuddered and let out a weak mewl, like a hurt kitten. “Did he knock you off your bicycle?”

  She nodded. “My leg. He broke it.”

  Took Alice about three seconds to agree with that diagnosis. The foot hung sideways at an odd angle and she could see the end of the tibia as a bump under the skin. At least it wasn’t pierced, or it would be agony. She opened her bag and wiped Miss Aubin’s face and neck with a gauze saturated with peroxide. As she cleaned it, the blood oozed a little, and Alice saw the marks.

  “Did he bite you?”

  “Yes.” A weak hand clutched Alice’s wrist. “Oh, Doctor, it hurts so.”

  She was sure it did. But remembering the ripped throat in poor old Farmer Wilson’s bloodless body, Miss Aubin had been lucky. Not that Alice was going to share that. Explaining this to the hospital was going to be tricky enough.

  She’d worry about that once she got her to hospital.

  “Look, I’m going to have to get you an ambulance, but rather than leave you here, I’m going to try to get you down to the village and call.” Seemed the best choice. None of the cottages between here and the village had phones, and Wharton Lacey was further than the village. She gave her a shot of morphine. “I’m going to bring the car as close as I can.”

  It wasn’t easy but with Alice’s hands under her arms, Miss Aubin pushed on her good leg and stood. Leaning on Alice, she hopped to the car. Every step was paining her and she all but collapsed in the back of the shooting brake. Moving her into a sitting position had her grimacing and moaning.

  “Doctor.” Miss Aubin clutched at Alice’s sleeve. “I think he’s going up to the house.”

  “Who is?” she asked, guessing the answer but wondering how Miss Aubin knew him.

  “I don’t know his name, but he was the one had me say Paul Smith was my nephew. He started all this and they want me to help catch him.”

  The first bit didn’t surprise Alice, although Miss Aubin’s involvement did. But the latter worried her. “Who wants you to help catch him?”

  “I mustn’t tell.”

  “People on our side? People against the Germans?”

  She nodded. “I have a recorder. They told me to tape him if I saw him again.”

  And no doubt she was taping this conversation too, drat. No point in worrying. “I’ll drive as carefully and as smoothly as I can. It’s not going to be comfortable I’m afraid, but the morphine should help until you get to hospital.”

  Alice was torn over going up to Wharton Lacey and warning them that a Vampire was headed their way. Gryffyth was there, and he’d repelled it before. Might need a bit of explaining later but they’d cope with that as needed.

  “Another call for you,” Molly said, returning from the phone a second time. “Says he has to talk to you. It’s your dad. Better tell him we’re not supposed to use the phone except in an emergency.”

  If Dad was calling it was an emergency, but that, he’d keep to himself.

  “Dad?” Gryffyth said.

  “I’m calling from the ARP post, so must be brief.”

  For that Gryffyth understood. Cryptic and cautious. “Fine, Dad. What’s up?”

  “I might have sighted what we’re looking for.”

  “I see.”

  “Could be coming your way any time now.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll see what I can
do.”

  Cripes, what now? He had stakes in the lining of his coat, Alice and Mrs. Burrows had seen to that. Mary might have staked that other one in Gloria’s kitchen but he couldn’t see doing it in Miss Aubin’s. Even if she wasn’t there this afternoon. Besides, he put his faith in Dragonfire. Couldn’t do that in the kitchen though, or he’d burn the place down.

  Best get on the road and keep his eyes open. Was Whorleigh still out there, and had he seen anything?

  Darn, he’d all but forgotten about the grocer. He should have checked on him.

  Damn.

  “Bad news?” Molly asked, as he went back into the kitchen.

  “Not really. Tell you what, I think I’ll go out and have a quick smoke, then head on home. See you tomorrow.”

  “Cheerio, and thanks for the help with the silver.”

  He loosed the two stakes hidden in his sleeves—insurance, he told himself—and went outside, coat unbuttoned.

  He walked behind the stables where he’d last seen Whorleigh and waited and whistled.

  Whorleigh stepped out from behind a wheelbarrow that was far too small to hide him.

  “Brought me something to eat? I’m famished.”

  Gryffyth didn’t doubt it. “No, sorry, but I have news. Dad called. He spotted our chum in the village, headed in this direction.”

  Poor old Whorleigh paled, swallowed, and said, “I’ve got that stake they gave me.”

  “There may be an easier way but we need to be away from the house.” Wouldn’t do for mundane humans to see disintegrating Vampire on the drive.

  From his perch on the roof, Weiss smiled. Handy little spot this, and the old bitch had told the truth. One single, solitary policeman, or whatever he was, talking to the current lord of the (soon to be Weiss’s) manor. They were so engrossed in their nonsense, they hadn’t noticed Weiss peering in the window from overhead.

  What now? Should he force that younger servant to admit him to the house? No. This was not the time to show his hand. Better wait until the visitors arrived, and anticipate a little timely carnage. Alone, he’d abandoned thoughts of suborning and controlling anyone, but a nice bit of bloodshed wouldn’t come amiss. Even if they were just petty civil servants.