by Mary Gibson
With an effort Will lifted his head, looking at Matty with glassy eyes. His grey face was covered in a sheen of sweat and pain was written all over it. ‘Don’t jaw me,’ he whispered hoarsely, and she was reminded of a day when as a boy he’d played truant from Dulwich College and she’d caught him in Tower Bridge Road with a few of his schoolfriends going into Manzi’s pie-and-mash shop. His face had reddened with guilt and embarrassment at the sight of her. ‘Just showing my pals how well we dine in Bermondsey!’ he’d said loudly, then as he ushered the boys into Manzi’s white-tiled steamy warmth he’d whispered to her, ‘Don’t tell Mother, she’ll jaw me!’ She had kept his secret then, but this looked a far more serious matter than hopping the wag.
‘Let’s put him in here.’
They lowered him on to the sofa in the front parlour and she watched as Feathers gently took off Will’s shoes and raised his legs.
‘Feathers, will you get a blanket from one of the beds upstairs?’
The young man looked at Will, as if loathe to leave his side, but Will nodded briefly.
Once alone with him, Matty sat beside him. ‘What happened, did you fall off the mountain?’
He gave a short laugh, which made him wince and clutch his stomach. He shook his head and let out a long hissing breath. He pulled his hand away, revealing fingers painted red with blood.
‘Oh my God, what have you done? Will, you need a doctor.’
‘I’m all right, Matty, don’t fuss.’ He took a laboured breath. ‘Anyway, I saw a doctor in Germany.’
‘Germany? What the bloody hell were you doing there? I thought you were in Switzerland! I’ve been expecting a card from you about Billy and when it didn’t come...’
She realized that ever since he’d left for Switzerland she’d had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. She’d thought her concern was for Billy, but now she knew it had been for Will.
Feathers was back with the blanket. ‘I think it’s time to come clean, Will. Tell your sister where we’ve been, there’s a good fellow.’
But Will was incapable of telling her anything, for at that moment he cried out in pain, clutched at his stomach and raised his legs. Matty dropped down beside the sofa and lifted his jacket. His shirt was caked in day-old blood and now a new dark red stain was announcing a fresh flow.
‘Feathers, how could you have let him travel in this state?’
The young man looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry. I did my best, found a medical student to patch him up, but we had to run for our lives, Matty. The stitches have ripped open.’
He put out a trembling hand, which she noticed was wrapped with a makeshift bandage, then he gently lifted Will’s shirt, easing off the places stuck with blood, to reveal a jagged wound, hastily stitched and obviously infected. She was ready to lambast Feathers, but saw tears welling in his eyes. How young he looked – for all his sophisticated, worldly air, he was not much more than a boy. They both were, two boys who’d been on an adventure that had obviously gone horribly wrong. Explanations would have to wait.
‘All right, Feathers. Let’s stay calm.’ She put a hand on his shoulder, thinking rapidly. What would be the quickest way of getting Will to a hospital? She dashed to the telephone and, trembling, dialled the town hall. The phone rang several times. ‘Be there, be there,’ she prayed softly to the ringing phone. She was about to hang up when there was a click and a familiar voice answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Thank God you’re still there! Tom, I need your help. Will’s been hurt. I need to get him to hospital – now!’
She waited, trying to concentrate on his words, while he explained what he thought was best. ‘Just make sure you’re ready. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
She went back to Will, enveloping him gently in the blanket, then threw on her coat and hat before gathering a few things she thought he might need. Will was still insensible, so she turned her attention to Feathers, who was kneeling by the sofa, head in hands. ‘You’re right.’ He looked up, his face a ghastly white. ‘I should never have gone along with it! Oh, Will, stay with me.’ He put his arm round his friend, who stirred and moaned.
A rapid knocking came at the door and Matty ran to let Tom in.
‘What happened?’
She led Tom into the parlour. He went straight to Will and lifted the blanket, peering beneath his shirt. ‘Dear God, I saw plenty of these when I was in the Elephant Boys. It’s a knife wound, and a nasty one. Let’s get him up.’
Matty eased Will gently into a sitting position. ‘Feathers, help Tom carry him. Careful! He’s lost a lot of blood.’
The two men lifted Will and, ignoring his cries of pain, carried him outside. In the street Matty exchanged an enquiring look with Tom. ‘We’re going in that?’
‘Sorry, this was the best I could do at such short notice! Here, get the keys out of my pocket.’
Matty reached into Tom’s jacket as he and Feathers supported Will.
‘Side door,’ Tom said.
Matty unlocked the side door of the cinemotor and slid it open. It wouldn’t exactly be a comfortable ride, but they managed to lie Will flat on a blanket. As Feathers attempted to get inside with her, Matty stopped him. ‘I’ll stay in the back with Will. You get in the cab.’
Matty sat on the van floor, holding Will tightly as they took off. She blessed the extra suspension that Tom had installed in the cinemotor, designed to keep the projector as stable as possible on their journeys. He’d told her that in the early days they spent half the show time recalibrating the equipment and had lost many a bored audience in the process. But still she tried to shield Will from the jolting sharp turns and stops as Tom sped towards Guy’s Hospital through Bermondsey’s darkened streets.
‘It’s all right, I’m here,’ she soothed each time Will moaned. Smoothing his cheek, she felt a two-day stubble, testament to his long flight home.
When Matty reached over to let some air through the vents, Will’s eyes snapped open, wide with fear, and he hardly seemed to see her.
‘Did they catch us at the border, Feathers? Where are they taking us?’ He tried to get up, but collapsed back on to her lap almost immediately.
‘Will, it’s Matty. You’re safe now. We’re taking you to hospital. It’s all right, love, you’re home.’
But he was shaking his head. ‘No, not home, got no home.’ He spoke through chattering teeth and she could feel his whole body trembling with the exertion.
‘Yes, you are, you’re home in Bermondsey, Will. I won’t let anything bad happen to you now, I promise.’
And she gathered him up in her arms, mourning the child she’d loved so much and seemed to have failed so badly as an adult. It might not have been her that had caused the rift, yet she couldn’t help comparing him to Billy. She had moved heaven and earth to save her nephew; had she tried as hard to save Will? She had known full well what a headstrong nature he had, that he would always go the hard way, and this was a combination which, as she’d learned from her own mistakes, could prove as deadly as any disease.
*
The young doctor who first examined his wound winced. ‘Nasty. Looks like he’s been sewn up with fishing line.’ He looked round accusingly and Matty saw Feathers pale.
‘We were nowhere near a hospital,’ he explained. ‘I found a medical student...’
The young doctor raised his eyes. ‘Hmm, he’ll go far,’ he said dryly, then briskly organized a trolley. ‘We’ll have to do our best. First things first. Who’s the next of kin?’
He looked instinctively at Tom and Feathers, but then Matty said, ‘I am. I’m his sister.’
The brusque young doctor nodded and took down her details, then ordered them to go away while they operated on Will and to come back the next day. But Matty knew none of them would be sleeping that night, so they went instead to the canteen to wait. They crossed the courtyard to the basement of a grim old Victorian building, on the way passing the isolation wards where Billy had been. Matt
y instinctively glanced up, feeling a rush of disappointment that Billy hadn’t had the promised visit from Will, which he’d so been looking forward to.
The canteen was at the bottom of some worn stone steps, hot-water pipes ran round green and cream tiled walls, and steam seeped from a tea urn. The place resembled a sauna. Soon they were seated with cups of mahogany-coloured tea. Matty noticed Feathers’ bandaged hand, still trembling as he tipped in three spoonfuls of sugar.
‘We should have got someone to put a proper dressing on that hand.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Feathers said as he put the cup to his lips.
‘Feathers, how did Will get a knife wound?’ Matty asked finally.
The young man grimaced as he carefully lowered the cup.
‘From a Stormtrooper’s blade.’
‘A Stormtrooper? For God’s sake, what have you two got yourselves involved in?’ Tom exclaimed.
The cup rattled in the saucer. Matty took it from Feathers. She put a comforting hand on his and gave Tom a warning look. She sensed Feathers was blaming himself just as she had blamed herself. ‘Take your time, Gerald,’ she said, letting him compose himself. He took in a deep gulp of air.
‘Will so wanted to do something. He said he couldn’t live with himself if he stood by and let the Nazis’ bully boys imprison our comrades and kill innocent Jews. He wanted his money to do the most good.’ Here he hesitated, and lowered his voice. ‘Really, what he did to you was inexcusable, but it was the idealism of youth, you see...’ Matty had to smile at Feathers returning now to his world-weary veneer of sophistication, but she had seen the boy lurking there and was not fooled in the least.
‘Go on, Feathers, that’s all in the past...’
‘As I said, he wanted to use his inheritance for the cause, and it will do so much good, Matty, it will save hundreds of innocent lives—’
‘And it might cost him his,’ Tom said grimly.
‘It was risky, but nothing many other comrades haven’t done before us. The cell in Berlin had appealed for contributions, said they needed bribe money for the underground refugee work – there’s always some petty official willing to turn a blind eye, not pass on a tip-off, lose the relevant bit of paperwork. Will’s money was enough to get hundreds of communists and Jews out of the country to safety.’
Matty was getting frustrated. ‘All right, if that’s what he wanted to do with his father’s money, I understand, but why not just telegraph it – why did you have to take it into Germany? Why put yourselves in such bloody danger?’
But she knew why. A telegraphic transfer was not heroic enough for him, he would have to be in the thick of things, on the front line, waving his damned red flag for all to see.
‘Transfers can be intercepted; they leave a trail. The money is always in cash, and couriered personally. It has to be put into the hands of a member of the cell. Will didn’t think it was honourable to let someone else be the mule.’
Matty could see it now, the allure of cloak-and-dagger playing at spies. Will would have loved it, but she suspected Feathers had only gone along for the sake of his friend.
‘When we left England our instructions were to meet someone in a Paris café and we’d be told what to do. We got there with no trouble and a French chap passed us a suitcase and the address of a hotel in Berlin where we were to be at a certain time. He told us to put the money in the case and just leave it with a hotel porter there. That was it. It should have been simple.’
‘But it went wrong?’ Tom interrupted.
Feathers nodded, taking another gulp of hot tea. ‘When we arrived in Berlin, there were Brownshirts everywhere, strutting about the train station, pushing people around, singling out communists and Jews. One man protested and they pulled him out of the queue and kicked him to the ground. We hadn’t realized the Brownshirts had got so much power. Anyway, they were checking everyone who’d come off our train and I didn’t know what we were going to do – we had the money in the suitcase, far too much for two students on a walking holiday. But before we reached the barrier Will said I was to go through and he would meet me at the hotel. He took the case and jumped back on the train... I didn’t want to leave him, but I couldn’t make a fuss. Will knew that... He took the case because he knew I would panic...’
‘So you got through the barrier all right?’ Matty asked. ‘But what about Will?’
‘He hid on the train for a bit, then crossed to another platform, and later that night we met at the hotel. We’d just handed the money over when they barged in, three great brown-shirted brutes. The porter told us to run and disappeared with the case – we were left being bounced about from one Neanderthal to another.’
‘So they knew you were coming?’
Feathers shrugged. ‘Seems like a bit of a coincidence they were searching our train when we arrived, and they knew we’d be at the hotel.’
‘Is that when Will got injured?’
Feathers’ gaze seemed to be following the large hot-water pipe behind Matty, so that he wasn’t looking directly at her when he said, ‘It should have been me. Never was very good with my fists and they got me on the ground pretty quickly. Will has a good left hook, and took his man down, then the other, but the one sitting on my chest pulled out a blade, long, wicked-looking thing. I thought I’d had it, would have done if Will hadn’t jumped him. It wasn’t until we were three streets away that I realized how badly he was injured. God.’
He covered his eyes with the bandaged hand. ‘I wish I’d never agreed to go with him.’
‘Then he’d have gone alone and what chance would he have had then?’ Matty covered his hand with her own, tracing the dirty bandage with her fingers. ‘You fought for him, Gerald, and you got him home. Stop blaming yourself.’
Tom went to get them more of the canteen’s dark brew and some yellow, knobbly rock cakes, which Feathers devoured like a starving man.
‘So there never was a walking tour in Switzerland and Will never intended visiting our Billy?’ She felt particularly hurt by this part of the deception.
Feathers swallowed the last of the rock cake and held up his hand, hastily feeling around in his inside jacket pocket.
‘There was no walking holiday, no, but Will was adamant, he insisted we go via Switzerland. We stopped there first. Here, Will entrusted this to me on the way home...’
Feathers handed her a letter.
Her hand flew to her mouth. The envelope was splashed with brown, dried blood.
‘We did manage a brief visit with your nephew.’
‘You saw him? How was he?’
‘Brown as a berry and Will said he’d grown at least two inches.’
Matty felt a wave of relief at the news.
‘But,’ Feathers went on, ‘the poor boy was disappointed when we had to rush on. We promised him a second visit on our way home... sadly not to be.’
Feathers described their flight home, with a stop at a safe house on the way.
‘One of our comrades risked his life, went out to find a medical student friend of his who stitched Will up and then drove us to a small station outside Berlin. When we arrived at the border, the guards got suspicious of us so we nipped off the train and made a run for it. That’s when Will’s wound opened up again... he was bleeding all the way home.’
Feathers rubbed his eyes with dirty fingers. ‘I was terrified he’d bleed to death.’
She had been gripping Billy’s letter all through Feathers’ story of their escape and now she looked down at the boy’s careful handwriting. He had addressed the envelope very properly to Miss Mathilda Gilbie, but her name had been almost obliterated by the rusty telltale stain of blood that had seeped from Will’s body as he’d fled back to a place he still could not call home and a woman he had never wanted to call sister. She let her tears fall on to the envelope, watching as they mingled with the faded stamps of her brother’s lifeblood.
17
Cocktail of Lies
December 1931
&n
bsp; Their long wait was in vain, for the matron in charge of Will’s ward would not let them in to see him again, saying only that he needed rest after his operation. When Matty pressed her for details she pursed her lips at her presumption.
‘I can assure you that the young man is in the best of hands and if he is improved tomorrow, you will be able to see him then. But only during visiting hours!’ She stabbed at a sign next to the ward doors which stated the visiting times.
‘I wonder if I might have a word in private.’ Feathers tipped his head to one side and gave her his most urbane smile. Her starched rigidity seemed to melt at the sound of his cultured voice and she meekly showed him into her office. Within minutes Feathers had returned with a smiling matron.
‘We’ve been granted five minutes,’ he whispered.
They followed Matron along the rows of slumbering patients until they reached a screened-off bed. She pulled aside the curtain and there was Will, pale-faced, hair plastered across his forehead, but apparently sleeping calmly. Matty noticed his arms were bandaged. There had obviously been more wounds hidden beneath his jacket. She hurried to his side and smoothed back his thick hair. She didn’t care if she upset Matron; she wanted Will to hear her.
‘Will dear, it’s Matty. Feathers is here too, he’s told us everything... You silly sod, just like you, but he got you home, Will, and you’ll be fine. And when you’re stronger, I’ll come and get you, hear me?’
She kissed his forehead and he stirred, eyelids flickering. Then Feathers was beside her. He took Will’s hand and put it to his cheek. ‘Dearest, brave chap. You’ll be up and about in no time.’
‘Matron’s coming,’ Tom warned as he tweaked aside the bedside screen. With a parting squeeze, Feathers let fall Will’s hand and they left him, Matty looking back all the time at the pale figure, praying silently that Matron would soften her fierce protective care with some maternal tenderness.
Matty linked her arm through Tom’s, glad to lean on him. Weary to her bones, she asked, ‘So, how did you do it, Feathers?’