Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  He left the umbrella by the door and led the way inside. ‘Ah! It is a Swift light car. I thought I recognised the outline. Pity this one hasn’t got a solid roof. Open cars are a bit chilly at this time of year – they’re draughty even with the hood up. Help me raise the hood to check it out. Let’s hope the motor is working properly.’

  She went round to the other side of the vehicle and he didn’t need to tell her what to do, as he would another woman. Together they pulled the hood up. It was in excellent condition, moving smoothly as they clipped it into position.

  He walked round examining the vehicle. ‘Nearly new tyres. Good. I’ve never driven one of these before. I wonder why the makers put this bulb horn on at such an awkward angle? Ah, good! There’s an acetylene generator for the lamps in case we have to drive at night.’

  She was studying it too. ‘It’s a neat little car, isn’t it? I haven’t driven one before either. I usually drive bigger vehicles in London. This one would be easier to handle in busy city traffic, but of course we have to have enough room in our cars to accommodate injured men and often their nurses or orderlies as well.’

  She stepped back and frowned at it. ‘Are you sure this one will suit our purpose, though? Some of the country roads round here have appalling potholes and bumps. Even father, who rarely criticises the government, thinks they should do more about making road surfaces fit to travel on.’

  ‘I’ll drive carefully, I promise you. This car will serve our purpose better because there are more smaller cars around.’

  ‘It is small, isn’t it? Only a two-seater. My father rarely travels anywhere without a couple of other men in attendance, so he always uses big cars.’

  ‘They’ll be looking for a big car. If we drive it to Swindon and ferret around, we can perhaps find out about your mother.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘The others could wait for us here at Westcott. I think we dare allow ourselves one day’s grace before we have to take into account the likelihood that our London watchers will have found out you’re no longer there. But just in case, we’ll tell the others where to meet us if we don’t return.’

  ‘Why should we not return?’

  ‘This is a car we don’t know. It hasn’t been used much, so might have engine problems that delay us, however well maintained. Cars do, you know. Rather often, too.’

  They both smiled wryly at that. It was all too common to come across a car that had broken down, especially on country roads. People usually took that possibility into account when driving somewhere, and also when expecting a visitor coming by road, unlike one coming by a train which ran to schedule.

  ‘Or what we find out might delay us, in which case we’ll phone and tell them to make their own way to Honeyfield. Or we may even decide to go somewhere else while tracing your family. I always like to allow for the unexpected when making plans.’

  She looked at him expectantly. ‘So we’re going?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be better than hanging around with nothing to keep us occupied, and you need to know. I’ll have a quick look at the engine while you pack your clothes in case we don’t get back tonight.’

  He staggered backwards, laughing, as she flung herself at him, hugging him and even planting kisses on his cheek.

  ‘Thank you! Thank you so much, Patrick.’

  He gave her a kiss back, enjoying a moment’s happiness amid the worries for her safety. ‘Now look, when it comes to phoning your friend in Honeyfield, I think we should do that from a public phone, not from here. We’re bound to find one in Swindon.’

  Her exhilaration faded. ‘You really think those men will follow us down to Westcott, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But I can’t see them doing it immediately. Go on. Tell the others what we’re doing and then pack your bag. I’ll see if I can find a spare can of motor spirit to take with us, then I’ll have a word with Dennis. It won’t take me a minute to pack my things.’

  As he watched her cross the yard, he touched his cheek where she’d kissed him and smiled. The kisses had been nothing more than a friend’s salute, but they had been sweet nonetheless.

  Oh dear, he was heading for heartbreak. Her father would never allow him to court her, even if he could afford to keep a wife. His dear old mam would have said the same thing: she’d firmly believed it was tempting providence to step out of your place in the world.

  Only, the war had thrown so many of them out of their places, and how would they ever go back to the old ways? It wasn’t possible, it’d be like crawling back into a narrow box and staying there. He wasn’t the only one to reckon that if you were good enough to give your life for your country, you were good enough for anyone to associate with after the war ended.

  He’d had a lot of thinking time in the trenches. He’d come to the conclusion that everything you did in life changed you. There was even a good side to the war for him, because it had not only given him a trade, but introduced him to so many different people and ways of life. Why, he could even speak a little French and German. Once he heard a foreign word, it seemed to stick in his mind.

  The last captain he’d served under had told him he had an excellent brain and to be sure to make use of it after the war. Patrick had valued that compliment greatly from a man he respected more than anyone else he’d served under.

  And what was he doing standing here like an idiot gawping at a fair when there was so much to be done? He pushed away his memories and got on with preparations for the journey.

  He patted the car when it was ready. It was a little beauty and seemed to be in excellent working order. He finished by fetching one of the big, square cans from the pile that now occupied one of the horse stalls and strapped it into place on the rear luggage rack of the car next to the tool kit. You couldn’t rely on finding a shop selling cans of motor spirit. This wasn’t theft; it was part of looking after Mr Cotterell’s daughter.

  Georgie came out to join him more quickly than he’d expected, so he ran indoors to get his own things. As he was coming downstairs, he found Dennis waiting for him in the hall, which saved him the trouble of searching for his friend.

  Dennis was blunt. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, lad?’

  ‘Not sure at all. But she needs quite desperately to find out about her mother’s family and I think we’ll have a day or two’s leeway before our pursuers look for us here. The other thing is, these Baxters might take her in and then she’d be safe, because no one from Siebenzeit can possibly know about that side of her family.’

  ‘Aye. I suppose you have a point there.’

  ‘It was the deciding factor for taking this risk. Look – if we don’t get back tomorrow or the day after, you drive the others to Honeyfield and we’ll meet you there. Use whichever of the other cars you prefer. Her father won’t mind. You’ve still got the address?’

  ‘Of course. We all wrote it down. But I thought she was going to phone them first? She hasn’t been near the phone.’

  ‘We’ll do that from a public phone while we’re out, so no operator can listen in and gossip.’

  Dennis clapped Patrick on the back. ‘Good luck, then. I hope things work out for her.’

  ‘You’re to take charge if we get delayed or if the three of you have to run for it. I trust your judgement on when to leave. Make sure the car you choose can start at a moment’s notice. You’re all right with driving now, fully recovered in that sense?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then you’re definitely the best one to take charge. Do you remember what Cecil told us about the back road into the estate?’

  Dennis nodded. ‘Yes. Actually, I’ve been wondering whether we should leave one of the cars there in case we have to make a quick getaway.’

  ‘Good idea. You do that, lad. There are some spare cans of motor spirit in the old stables. Take one of them. I reckon we’ll keep the car out in that lane even after Georgie and I get back.’

  He went back to join her in the stable yard, ge
tting out the starting handle for the little Swift. It started first time, which seemed a good omen, but he had to ask again, ‘Are you still sure about doing this, lass?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Why, they might even have a photo of her.’

  Oh, the longing in her voice. ‘Off we go, then.’

  They left the grounds by the rear road. He hoped they’d be successful. It wouldn’t be his fault if they failed to find any Baxters.

  He didn’t try to make conversation as he drove. His senses were all on the alert, as they’d always been on operations, keeping watch for the slightest sign of trouble.

  But the further away from Westcott they got, the more he regretted his offer to take her to Swindon. It was risky and he didn’t usually take risks.

  Only the possibility of her family letting her stay with them kept him going – and the happy anticipation on her face.

  Chapter Nine

  Dennis took Martin and Rosie into the small sitting room to explain what was going on. He didn’t want the caretakers to know anything about it. When he’d finished, he added, ‘I don’t understand why Patrick is taking this risk; all I know is, I don’t like it.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I don’t like the sound of it, either.’

  ‘It must be very important to Miss Cotterell,’ Rosie said. ‘But they’ll be back tonight, won’t they? And we’ll be safe enough here in the meantime.’

  ‘We hope so. Unless those people have found out more quickly than expected that Georgie isn’t in the town house. Since this house is too big to protect, I’m going to take precautions of my own.’ He explained about Patrick’s suggestion and the other two nodded.

  ‘I’ll take the Humber out for a spin into the village first, though, because I think that’ll be the best one to take. I’ll try to find another way to get back here.’

  He looked from one to the other and said slowly and emphatically, ‘Make sure you both know where the lane is. If there’s any trouble and we get separated, we’ll rendezvous at the car.’

  Rosie looked at him in dismay. ‘Well then, I’m taking a poker to bed with me. It’s what my mum does if there’s trouble in our street and Dad’s not at home. She’s only had to use it once, on a drunk who was trying to break in and grab some food. After that folk stayed away from our house.’

  He nodded approval. ‘Good for your mother! Anyway, think on: if you hear anything suspicious at any time, day or night, stop what you’re doing and be ready to run, even if you have to leave your things behind. If necessary, get out of the house on your own and make your way to the car as quietly as you can.’

  She nodded but she looked so small compared to him and Martin that Dennis hesitated for a moment, worrying about her. But what could he do? He and Martin couldn’t defend a huge house, two elderly people and a slip of a lass like Rosie if they were outnumbered. All they could do in such circumstances was flee and let the caretakers hide in the side cellar now its door was mended.

  It was bad enough fighting a war in another country, far worse when you had to deal with it in your own country after peace had been declared. That was so wrong it made him furiously angry. Why could these people not accept that they had been defeated?

  How long would it take for things to settle down again in Britain, he wondered, really settle down? Or was this secret stuff going on all the time?

  Not only was the country in a mess after the years of fighting, but people were in a mess too. They didn’t need more problems. He felt most sorry of all for the poor wretches who were suffering from shell shock. He still had nightmares about what he’d seen and done in the war, and probably always would, but they seemed to live in one continuous nightmare.

  He looked down at his hand. Ah, he was one of the lucky ones, only missing two fingers. And Rosie didn’t seem to mind his injuries at all.

  Patrick drove towards Swindon, which he’d visited once or twice when training in the Army. He stopped near the centre when he saw a wooden construction that might be one of the newer telephone kiosks. You couldn’t always tell. Some looked like fancy garden sheds and he’d even seen one with a thatched roof, and damned silly that had looked to him. He preferred to use a kiosk, though, rather than paying for access to a public phone in a shop, where anyone could overhear what you said.

  He sagged in relief when he got close enough to see the sign on top of the wooden structure indicating that phone calls could be made from there. This one was a Post Office kiosk, with white lettering on a blue background, and a penny in the slot mechanism on the door. Some kiosks had attendants and then they’d be able to listen in to what you were saying.

  At the moment he didn’t want anyone to be able to overhear their plans, because he didn’t know who to trust. Why, even that uppity captain who’d come to tell Georgie about her father could be a traitor, for all they knew. He certainly hadn’t been a friendly chap. A snob, the chaps in the Army would have called him.

  ‘We can both cram into the kiosk,’ Georgie said.

  When they’d done that, he tried to ignore her warm, firm body, but of course no red-blooded man could help noticing that a pretty lass’s soft curves were pressed closely against him.

  They had to get the help of the operator, of course, but they’d planned what to say so as not to give anything specific away. Unfortunately, there was no answer from her friend Bella at the other end.

  ‘Thank you. We’ll try again later,’ Georgie told the operator and put the phone down.

  ‘Pity,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t be helped.’

  They had to stop a couple of times to ask directions, because it wasn’t easy to find the way round the town centre, so it wasn’t till mid-afternoon that they found the address on the envelope. Simpton Street turned out to be a row of smallish houses in the old town, part of an area where the Great Western Railway employees were housed.

  Number 17 boasted a tiny oblong of neat garden in front and windows so clean they sparkled even in the weak winter sunlight.

  Georgie made no move to get out of the car and looked at him as she had before, pleading silently for his help.

  ‘Do you want to do this alone or shall I come with you?’ he offered when she didn’t speak.

  ‘Would you mind coming with me, Patrick?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He got out of the car but she was out of the passenger seat before he could help her and leading the way towards the front door.

  The woman who opened it was young – far too young, he’d have thought, to be closely related to Georgie’s mother – and she had a small child behind her, clinging to her skirt.

  ‘I’m looking for relatives of Mary Jane Baxter,’ Georgie began.

  The woman stiffened. ‘Why? She’s been dead for nearly thirty years. Surely you knew that?’

  ‘Um, yes. Sort of. I mean, I knew she was dead, but I didn’t know her name or where she came from until recently.’

  ‘Why are you looking for her relatives, then?’

  ‘Because she was my mother. My name’s Georgie Cotterell and I grew up not knowing about my real mother or her family. I’ve only just found out her name, you see. I’d like very much to find her family, talk to the Baxters about her, perhaps get to know them. My twin brother was killed in the war, you see, so I have no one else.’

  The woman’s tense expression softened for a moment. ‘Oh dear. I’m sorry, I really am, but they won’t want to speak to anyone connected to her. I’m not a Baxter myself. I married your mother’s nephew by her sister and our name’s Grant. His mother won’t even have her sister’s name spoken, flies into a rage if anyone mentions her.’

  Georgie looked so shocked, Patrick was wondering what to do when the young woman studied her more closely and said, ‘Now I come to think of it, you look like your mother. My husband has some family photos and she’s in some of the groups as a young woman. His mother tried to throw them all away, but her mother saved them from the dustbin because her other children were in them. His grandma gave them to
my Wally before she died.’

  ‘You have photos of her? Oh, please, do you think I could—?’

  The woman didn’t let Georgie finish.

  ‘I really am sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to help you. I can’t go against my Wally’s mother, it wouldn’t be right.’ She started to close the door.

  Patrick put his hand out to stop her. ‘Surely you could ask them if they’d meet Miss Cotterell? It doesn’t seem fair to carry on the feud to her daughter, whatever their opinion of this Mary Jane?’

  ‘My mother-in-law isn’t well so I definitely can’t upset the family at the moment. They’re really worried about her. They thought she’d recovered from that Spanish flu, but she can’t seem to pull herself together and the doctor says she’s got pneumonia now.’

  ‘Will you at least let us give you an address to contact if your husband changes his mind once his mother’s better?’ Georgie pleaded.

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t do any harm, I suppose. As long as you wait to hear from us. I’m not promising anything. And please don’t come knocking on my door again if you don’t hear, because once my Wally decides something, he won’t change his mind.’

  ‘Have you got a piece of paper I can write our address on?’

  ‘I’ll fetch one.’ She closed the door and they heard footsteps going away from it.

  Patrick put one arm round Georgie. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She said in a whisper, her voice wobbling slightly, ‘It never even occurred to me that they’d have disowned her so completely they even destroyed most of the photos of her.’

  The young woman opened the door again and held out a piece of cheap pad and a stump of a pencil. ‘This is all I’ve got, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It’ll do.’ He turned to Georgie. ‘Shall I use your London address?’

  ‘No. My friend’s address in Honeyfield might be better. Let me do it.’ She wrote her name, then under it ‘care of Mrs Bella Tesworth’ and her friend’s address and telephone number. As she handed the paper back to the young woman, she said wistfully, ‘Your husband is my first cousin, then.’