Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  He paused a couple of times, pretending to gaze in shop windows, but really watching the reflections from the street in the glass. The same man stopped each time he lingered like this but set off again as soon as Tez did, so he knew he hadn’t been mistaken.

  Once he was inside his mother’s comfortable house, he let the butler take his overcoat and trilby, and stood frowning. Something about the interview had been … not quite right. Definitely.

  But who would set a tail on him? Jordan came from a good family, should be absolutely trustworthy, and Tez couldn’t even work out why he felt so suspicious of the chap. But he’d learnt to trust his instincts.

  He realised the butler was waiting for instructions. ‘Sorry. Thinking about something. Mother at home, Potterly?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She has a lady with her who’s been there for well over ten minutes.’

  Which was butler-talk for it being time this visitor left.

  ‘I’ll pop in to see her.’

  Tez was shown into his mother’s sitting room and greeted her and the friend with what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

  The minute the elderly lady took her leave of ‘dearest Marguerite’ he stopped forcing the smile and said abruptly, ‘Can you ask Potterly to tell callers you’re not at home, Mother? I’ve something I need to talk to you about. It’s important. At least, I think it is.’

  She gave him one of her searching looks and nodded, ringing for the butler and asking him to bring refreshments and turn away any further visitors.

  While they were waiting, Tez explained quickly about Mr Cotterell and the day’s events, including his worries that something about Jordan wasn’t quite right.

  ‘I knew Gerald was missing,’ she said quietly. ‘I think we’d better send for Constance Berrens. She’ll know what he’s doing if anyone does. They’ve worked very closely together at times, though that’s not general knowledge, and I’ve been privileged to help them when I could.’

  ‘You have? You never said anything, Mother.’

  ‘One doesn’t when something is confidential.’

  ‘Then maybe Lady Berrens will know if there’s anything I can do to help. I don’t like to leave matters like this.’

  ‘You’re sure Georgie hasn’t contacted Bella?’

  ‘Certain of it. Bella would have told me. She knows how fond I am of Georgie.’

  While they waited for Constance to arrive, they chatted about little Philip and Honeyfield House, in whose management his mother was involved on behalf of the Greyladies Trust.

  ‘Why exactly are you suspicious of Jordan?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘I can’t put a finger on what exactly was wrong. Yes, I can – now I come to think of it, he kept looking towards a connecting door at the side of his office. I bet someone else was there, listening in.’

  ‘Well, if you’re worried about him, then something is definitely not right. You’ve never been a fool.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment.’

  ‘I suppose if Gerald Cotterell suspected there was a traitor in his bureau, he’d have expected John Garbury to look into it. The two have known one another for a long time. Is it a coincidence that Garbury’s been knocked out of the picture at this moment, do you think?’

  ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘Motor car accident. Serious injuries, but he’ll live.’

  She frowned. ‘I’d not have thought Jordan a traitor. I’ve met him several times and he’s very stiff and proper. Maybe—’

  ‘Maybe what?’

  ‘There’s Butterly. I really can’t take to the man.’

  ‘I can’t say I know him.’

  ‘A tinpot dictator where paperwork and regulations are concerned, even at the bureau. No, it can’t be him!’

  ‘Now you have got me worried, Mother. I don’t like to think of Georgie being in danger, for her own sake. If she gets in touch and asks to stay with us, Bella won’t hesitate to help her, then she might be in danger as well, which would be worse.’ Just let anyone lay one damned fingertip on his wife and he’d make very sure they regretted it. He might be missing some fingers but he wasn’t missing his wits or his physical strength.

  He looked up. ‘Is that the doorbell? I hope it’s Lady Berrens. She used to terrify me when I was a child, but she’s been brilliant during the war. The woman deserves a medal.’

  ‘The things Constance most deserves a medal for will have to be kept secret.’

  Which left him gaping.

  Constance Berrens was shown in by Potterly. She was all smiles until they explained what had happened, then she frowned and became very quiet.

  ‘Surely you have some idea of where Cotterell and his daughter could be?’ Tez asked. ‘I know what good friends you and he are.’

  She flushed slightly, biting the corner of her lip as if dubious about whether to say anything.

  ‘Couldn’t you even hazard a guess?’ he pressed. ‘Surely you trust us?’

  ‘I think it’d be best to keep our thoughts on that matter to ourselves, Tez dear, but I’m sure we could both come up with fairly accurate guesses.’

  He frowned. ‘Well no, I can’t guess where either of them is. After all, they vanished at different times. Except for Westcott, and that’s too obvious, surely?’

  ‘I must say it puzzles me that Georgie should have disappeared as well,’ his mother put in. ‘I’d swear Gerald always kept what he was doing completely to himself, even with her, so she can’t be involved in it.’

  ‘But she could be used as a hostage to force him to do something.’

  Another silence, then Lady Berens said thoughtfully, ‘I know he worried about her more than I expected and preferred to have her where he could keep an eye on her. He didn’t even want her joining the VADs, which is why I offered her a job with my lady drivers’ group in London. She was good at it too, a born driver.’

  Tez nodded. ‘My Bella is a good driver, too, and some of those ambulances she handled are unwieldy vehicles, I can tell you.’

  ‘Both of them have more than done their bit for the war effort. Georgie isn’t the sort to stay quietly at home. Like a bird released from a cage, she was, when she first got away from that so-called mother of hers.’

  Tez grinned pointedly at the two ladies. ‘None of the women I’m close to are meek little creatures.’

  They smiled back but the smiles soon faded and Lady Berrens stood up. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you, Tez. I must go now. I have a meeting to attend. If either of you hear anything about Georgie, you’ll let me know? Or if she needs help, she can always come to me. My house is … fairly secure.’

  It was only as he was waiting for his mother’s car to pick him up at the front of the house, to take him to the railway station that Tez suddenly realised that Lady Berrens hadn’t asked them to let her know about Mr Cotterell.

  He’d bet she had a very good idea of where Georgie’s father was. Or she might even be sheltering him herself. And whatever she was involved in, his mother must be part of too.

  He was relieved that he hadn’t said anything to Jordan about Greyladies or Honeyfield as possible refuges for Georgie.

  As his mother’s car drew up in front of the house and he got in, he watched the man dogging his footsteps run out into the street further along to try to flag down an approaching motor taxi. But it was already carrying a passenger, so he had no luck.

  The chauffeur said, ‘He’ll not catch up with us, sir,’ and drove off quickly.

  Tez stared at the back of the man’s head. Another surprise, that his mother’s chauffeur should be aware of, or even involved in what was going on.

  ‘Thank you.’ Tez’s thoughts were in turmoil. These people trying to cause trouble were clever enough for Mr Cotterell to judge it better to go into hiding, so he’d better be extremely careful how he went about things, too. He had a family to protect now.

  As the train rattled its way through the stark winter countryside towards Malmesbury, Tez couldn�
�t get Cotterell out of his thoughts. What was the man planning? His friend’s father was one of the cleverest people Tez had ever met.

  He wished he could help. He’d felt rather useless since he was invalided out. He’d done small jobs for his mother to help the war effort, and had taken over the financial reins of his little family. He’d also just been asked to chair the group getting together to raise money for a war memorial in the village, something many places in Britain were doing, because the sacrifices of those who’d fallen must not be forgotten.

  But it wasn’t enough, somehow. He’d gone into the Army intending to make it his career and had never held or trained for a civilian job. He was lucky that he’d inherited enough money to live on, but he did wish he could find something truly worthwhile to do with the rest of his life.

  Thank goodness for Bella. She was the joy of his little world, and the next baby she bore would be his. The mere thought of her cheered him up. Thank goodness she was a practical woman who didn’t dwell on the past. She’d had a whirlwind romance with poor Philip but it had been brief and Tez knew she was growing fond of him. Well, she was his wife now, in every way, and they were happy together. It was as simple as that.

  Thinking of Bella brought him another worry. Surely he wouldn’t be followed out into the country? The people at the bureau must know where he lived. Perhaps he should have stayed on in London? But then if he had done, there would have been no one in Honeyfield to protect Bella and little Philip.

  Where the hell was Georgie? Not to mention these men guarding her? How could they just vanish?

  He prayed they were to be trusted.

  At Honeyfield, Bella came home to be greeted by her daily help with, ‘That dratted telephone rang, Mrs Tesworth. About half an hour after you left, it was. Fair makes you jump, it does, when the bell goes off.’

  Bella sighed. Nothing she said or did could persuade Ivy to pick up the telephone and take a message. The poor woman was convinced that she would do something wrong and ‘break’ it!

  Bella wondered who had phoned. Probably Tez, who might have decided to stay overnight in London with his mother. He kept a change of clothes there because something occasionally cropped up where she needed his help, or wanted him to act as her escort.

  Then she heard little Philip cry out for attention from the nursery and she hurried upstairs to play with him for a while. She had a girl from the village living in to look after her son or help with the household chores generally, as well as Ivy coming in daily, but she liked to play with little Philip herself. She hadn’t grown up surrounded by servants and still couldn’t get used to standing aside from jobs in her own home, and especially not from raising her son.

  If it was Tez who’d called, he’d phone again, surely? But the hours passed and nothing happened, so maybe it hadn’t been him. Who else could it have been, though?

  When she saw headlights turn into the street just after six o’clock, she went to look out of the sitting room window and check it was her husband. Yes. Dearest Tez. She smiled to see him back.

  How lucky she was to have had him to turn to after Philip died. He was such a dear.

  Tez got out of the car, still undecided about what to tell Bella. Should he burden her with his worries about her friend Georgie and Mr Cotterell, or should he keep the fact that they were missing to himself?

  When he’d had something to eat and they were sitting together in front of a cosy log fire, she said quietly, ‘You may as well tell me, Tez.’

  ‘Am I that easy to read?’

  ‘I know you rather well now. You can put on that glassy-eyed bonhomie for others when you feel the need, but it doesn’t fool me. What’s wrong, dear?’

  So he told her about the Cotterells.

  She was quiet for a moment or two, then said slowly, ‘Since it wasn’t you, I wonder if it was Georgie who phoned earlier? You know how silly Ivy is about answering the phone. She just let it ring, as usual.’

  ‘Could it have been Georgie, do you think? She might have been asking to take refuge here.’

  ‘Would you mind if she did?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Mr Cotterell has given most of his life to serving our country; I could do no less than support him or his daughter if they needed help against our mutual enemies. But I’d want you to be careful.’

  ‘Of course. Only, if it was her, why hasn’t she phoned again?’

  ‘Maybe she’s found somewhere else to hide.’

  But the worry that Georgie might be seeking help and not finding it stayed with him and he slept badly that night till he came up with a plan to take a few precautions of his own.

  In the morning he shared his idea with Bella. ‘I thought I’d alert the members of the War Memorial Committee to keep an eye out for strangers acting suspiciously in Honeyfield. What do you think?’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt. They’re a nice group of people and I’d trust every single one of them. You’d better tell them to keep it to themselves, though. If Mrs Saunders at the baker’s gets to hear of it, she’ll tell everyone who comes into the shop, and there are a few people in the village I’d not trust.’

  So he went out for a stroll and had a quiet word with the village policeman, the curate and his wife, and several others. It all seemed so peaceful, too quiet a place for trouble, surely? Though nowhere was exempt, and the war might have ended officially, but some would continue to carry their hatred of their opponents in their hearts, he was sure.

  After that, he went along to Honeyfield House, where five women were currently taking refuge from troublesome husbands or families. He let the matron and Sal, the general maid, know to keep their eyes open. Sal would alert her husband Cole, a sturdy fellow partly employed to defend the women if necessary.

  On the way back he stopped for a chat with Malcolm Leatherby, from whom he bought his motor spirit. Malcolm did minor car repairs, but he was looking old and tired these days, though he snapped at anyone who dared to suggest he take things easy.

  ‘I’ll let you know if any strangers come in for motor spirit,’ Malcolm offered at once. ‘Though I don’t usually get many outsiders, just folk from round about, usually.’

  ‘Keep it to yourself.’

  Malcolm tapped the side of his nose. ‘I can do that.’

  As Tez walked back along the short street where he lived, he stopped to look at the gardens of the old house next door to his. It was called Orchard View but last summer everything had been so overgrown it had had no view at all. Now things were winter bare, you could see that the garden was badly neglected and the house downright shabby. He wished someone would buy it, come to live there and set things to rights. It had become an eyesore.

  His own garden was neat and tidy, with a few evergreens to brighten the winter. He wished he could give Bella more than a smallish house in Pear Tree Lane, but he wasn’t a rich man and anyway, she didn’t hanker after a large house and a life of luxury, bless her.

  He shivered as he glanced up at the sky. It was looking like rain and the wind had become bitingly cold. This was a day to spend indoors, unless you were obliged to go out.

  It was also a day to worry and be unable to settle to anything, as he soon found out. Poor Georgie! He hoped she was somewhere safe and warm.

  Chapter Twelve

  The following day seemed long and tedious to the three people left behind at Westcott. They’d decided to stay on another day but were keeping a very careful watch for any signs of strangers in the area. During the afternoon, they asked Cecil to stroll into the village and see whether any strangers had been sighted by his friends. He came back and reported that all was quiet.

  Marge provided them with a meal but Rosie found herself without appetite.

  Dennis looked at her across the table. ‘Eat a bit more, lass. You need to keep your strength up.’

  She forced in two or three mouthfuls then shook her head and pushed her plate away. ‘Shouldn’t they be back by now?’

  ‘You’ve been wondering tha
t for a while and I’m no wiser now than I was last time you asked me,’ Dennis told her.

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  She tried to smile at him but it was a poor attempt. He put an arm round her. ‘I expect they’ll be all right. Patrick’s a sensible chap. He’ll look after her.’

  But it grew late and Patrick and Georgie still hadn’t come home. The three of them were now seriously worried about their friends’ safety.

  ‘If they’re not here by dawn, we’ll set off for this Honeyfield place and hope to find them there,’ Dennis said as they went up to bed. ‘Wake me when it’s my turn to keep watch, Martin.’

  Some time later Rosie came awake with a start, staring round in the darkness. What was that? She was sure some sound had woken her, because she was a light sleeper.

  She lay still, hardly daring to breathe in case she missed hearing it again. But she didn’t miss it and realised with a sudden leap of terror in her chest that what she’d heard sounded like footsteps on the gravel of the drive that led round the side of the house. They were muffled and intermittent as if the person was trying not to make a sound.

  Yes, there they were again! Footsteps definitely. And again. Whoever was there was walking quietly, but not quietly enough. Well, you couldn’t avoid the gravelled areas completely, whatever you did, not if you wanted to get to the big house.

  Thank goodness for gravel!

  She was out of bed in a flash, glad now that she’d given in to the temptation to sleep fully dressed, in case she had to flee. She hadn’t wanted to run round the countryside in her old flannel nightie!

  As she was pulling on her coat, there was the faintest of taps on her bedroom door and it began to open. She grabbed the poker from the side of the bed and waited.

  ‘Rosie? Are you awake?’

  She whispered, ‘Dennis! Oh, thank goodness it’s you. Yes, I’m awake and dressed.’