Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Good girl. Grab what you can and come with me at once. There’s someone waiting at the front of the house and someone else is creeping round to the back. Martin’s gone to wake Cecil and Marge and send them down to the cellar. You and I will meet him at the car.’

  She snatched up her bag. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Good lass!’ He led the way down the backstairs, through the silent kitchen and into the scullery. ‘I don’t think they’ll have anyone watching the laundry door yet, but if there is, I’ll thump them and you run for the car.’

  She took a firmer hold of her poker, ready to do her share of the thumping if she saw the chance. Ma had always told her not to rely on other people protecting you.

  Dennis led the way to the door that led out to the washing lines. For a moment he paused and they both listened. But they couldn’t hear any sound from outside.

  ‘Let’s go.’ He turned the key in the lock and opened the door, stepping to one side as he did so to let her pass.

  That probably saved him because a cudgel thumped into the door frame making him stumble sideways.

  It rose into the air once more, but before the man could bring it down again, Rosie jabbed out with her poker, catching the stranger in his middle and making him go ‘Oof’. She followed that up by bringing the poker down on his shoulder as hard as she could.

  He yelled and fell to the ground, letting the cudgel drop and rolling about in agony, cursing.

  Dennis took her hand and dragged her past the man, who was still moaning and making no attempt to get up and follow them. He hoped she’d broken one of their attacker’s bones! There couldn’t be anyone else nearby or they’d have come running.

  Without saying a word, Dennis tugged her across to the kitchen garden, where the bare earth would muffle their footsteps. Within less than a minute they’d reached the back lane.

  He stopped and put one finger to his lips. She could see quite well in the faint moonlight now that her eyes were used to the darkness, so she stopped too, not trying to speak, just listening hard and trying not to pant loudly.

  There was no sound of pursuit. ‘Follow me along the edge of the ditch,’ he muttered in her ear.

  She nodded and did that, not caring about the mud, only wanting to escape from an enemy who was pursuing her new mistress so relentlessly she was sure these people wouldn’t hesitate to harm anyone else who got in their way.

  When they got to the car, they found Martin waiting for them with the crank in place.

  As Dennis flung himself into the driving seat, Rosie got into the back seat and Martin swung the handle.

  Rosie prayed as hard as she could that the motor would start first time.

  It didn’t and the sound of it must have carried to the house, because she heard shouts from that direction. As Martin cranked the car engine again, she had a sudden thought and opened the rear door of the car. When the car did start to move, Martin would need to get in quickly.

  This time the engine coughed, hesitated, then started chugging steadily, so she pushed the car door wide open, saying, ‘Get in quick!’

  The vehicle was already moving as Martin jumped on the running board, scrambled from there into the back and leant out to snatch at the swinging car door and close it.

  He looked to be leaning dangerously far, so Rosie grabbed the back of his jacket, holding on for dear life. She groaned in relief as he got the door shut and sagged back on the seat, panting and grinning at her.

  ‘Thanks! You might just have saved my life, lass.’

  ‘You’re a quick thinker, Rosie,’ Dennis said from the driving seat. ‘First you bashed the man attacking me and probably broke his shoulder, then you thought to open the car door. Well done!’

  ‘You have to think on your feet if you grow up where I did. At least, you do if you want to stay safe, especially when you’re a woman.’

  She blew out a deep breath, then another one. ‘Eeh, my heart’s still pounding, though.’

  ‘So is mine.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Wish I knew.’ Dennis’s voice was grim.

  ‘I’d not even recognise them if I passed them in the street.’

  ‘No, nor would I.’

  Silence as they all considered that. No one could even guess at the identity of their pursuers.

  ‘Do you know where to go?’ Rosie asked after a while.

  ‘More or less. But what I don’t know is how to warn Patrick about them coming to Westcott.’

  ‘Patrick won’t go rushing back there,’ Martin said confidently. ‘He’ll do a recce first. They’d not have made him up to sergeant if he hadn’t been good in tight corners.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. You two all right in the back there?’

  ‘Snug as fleas in a blanket.’

  ‘Good. I’m not going to stop to try to light the car lamps. We’ll be better driving in the dark. Lights can show from a long way away at night. I don’t want them to know which direction we’re taking. We’ll work out the details of finding this Honeyfield place later. For the moment I just want to get away from them, and I’d rather not meet anyone else who could remember us, either.’

  ‘I doubt there’ll be anyone out and about at this hour.’

  ‘Pray that you’re right.’

  After a while Dennis turned off the road and bumped along onto a piece of rough land behind some trees. ‘We need to find out if we’re being followed.’ He switched off the engine and got out of the car, standing on the running board in the darkness, listening as hard as he could and scanning the horizon all the time, eyes moving to and fro.

  Suddenly he let out a low exclamation and got back to the car, pointing to one side. ‘Is that light in the distance a pair of headlamps, do you think? Have a look, Martin, lad.’

  ‘Could be.’

  A light breeze touched their faces with its chilly fingers as they all watched the beam of light. To their relief, it seemed to be moving away from them. After a few moments it disappeared completely and then there was nothing except the faint moonlight and the shadowy landscape.

  Dennis went back to keeping watch for a while but could see and hear nothing else, so got back into the car, shivering. ‘It might be a good idea for us to stay here and not drive on till it’s starting to get light and other people are out and about. That way no one will think it unusual to see our car passing by.’

  Without waiting for their agreement, he got into the driving seat. ‘Leave the car doors open and keep on the alert.’

  ‘How long do you think they’ll keep searching for us?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Who knows? But since they’ve got their headlights on, we’ll see them coming for as long as it’s dark. And they won’t easily find us here even if they drive past on the road, because the ground slopes downhill behind the trees.’

  A short time later Martin said, ‘How about I go and have a recce, make sure we can’t be seen at all from the road?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Dennis sighed and huddled down in the driving seat. ‘You all right, lass?’

  ‘Yes. A bit cold, even with this blanket. You must be frozen. Do you want me to check if there’s another one in the box on the rear luggage rack?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to do anything that makes a metallic noise, like opening the box would. That sort of sound would carry a long way in the quiet of the night and anyone would be able to tell it wasn’t natural.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I see.’

  He chuckled softly, ‘This is comfort compared to what we’ve been through. Don’t worry about us. It’s you I’m concerned about.’

  ‘I haven’t had an easy life, Dennis. I’ve been cold and hungry many a time.’

  ‘Me too.’

  It seemed ages before Martin came back, then suddenly he was standing there beside the car.

  ‘There’s no sign of this car from up on the road, so I reckon we can stay here till it’s fully light.’

  ‘Good. Get back into the car, but I’ll keep my wind
ow open so that I can hear if anyone approaches.’

  Rosie shivered. ‘It was kind of you to let me have the blanket, but I’m still cold and you two will be frozen since we none of us have any really warm clothing. How about we all sit in the back and huddle under the blanket close together? We’ll be much warmer that way.’

  ‘If you don’t mind us cuddling up to you,’ Dennis said.

  ‘Mind? I’m freezing cold here. Just keep your hands to yourselves, that’s all.’

  After they’d settled down she said suddenly, ‘We used to sit like this on winter evenings when we were little, cuddling close to keep warm, taking it in turns to be in the middle. Ma and Pa couldn’t always afford to buy coal, even in winter.’

  ‘Aye, we did that sometimes, too,’ Dennis said.

  They fell silent, glad of the warmth of the other bodies and the blanket.

  ‘Shhh!’ Rosie said suddenly. ‘I heard something.’

  They all listened, just about holding their breath and heard the sound of a car engine.

  ‘I’m getting up on the car bonnet and having a look round,’ Martin said.

  When he’d got out, Rosie whispered to Dennis. ‘They’re not giving up easily, are they?’

  ‘Do you think it’s them?’

  ‘Who else would it be out in the middle of nowhere at this time on a cold winter’s night? I hope Miss Cotterell and Patrick are safe.’

  ‘Aye. He’s a good chap, should have been an officer. If anyone can save her, I reckon it’ll be him.’

  Martin got back into the car. ‘I could see car lights for a long time going to and fro, so it’s probably them. Well, even if they find us, they might have a few shocks. Chaps like me won’t forget what we learnt about protecting ourselves – and our mates.’

  ‘Someone will notice them if they keep blundering around the countryside.’

  ‘Miss Cotterell didn’t think they knew about her connection to Honeyfield, even if they know about her friend Bella. It’s a refuge for women, so we’ll be all right there, won’t we?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘I hope so. I wish we had a map.’

  ‘We’ll find our way there. I can sense which way is east and west. But I prefer to arrive after it gets light, so that we look like normal travellers,’ Dennis said. ‘We’ll see whether Miss Cotterell’s directions were good enough for us to find this Pear Tree Lane without asking anyone.’

  They snuggled down and soon Rosie was asleep. Not long afterwards, Martin began snoring.

  But Dennis stayed awake and alert, regarding himself as on watch, listening intently to the night noises. He could do without sleep but he didn’t want to lose his life after getting safely through the war – well, more or less safely. He fingered the scar on his forehead and sighed over the missing fingers. A lot of chaps had lost fingers. Damned nuisance that was. And ugly. But Rosie didn’t seem to mind it.

  Eh, she was a grand lass. As good as a man she was, if you were in trouble.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgie woke with a start as Patrick began to toss and turn. It took her a minute or two to work out where she was, but the lamp was still burning at its lowest setting and its light was enough to remind her they were in a hay barn and why.

  It was still early, but a further light shone from the stables at the other side of the wooden wall dividing the interior of the building into two parts. Someone was already at work and she heard Mr Needham speaking gently to an animal. Even as she looked, a dog came to poke its head through the open doorway and stare across at them with a soft woof.

  By the time her eyes had grown used to the dimness, Patrick was also waking up.

  At first he stared round as if seeing something in the far distance and muttered, ‘Keep your ammunition dry, lads.’

  After lying perfectly still for a few seconds, still staring, he let out a whoosh of breath and came fully awake. ‘Sorry, Georgie. I sometimes dream I’m back there.’

  ‘Such memories are giving a lot of men nightmares, and no wonder. It must have been hell.’

  He nodded. ‘Aye. It was. I hope the others spent the night safe and warm at Westcott.’

  They heard footsteps and Mr Needham peered round the doorway of the stables. ‘Ah. Thought I heard voices. Sorry if I woke you but we start work early here. My wife says you’re to go to the kitchen when you’re ready to eat and her dad has already got his tools out and is sorting through his scraps of leather to see if he can do anything about that shoe of yours, Mr Farrell. Fair set up to be able to help an ex-soldier, he is.’

  He went back to work and Georgie slipped out of bed. ‘I’ll just use the privy.’

  When she got back, Patrick followed her example and the farmer showed them where to get some clean water. She had a quick wash of her hands and face, gasping at how cold the water was.

  As she reached for the square of ragged towel hanging on a hook and started drying her hands, she spoke her thoughts aloud, ‘I wonder where my father slept last night?’

  Patrick answered obliquely. ‘He sounds to be a clever man.’

  ‘Yes, very clever.’

  ‘Then your dad will have found somewhere safe.’

  ‘Unless he was taken by surprise.’

  ‘Worrying won’t help. I’m sure you can trust him to look after himself.’

  That was a comforting thought and Patrick was probably right. She’d already decided that her companion was another clever man. It was one of the many qualities that attracted her to him.

  It was still dark outside but lights shone from the farmhouse as they had the night before. It looked so cheerful and normal. It wasn’t raining this morning but there were clouds in the sky. There was some faint brightening of the sky on what Georgie supposed must be the eastern horizon. She was completely lost as to where they were, but no doubt their kind hosts would be able to tell them what the nearest town was.

  The kitchen was warm and Mrs Needham was cooking slices of bacon in a huge frying pan. An elderly man bobbed his head at them in greeting from the far end of the big table and their hostess turned to smile at them.

  ‘Ah. There you are. We let you sleep in a bit.’

  Georgie managed not to chuckle. The clock on the mantelpiece said six. What time did this family get up normally if that was considered ‘sleeping in’? ‘Thank you. Very kind of you. The food smells wonderful.’

  Mrs Needham waved her hand towards the table. ‘Sit you down. I’ll have your breakfast ready in a minute or two. This is my dad, Ben Barton, only everyone calls him Grandpa. When you’ve finished eating, he’ll take a look at your shoe, Mr Farrell.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to help, but I’m not a trained cobbler,’ the old man warned them.

  ‘Any improvement would be much appreciated,’ Patrick said.

  ‘I seen a man once as had a built-up shoe and he let me look inside, just out of curiosity. Neatly done, it were. Mine won’t be as good as that but I’m sure I can do something to help you till you can get a proper shoe made.’

  Another man came in just then and Mrs Needham said, ‘Sit down, lad. It’s nearly ready, then you can get back to your work.’ She turned to their guests. ‘This is our labourer, Alan.’

  As she put a plate in front of him, he picked up his knife and fork with only a quick mumbled ‘Hello’ to the visitors. Clearly food was much more important to him.

  Mrs Needham went back to her frying pan and soon afterwards served them large platters of ham, fried eggs and sausages with hunks of crusty bread. There were clearly no food shortages here.

  She plonked a huge teapot on the table, then filled a big mug with tea and set two slices of bread and jam on a plate beside it at the head of the table. ‘First meal of the day for my husband,’ she said cheerfully. ‘He has a proper meal at nine. Good eater, he is. My turn now.’

  Patrick breathed in the smell of the fried ham with a happy sigh. He hadn’t seen so much food for a long time. ‘We’ll pay you for this, Mrs Needham.’

  ‘That you
won’t, lad. You’ve paid already with your service to our country.’

  ‘Oh. Well, thank you.’

  Silence and the occasional clink of cutlery bore witness to the excellence of the meal.

  The old man cleared his plate then left with another nod. Once they’d finished eating, Mrs Needham took Georgie and Patrick along to a little workshop near the back door, whispering, ‘He’s a bit deaf, so speak up.’

  Grandpa swung round as they went into the cluttered little workshop. ‘I bin watchin’ you walk, young man. Let me have a look at the shoe from your bad leg. I need to see how it’s worn.’

  He studied it by the light of a good oil lamp, shaking his head. ‘You’re soon going to need new shoes, and make sure you choose better ones than these.’

  ‘Army issue. I had no choice.’

  ‘Shame on them as made the dangy things, then.’

  He had some tools ready and picked up a piece of soft leather. ‘Best I can do is make a pad to fit under your foot. Can’t make it too high or your shoe won’t hold your foot well enough to walk. But I think that’ll make it a bit easier for you.’

  ‘Any help would be appreciated.’ Patrick moved his stockinged foot to and fro, sighing involuntarily.

  ‘Gets bad sometimes, does it?’

  ‘If I do too much. The doctor said it’d improve gradually if I was careful with it.’

  ‘Thass all right for rich folk as don’t need to earn their bread. Not for us ordinary folk, eh? We can’t sit with our feet up waiting for things to improve.’

  Patrick shrugged and watched what the old man was doing, in case it was something he could learn to do for himself.

  Rain beat against the window panes in a sudden squall and they all looked up.

  ‘Going to pour down for most of the day,’ Mr Barton said cheerfully. ‘My knees allus tell me when it’s going to rain heavily. Fair aching they are this morning. If I were you, I’d stay another night. It’ll be dark afore you’re finished here because Eddie sent the lad over to say he can’t come to help with the car till this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, dear. But we can’t impose on you folk.’