Peace Comes to Honeyfield
Page 27
‘We’ve got guns but we don’t want innocent folk getting hurt either,’ Jordan said.
Just then they heard the sound of another car approaching.
‘It’s like Swindon Station here today,’ Cole grumbled.
‘Is there somewhere I can watch them from?’ Jordan asked. ‘I need to see who this is.’
‘Yessir.’
‘Take your boots off first or they’ll hear you, however quietly you walk,’ one of the women advised. ‘Footsteps echo on them floorboards.’
The other men left their shoes and boots in the laundry, but Frank stuffed his into the game pockets on the inside of his overcoat. ‘What I don’t understand is why they aren’t keeping better watch,’ he said.
‘Their men are scattered round the village. And anyway, Butterly is a senior figure at the bureau. When he kills Cotterell and his daughter, he’ll probably blame it on Farrell and kill him too.’
Cole scowled. ‘So he’ll have to kill my Sal as well to keep it quiet.’
‘And he won’t hesitate to do that. I need to go and see what they’re doing, then work out a way to stop them.’
Cotterell made Wally and Mathers get out of the car a little way up the drive, even though they protested.
‘There’s a high chance of someone getting killed – probably me,’ Cotterell told them. ‘You can help out afterwards, because you can be sure I’ll take at least one of them with me. I’m gambling that I can at least save my daughter.’
The two men watched him go.
‘Brave man,’ Wally said.
‘You don’t know the half of it, lad. You all right to go on?’
Wally nodded. He didn’t want to get killed, of course he didn’t. But he wanted to help catch these sods. What patriotic Englishman wouldn’t stand ready to serve his country?
Mathers tugged him away from the drive. ‘Let’s see if we can get up to the house without being seen. There’s an outside chance we may be able to help him.’
Wally nodded and followed the older man.
At one point they found a little shed with some gardener’s tools and Mathers picked out a long-handled fork. ‘If all else fails, you can jab them with that.’
Wally nodded. He felt better with a weapon in his hand, though he didn’t like the idea of stabbing right into someone’s flesh with it.
He wasn’t sure about anything at the moment, except that this was a bad situation and he’d do his best.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was dawn before Cotterell drove up to the front of the house and parked his car to one side. As he got out, a man appeared from behind the big car, pointing a gun at him.
He spread his hands to show that he was unarmed and walked across to the front door quite openly.
‘Keep your hands away from your pockets.’
He raised his voice. ‘Nice to see you, Dewton. I was right to leave you in London, wasn’t I?’
Dewton spoke even more loudly, sounding vicious. ‘Leaving me there only slowed us down a bit. You’re a fool to have come here. I always hated working for you, Mr Know-It-All. Stop there.’ He opened the front door and gestured to Cotterell to go inside first, calling, ‘Visitor for you, Major.’
Cotterell moved forward.
Butterly stood up. ‘Thank you, Dewton. Have you searched him?’
‘No, sir. Didn’t want to do that on my own. He’s a tricky sod.’
‘He doesn’t usually carry a gun, but please check him out.’
Dewton patted Cotterell down, removed a knife from his pocket and shook his head. ‘That’s all I can find.’
‘Stay in the hall for now. Don’t close the door to this room, in case we need you. No one else to come in or out of the house.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
There was silence in the drawing room, then Butterly smiled. ‘I was right. Your daughter is your weakness. No, don’t sit down. Stay exactly where you are. You know what we want from you.’
‘Yes. My compliance in your betrayal of our country.’
‘A country that forgot its Germanic roots and needed teaching a lesson.’
‘Your masters didn’t manage that lesson, though, did they?’
‘That’s all water under the bridge for the moment. We need to make the most of a bad situation at this time. As Goldsmith said: He who fights and runs away, May live to fight another day. But he who is battle slain, Can never rise to fight again.’
‘You always were overfond of quoting poetry, Butterly. This is real life and I think you underestimate your fellow countrymen’s loyalty. May I kiss my daughter before you kill us?’
‘As long as you keep your hands in full view. If you don’t, she will be the first to die.’
Sal gasped and began to sob loudly.
‘Shut up, woman.’
Cotterell moved forward, flicking one quick glance at Patrick.
And suddenly all was chaos.
As Cotterell reached his daughter, he flung himself in front of her and a shot from the scarred man at the door hit him in the side.
Patrick snatched up a nearby chair and hurled it across at Butterly, barely in time to stop him shooting Cotterell again.
Sal had shrieked and dived down behind an occasional table, distracting the scarred man from firing a second shot. For lack of anything else to hand she tore off her shoe and threw that across at him. She was accurate enough to spoil his aim, and the bullet meant to kill Patrick only glanced off his arm.
Outside in the hall, Cole had tackled the driver, who yelled, ‘I’m on your side, you fool. Get out of my way. Mr Cotterell needs help.’
Jordan was standing in the doorway now and saw Butterly raise his gun arm again.
Wounded as he was, Cotterell was still shielding his daughter with his own body.
Without hesitation, Jordan fired at Butterly.
The bullet hit him in the forehead and he crumpled to the ground.
Patrick was wrestling with the scarred man, trying desperately to keep him from shooting again.
As Butterly fell, clearly dead, the scarred man changed tactics. He still had his gun, but he wasn’t trying to use it on Patrick now, but on himself.
Cole went into the room and clubbed the scarred man on the head from behind.
As he fell, the poacher was there to kick the gun out of his hand.
The silence that followed was just as shocking as the burst of noise and explosions had been and no one moved for a few moments.
Jordan didn’t lower his gun until he’d gone across and made sure Butterly really was dead.
Frank came to join him. ‘Nicely done. You’re a good shot, Captain.’
‘Thank you.’ He turned to where Georgie was cradling Cotterell in her arms. ‘Is he dead?’
‘No. But he’s losing a lot of blood.’
Sal was beside her in an instant. ‘Get me some clean kitchen rags and a bowl of water, someone. Here. Let me do this, Georgie. I’ve nursed a few people in my time. And I need boiled water, not water from the tap.’
Ignoring his own injury, Patrick knelt beside her as Georgie edged away from her father. ‘Someone should phone the doctor and police.’
Georgie was pale but in control of herself. ‘I’ll do it. I saw a telephone in the hall.’
Cole came running from the kitchen carrying clean cloths. ‘Rosie’s bringing some boiled water.’
When Georgie came back, she paused for a moment in the doorway to take a couple of deep breaths.
Patrick and Sal were still bent over her father so she went quickly across to them. ‘How is he?’
‘Not dead yet,’ her father said in a faint voice.
‘His cigarette case kept the bullet away from his heart, but he’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘You’re injured too, Farrell.’
‘It’s only a flesh wound. You’re all right, Georgie? Not hurt at all.’
‘No, I’m untouched. Thanks to my father and you.’
Two of the group of men
who’d been clearing the villains out of the village came in through the front door and one called, ‘What can we do here?’
‘We’ve got things under control,’ Jordan said. ‘Who’s in charge in the village?’
‘Mr Tesworth.’
‘Tell him to check every single house and garden, make sure the rest of this nasty bunch of thugs have either been caught or chased away.’
‘He’s doing that already, sir. He sent us to see if you needed help.’
There was the sound of a pony and trap.
‘Who’s that?’
‘The doctor. Old-fashioned chap. Won’t buy a car. But good at his work. I’ll go out and see to the pony, sir.’
The doctor tut-tutted over the injuries, lifted the blanket covering the corpse and pronounced Butterly dead and shrank back in disgust when the scarred man spat at him and refused to be examined.
‘Constable Browning will be here soon,’ Frank said soothingly to the doctor.
‘Well, it makes a nice change for him not to be looking for you or one of your disreputable friends, doesn’t it?’ the doctor snapped.
Frank chuckled. ‘It does. I’ll have to do something to blot my copybook again, or I won’t know myself.’
Georgie went upstairs when they put her father to bed and of course Patrick followed.
She waited outside to let Mathers undress her father, then he came to summon her to the bedside.
‘He won’t sleep till he’s spoken to you, miss. And he wants to see Mr Farrell, too.’
The two exchanged quick glances.
‘You’re not to let him put you off courting me,’ she told Patrick firmly.
‘Only you can do that, Georgie love.’
‘Well, we’ll be all right, then.’
Her father was lying against the pillows, looking pale and tired.
‘You ought to be resting, Father. Can I get you anything?’
‘Mathers will see to my needs. And I will rest once I’ve spoken to you. Are my eyes deceiving me or have you two turned into a couple?’
‘We have. And nothing you say or do will make me change my mind.’
Patrick put his arm round her shoulders. ‘He hasn’t said what he wants yet, love.’ He looked up to see Cotterell studying them and gave him back an answering stare before asking, ‘Are you going to try to keep us apart?’
‘No. I lost the woman I loved but I’ve never forgotten how it felt. If it’s clear to me that you two feel the same way about each other, I’ll give you my blessing and help you find a job of some sort.’
‘No need for that, sir. I’ve got one in mind already and I’m considering buying a small business. I have some money saved.’
Cotterell stared at him. ‘Have you, now?’
‘Yes. I’m probably going to buy the car repairs business you passed on the way into the village. Though I’ve plans to sell cars as well.’
‘Good business to get into. Cars are the coming thing. We’ll all have one some day.’
Patrick turned to Georgie, ignoring her father completely. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to discuss the business with you properly, love. I’ll show you round the place tomorrow. There isn’t a house with it, so we’ll have to find somewhere to live.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve already found a place. I know you don’t want to use my money but you’ll let me spend it on a house, surely?’
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with one of his wry smiles. ‘The house next to the Tesworths?’
‘Yes.’
‘It needs a lot doing to it so make sure you get it at a good price.’
‘We’ll bargain for it together. Sadly, they never believe a woman is serious when she tries to knock the price down.’
‘You’re an unusual woman, love. They might believe you. Still want to work with me as well?’
Her face lit up. ‘You know I do. I’m not a housewife at heart.’
‘I don’t want to marry a placid woman. I love your clever mind and lively attitude to the world.’
Cotterell cleared his throat and they both jumped in shock.
‘Sorry to disturb you two lovebirds, but I need to rest.’ He was smiling, though.
‘Do we have your blessing, Mr Cotterell?’ Patrick asked.
‘Yes. I think a happy partnership is a good basis for a marriage. She’ll lead you a dance, mind.’
‘I’ll do my best to keep up with her.’
‘Good. Now call Mathers in to help me and go away. Mind you propose to her properly. It’s a bit tiring getting shot. I need to rest.’ He slid down in the bed and closed his eyes.
Epilogue
The wedding took place in Honeyfield and the little parish church was full, gentry and villagers cheek by jowl.
Dennis, Rosie and Martin were up at the front, at Georgie’s insistence, all wearing new clothes. Rosie was also wearing a simple engagement ring and was wiping away happy tears as she waited for the bride to join the groom.
Patrick stood by the altar, feeling as if his collar was choking him, still amazed to be marrying Georgie.
He clung to one thought. If he didn’t make her happy it wouldn’t be his fault. He’d lay down his life for her.
His best man, Wally, nudged him with his elbow and Patrick jerked to attention, gazing along the aisle at Georgie, lovely in a simple cream silk dress and small hat with veil, coming towards him on her father’s arm.
She was beaming, didn’t seem to be at all nervous.
And suddenly Patrick wasn’t nervous either. They had a long way to go with their new business and home, but hadn’t wanted to wait to marry. Already part of the house was reasonably habitable and they’d do up the rest in their own time. The important thing was that they’d do everything together.
‘Are you sure?’ he whispered as she stopped beside him.
‘Of course I am, you fool! What a time to ask me that!’ She swatted at him with her bouquet.
The minister looked startled and Patrick was betrayed into a chuckle. Even Cotterell was smiling.
But as he made his responses, emotion choked Patrick’s throat. To have all this: Georgie, a business, a home, and friends. So many good friends. He was the luckiest man on earth.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’
He kissed her, smiling as he pulled away. What more could any man hope for in the peace that had followed the storms of war, but to have a woman like her beside him?
‘Kiss me again,’ she whispered.
So he did, and hang what anyone else expected of them. They’d make a good life together in their own way.
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About the Author
ANNA JACOBS is the author of over eighty novels and is addicted to storytelling. She grew up in Lancashire, emigrated to Australia in the 1970s and writes stories set in both countries. She loves to return to England regularly to visit her family and soak up the history. She has two grown-up daughters and a grandson, and lives with her husband in a spacious home near the Swan Valley, the earliest wine-growing area in Western Australia. Her house is crammed with thousands of books.
annajacobs.com
By Anna Jacobs
THE HONEYFIELD SERIES
The Honeyfield Bequest
A Stranger in Honeyfield
Peace Comes to Honeyfield
THE PEPPERCORN STREET SERIES
Peppercorn Street
Cinnamon Gardens
Saffron Lane
Bay Tree Cottage
THE HOPE TRILOGY
A Place of Hope
In Search of Hope
A Time for Hope
THE GREYLADIES SERIES
Heir to Greyladies
Mistress of Greyladies
Legacy of Greyladies
THE WILTSHIRE GIRLS SERIES
Cherry Tree Lane
Elm Tree Road
Yew Tree Gardens
Winds of Change
Moving On
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
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London W1T 6DW
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First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.
This ebook edition published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.
Copyright © 2018 by ANNA JACOBS
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–2050–7