Land Girls, The Promise

by Roland Moore

  “I’ll telephone her mother tomorrow,” Esther said.

  “Why not do it now?” Finch said. “At least then we’d know where she was.”

  “I’ll call Mrs Dawson tomorrow. Give Iris one more night to show up.”

  Birds were fluttering in the trees outside the window. It was the only sound that Iris had heard for the last few hours. No one had come to her room all morning and she was beginning to wonder what was happening. The room contained very little in the way of amenities. There was a bedpan under the bed and a jug of water and a glass. Iris had finished the water in the jug.

  By what she assumed was the middle of the day, for the first time since contemplating her escape she felt hungry. She wondered whether she might have been abandoned. What if Evelyn had suffered a car accident? She was a courier, after all, and that increased the likelihood of her having a crash. Or what if she had fallen unconscious downstairs? Iris could die of starvation before anyone realised she was locked in this room in this house. She jiggled the handle of the door, not caring if she attracted attention, shouting for someone to come. She followed a pattern of shouting and then pausing to listen for any sounds of a response, the cycles getting shorter and more desperate. Eventually she stopped because her throat was sore and she was close to tears.

  She stretched the calf muscles in her legs, pressing against the door to get purchase. She was aware of the stiffness in her legs from the tumble and she was trying to get her legs working well enough to escape.

  Iris slumped on the bed. Her bruised legs were still aching and tender, and she hadn’t dared to take off her finger bandages to see what damage lay beneath. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling her eyelids getting heavy from exhaustion and hunger. A fitful sleep washed over her. Images of the past flashed into her mind.

  Looking up, as a young girl, as her mother smiled and brushed her hair.

  And then - running for the train with her mum and dad. Even as a child, Iris knew that Ivor and Margot Dawson were a stylish couple. He would wear an immaculate three-piece suit, complete with pocket watch and chain; she would wear a tailored orange woollen coat and gloves. They were running as a family to get the train to see her grandfather. She remembered that the train started to pull out of the station as they reached the platform, and her father doubled over with the exertion of the failed run. Iris and her mother went to tend to him, but he said he was fine. And as he regained his breath, instead of cursing their luck, her father laughed and smiled. It was one of those things, not worth getting upset about. He ruffled Iris’s hair and suggested that they use the time while they waited for the next train to get a cake and some tea. It sounded a splendid idea.

  Cake and tea.

  Iris felt something push against her arm. She opened her eyes, not entirely sure if she was still dreaming or not. Evelyn was looking down at her, narrowed eyes searching her face. Suddenly, Iris felt fully awake, and pushed herself back, recoiling from Evelyn’s touch as if she’d been scalded.

  “It’s all right,” Evelyn said without emotion. “I brought you some food.”

  Iris glanced at the bowl of green soup that was steaming on the bedside cabinet, a chunk of potato bread next to it.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I had to take a package somewhere. Part of my job.”

  “Let me go.” Iris scowled.

  “I need something from you first.”

  “What?”

  “As soon as I have the map, I’ll let you go. Now, eat.”

  “What’s the map for?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. Just tell me where it is.” Evelyn’s eyes darted to the top of the wardrobe. “I looked through your case and couldn’t find it.”

  “Let me go!”

  “I need the map first. We can take as long as we need,” Evelyn said, coldly. “Now eat. You must be starving.”

  Evelyn didn’t wait for a reply. She turned away from the bed and started to walk back towards the door. The open door. Starving or not, Iris knew this was her chance. Perhaps her only chance!

  She lunged forward from the bed, grabbing Evelyn round the neck with both arms, her momentum and weight sending Evelyn crashing forward onto the wooden floor. Evelyn’s leg flew up as she fell, knocking the bowl of soup into the air. Iris landed hard on her injured fingers, bending them up against the splint with the force of the impact. Evelyn’s body was underneath hers, and it had cushioned some of her fall. But then, further pain came as gravity caught up with the bowl of soup. It fell on her back and shoulders, scalding her. The bowl shattered as it bounced off, but Iris didn’t notice. She was fighting through the pain and trying to pin Evelyn’s thrashing limbs to the floor. Evelyn managed to kick out, knocking Iris off balance, but Iris fought to subdue her opponent. Evelyn rolled onto her back so she could face her attacker and the two women tumbled over each other, a messy collection of flailing limbs as they both scrambled for the upper hand. They clattered into the bedside table, the alarm clock falling onto Iris’s head. She batted it away and tried to land a punch in Evelyn’s face. But Evelyn wedged her knee under Iris’s ribcage, using the leverage to send her smashing back against the wardrobe. Iris winced as a burst of pain exploded in her head as she hit the wardrobe door. She tried to get up, but Evelyn was already on her feet and running for the open door.

  Iris had almost got back on her feet by the time the door slammed. She heard the key being turned in the lock, followed by Evelyn’s laboured breathing as she ran downstairs. Iris felt despair seeping back into her bones. She looked at the carnage in the room, smears of green, gloopy liquid had somehow managed to cover most of the bed and the floor, as well as the back of Iris’s nightie, which was stuck to her skin. She picked herself up and looked at the shattered bowl. It had broken into three jagged pieces of pottery. Iris picked up the longest and sharpest one. She staggered, still winded, over to the bed. She opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and placed the jagged shard inside. The thought of using it filled her with horror, but she might need it to fight for her life. At least she had a weapon now. Something to threaten Evelyn with.

  Iris leaned forward and picked the chunk of potato bread off the floor. This was what she was reduced to, scavenging off the floor like that mangy dog at Jordan Gate. She ate the bread and then watched the door, fixing it with all her attention. She guessed that, elsewhere in the house, Evelyn was recovering from their fight. But she knew she’d be back sometime. And Iris knew she had to be ready. Would she be punished for what she had done? Her splinted fingers were throbbing from being bent back during the scuffle. Iris tried to block out the pain. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something good. She thought about her father.

  She saw the Lyons Corner House that they had gone to when they missed the train. Ivor Dawson was smiling at the waitress, as he ordered a fabulous selection of cakes. It was 1934 and, with no rationing, and the rest of the kids staying with grandfather, they could have ordered as many as they wanted, but her father reined in his family’s desire to try all the menu. Time was against them, with her father checking his pocket watch at regular intervals. They had one hour until the next train, and they couldn’t afford to miss that one. So her father ordered a chocolate eclair for Iris and a slice of Victoria sponge for himself and Margot. Iris was amused by the antics of her father as he joked at the table, carefree and happy. When Margot poured the tea, Ivor liked the look of her cup more than his own. He distracted his wife by pointing at something and then switched the cups. But the action was clumsy and he spilt some tea, giving himself away. Margot played at being indignant, but she found it funny. Why did he do that? All he had to do was ask.

  Iris realised something. Finch did the same thing. The switch trick. She’d never made the connection before. Maybe it was a ‘man thing’, but she’d never seen anyone else do it. Only her dad and Finch. Daft buggers.

  But thinking about Finch brought her back to the present, happy thoughts of laughter and eclairs dissipati
ng like morning dew on warm grass. Iris pulled her wet, soup-stained nightie away from her back and shoulders. Her stomach was still rumbling, and she guessed that Evelyn wouldn’t risk bringing her any more food for a while. But she had her crockery dagger and she would be ready.

  Martin sat in Frank’s shed, watching as Frank tried to oil an old rabbit trap and get the mechanism to work. Esther knocked on the door jamb and entered. “Hello, love,” Esther said.

  “Hello. Any news about Iris?”

  Esther shook her head. “I was going to telephone her mother today, but the records show she doesn’t have a telephone,” Esther explained. “I might have to go to Northampton.”

  “You’re too busy to go to Northampton, aren’t you?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, but what choice do I have?”

  “I could go,” Martin piped up.

  “You?”

  “Yes, me,” Martin stated, a little hurt. “I can do it, Mum. I am old enough.”

  Esther mulled this over for a moment. “If you find Iris there, you tell her to get herself back here as quickly as possible, yes?”

  “Of course!” Martin said, excited by his mission and by the chance of getting away from farm work for a while.

  “I don’t want to have to report her as missing until she has a chance to come back. She may be worried about showing her face,” Esther said. “But if you go, you have to think about the other option.”

  “What other option?”

  “If Iris isn’t there, then we don’t know where she is. And that means her mother is likely to take the news badly.” Esther frowned. “Oh, I’d better go. If that happens, you won’t know how to handle it.”

  “I can do it, Mum. I can be caring and sensitive and all those things you say I’m not.”

  Esther looked at her son, a proud smile coming over her face. She nodded her consent. “I’ll arrange a train ticket with the Women’s Land Army.”

  Now it was Martin’s turn to beam.

  Chapter 16

  “Iris?”

  A soft but masculine voice, a cautious enquiry, whispered. She opened her bleary eyes and struggled to focus on the shapes in the room. A small, weasel-like man was crouched on her bed, looking over her. “Iris?” His brow was furrowed with lines and his eyes shone like shimmering dark coals in his weathered face. She knew immediately who it was.

  I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words.

  The words reverberated in her head, never far away in the recesses of her memory. And here he was, in front of her. Vernon Storey. Her nightmare made flesh. She had tried to convince herself that the man she saw in the Flag, the man who had chased her down a country lane in the middle of the night, was a mirage. Some illusion dredged up in her terrified brain. But here he was, a reality, so close that she could smell his stale sweat and see the stitches on his pullover. Iris did her best to back away, but she realised that Evelyn Gray was standing on the other side of her bed.

  “Get away from me!” Iris hissed.

  She fumbled for the drawer by the bed, pulling it open to get the sharp pottery dagger. But the drawer was empty.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Iris. I wasn’t trying to hurt you when I chased you from the pub. I just wanted to talk.” Again, his voice was soft, kind even. It had none of the anger she expected, none of the anger she remembered. He held up the jagged, dangerous shard of crockery. “This wasn’t very nice, was it?” He threw it towards the door, safely out of reach.

  “I want to help you. But to help you, you’ve got to help me. Help us.”

  Iris glanced between the two of them. What was going on? Vernon looked at Evelyn, seemingly for consent. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Evelyn had to find Finch and get him interested. I needed her to do that so she could get my tin of things. That’s because I couldn’t very well wander back to Shallow Brook Farm, could I?”

  “But you used Finch!” Iris spat. “You’re still using him!”

  “I didn’t want to hurt him,” Evelyn said, looking sheepish.

  “Enough people have got hurt already, Iris. But I need that map so that I can get away. You’ll never see me again. You’ll never see either of us again,” Vernon said gruffly, as if he found this difficult to say. As far as Iris could tell, he was opening his heart to her. This wasn’t what she expected at all. She suspected that he would change quickly enough into the Vernon she despised if she refused to help, so for now she stayed silent, wanting to hear him out. “We thought we had it all worked out, you see? Evelyn just had to get the box and that was that. I’d have the map. But the map is the one thing missing. With it, I can start again. Otherwise, I have to skulk around, earning money on farms like Jordan Gate, like the other drifters, the other deadbeats.”

  “You killed your son! You deserve everything you get,” Iris said, unable to stop herself.

  Evelyn started to reply, to silence Iris with a sharp word, but Vernon raised his hand, urging her to not get involved. He looked down at Iris and smiled a bitter smile. “I know. Part of me thinks I should turn myself in. Hang by my neck for what I’ve done. But I can’t do that. I owe it to Evelyn to survive. See, I’m doing this for her.”

  “How long have you been together?” Iris’s eyes darted between them. Evelyn and Vernon shared a look. It was time to come clean.

  “All our lives,” Evelyn replied. For a moment, Iris struggled to process this, until Vernon finished the explanation.

  “She’s my sister.”

  Suddenly and with blinding clarity, Iris could see some slight family resemblance between Vernon and Evelyn. She was lucky not to have been burdened with his small eyes and uneven skin, but, if you looked for it, there was something about their eyebrows and the shapes of their faces that marked them as being related.

  “You tell us where the map is and you’ll never see me or her again,” Vernon said, his voice low and calm as if explaining a simple fact to a young child. “You can go back to Pasture Farm and your old life. Now, where is the map?”

  Iris looked fearful. Did she want to give that information?

  “And please don’t say you’ve destroyed it,” he said. His eyes flashed with malevolence. The cold look that Walter had probably seen when his father was about to strike him -

  With grim certainty, Iris had no doubt that if she couldn’t produce the map, Vernon and Evelyn would kill her.

  “I haven’t destroyed it, it’s safe.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s not here, so you’ll have to let me go,” Iris replied. “It’s at the farm.”

  Vernon nodded, already having worked out that fact. “That’s the problem, Iris,” he stated. “If I let you go back to Pasture Farm, then you’ll just go to the police, won’t you? Pull together a lynch mob.”

  “I won’t. You have my word.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, then,” he said, smiling coldly. “If you give your word, then I don’t mind trusting my freedom, my life to you, Iris. Yes, that’ll be fine. What do you think I am? Some kind of damn fool?”

  “I mean it,” Iris said, feeling the hope drain out of her.

  “You’ll say anything to get out of here,” Vernon said, a hint of weary annoyance cutting through his voice. “I’m not going to the gallows and that means I can’t trust anyone.”

  “Please, no, I just want this to end.” Iris found herself suddenly tearful. All those nights terrified and drinking while she worried about this monster coming back, and everything that had happened since. She struggled to stop the tears. She had to be strong and her mind had to be clear to work out how to get out of this situation. Vernon flashed a look at Evelyn. Iris suspected that they would have liked nothing more than to be able to take her at her word. But the stakes were too high for all of them.

  “We want it to end too. Where is the map?”

  “At the farm. Pasture Farm.”

  “You said that. I meant, whereabouts?”

  Iris had a sudden dark thought. “If I tell you, how do I know yo
u’ll let me go?”

  Vernon grinned, a shark’s grin of yellowing teeth. “You have my word.”

  It hung in the air. The fact was that Iris couldn’t trust this man any more than he could trust her. It was a stalemate situation. Desperately Iris tried to think of another solution.

  “I daresay I could find it, eventually. The problem is,” Evelyn said, “Even with Finch around my little finger, I can’t go rooting through the rooms at Pasture Farm. For one thing that old bag, Esther, would stop me.”

  “So that leaves us with a problem, doesn’t it?” Vernon smiled. Iris hated it when he smiled, as his eyes remained as cold as unlit coal. “We can’t get the map from the farm. But you know where it is. You could get it.”

  “Yes?” Iris said, wondering where this was going.

  “But I don’t trust you to do that without going to the police.” Vernon nodded his head slowly, seeming to relish this dilemma. A logic puzzle to be solved, like Iris’s father used to enjoy wrestling with the crossword in The Northampton Echo.

  “But here’s the thing. You could go and get it if we knew that you would come straight back,” Vernon announced. “That way we’d all be happy. I could trust you then.”

  “All right.” Iris sat up in the bed, her head woozy with confronting her demon in the flesh. She realised that she wasn’t fully recovered from her fall in the quarry, feeling exhausted, with a headache throbbing in her temples.

  “But for this to work, we need some insurance, Iris,” Vernon stated, again using his talking-to-a-child voice. “I need to know you’ll come back to this cottage with the map, without telling anyone.”

  “I will.”

  “It’s not enough, Iris,” Evelyn said with annoyance.

  “But we thought of a good idea earlier.” Vernon smiled.

  “That’s why I plan to ask Finch to come here tomorrow night. I’m sure I can get him to come for dinner.”