by Anna Jacobs
She stared at him, trying to work out what was going on. Obviously he wanted to get rid of her, but why? It must be to do with his hidden friend. What were they up to?
‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘I was surprised. You don’t usually want me to go out.’
‘You don’t usually faint all over people.’
There was a thump upstairs as if someone had knocked over a piece of furniture.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, because it’d have looked strange if she hadn’t asked.
‘Ah. Well, to tell you the truth a friend of mine has come to visit me and he didn’t get much sleep last night so he’s having a lie-down in the attic.’
‘Why didn’t you put him in one of the spare bedrooms?’
‘I – um, thought he’d be quieter up there. I’ve invited another couple of mates to visit me later, so it’d suit me if you went out today.’
‘It would be nice to see Jen.’
‘There you are, then. We’d both be suited.’
‘But it’s a long way to walk and I’m still not feeling right.’ She held her breath. Would he get upset at this and hit her? He’d locked her bike away a few months ago, saying she didn’t need it. She missed the freedom of being able to go further afield. Five miles was too far to walk.
‘Why don’t I get your bike out? The light’s not working properly, but if you stay overnight, you won’t need to ride back after dark. Me and my mates will be able to have a few beers in peace and make as much noise as we please.’
‘Oh. Well, all right. If you’re sure.’
‘Of course I’m sure. Why don’t you pack an overnight bag and go straight away?’
‘Before I’ve made your lunch?’ Again she held her breath as she waited for an answer.
‘I can make myself a damned sandwich. I’m not helpless, you know. It’s my leg that’s gone, not my hands.’
‘I will, then. And thank you very much. I shall enjoy a break.’
He patted her shoulder and she couldn’t help flinching away from him, thinking he was going to hit her. He smiled at that. He liked her to show she was afraid of him.
‘I’ll go and check your bicycle, oil it a bit. You can leave as soon as it’s ready. Get that bag packed.’ He walked out whistling cheerfully.
She wondered who was hiding upstairs, what had made Sidney so cheerful all of a sudden. It probably meant someone was going to get hurt. She ought to tell someone. Did she dare do it, though?
As she put her hand over her mouth, she caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror, looking like a timid child. That made her feel angry. She was twenty-five years old, not five. And she had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be hurt.
Slowly she let her hand fall. She’d do it! Leave him. And it’d serve him right. She’d call in to see Mrs Pocock again before she went out to Jen’s farm and warn the shopkeeper that strangers were coming to the house. That never normally happened, well, not openly in the daytime.
Only, this person wasn’t here openly. Sidney had looked annoyed at the noise he’d made. Someone should keep watch and see who else turned up, find out what was going on. She’d suggest that to Mrs Pocock. The shopkeeper knew everyone in the village.
From the things Sidney had said about the foreigners at the big house, he was intending to cause trouble there. That was bad enough, because Mrs Latimer was a lovely person. But Pearl also hated to think of those gentle old people getting hurt. She didn’t want to be part of hurting anyone.
She’d had enough. Mrs Pocock was right. She shouldn’t put up with it. She was definitely not coming back and if Jen wouldn’t help her, she’d go to Mrs Pocock.
On that thought she began cramming as many of her clothes as she could in the shabby little suitcase. She didn’t dare take the big one, so she quickly put on two or three of every undergarment possible and stuffed her pockets with handkerchiefs, gloves, anything small she could find.
She jumped like a startled rabbit when he called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Your bike’s ready, Pearl.’
‘Thank you, Sidney. I’ll be down in a minute.’
With some difficulty she forced a half-smile as she passed him in the kitchen. He didn’t follow her out, but her fingers were shaking as she strapped the little suitcase to the rack on the bicycle. She kept expecting him to call her back and say it had all been a joke, and she couldn’t go.
But he didn’t. He didn’t even stand in the garden to watch her leave.
She had no trouble smiling as she parked her bicycle round the back of the shop and went in to see Mrs Pocock. She was with people now. He couldn’t drag her back, even if he came after her.
On the way to her cousin’s she threw back her head and laughed aloud, which set the bicycle wobbling wildly across the country lane and nearly landed her in the ditch.
Still laughing, she managed to control the bicycle and carry on … pedalling her way to freedom.
Once that poor cowed creature had left, Mrs Pocock called in her husband and after an earnest discussion, he set off for Greyladies, taking a roundabout route.
To his shock, someone grabbed him as he was passing the crypt and before he could do more than let out one yell, he found himself on the ground, with one arm twisted behind his back.
He heard Major Latimer’s voice and sagged in relief.
‘I’m going to let you get up, but if you try to run away, I’ll really hurt you.’
Mr Pocock heaved himself to his feet, one hand to his chest. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I was coming to see Mrs Latimer, to warn her.’
The major’s expression was grim. ‘About what?’
‘We’ve heard Hatterson and his cronies are gathering at his house today. We think they’re going to stage a big attack tonight, perhaps try to capture the big house. There’s someone at his house already, and one of my customers saw a stranger in their street.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Mrs Hatterson fainted in the shop today and my wife told her if she left her husband we’d help her, or Mrs Latimer would. Well, he’s been beating the poor little thing for years, as well as making her do all the work. She can’t be more than five foot high and she’s as thin as a lath. My wife doesn’t think she’s even eating properly.’
‘Go on.’
‘Mrs Hatterson came back to see us later, riding her bicycle, which he’d taken off her but he’s given it her back so that she can go and visit her cousin, who lives on a farm outside the village. Mrs Hatterson was told to stay the night there.’
‘That’s ominous.’
‘She said she couldn’t stand it any longer and she’s decided to leave him. She told us he was expecting some of his friends, and he’d got that look to him.’
‘What look is that?’
‘Wild-eyed. I know what she means. I’ve seen him in a rage a couple of times. She thinks he’s gone mad and is planning to do something terrible, but she doesn’t know what.’
The silence seemed to go on for ever, then the major spoke in a normal, friendly tone and Mr Pocock sagged in relief.
‘You’d better come to the house and talk to my wife about it. We’re making plans to protect ourselves, which is why I was checking the crypt. But if we get an attack by a mob, there may too few of us to defend Greyladies properly. Most of the internees are too old and feeble to help. Look. You know everyone in the village. You’ll know who we can rely on, who’s strong and ready to fight for his country.’
‘I do indeed. And I don’t believe in mob rule, sir.’
‘Good. To set the record straight, our Germans are helping the British government with information about all sorts of things. They’re making a significant contribution to the war effort on our side.’
‘We’d heard rumours about that.’
‘Had you? By Jove! It’s not supposed to be known.’
Mr Pocock shrugged. ‘It’s a small village. You know how things get ta
lked about.’
‘If everyone knows about it, why is that fellow trying to stir up trouble?’
‘He’s an incomer, and what’s more he isn’t liked. No one would tell him anything. There are a few others who don’t join in much, as well, and we don’t discuss it with them, either. Two or three of them have been seen going into Hatterson’s house lately or leaving the village after dark. There have been motor cars stopping nearby during the night, too. Hatterson’s uncle must be spinning in his grave about what’s being done with his old home.’
‘Yes. Funny how things turn out sometimes. I didn’t realise I was coming home today to lead an unofficial battle against hoodlums, but that’s what it’ll amount to. There isn’t time to get more soldiers here and in place before nightfall, and anyway, we have no real proof of what’s being planned, so I’d have trouble getting any sent.’
But he was going to phone the nearest unit and set up certain arrangements with them.
‘Well, as I said, I’m ready to help out, because it’s my village, and I can name a few others who’ll help as well. I hope you get Hatterson locked up in prison for the rest of his life, then he won’t be able to beat up that poor woman … or betray his country.’
He was looking forward to helping sort this out, had been itching to get hold of Hatterson and give him some of his own medicine. He couldn’t be doing with people who beat up their wives and caused trouble in the village.
As for traitors who attacked British houses and soldiers, he’d stand the sods up against a wall and shoot them himself, by hell he would.
In some amusement, Corin watched Gilbert Pocock, in his sixties and distinctly plump, stride beside him into the house with an attempt at a military bearing.
People like him and Joe were the salt of the earth, were what had made Britain the great nation she was.
Chapter Eighteen
Joe had been set to keep watch on Hatterson’s house, with strict instructions not to show himself or do anything except watch.
He carried out his instructions to the letter, but when two burly men grabbed him from behind, he had no time to do anything except yelp in shock before a gag was shoved into his mouth and he was bound tightly.
Laughing and joking, they carried him towards Hatterson’s cottage, dumping him in the coalhouse.
He lay in the muck, bitterly aware that he had failed Major Latimer, failed everyone. Tears of shame leaked from his eyes, though he tried hard not to give in to despair.
He dreaded to think what those men would do to Greyladies.
The door opened again and a light was shone on him. He blinked and turned his head away.
‘Yes, it is him. Think you’re clever, don’t you, you little sod,’ Hatterson said, and aimed a kick at him, laughing as it connected with his ribs.
A gurgle of pain escaped Joe, but he managed not to make a noise when the second blow slammed into him.
‘Aw, come on, Hatty. He’s not worth it. Just lock him up till we’ve carried out our plan, then we’ll let him go.’
One more kick came Joe’s way, then the shadow looming over him fluttered backwards and the door was slammed shut. This time he heard a padlock click shut on the outside.
There was no way he was going to get out of here, even if he got free of his bonds.
He lay in the darkness, waiting for the pain to ebb. His ribs hurt, but his pride hurt far more.
He had failed, failed all those people depending on him. More tears fell.
Men filtered into the village and it wasn’t possible now to keep their arrival secret. They gathered at prearranged points and no one came out of any of the houses to challenge them.
They laughed as they waited, boasted about what they would do to the Huns, and to the cowards guarding them if they resisted at all.
People who overheard them from the nearby houses grew angry, but they had their instructions: they were to do nothing until the signal was given unless their very lives were threatened.
And for that signal, they depended on Joe.
Miss Bowers sat in the darkness of her unlit house, watching the back lane and listening through a half-open window to the men passing along it, going into and out of Hatterson’s house. She shivered in the cold air that was coming in, but huddled her shawl more closely round her neck and continued to keep watch.
But it was no use sitting there. She could only catch snatches of the various conversations and it was hard to make sense of anything. The invaders, as she thought of them, were too confident and there were more of them than had been expected.
Perhaps she could hear something useful if she went outside, not right into the back lane, but staying in her own garden. She opened the door cautiously, listened, then tiptoed out and stationed herself near the gate in the middle of the high back wall of her garden. From here she would be able to hear a lot more.
But to her disappointment the men all seemed to have gone past. She was about to open the gate to peep out and check that when she heard another gate bang shut close by. She froze.
More footsteps approached and she recognised one voice immediately: Hatterson. He was boasting about what he’d do to the lad they’d got locked in the coalhouse after they got back. It was obvious from what he was saying that it was Joe they’d caught.
When they’d gone she waited a bit longer, but no one else came. Taking a deep breath, she opened her back gate and peered out, ready to duck back and lock the gate. No sign of anyone else and the footsteps were fading into the distance.
The next gate opened and old Mr Diggan peered out from his house between hers and Hatterson’s. She hurried along to him.
‘They’ve captured Joe and have him locked up. We have to rescue him.’
‘I thought he was too good at surveillance to be caught.’
‘No one is perfect. I think they’ve got him locked in the coalhouse. Come on. We have to hurry.’
‘That Hatterson has a padlock on the coalhouse door. He doesn’t even trust his neighbours not to pinch his coal. He’s a sick soul, that one is. Let me get something to break the lock with.’
He came back hefting a sledgehammer.
‘Are you able to swing it hard enough?’
He let out a dry cackle of laughter. ‘You start it swinging and its own weight carries it down. And if I damage the door because I miss the lock a time or two, who’ll care by the time this night is over? You look after that. If they’ve tied him up we’ll need it.’
He thrust a knife handle into her hand and she jumped in shock as she took it from him. He grabbed her other arm and then kept hold of it as they went into Hatterson’s back garden.
From the coalhouse they heard the sound of agonised, muffled sobbing.
‘He’s just a lad,’ whispered Miss Bowers. ‘They forgot that. He’s such a clever boy.’
‘We’ll back off a bit and come along making a noise,’ Thad said. ‘He won’t want us to hear him crying.’
When they got to the door for a second time, he called out. ‘Is someone in there?’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Thad Diggan and Miss Bowers.’
‘Can you get me out? I have to go to Greyladies. I have to tell them what I heard. I got the gag out of my mouth, but I can’t untie myself.’
‘Aye. I’ve brought my sledgehammer.’
It took four blows to break the wood around the padlock and another two to knock the hasp of the padlocked bar from the door frame. ‘I’d ha’ done that in one when I was younger,’ Diggan muttered as he tugged the door open.
The moonlight showed the lad on the floor, propped up on a heap of coal.
Miss Bowers didn’t need telling to cut the ropes binding Joe. ‘Can you move about all right? Good. Then get going and spread the word. But take more care how you go this time.’
‘They must have been expecting me, lying in wait, but they won’t catch me again.’ And he was off, hurrying along the back lane to the street, then slowing down to move along the v
erge from shadow to shadow, stopping to tap on the windows of some of the houses he passed.
The two old people followed him to the end of the lane to make sure he got away.
‘We can’t do any more,’ Thad said.
‘Oh yes we can. He’s rousing the men who can fight. You and I are going to rouse the whole village. Those attackers are about to find out they’re not only facing soldiers; they’re facing the loyal people of Britain: men and women. They’re going to know we’re ashamed of their wickedness.’
‘How many do you think will come with us?’
‘Except for the traitors, everyone who can walk or hasn’t got small children to look after. You’ll see. You go that way, Thad, and I’ll go this. Knock on every single door. Call people out. Tell them we must all go to Greyladies to stand up for what’s right. See how those – those fiends like that!’
One of the soldiers Corin had set to keep watch on the perimeter of the grounds grunted as he was hit from behind. He fell to the ground and the man who’d hit him laughed.
‘Tie him up and gag him, you fool!’ Hatterson said in a low voice. ‘Do you want him to make a noise and give warning?’
‘What about his rifle?’
‘Leave it where it fell. We’re not thieves.’
‘But it might come in useful.’
‘We – are – not – stealing, and especially not from our fellow soldiers.’
They walked slowly and carefully across the soft grass of the abbey ruins, moving in ones and twos and gathering near the crypt.
‘Not yet,’ Hatterson muttered. ‘Spread the word not to start till we’re all here. Nev is going to send a message round when they’re all in place at the other side.’
Corin marshalled his men, making sure they were all armed.
Ethel came to join them. ‘You don’t need to leave anyone inside the kitchen, Major, because I have your gun and I know how to use it. I’ll not let anyone come in that way.’
‘I thought I’d given it to my wife.’