by Pam Lecky
‘Pick the tracing up and hand it to me or I will put a bullet in her,’ Northcott told Rob.
Sarah was all too aware of the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed to her temple. She could see no way out of this situation. Once that tracing was in Northcott’s hand she was a dead woman. In despair, she realised Rob was frozen in indecision: he had a rigid stance and a wild stare. After a moment, his gaze fixed upon the tracing. ‘Don’t!’ she warned him. ‘He is going to kill us both if you hand it over. Take it and run, Rob. Get out of here!’
‘Shut up!’ the captain hissed in her ear. ‘Now, McArthur, I’m running out of patience with you. Pick up the damned tracing.’
Rob’s lower lip trembled. He reached down and lifted the tracing from the floor.
‘No!’ Sarah cried out and tried to twist out of Northcott’s grip, but he just tightened his hold.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I don’t know what is happening, but I can’t let him shoot you. I won’t have that on my conscience,’ Rob said, swallowing hard and holding out the tracing to Northcott.
All of a sudden, Northcott released Sarah and pushed her to the floor. The force of impact winded her. When she rolled over, it was in time to see Northcott raise the gun and fire. Rob staggered, then crumpled to the floor as Northcott grabbed the tracing from him. In horror, Sarah saw the blood pumping from Rob’s stomach as he lay moaning on the floor. On her hands and knees, she crawled over to him.
‘Oh, no, Rob!’ she cried out, her voice shaking. In desperation, she pressed down on his blood-soaked shirt above the wound, but the blood oozed, warm and sticky, through her fingers, the metallic smell of it in her nostrils. Rob had put himself in danger to save her. Panic gripped her. It looked hopeless: there was too much blood. It would take a miracle to save him.
‘I wouldn’t bother, Sarah. He won’t last long.’ Northcott sighed. ‘I do so hate goodbyes.’ The captain took a step closer.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Sarah hissed as she looked up at him, consumed with a burning rage. ‘I’ve left a written account of it all. The truth will come out.’
‘No matter, my dear. I hate to disillusion you, but no matter what evidence you have left, I have no intention of being caught. I pride myself on always having a perfect plan in place.’ He pointed towards the door at the back of the attic. ‘My car awaits at the rear entrance. I shall be long gone by the time they find your bodies here. The only thing that stands between me and my duty to the Fatherland is … well, my dear young lady, you.’ Northcott nodded down at the groaning Rob. ‘It would be a shame for him to go on his own to the next world, now wouldn’t it?’
Slowly, with a smile on his face, Northcott raised his gun again.
Sarah grabbed Rob’s hand and squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing up in dread. In that split second, she knew she’d never see Paul again, or her family and friends. Then Maura’s face flashed into her mind and a strange calmness settled over her. She began to pray.
A gunshot reverberated around the attic, followed by a thump.
Time stopped.
Something wasn’t right. There was no pain! Sarah’s eyes flew open. To her astonishment, Northcott lay on the floor right in front of her, and he wasn’t moving.
‘I hope you are unhurt,’ a brisk female voice said from the doorway. Sarah recognised that voice. No, it couldn’t be! Sarah scrambled to her feet and faced the speaker in disbelief.
Miss Whitaker advanced into the room, putting her pistol away in her coat pocket. Behind her, several men stood out on the landing. Miss Whitaker followed Sarah’s gaze. ‘Oh, these are Special Branch officers, Miss Gillespie.’ Miss Whitaker turned towards them. ‘This man needs help, urgently,’ she said, waving towards Rob. ‘Call for an ambulance, please.’
One man ran back down the stairs, and another came forward and knelt beside Rob. ‘He doesn’t look good, ma’am.’
Miss Whitaker grimaced.
‘He’s lost a good deal of blood,’ Sarah heard herself say as if from a distance. ‘I couldn’t stop it. I tried my best.’ She stretched out her blood-soaked hands and turned them over. They shook violently.
Miss Whitaker grunted before stripping off her scarf. She gave it to the officer. ‘Bind this tightly around the wound.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Sarah watched as the man pulled the scarf taut around Rob’s stomach. Rob was whimpering in pain and she was consumed by guilt. He had tried to save her. She watched as Miss Whitaker walked around the captain’s body, tut-tutting under her breath. Sarah turned away: she could not bear to look at him.
‘Such a shame he won’t face a trial,’ Miss Whitaker said. ‘I would have enjoyed seeing him squirm in the witness box.’
‘He’s definitely dead?’ Sarah asked.
Miss Whitaker nudged his arm with her shoe. ‘As a Dodo.’
Sarah forced herself to look at Northcott. There was no doubt the captain was dead: there was a bullet hole right in the middle of his forehead.
The perfect execution.
35
10th November 1941, Hursley
The afternoon light was fading. Sarah lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, reluctant to close her eyes because every time she did so, Northcott shooting Rob replayed in graphic detail. She pulled her hands out from under the covers, fully expecting to see blood on them. There was none, of course, but they still trembled. The slickness of the blood on her fingers the previous afternoon, that feeling of repulsion, would stay with her forever. Sarah gulped down her tears. She hoped she would never witness someone being shot in cold blood ever again.
How could Northcott have shot him so casually? He’d shown no remorse as he had looked down on his handiwork, and he would have done the same to her if Miss Whitaker had not intervened. His cold-bloodedness only confirmed that he must have been responsible for Alfie’s ‘accident’ too, though she had no proof. Was it enough that Northcott was dead and could no longer harm anyone else, or should she try to convince the police of his involvement in Alfie’s death? She had a feeling Miss Whitaker would not be pleased if she did so, for she had been adamant the entire episode should remain secret. Sarah’s conscience, however, was nagging at her. She couldn’t get Mr Atkins’ sorrowful expression out of her head. Did she not owe it to him and his wife to speak up? To at least try?
What a disaster. So much for gaining her revenge. It felt such a hollow victory now, and it could all be traced back to that one fateful Whitsuntide Eve. That cruel decision by a Luftwaffe pilot, flying over Dublin all those months ago, had led to this unholy mess. Every choice Sarah had made since that dreadful night had led her to this moment. Two men dead, another almost, and for what? The only consolation was that her desire to strike a blow against Germany had succeeded, just not in the way she had expected. Her face burned. How could she have been so mistaken? Rob had been a victim, just like her, trying to do his duty as he perceived it. She hoped Northcott would burn in hell.
She still couldn’t believe what had happened the previous afternoon. Talk about walking blindly into a trap! How had she been so stupid? And all that time, Rob had been innocent. Had there been clues? What had she missed in his behaviour? The shock of seeing Northcott and not Rob’s chum, and realising they were one and the same, had left her scrambling to make sense of what was happening. If only she had not taken Northcott at his word. If only she had investigated Rob a little more, she might have … She sighed. Too late now. It was a valuable but unfortunate lesson. She had completely underestimated the danger she faced and the men she had been dealing with.
How clever Northcott had been, using them both to get what he wanted. He had orchestrated it all so well that she had never suspected him. That was embarrassing. Now it was all over, there was nothing left but unanswered questions, chief of which were two: who exactly was Rob McArthur, and where had he come from?
She remembered that man in the bar calling him ‘Drew’. That must be his real name. And if he was a journalist looking
for a story, as he claimed, he must have given false references to be recruited to Supermarine. No doubt Northcott had taken care of all of that for him. Northcott had been very clever, using loyalty and duty as bait for both of them. She had never suspected the game the captain was playing. He had been so believable. She hadn’t liked him, but she had never doubted he was genuine secret service. It rankled that Northcott had deceived her so thoroughly, but at least she had survived relatively unscathed. Poor Rob. When she closed her eyes, she saw him again, twisting in agony on the floor and then drifting in and out of consciousness as the loss of blood took its toll. She wondered if there was any news of his condition. Could he have survived such a serious wound?
Sarah heard the creaking of the floorboard outside her bedroom just before Aunt Alice popped her head around the door and smiled down at her.
‘Ah, you are awake, Sarah. May I come in?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Tom has just arrived home from work, and he has a visitor with him who’d like to see you.’
Sarah sat up. ‘Miss Whitaker?’
Alice sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Yes. Are you up to it? I can always say you’re still asleep.’
‘No, it’s fine, really. Best I talk to her sooner rather than later. Is Martin home too?’
Alice patted her hand. ‘Yes, he is.’ Her aunt squeezed her hand where it lay on the eiderdown. ‘Though he has to leave for Winchester shortly. Ruth’s brother has had an accident and is in hospital. I understand it’s very serious and he may not make it. Martin wants to be there to support her.’
‘Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Poor girl. I must write her a note. Perhaps Martin would take it to her?’
‘I’m sure he would.’
Sarah gave her aunt a sheepish glance. ‘Are you cross with me?’
‘Cross? Heavens, no. But, my dear, I only wish you had come to one of us. I’m sure we could have helped, whatever the problem was. Miss Whitaker says we are not to ask you anything about it. But just remember, we’re your family.’
‘Thank you; but you see, I couldn’t risk putting you in danger,’ Sarah replied.
‘What’s the country coming to when vulnerable girls like yourself are put in danger?’ Alice clenched her hands. ‘This stupid war! Making us all question our loyalties and forcing us to tell lies. How will we ever recover and get back to normal?’
‘Aunty, please don’t distress yourself. I’m sorry I can’t tell you what happened, but it’s probably for the best. Most of all, don’t worry about me. I’m fine now.’
Alice didn’t look convinced as she rose from the bed. ‘Hmm. I’ll put the kettle on. Olivia does like her tea.’ She paused at the door. ‘She has always been a good friend to us, so I trust she has your best interests at heart. You have nothing to fear from her. And even if there is trouble, your uncle and I will stand by you. Martin, too.’
Sarah nodded but couldn’t speak, her emotions bubbling up. She’d have to pull herself together. As soon as her aunt left the room, she stretched her arms above her head. Whatever the doctor had given her the previous evening had done the trick, for she had slept for most of the day. However, there was tension in her muscles as if she had undergone strenuous exercise, and her old injuries were aching. But that was nothing. Now she had to face Miss Whitaker and explain her actions. The thought made her gulp.
Hope that Miss Whitaker would have news of Rob’s condition spurred her on, and Sarah got out of bed and dressed quickly. As she tied up her hair in front of the mirror, an unbidden image flashed into her mind: Northcott lying dead. Her last glimpse of him would be ingrained in her memory forever – his vacant eyes staring up, wide in surprise, and the bullet hole livid against his pale forehead.
As she turned from the mirror, her eyes fell on the box containing the Iron Cross on her bedside locker. Pulling it out, she outlined its shape with a finger. Had it been lucky? It was daft to think that something like that might have influenced her fate. And yet it was Rob who had been shot and was fighting for his life, and Northcott who had met the stickiest of ends. Unsettled by the thought, Sarah shoved the cross into a drawer. She would decide its fate at a later date.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her thoughts returned to the previous afternoon. Once Northcott had been shot, everything had taken on a dreamlike quality. The Special Branch officers with Miss Whitaker had taken over the scene immediately. One peeled Northcott’s fingers from around his revolver, emptied the bullets, and pocketed the gun. The other man remained at Rob’s side, talking softly to him, trying to keep him conscious.
‘Best cover the captain until the police surgeon gets here,’ Miss Whitaker had said, gesturing towards the body.
‘Right-oh, ma’am,’ the officer said. He took off his jacket and placed it over Northcott’s head.
‘We are in the way,’ Miss Whitaker said to Sarah, suddenly brisk. ‘We will wait downstairs in McArthur’s flat.’ The officer had nodded in agreement.
Miss Whitaker had shooed Sarah down the stairs to wait for the arrival of the ambulance. As they descended to the lower landing, they were met by the inquisitive occupants of the other flats, who had come out to see what all the commotion was. One girl was adamant she had heard gunshots and demanded to know what was going on. Miss Whitaker had dealt with her with a few sharp words, as only she could. The girls returned to their flats to wait for the police, duly chastened, and locked their doors as instructed.
Sarah had followed Miss Whitaker into Rob’s flat. Conscious of the state of her hands, she had hurried to the sink. In disbelief, she had stood and watched the red-stained water drain away. Was any of this real? Could Rob survive that wound?
Miss Whitaker paced the floor, glancing at her watch every so often. ‘What is keeping that damn ambulance?’ she muttered.
Sarah had sat down, suddenly feeling weak. As the minutes ticked by, her composure slipped. She began to shake again. Instantly, Miss Whitaker was by her side. Sarah could not remember what she said, but Miss Whitaker’s words had been soothing, and eventually Sarah calmed down. Soon after, through the open door of the flat, she had seen the ambulance crew rush up the stairs and had made to get up.
The Dragon pushed her back into the chair. ‘We need to let them do their job, Sarah. We’d only be in the way.’
‘Will he make it?’
‘I’ve no idea. It’s in God’s hands now.’ Miss Whitaker’s face creased in pain. ‘If only we had arrived sooner. I’ll never forgive myself.’ She glanced down at Sarah. ‘I think we could both do with a drink. Do you know if he keeps any here?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Try that press above the sink.’
Miss Whitaker retrieved and poured the whisky, handing her a glass. ‘You’ve been through an extremely traumatic experience. You’re in shock, Sarah. But I’m very proud of you, you know. Not many girls would be so brave.’
‘More foolish, than brave, Miss Whitaker. I was an idiot to trust that man.’
‘Don’t dwell on it now. I’ve no doubt he was very convincing. Drink up; you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Sarah flinched. Was it only two weeks before that Rob had said exactly the same thing in this very room?
Shortly after, the ambulance men had stretchered Rob out of the building.
‘My Special Branch friends will go to the local police and give an explanation for what has happened. A sanitised version, you understand, that will involve neither of us due to the sensitivity of the situation. I will ask one of the Special Branch officers to bring you home. It would be best you say nothing when you get there. Is that clear, Sarah? I need to come up with an account that will satisfy your family whilst protecting the service. I will drop by and talk to them later this evening.’
‘Thank you. But are you sure I shouldn’t talk to the police? Those girls in the other flats have seen me. I’m sure they know I was involved in what happened upstairs,’ Sarah said, not quite liking the cover-up.
‘The offi
cial version is that nothing occurred. Trust me, it’s for the best,’ answered Miss Whitaker with a stern look. ‘If the public were to learn that an officer of the Royal Navy was a fifth columnist, it would shatter their confidence. The preservation of morale is paramount. Do you understand?’
Eventually, Sarah nodded, and Miss Whitaker grunted. ‘Very good. I will go to the hospital now; someone should be with the poor lad.’
Out in the hallway, Miss Whitaker had hesitated before running back up the stairs to the attic. A minute later she had reappeared, the tracing rolled up under her arm. ‘Almost forgot it. Now, that would be shockingly remiss of me!’ she had exclaimed to Sarah, before disappearing down the stairs.
‘Bloody hell!’ Sarah had sat staring out of the door after her manager. Who was Miss Olivia Whitaker?
36
10th November 1941, Hursley
Halfway down the cottage stairs, Sarah wavered as her nerves kicked in. How much trouble was she in? There was no one to verify her version of events, in particular her meetings with Northcott and Rob. The question was: could she retrieve the situation and avoid the boat back to Dublin? Would anyone believe her innocence?
Much to her surprise, Sarah entered the parlour to find only Miss Whitaker present, sitting by the fire, sipping her tea and looking relaxed.
‘Good evening, Miss Whitaker,’ Sarah said. Suddenly conscious of how quiet the house was, she craned her neck to see into the kitchen. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Good evening. Don’t be concerned, Sarah. Your aunt and uncle have adjourned to the King’s Head for a wee while. I understand Martin has gone to Winchester. I thought it best we have a little chat, just the two of us. We have matters to discuss that are best kept between us.’ Then she jumped up and walked across to Sarah. She held out her hand and bestowed one of her rare smiles. Her grip was firm. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.