Her Secret War

by Pam Lecky

‘I see. I’d best destroy the journal then,’ Sarah said.

  Miss Whitaker’s brows snapped together. ‘What journal?’

  ‘When I decided to help Northcott – when I felt I had no choice – I was afraid I would not survive to give my version of events. I kept a journal, written in Irish, outlining it all so that if the worst happened, my family would find it. It was to give them comfort – to know I did it to keep them safe, and that I wasn’t of my father’s persuasion.’

  The Dragon stared at her for a moment. ‘Extraordinary!’

  Not quite sure how to take that, Sarah continued. ‘And what will the consequences be for me? I suppose you will want me to leave the country quietly.’

  Miss Whitaker’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Leave? Good Lord, girl, whatever are you talking about? On the contrary, I insist you stay in England.’

  Sarah was astonished; she had fully expected a boat ticket to be produced at any moment. And she couldn’t help but be suspicious about such leniency. ‘There’s a “but”, isn’t there?’

  ‘Well, actually, there is.’ Miss Whitaker shifted in her seat and shot a wary glance at Sarah. ‘Of course, you can refuse to help us, and I have no wish to put you under pressure, particularly after what you have been through.’ She splayed her fingers out on the table, then looked across at Sarah with an eager expression. ‘However, you see, we have a tricky situation …‍’

  Sarah held up her hand. ‘Oh, no. Please, no more.’

  ‘But you are wasted here as a tracer, Sarah. London is extremely interested in you. In fact,’ Miss Whitaker broke into a grin and held out her hand, ‘I have been instructed to welcome you into the ranks of MI5.’

  All Sarah could do was stare. Miss Whitaker was obviously quite mad.

  37

  12th November 1941, Hursley

  It was a couple of days later, and Sarah had just recounted a sanitised version of the Northcott affair to Martin. It was all very well Miss Whitaker insisting on secrecy, but Sarah was prepared to take the risk. She knew for the sake of her sanity she had to have someone to confide in.

  ‘You have got to be joking, Sarah!’ Martin stared back at her, open-mouthed. ‘That’s incredible! Actually, I’m not sure I believe a word of it.’

  Sarah groaned. ‘You have to believe me. It’s all true. Every word of it.’

  Martin blew out his cheeks. ‘I never suspected a thing, though I suppose if I think about it, your relationship with Rob did seem a bit strange at times. You’re a secretive one, aren’t you?’

  Sarah grabbed his hand, anxious to make amends. ‘Not normally, and I hated every minute of it. Forgive me, but I had to lie to protect the family. The situation was impossible with the threat hanging over us. I do value your friendship. Please say you can forgive me?’

  Martin stared at her for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, I suppose I could, just this once. You’ll be a celebrity now, won’t you, when all of this becomes common knowledge. I will be able to bask in the second-hand glory and all that.’

  ‘Martin!’

  He roared with laughter. ‘I’m teasing, silly. I know it must stay a secret. But I’m only sorry you didn’t confide in me at the beginning. What a team we would have made. I think I’d make a very good spy.’

  ‘Trust me, it was terrifying. You were well out of it. And Martin, you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Is that clear? If you do, you will have the Dragon to deal with.’ Sarah made a shooting motion with her hand.

  ‘Thanks very much!’ he exclaimed. ‘Nothing like vile threats between cousins. Oh, very well, spoilsport.’ Martin sat back in his chair. ‘Well, well … and the Dragon is a secret agent. I’m actually impressed. It makes her even more terrifying, somehow.’

  ‘You should have seen her in action,’ Sarah said. ‘Cool as you please.’

  ‘I wish I could thank her,’ he said.

  Sarah’s heart jumped. ‘You can’t! She mustn’t know you know.’

  ‘Relax, relax; I know that. Good gracious, what a web of deceit!’

  ‘Dear Martin, you have no idea.’

  ‘Well, I’m just glad you weren’t harmed. Pity about poor Rob – well, I suppose we should call him by his real name now.’

  ‘Have you heard from Ruth?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yes. His condition deteriorated last night.’

  ‘Oh no! This is awful.’ Sarah’s stomach lurched. It was the news she had been dreading.

  ‘But it isn’t unexpected, Sarah. The doctors were never really hopeful. Too much blood loss, and the bullet did an enormous amount of internal damage.’

  ‘I feel so guilty, Martin.’ Sarah gnawed her bottom lip. ‘Do you know, I think I’ll go to the hospital. Maybe they’ll let me see him. I’d like a chance to say goodbye.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Martin asked.

  ‘No, I’m sure you need a break. You’ve been with Ruth every evening this week. It’s fine. I’ll ask Gladys to accompany me.’

  Sarah was relieved when Gladys agreed to go with her to visit Rob, and they met up in Winchester later that evening. Gladys, of course, questioned her relentlessly all the way to the hospital. Ruth had already told Gladys that Rob was her brother and that he had been at Supermarine trying to get a story. But by agreement with Miss Whitaker and Ruth, Gladys was to stay ignorant of Rob’s part in Northcott’s plans. Much to Sarah’s relief, Gladys believed the story that Rob had been shot during an attempted armed robbery.

  The hospital was eerily quiet as visiting time was nearly over. Once again, Gladys saved the day by charming the porter with a sob story to get them past the door. As they walked down the brightly lit corridor, Sarah suddenly felt uneasy. The harsh lighting and the all-pervading smell of disinfectant reminded her of the hospital back in Dublin all those months ago. She tucked her arm through Gladys’s and squeezed it. Her friend gave her an encouraging smile. However, Sarah’s heart pounded as they followed the signs to where Rob’s ward was located. Sarah hoped they could give Ruth some comfort, but she feared Ruth would blame her for her brother’s situation and shun her.

  They turned a corner and spotted a small group of people huddled together outside a room at the far end. Sarah instantly recognised Ruth and hesitated.

  ‘Come on, it will be ok,’ Gladys said, tugging her arm. ‘We’ve come this far.’

  When they were about halfway down, Ruth looked in their direction. A lady who Sarah assumed was Ruth’s mother was leaning against a gentleman’s shoulder, her face desolate. The man was unmoving and deadly pale, staring across the corridor, also looking distraught.

  Sarah was filled with dread; the family’s distress suggested they were too late.

  Ruth stood and walked towards them slowly, trying her best to smile; but her chin wobbled, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

  Sarah heard Gladys sniff and murmur: ‘Oh, no.’

  As Ruth approached, Gladys broke free from Sarah’s arm and rushed towards their friend. She enveloped her in a hug. Sarah kept back, unsure what to do, anxious not to give offence, but to her astonishment Ruth eventually withdrew from Gladys’s embrace, closed the gap between them and hugged her.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Ruth said, her words muffled into Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Andrew died half an hour ago.’

  Sarah was devastated. ‘I’m so sorry, Ruth. For all of it.’

  Ruth pulled back and gazed at her. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Sarah.’ She touched Sarah’s shoulder gently. ‘Come and meet my parents.’ She turned to Gladys. ‘You, too.’

  Andrew’s parents listened to Sarah and Gladys’s condolences and thanked them for coming to the hospital. They were in shock, and after one last visit to Andrew’s room, they said they wanted to go back to their hotel.

  ‘I’d like to stay a little longer, Mother. I’ll go back to the flat with Gladys,’ Ruth said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Once everyone else had gone, the three girls sat outside Andrew’s room in silence for some time. Now and th
en, Ruth would cry, and they comforted her as best they could.

  ‘I’m just going to the ladies. Back in a jiff,’ Gladys said.

  With Gladys out of earshot, Sarah finally had the chance to apologise to Ruth; but the words would not come. Sarah’s mind was churning. How much did Ruth know of what had transpired at the flat?

  ‘It’s so unfair,’ Ruth said at last. ‘He didn’t deserve to die like that. He was only trying to do the decent thing.’

  Her words cut Sarah to the quick. She felt so guilty. She reached over and squeezed Ruth’s hand. ‘No, he didn’t deserve to be shot. You must know he was a hero, Ruth. He risked his own life trying to save mine. Unfortunately, he didn’t realise how ruthless Northcott could be. Well, neither of us did. Do your parents know the real circumstances?’

  ‘No, they have been spared that. Miss Whitaker swore me to secrecy. They were told it was a robbery in the gallery and that Andrew tried to intervene. I know,’ she sighed, ‘it’s tenuous, but they couldn’t handle the truth. Of course, I knew what was going on … well, Andrew’s part in it. You must have thought I was daft the way I was acting, but we fell for every word Northcott said. He had us both convinced you were the enemy.’ Ruth bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry for my part too. Andrew and I … we thought we were doing the right thing by helping him. We were convinced you were as bad as he claimed.’

  ‘Northcott was a clever so-and-so. He fooled us all.’

  ‘He certainly did.’ Ruth dried her eyes. ‘Was Andrew really a hero?’

  ‘Yes. Andrew was incredibly brave and tried to trade the drawing for my life, but Northcott … he never intended to let either of us go.’

  ‘What a wicked man! At least he didn’t kill you too,’ Ruth said.

  ‘That is generous of you to say, Ruth, in the circumstances, and I know Miss Whitaker is deeply sorry that she could not save your brother.’

  ‘I know. Tell me, did you love him?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, but no. There is no point in me lying about that now. I was following Northcott’s orders. He had a hold over me, and he knew how much I wanted revenge for my sister’s death. But I liked Andrew, and now that I have learned the truth, I know I caught glimpses of the real man. He was so distressed about young Alfie’s death: I should have realised at that point he was someone of deep feeling, and not the traitor Northcott had portrayed to me. The irony is we both played our roles too well.’

  ‘Thank you for being honest. Strangely enough, Andrew said something similar about you. Said he couldn’t understand how you could be one of those nasty IRA supporters.’

  That sent a chill down Sarah’s spine as her Da’s ghost flitted into her mind. Well perhaps now she could lay him to rest, once and for all.

  ‘Would it be all right for me to say goodbye to Andrew?’ Sarah asked when she regained her composure.

  Ruth sighed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Will you be all right out here on your own?’ Sarah asked as she stood.

  ‘Go on. Gladys will be back in a minute.’

  Sarah closed the door and gazed at the figure on the bed from across the room. He looked so young and so vulnerable. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago, Andrew had been full of life; triumphant when he believed he had caught a spy and served his country. She would never forget how his eyes had shone as he had presented her to Northcott like a trophy. It was clear he had never doubted Northcott; he had always believed he was on a heroic mission to out a traitor. Northcott had used Andrew’s loyalty to his country against him for his own vile ends.

  Sarah moved over to the bed and looked down at Andrew’s sunken face, now serene in death. As far as she knew, he had never regained consciousness. Perhaps that was just as well. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. With a heavy heart, Sarah pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. She thanked God and asked him to take care of Andrew and comfort his family, then she reached out and touched Andrew’s hand where it lay above the sheet. If only it were possible to turn back time.

  Racked with guilt that she had survived and he had not, she recalled their times together. If circumstances had been different, if they had met innocently, would they have got along? But then she recalled that disastrous first date in Hursley. Perhaps not; and it was probably her fault. It dawned on her in that instant that she had resented Andrew the entire time, and not because she thought he was a Nazi. She had seen him only as a poor substitute for Paul, the man she really wanted in her life. That realisation didn’t sit easy. Recent events had revealed aspects of her character she wasn’t sure she liked, and above all, the last few days had revealed just how explosive a mixture loyalty and lies could be.

  With a start, she realised she was crying; not only for Andrew, but for her own lost innocence.

  38

  11th December 1941, Paddington, London

  To put an end to Miss Whitaker’s constant badgering, Sarah agreed to go to London to hear what MI5 had to say. However, by the time she arrived at the guesthouse near Paddington Station on a cold but dry December afternoon, she was exhausted and dispirited. Thankfully, the journey had been uneventful, except for the letter burning a hole in her handbag. It had arrived at the house in Hursley just as she was heading out of the door to catch the train to London. Sarah knew it was from Paul, but she was half terrified to read it. She had shoved it into her bag and promised herself she would open it later when she would have some privacy. For the entire journey in the crowded train carriage, she could think of little else.

  The excitement of finally being in London faded somewhat when she saw where she was to stay. The unprepossessing exterior of Horgan’s Guesthouse gave her pause, and her fears were confirmed once inside. The house was in need of attention, with peeling paint, threadbare carpets, and an overpowering smell of cooked cabbage. A narrow hallway brought her to a reception desk, home to a large woman of indeterminate years, puffing on a cigarette and flicking through a copy of Woman’s Own. Sarah had to cough to get her attention. A scrutiny followed which bordered on impertinent.

  ‘Looking for a room, lovey?’ the woman drawled, putting down the magazine.

  ‘There should be a booking already made … for tonight. My name is Sarah Gillespie.’

  ‘Just the one night, then? Can’t tempt you to stay longer?’ the landlady asked, before exhaling the smoke from the cigarette wedged in the corner of her mouth. The smoke stung Sarah’s eyes and she took a step back. The landlady’s eyes narrowed. ‘Could offer you a great rate for an extra night, and my long-term rates can’t be beaten. You just ask any of the ladies who lodge ’ere.’

  ‘No, thank you; I return home tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll need payment in advance,’ the woman said with a weary sigh. She tucked a stray strand of greasy hair back under the scarf which just about covered the rollers on her head.

  ‘I believe that has already been taken care of,’ Sarah said. Aunt Alice had assured her Judith would make all the arrangements, including finding her a room for the night and paying up front.

  With a grunt, the landlady bent down and pulled out a large ledger from under the desk. She thumbed through the pages.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said, as if disappointed, ‘Sarah … Gillespie, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right and tight, so.’ She craned her neck over the desk and glanced down at Sarah’s feet. ‘Just that small bag?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Good, cos we ain’t got no porter ’ere!’ She burst into a cackle of laughter. A slob and a wit, Sarah thought, and waited for her to recover from the fit of coughing which had quickly followed the laughter. The lady’s eyes narrowed again and with a harrumph, she plucked a key from the rack on the wall behind her. She slid it across the desk towards Sarah and nodded to the narrow stairway. ‘Top floor, room nine. Bathroom is at the end of the corridor. Breakfast seven sharp or do without, and no male visitors. We ain’t that kind of establishment. Only good Catholic girls stay ’ere.’ />
  ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Sarah replied. A suspicious frown flashed across the lady’s brow. Sarah jumped in: ‘And if there is an air raid?’

  ‘Down the basement, dearie. Hasn’t failed us yet,’ the landlady said with a smirk, pointing to a door down the corridor.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sarah said, and escaped up the stairs.

  Her expectations of the room weren’t high and proved well-founded. It was rather dark, with a grand view of the bare wall of another building almost in touching distance. There was hardly a need to draw the curtains, but blackout was blackout, and avoiding the awful landlady was foremost in Sarah’s mind. However, the room was clean, and the bed springs didn’t bite back when she tested them. Other than the single bed, there was only a small wardrobe. She unpacked her things and made herself comfortable on the bed, Paul’s letter in hand.

  9th December 1941

  No. 4 Elementary Flying Training School,

  Brough,

  Yorkshire

  Dear Sarah,

  Thank you for your letter. I’m so glad you wrote to me. Our last meeting didn’t go as I had planned, you see, and I have been trying to summon the courage to write ever since. I meant what I said that day – that I think of you often. In fact, I had hoped to be brave enough to ask for a second chance. There! Why are these things so much easier to say in a letter? Please don’t think me a coward, but you sounded so settled and happy that I didn’t want to upset you, particularly after all you had been through back home. When you admitted you were seeing someone, I was gutted, but not surprised. I feared you would be snapped up. Ralph ribbed me the entire journey back to Yorkshire, as in a moment of weakness, I had told him all about us and how I felt. Let’s hope I’m braver when I have to face Jerry!

  The truth is, my feelings have never changed, and I still think you are the most marvellous girl I’ve ever met. It would be wonderful if you felt the same, but if you consider a reconciliation impossible, I understand, and wish good luck to that other chap. I just hope he realises how lucky he is and I hope we can remain friends.