‘Wait!’ Laura flew after them. ‘What about Andrew?’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll see him again, after we’ve got the jewellery.’ Vic Morrison winked a hooded eye. ‘You understand we have to be sure it actually exists. Now you be a good girl and go to bed and have a good night’s sleep. If you want to see your friend again, don’t be foolish enough to contact the Old Bill. You can’t prove anything anyway. And if at any other time you ever think about reporting what’s happened, we can always get Macarthur, you or someone else you care about later. Think about it, Mrs Jennings. Goodnight.’
When they had gone, Laura locked the door then crept back to the armchair by the fireplace and curled herself up in it. She prayed fervently for Andrew’s safety. It chilled her to the marrow to think that those dangerous villains must have been in the village last night, watching Andrew’s movements and waiting for the opportunity to abduct him. Where was he now? Where were they keeping him prisoner? Had they hurt him? She didn’t dwell on the possibility that they might already have killed him; she didn’t doubt that they would if their orders weren’t followed to the letter.
She couldn’t go to the police but should she tell someone? Perhaps Mike Penhaligon. He was a noisy, jolly individual but strong-minded and sensible and could be trusted not to do anything that would risk Andrew’s life. How would Tressa react if she knew Andrew was being kept prisoner by one of the most brutal firm of villains in South London? Had she allowed Andrew to kiss her last night? Had she been disappointed when he hadn’t turned up on the farm as expected? They were small details in comparison to the danger Andrew was in but it helped her to feel less shocked and afraid as she drifted over them.
A few minutes passed while she tried to make up her mind what to do when there was another knock at the door. Her flesh leapt and her eyes opened wide with alarm. Had Vic Morrison and his crony come back? If so, why? Clutching her arms about herself, she went to the door and called out feebly, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s us, me and Pat,’ returned Mike Penhaligon in a hissing whisper. ‘We’ve got Sam Beatty with us. Let us in, Laura, it could be important.’
What on earth could Sam Beatty want with her? Could he throw some light on when and where Andrew had been forcibly taken? She let them in and at once the trio could see there was something wrong.
‘What’s happened, Mrs Jennings? Has it got something to do with the Morrison brothers? Have you have an unwelcome visit since you last saw Mike and Pat?’
Laura looked in amazement at Sam Beatty who had spoken. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Did you have something to do with it? If you’ve hurt Andrew I’ll… I’ll…’ She was shaking from head to foot.
‘Hush now,’ Pat said, moving to her and rubbing her back as if she was a small child needing comfort. ‘Mr Beatty is a policeman, come down all the way from London. He’s here to help.’
‘Detective Sergeant Sam Beatty,’ he said, showing Laura his badge. ‘I suggest you sit down and tell me what’s happened.’
Laura felt frightened and relieved. Frightened that a policeman was involved now but relieved that he didn’t seem to be about to call in the local police and cause a fuss in the village. She related what had occurred between her and the two villains. ‘How do you fit into this?’ she asked Beatty at the end. ‘I take it this has something to do with the reason why you’re in Kilgarthen at all and seemingly snooping around. I thought you were taking a rather close interest in me.’
‘We’ve known a long time in the force that your late husband was involved up to his neck with Vic and Archie Morrison. You probably don’t need me to tell you what a nasty pair the Morrisons are. We’re eager to get them out of circulation. It was a long shot but I was sent down here to see if they had something on Bill Jennings and made any illegal approaches to you. If you will stand up in court and testify they threatened you and admitted kidnapping Andrew Macarthur, it could mean a long stretch for Vic at least.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort!’ Laura snapped vehemently. ‘It’ll put Andrew or perhaps someone else I care for in danger.’ She was thinking of Vicki in particular and hoped the Morrisons had no idea how she felt about the little girl. ‘All I want is for Andrew to be safe. And don’t you dare call in any more police! I shall deny that Vic Morrison and the other man were ever here.’
‘There’s no need to get more alarmed, Mrs Jennings,’ Sam Beatty said soothingly. ‘It’s only courtesy to let the local police know when you’re working on their patch. I’ll have to inform them but I’ll think they’ll agree with me that they can’t do anything more than keep an eye open for possible places where Macarthur is being hidden. I shall inform my superiors that you’ll be phoning Macarthur’s partner tomorrow morning and that they mustn’t stop the Morrisons from being handed the jewellery. Of course you are at liberty to give your property to whom you wish. We may be able to get that back for you somehow at a later date. But I shall have to insist on being with you when you make that call.’
‘If nothing goes wrong, when do you think they’ll let Andrew go?’ Laura asked fearfully.
‘I’m afraid your guess is as good as mine, but I must warn you that they’ve done this sort of thing before and the victim hasn’t survived. They’re very careful not to leave witnesses to their kidnappings. It’s difficult to prove anything against them these days. They’ve learned a lot from the times they were caught and jailed.’
‘Oh, dear God, no! Oh, Andrew.’ Laura collapsed in tears.
Pat held her as she sobbed. She was fighting back tears herself. ‘We’ll take her to the pub. It wouldn’t do if anyone called on her tomorrow and sees her like this.’ Her coat was put over her shoulders and Laura allowed herself to be bundled across the road.
Chapter 26
Laura sat up in the pub’s sitting room all night with Pat, hoping and praying that Andrew would turn the key to the outer door and walk in. It seemed ages ago that she had come into this room with Spencer and he’d asked her to tea at Rosemerryn Farm for Vicki’s sake. She had thought about Ince, but when Pat tactfully asked her if she wanted him there, Laura had shaken her head, saying that the fewer people who knew of Andrew’s predicament the better. She didn’t need Ince to be with her. It would have been good to see his comforting face but nothing more.
Knowing that John Walmesley got into the office early, Laura rang him on the pub telephone at eight thirty sharp. He was astounded to find himself in the company of two of Sam Beatty’s colleagues and listened amazed as he took down her instructions as to what he was to do with her grandmother’s jewellery; Laura told him he had full authority to act on her behalf in London in her absence. Before she rang off, she pleaded with him to follow her instructions to the letter. Hopefully soon, and please God the London police did nothing to intervene, her grandmother’s jewellery would be in the Morrisons’ possession and word would be sent to Cornwall to release Andrew unharmed.
It was decided that if there was no sign of Andrew by midday, word would be put about the village that he had disappeared, suspected of being lost on the moor. The locals would be encouraged to join in a search for him in case he hadn’t been taken far away, or had been released and was trying to walk back to Kilgarthen. Laura went home to wait until then. To her growing horror, it began to snow.
Tressa banged on her door just before midday when Laura and Sam Beatty were about to walk through the village and ask the neighbours to search for Andrew. Before the snow could settle, Mike Penhaligon had already cycled to Rosemerryn Farm to ask Spencer to go round all the other outlying farms on his horse which was used to hard weather conditions. Tressa had trudged through the snow which was now thickly covering the ground.
‘Is there any word?’ she asked, lifting off the large woolly hat she had pulled down over her ears.
‘Afraid not,’ Laura said mournfully. ‘Not even of Mike’s car.’ She invited Tressa inside for a few minutes, and because of the way Andrew loved her, his reason for being in Kilgarthen, Laura tol
d her the truth behind the mystery of his disappearance.
Tressa was shattered. She went as white as the snow. ‘I don’t believe it. Things like that don’t happen round here.’
‘I’m afraid I brought the trouble with me,’ Laura said. ‘Are you going to help in the search, Tressa? The wretched snow has limited the places where we can go,’ she added in despair.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tressa said firmly.
‘Ask people if they’ve seen anyone or anything unfamiliar or strange lately,’ Sam Beatty said to Tressa as they stood on the doorstep. ‘Even the most insignificant thing might help.’
The situation seemed incredible to Tressa and she wished things were as they normally were. What had happened was not like some adventure in her imagination or the boys’ comics and library books she read. Life was showing it had an impossibly cruel and terrifying side to it. ‘There’s lots of abandoned places on the moor. I’ll check them out. Thank goodness the wind hasn’t blown the snow into drifts. We could really be in trouble otherwise.’
‘I want to go with you,’ Laura said earnestly. It had been harrowing just waiting and hoping. She badly needed to do something positive to find Andrew.
‘You’re not used to the moor, Mrs Jennings,’ Sam Beatty pointed out, and she had to admit he was right. ‘It will help more if we go round the village. If the road’s passable, we’ll try to drive to Tregorlan Farm later.’ He turned to Tressa who was tucking her hair in under her hat and looked anxious to get on. ‘Miss Davey, I beg you to be very careful. The men who kidnapped Andrew Macarthur are vicious brutes. I’d feel better if you had someone with you.’
Realising good sense was important in this situation, Tressa nodded. ‘I’ll get my father to come with me.’
Tressa trudged back to Tregorlan Farm as fast as she could. She was almost at the door when she remembered the cigarette packet she had seen at Reddacoombe Farm with Andrew. She ran into the kitchen without taking off her boots, shouting as she went, making Meg bark and jump about in excitement. ‘Aunty Joan! I need to get Dad! It’s very important!’
There was no one in the kitchen and she was dismayed to find a scribbled note left on the table: ‘Tressa. Helping Jacka with a cow that’s fallen in the snow. We’re in the top field.’ The top field was the one nearest to the moor and although it wouldn’t have taken her long to get there, she couldn’t ask her father to abandon the welfare of the animal. She felt guilty about not going to help him and Joan but they had brought most of the stock next to the farmyard and laid out plenty of straw for fodder. Andrew could be in mortal danger and might need her more than the cattle.
She turned the scrap of paper over and wrote a note of her own: ‘Andrew kidnapped. Could be at Reddacoombe. Gone to look. Tressa.’ She jotted down the time: 12.45. If she was away for an unusually long time, Joan or Jacka would come looking for her. There was hot water in the kettle and she speedily poured some into a flask, adding lots of sugar from their precious supply. She stuffed one of her brothers’ scarves, a hat and a pair of gloves into the army bag, took the tin tray off the dresser and tucked it in under her coat, then ordering Meg to stay put, she set off across the moor.
The going over the uneven ground was extremely tough. There wasn’t so much snow on the open moor; the wind which made her eyes sting and water and reddened her nose had swept it clean in parts like a giant broom and the surface was ribbed and streaked. But where the snow was thick, it had disguised well-known landmarks, transforming each familiar patch of heather and boulder, packing into the pits and depressions. Strange shapes were wrought by the skirling wind, making her unsure where it was safe to place her feet. Her progress was slow.
Her breath produced clouds of vapour in front of her. Her lips felt as if they were cracking. From time to time, her feet sank deeply into the snow and she had to put both hands on the top of her boots to pull them out. The force of the elements and her struggles took all her effort. Halfway up the incline, she was painfully out of breath. Her chest hurt, her lungs heaved. She was forced to stop and breathe in through her nose and regain some strength.
She clawed the last few feet to the top of the hill and Reddacoombe Farm was visible, apparently deserted, in the valley below. The buildings were layered in sparkling white snow and there was no sign of anyone there. It was here that the tin tray came in useful. Tressa sat on it, intending to sleigh down the hill on it in the same way she had done with her brothers. She had a bumpy ride until she was about halfway down, then the tray slewed sideways out from under her hands and bottom, skidding away from her while she was sent into a crazy tumble. She came to a halt flat on her face, the breath knocked out of her. She was angry with herself for the delay and clambered to her feet, panting and coughing. Shaking the snow off her face and clothes, she ignored it where it filled the top of her boots and wet her legs. She started off again, plodding carefully all the way down to the bottom so as not to risk another fall and waste more time.
Remembering Sam Beatty’s warning, she stood quietly on the outskirts of the farm and gazed all around. It looked empty, devoid of all life. As she got nearer to the buildings, she saw no footprints or anything else that would suggest anyone was here or had been here. She looked cautiously into all the outhouses but found nothing. There was only the farmhouse left.
The door rocked on its one remaining hinge as she pushed her way in. It looked the same as it always did. She was afraid, afraid Andrew wouldn’t be here and afraid his body was.
She called out softly, ‘Andrew.’ She listened but there were no sounds except for the ominous shrieking of the wind which was steadily picking up in strength and volume. She crept through the room, her flesh prickling, filled with a horrible sensation that someone would suddenly leap out on her.
Moving into the other room, her heart missed a beat and her breath quickened. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the old smuggler’s hide dug out of the floor. Something was down there which hadn’t been there a few days ago. Something bulky and still, covered with a piece of dark cloth. Tressa tore the curtains off the window to let in more light. She looked again. The shape was large enough to be a man lying curled up. With fear growing inside her, she moved to the edge of the broken floor and carefully lowered herself down beside the shape.
Her heart hammered as she reached out and took a handful of the black cloth. She could draw on none of the bravado of her storybook heroes, this was real and terrifying, and she was facing it alone.
With one sharp movement she yanked the cloth away from the shape and screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Andrew!’
She fell on her knees beside him. He was lying on his side, his knees drawn up, his chin lowered towards his knees. His hands were tied behind him. There was blood on his sandy hair and a gag round his mouth. ‘Please don’t be dead,’ she cried, shaking uncontrollably. ‘Please don’t let me be too late.’
Gently she pushed her hand in under his head and turned it so she could see his face. He felt cold. His eyes were closed and there were bruises on his cheeks and brow. She shook him. ‘Andrew!’ There was no response. She pulled at the knot at the back of his head, undid the gag and pulled it away. Then putting her arms round the top of his body, she heaved him into a sitting position. He half slid back to the floor. Gritting her teeth, she tugged him up straight again and pulled his body forward and rested his head against her chest. He felt horribly limp. She felt for a pulse in his neck but could feel only cold skin. She pushed her hand down the back of his shirt but he was cold there too.
‘Andrew, move.’ She shook him and his head flopped about. ‘For goodness sake, move!’
Lying him down again, she undid his suit buttons, her hands clumsy with trembling nerves, then laid her head on his chest. She listened for a heartbeat. Before she could settle her head to concentrate, his body twitched. She cried in joy. ‘Andrew, don’t give up. I’m here, it’s Tressa.’
She set to work rapidly to release his hands; the string was knotted so tightly
she had to use her penknife to cut through it. She pulled him to a sitting position again and holding him against her, she rubbed his back. The piece of cloth that had been covering him was thin crepe but it was better than nothing. She wrapped it round his shoulders. Then she started rubbing at his icy hands. His head was resting on her shoulder and he lifted it a tiny bit.
‘Andrew, Andrew,’ she called loudly to try to break into the recesses of his semi-conscious mind. ‘Come round, Andrew. Open your eyes. Say something. Come on, Andrew, you can do it. Try, Try.’
She held his face between her hands and rubbed his cheeks over the bruises. His eyes twitched and blinked and for a moment he opened them. ‘Come on, Andrew, wake up. It’s Tressa. I’ve come for you. Wake up, Andrew, wake up.’
‘Tr-tress…’
‘That’s right, Andrew,’ she encouraged in his ear, her heart surging with hope. He began to shiver and she knew that was a good sign. ‘Try again. It’s Tressa. Say my name again.’
His face contorted and he opened his eyes. She stared into their blueness. His chin trembled. ‘Tressa… you really here?’
‘Yes, Andrew, I’m really here. You have to try to move. Get your circulation going again. I’ve got to get you away from here.’ It was a very real fear. Despite the weather, there was a possibility the villains would come back and this time they might kill them both; and the snow and wind were getting fiercer. ‘Keep talking to me.’
She rubbed at his limbs, desperate to get some feeling back into them for him. As she worked he spoke to her in short broken sentences. ‘Afraid… I wouldn’t see… you again.’ Resting him against herself, she opened the army bag. She took out the scarf and wound it round his neck then pulled the woolly hat down over his head. ‘Tressa… so cold.’
Kilgarthen Page 30