He stopped, dived down into the straw and pulled out the Luger.
‘Well, I’ll be…’
He looked straight at her and she couldn’t hide the terror in her face but then she thought, that’s all right, that’s natural.
‘God almighty, Millie,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘It looks like that constable was right. You did have a German hiding here after all,’ but to her utter astonishment, there was no hint of accusation in his tone, only concern.
‘When?’ she said, wondering if the fear in her voice was the right kind of fear.
‘I don’t know. Let me think. It couldn’t have been for long or we’d have known – we’re in and out of the place all the time. It must have been during the blizzard.’
His blind trust in her was almost unbearable but there was too much at stake not to use it.
‘But you came over in the blizzard,’ she said.
‘Of course I did. Crikey – well, if he wasn’t already hiding here that night, he sure as hell wouldn’t have managed to get over here while you were snowed in. Maybe he sheltered up there,’ and Hugh pointed to the loft, ‘for a short time, realised it was too dangerous, what with all of us coming and going and left as soon as possible. But why did he leave the gun?’
‘So they wouldn’t think he was a bloody Nazi,’ Ruby piped up.
‘Can you all stop?’ June wailed. ‘Danny needs to get to hospital. Please.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ Hugh said. He peered down at the gun in his hand, turning it until he found the magazine release. He emptied out the bullets, checked the chamber and dropped the gun into his pocket. ‘Up you hop, Danny.’
In her panic and confusion, Millie felt overwhelmed with irritation and said sharply, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He can’t stand on the tractor and hold on properly with a broken arm.’
‘Well, what the bloody hell do you suggest?’
The argument had shut Danny and June up completely. Ruby was leaning against the wall, an amused spectator. Millie caught Hugh by the arm and pulled him over to the entrance.
She wanted to plunge her hand into his pocket, take the gun and beg him to say nothing – but what was the point? There were too many witnesses. All she could do was carry on as if she were innocent of everything.
‘I suggest you keep your voice down,’ she said, ‘You’re frightening them. Then I suggest you take the tractor over to Steadham and collect the Austin. Your mum can ring Dr Wilson while you drive back here and collect them. We’ll make Danny as comfortable as we can.’
Without a word, Hugh trudged out into the yard and got the tractor going. Millie walked across as he climbed up but he stared right over the top of her head, swung onto the track and disappeared over the horizon.
She squeezed her eyes together in despair. Hugh may be the only hope she had of sliding out of this one and she’d alienated him where she should have soothed him. She would make it right with him before the police came to pick her up.
She wished she could get her thoughts straight. How long was Lukas here? The farm wasn’t under snow for all of it. Oh God, or was this it? Could she somehow use Hugh’s appearance that night as an alibi?
Chapter Fifty Seven
Hugh was absolutely livid, not because a nice morning teaching Millie to drive the tractor had been ruined – that couldn’t be helped. No, it was the way Millie dressed him down in front of everyone. Him, of all people, who’d taken care of the boy, entertained him, looked out for him. How dare she tick him off like that.
‘I suggest you keep your voice down,’ Hugh said out loud, affecting a schoolmarmish tone, wagging his head about. He looked over his shoulder, worried someone might have spotted his pantomime.
Then he had a brainwave. Christaff was a quack. He’d pick up Christaff and bring him along to sort everything out. That would show her. And it did. The sight of this rather dashing fellow climbing out of the Austin took her quite aback.
Danny was lying in the sitting room, covered in a blanket when they arrived. June had finally got dressed; Ruby hadn’t – naturally. She floated around in some diaphanous number trying to get Christaff’s attention.
Christaff was too professional for all that. He had a look at the boy’s arm, told him he was being very brave and asked him to wiggle his fingers. Then he felt along the arm and said he thought it was a greenstick fracture and Danny needed to have a plaster on it.
‘Really truly?’ Danny said, his tear-stained face brightening.
‘The cottage hospital in Shawstoke will have a plaster room,’ Christaff said. ‘I’ll take him down if you like.’
Hugh didn’t much fancy going, what with June sulking away in the back seat. He was perfectly happy to chuck over the keys. Besides, while Christaff was getting his stuff together back at Steadham, Hugh had taken the opportunity to ring the local nick and let them know about the gun. They were sending someone up this afternoon. Despite still feeling cross with Millie he thought he ought to stay.
* * *
Constable Hanratty was filling the idle hour after the lunchtime rush by tipping his chair away from the desk and balancing it on its back legs. As he rocked, he stretched his arms up and peered at the sweat patches on his vest. God, it was hot.
When the phone on reception started to ring, he couldn’t be bothered to answer it. After a while, Walter Grey, the oldest constable in the nick, came shuffling out of the gents, still fiddling with his fly buttons and shot Hanratty a resentful look as he headed towards the front desk.
‘Shawstoke Police Station,’ Grey said. ‘How can I help you? Yes. I see. Wait a moment, let me grab something to write with. There now, Mr Adamson…’ Hanratty half turned his head. He recognised that name. Ah, yes. The farmer up on the Downs.
‘A gun you say…’
Hanratty rocked back a fraction more.
‘Found at Enington Farm.’
Hanratty crashed his chair down. Walter Grey jumped and turned round, making a cross shush sign at him.
‘A German Luger?’ Grey said in his piping voice. ‘Goodness. What a thing?’
Hanratty got to his feet abruptly, making the chair legs judder across the floorboards. He could feel his heart quickening. He bounded across to the front desk and tried to get Grey’s attention, but the old boy turned his back on him and went on writing.
‘Let me speak to him,’ he hissed.
But the irritating old fool said to the caller, ‘Thank you so much for letting us know. Someone will be up with you this afternoon to collect it and take a statement.’
Grey banged the received onto the cradle and turned to Hanratty.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? First you won’t answer the ruddy thing, then you want to fight me to speak to the man.’
‘Did you say they’d found a German gun up at Enington Farm?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll go and take the statement.’
‘No, you won’t. You wait for the sergeant to get back from lunch and he’ll decide what to do.’
‘No time like the present,’ Hanratty said.
He grabbed hold of his jacket from the back of the chair and was on his bike before anyone could stop him. He set off through the town, pumping the pedals hard. Soon the ulcer on his leg was throbbing but he didn’t care. He could hardly contain himself. He’d been right all along.
He knew she looked the type. You can just tell. It wasn’t surprising her husband topped himself; a woman who’d betray her country wouldn’t think twice about betraying a husband. She was probably putting it about before – but this. This was different. She’d taken in a Kraut, a Hun, a fucking Nazi. They should drag her out of her house and slam her in a cell until the brass hats came and got her and tried her and hanged her.
Chapter Fifty Eight
Millie was weaving the string beans into their wigwams when she saw Constable Hanratty arrive. She knew it was him from the helmet swinging on the handlebars. Today he was wearing even less uniform, havi
ng slung his uniform jacket over the crossbar of his bike.
From the safety of the vegetable garden, she watched him dismount and pull off his bicycle clip. He lifted the hem of his trousers and fingered a filthy dressing on his shin before leaning the bike against the fence and pulling his jacket on.
She could hear Hugh hammering, down by the stables. He was mending a door for her. Initially she was irritated that he hadn’t gone with the others to the hospital, but now she was glad he was here. She watched as the constable set off towards the stables.
She couldn’t delay any longer or she would look even more guilty. As she crossed the yard, the heat shimmering off the surrounding fields made the air feel thick, increasing her sense of claustrophobia. The chalk dust kicked up by her boots caught in her throat, making her mouth dry and gritty.
She rounded the corner and saw Hugh pointing up to the open loft. Constable Hanratty already had the Luger in his hand. When he turned, she was certain he pointed it straight at her, but then an eyeless smile tightened his lips and he let the muzzle drop.
‘I was just showing the constable where the gun was found,’ Hugh said.
‘Mind if I go up and have a look?’ Hanratty said.
Before climbing the ladder, he checked the magazine and chamber, then pocketed the gun.
Millie watched him kicking the straw around with his foot, momentarily eased by the thought that there was nothing up there for him to find. She looked at Hugh who glanced up at the constable then rolled his eyes. Millie felt a wave of gratitude towards him.
‘Do you know exactly where the boy discovered it?’ Hanratty called down.
Millie and Hugh both shrugged and shook their heads. The constable climbed back down. He took out his notebook and flicked through until he found a blank page. Retrieving a pencil from behind his ear he said, ‘And what was the name of the boy?’
‘Danny Russell.’
‘Different name to you, madam. Not yours then?’
‘No. His mother is of one the evacuees billeted here.’
‘And her name?’
‘June Russell,’ she said. She took a deep breath to relieve the pounding in her chest but when she breathed out, it sounded like a heavy sigh. The constable looked up from his writing and narrowed his eyes.
‘And you still maintain, Mrs Sanger, that you had no idea the German was hiding up there?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘How can that be?’
Hugh stepped forward and said, ‘Because from before dawn there are people in and out of the yard all day. He may have holed up there for a couple of hours, but he would have been on his way pretty smartish when he realised how busy it was.’
‘It wasn’t busy here during the blizzard,’ Hanratty said. ‘From what you told me last time, no one could reach the farm for days.’
‘No,’ Millie said. ‘Not during the blizzard. But unless he was already up there when the blizzard closed in, he wouldn’t have been able to reach the farm either.’
‘But he could have been here before the snow closed in.’ Hanratty stared fixedly at her.
‘That’s not possible. As Mr Adamson has just explained, there was too much to-ing and fro-ing for him to remain hidden so close to the farmhouse,’ she said.
‘But not in the farmhouse,’ Hanratty replied, a crafty smile on his face.
‘In the farmhouse?’ Hugh spluttered. ‘What absolute rot.’
Hanratty swung round to face Hugh and said, ‘I want a word with Mrs Sanger alone.’
‘That’s not happening,’ Hugh said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, that’s not happening. Anything you want to say to Mrs Sanger, you say to both of us because frankly, I don’t like your tone and I don’t like your crackpot theories.’
Hanratty gave a sardonic chuckle at the back of his throat and said, ‘It’s not a crackpot theory. I have good evidence.’
‘What evidence?’ Hugh said, lifting his chin aggressively at the man.
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that to you at present,’ – Hugh snorted with derision – ‘but I can tell you that I was in charge of the prisoner when he was first arrested…’
Millie felt a shock pass through her.
‘… and there is strong evidence that he was given sanctuary here.’
Hugh wrinkled up his face in disbelief and looked across at Millie. She stared back at him, certain that at any minute he’d see the guilt in her face and know that the constable spoke the truth.
‘That’s utter poppycock,’ Hugh said. ‘And I can prove it.’
‘Can you now?’
‘I most certainly can, because on the night of the blizzard, I managed to get over here. It was bloody difficult but I made it through. When the blizzard closed in, I was already here and, let me assure you, there was no one in the farmhouse except myself and Mrs Sanger.’
‘What? All night?’
Hugh looked at Millie, his eyes wide with embarrassment and indecision but she didn’t care any more. What use was maintaining her reputation now?
‘Yes, Constable,’ she said. ‘All night.’
‘I see,’ Hanratty said, a look of salacious interest on his face.
‘I stayed in the spare room,’ Hugh blustered.
‘Of course you did.’
‘I bloody well did.’ Hugh came right up to Hanratty and said, ‘So take the gun, put it into evidence or whatever you chappies do, and leave Mrs Sanger alone.’
Hanratty backed off, watching Hugh for any lunge of aggression. Then he turned to Millie and said, ‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Mrs Sanger.’
* * *
Hugh walked the track back to Steadham Farm, his nerves jangling. When it came out that he’d stayed the night with Millie, that pugnacious little policeman was positively licking his lips. It was horrible. Millie didn’t seem that angry with him but was keen for him to get off back home when all he wanted to do was stay and talk the whole thing through. Now he was desperate for a glass of beer and a sit down but the next thing to hit him when he went into the kitchen was the news that June and Danny were staying the night.
‘That’s ridiculous. I’ll run them back to Millie’s.’
‘No, you won’t,’ his mother said. ‘That poor little boy’s had a nasty accident. Him and his mum need looking after. Besides, Christaff says he’d like to keep an eye for twenty-four hours, just in case the arm swells inside the cast. Go on through and say hello then – they’re all in the sitting room.’
Hugh found Danny holding court on the sofa. He admired the cast and had a bash at drawing a picture of Gyp on it but everyone thought he’d drawn a cow. Mr Farrow drew a Spitfire and Mrs Farrow some sort of nondescript flower.
All through the evening, Hugh could feel June watching him. It was very disconcerting. When he left to fetch some more beer from the kitchen, she followed him.
She looked absolutely appalling under the bright strip light. He opened his mouth to say something and she flung herself at him, like a bird at a window, her hands pressed against his chest, her fingers worrying at the wool of his jumper. She muttered something inaudible and he twisted his head to try and catch it. All he could hear was sniffing. He took hold of her cold elbows and eased himself back, craning around to make sure they were alone.
‘Come on, old thing,’ he said, holding her firmly. ‘You’ve got to pull yourself together.’
‘You’ll take care of us, won’t you, Mr Adamson?’
Her voice rang out in the empty kitchen. However much despair it muffled, it was hard to ignore the tang of blame. Instinctively he threw a look towards the door.
‘Of course. What do you think I’m doing now?’ He meant it to sound hearty but it came out with an unexpected sharpness.
She stood stone still, staring at him, not even moving her hands.
‘Look,’ he said with assertive cheerfulness, ‘You mustn’t take on so. Accidents happen you know.’
She put a tig
ht knuckle up to her mouth and he thought how harsh and beaten she looked. It bothered him because the childlike gesture seemed manipulative and sapped him of any pity. She was beginning to rather irritate him but luckily, just at that moment his mother appeared.
‘Danny’s looking absolutely bushed,’ Mrs Adamson said. ‘He really needs to go up. I’ve put you both in the sewing room. It’s quite cosy up there. I’ll do a couple of hotties to air the sheets,’ and she busied herself with the kettle.
When she’d finished, she handed them to Hugh and said, ‘Take these up, darling.’
‘Why me?’ but she just frowned at him and made a tutting noise.
* * *
He tapped gently on the door and heard June’s mousy voice say, ‘Come in.’
Danny was already under the covers. This used to be a maids’ room when Hugh was younger but now his mother kept her Singer sewing machine and ironing board up here. They’d been tidied away into a corner, and the beds, which were usually covered in pieces of fabric and half-made garments, cleared and made up. June was sitting on one of them, worrying a handkerchief in her fist.
‘I’ve brought you a couple of hot water bottles,’ he said, staying on the threshold and holding them out.
She reminded him of an animal, just old enough to know that humans are dangerous. It was almost as if he’d cornered her. Eventually she got to her feet and came towards him sideways, a bit like a dog that thinks he’s done something wrong. It was very irritating. She was almost inviting him to be cross with her. When she reached him, she mutely took the bottles from his hand with an obedient detachment, her eyes flicking expectantly across his face.
‘Night, night, Danny,’ he said over her shoulder and left the room, closing the door gently. As he walked back down the passage, he couldn’t get the image of her eyes out of his head.
A Dangerous Act of Kindness Page 26