by V M Knox
Peter returned, and they exchanged glances but neither of them spoke for several minutes. Clement stared at the flames licking the logs in the fireplace. A pine cone cracked in the heat, the popping sound and sudden burst of released embers briefly illuminating the grate.
‘At least the Germans haven’t yet landed,’ Clement said.
‘Don’t worry, Clement. We will do what we must. You just find Stanley and who killed George.’
‘Thank you, Peter. I appreciate your support.’ Clement stood and they walked towards the front door. ‘Keep an eye on Reg, will you Peter? I’m concerned his negativity will influence the others.’
The front door closed behind him. Pulling his coat around him to ward off the cold, he pedalled into the night. As he rode he looked up at the night sky. He hadn't heard the low drone of bombers tonight. Above him was a clear night sky studded with stars and the omnipresent moon. As beautiful as it was, the memory of Reg standing beside Peter’s mantelpiece and what the man had believed him capable of doing, appalled Clement. Yet that would have been David Russell’s fate and it was what they had been trained to do. To Kill. Silently. ‘Get used to it,’ he muttered. ‘It is what you signed up for!’ he reminded himself.
He cycled back into the village, the moonlight casting long shadows across his way. No-one was about. Late-night travel was discouraged, considered too dangerous and, for those who had vehicles, a waste of valuable petrol.
As he cycled past the common he could smell the burning log fire in The Crown. He stared at the building thinking of Elise Wainwright. The girl was an enigma. Arthur Morris was staying at The Crown, and Clement wanted to ask him if they could leave a little earlier. He wanted to see the injured in Lewes hospital before going to London.
Clement opened the public house door. There was the usual group huddled around the bar and seated by the fire place. He scanned the faces present before opening the door to the dining room.
Arthur sat alone in the deserted room, a newspaper spread on the table in front of him, the evening meal long since tidied away.
‘It’s late to be out, Clement. Everything alright?’ Arthur asked.
‘Yes. Tomorrow, Arthur, I was wondering if we could leave the village a little earlier than arranged. I should visit those who are still in hospital in Lewes. I feel guilty I have not seen them before now.’
‘Of course. I can spend some time in my office in Lewes and meet you on the platform. There is always plenty of paperwork for a policeman to do.’ Morris paused. Lifting the newspaper he slid out a piece of paper with a rough sketch of the village drawn on it. ‘Would you mind if I asked you again about the day you found Inspector Russell?’
‘Anything to help,’ Clement said looking at the sketch. Lines and arrows had been drawn all over the page.
‘The vicarage is quite close to the police station,’ Morris said.
Clement studied the diagram. He could see that Arthur had pencilled in his home, the police station and other buildings around the village.
‘From your perspective, Clement, what was going on in the village last Sunday and Monday?’
Clement thought for a moment. ‘That was the fifteenth. They are saying it was the worst day of bombing. We saw bombers and fighters all day and well into the night. Our planes and the Germans. Sortie after sortie. I do not know how our brave boys could tell who was friend and who was foe. Do you know the glow of London could be seen ten miles away? I heard that on the wireless. Hard to believe how London has survived. The sight and noise of those planes overhead placed a pall over the village. By Monday morning everyone was worried. But it is amazing how people react. Some went about their business, while others remained indoors listening to the wireless reports. The tension was undeniable. Invasion and defeat were in everyone’s mind. But I am glad to say not on their lips. The village was eerily normal.’
‘What did you do that day?’
‘Church, of course, in the morning,’ he leaned back in the chair remembering. ‘In the afternoon, I went for a walk on the Downs. I saw our bank manager, John Knowles. Not a happy situation. The child had been born that day. There was much gossip about the child’s paternity in the bar. I went home after that.’ He paused. He could not tell Morris about his main concern that day, the retrieval of the list from Russell’s safe.
Morris nodded. ‘And Monday? Where were you, exactly?’
He couldn’t look at Morris. That was the morning he received the telegram with the one word, Cromwell, the codeword for all Auxiliary Units to assemble, when life as he knew it changed forever. ‘At the vicarage,’ he said. ‘Then I went to Peter Kempton’s office then to look for Stanley.’
Morris paused. ‘Why did you go to see Inspector Russell?’
‘I couldn't find Stanley and I thought David might have known where he was.’
Morris picked up his pencil and drew a dotted line from the vicarage to Peter’s office building, out to Stanley’s cottage then back to the police station.
‘Was Constable Matthews there?’
‘Yes. No.’
Morris raised his eyebrows.
‘I mean, he was on duty, just not behind the desk when I arrived. I didn’t have to wait long though.’
‘Did Constable Matthews say where he had been?’
‘He was in the station. I saw him, through the glass partition, walking back down the corridor. I remember now, he was carrying a dustpan and broom. Of course, the smashed bottle on the doorstep. He must have just cleared it up.’
Morris paused.
‘The day of the raid, the seventeenth, you went to check on Stanley. Do you remember anything you thought was out of the ordinary?’
‘Other than a German fighter dropping bombs and strafing a quiet English rural village, you mean?’
Morris pulled his lower lip inwards. ‘The plane was quite low, I understand?’
‘Yes. I did think that was odd. The pilot dropped the two bombs and strafed the village a couple of times then left. Most people were just trying to get out of its way.’
‘Did it follow the same path on the second and third runs?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘And most of the damage was around the village green?’
‘Yes. One bomb dropped on Peter Kempton’s office. It must have been a bigger bomb.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It caused much more damage than the one on Doctor Haswell’s garden. Although there was a large hole in the rear wall of Phillip’s house, I remember thinking that there was not much damage in the street.’
‘Did you see anyone near to or enter the police station?
‘There was so much confusion. I saw almost all the villagers at one time or another. I did see John Knowles outside The Crown. His wife was one of the victims killed in the strafing. I asked him to help me carry the dead on stretchers to the church. We passed the police station several times. Too many times. But I do not remember seeing anyone enter or leave the police station.’
‘When did you last see Elsie Wainwright?’
Clement didn’t have to think. ‘On the Sunday afternoon, in The Crown.’
Morris smiled. ‘Thank you, Clement.’
‘I am not sure if I have been of any help, Arthur.’
‘Timing, Clement. That is how our murderer, or should I say murderers, have done it.’
‘You think there is more than one?’
‘Without question.’
Chapter 22
Saturday 21st September
Clement was getting used to Lewes station. Even the stationmaster smiled at him as he sat in the waiting room. Mary had packed two sandwiches and some Italian sardines that her sister Gwen had saved and which he would savour on the journey. He saw the Chief Inspector walk onto the platform.
Morris sat beside him and they exchanged pleasantries. ‘You seem quiet this morning, Clement?’
‘I have just come from the hospital. The sight of burnt flesh is very sobering, Arthur.’
‘Indeed. How is the Doctor coping?’
‘The man works long hours. In fact, he was at the hospital even earlier than me this morning.’
‘I am yet to meet Doctor Haswell. He is out every time I call to see him,’ Morris said.
‘Really? I would have liked to have spoken with Phillip myself. I am worried about Mrs Faulkner. She is elderly and has dreadful burns. The Sister says she may be in hospital for months.’
‘You didn’t see Doctor Haswell?’ Morris asked.
‘No. But I know he was there. His car was in the parking area at the front when I arrived. I don’t suppose you have heard anything about Stanley and Elsie?’
‘Nothing as yet,’ Morris paused. ‘This afternoon, Clement, after we have met with your people, I might go to Scotland Yard. If you need to get away early, I can make my own way back.’
‘Of course.’
Morris opened his newspaper. Clement noted it was the previous evening’s edition of The Evening Argus.
‘I have today’s paper if you would prefer it, Arthur?’
‘Thank you but I’m actually looking at the classified section.’
‘You are looking for other work?’
Morris smiled. ‘No. I cannot imagine what I would do if I was not a policeman. I am however, looking at the Hospital and Medical Appointments.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘I am wondering why a village Doctor in Sussex advertises in The Times. With all the signage removed, I would have thought a Nurse with local knowledge of the area would have been preferable. But, who knows? Perhaps Doctor Haswell advertised in the local paper as well.’
Johnny met them at Victoria Station and they sped off towards Whitehall and the ubiquitous beige and grey stone.
Clement smiled at Miss Bradwynn seated behind her desk in Gubbins’s outer office.
‘Won’t you sit down, gentlemen? The Colonel won’t keep you long,’ she said. The typewriter clacked away, the bell sounding as the carriage was pushed back with every new line. A buzzer on her desk sounded. ‘You can go in now.’
Colonel Gubbins was seated behind a pile of papers on the desk. Clement thought he looked older. Now he was about to add to the man’s troubles. Clement introduced Arthur Morris and they sat down.
‘We couldn’t tell you over the telephone, Clement. But we have decided to stand your cell down. It’s just temporary,’ Gubbins told him.
Clement felt his face fall. Gubbins must have seen his reaction. ‘Your sector will be handled by people who are worth a lot more to the Germans than your team,’ Gubbins told him.
Clement swallowed hard. ‘And my men, Colonel?’
‘Given that two of them are no longer with you, your remaining team will be much safer at Coleshill for the next few days, Clement.’
Clement felt the weight lift from his shoulders.
'Before you begin to tell us what's been happening in East Sussex, Clement,' Johnny cut in, 'I must inform you, Chief Inspector that everything you may hear in this office is top secret. While you do not need to know everything about Clement's activities in and around Fearnley Maughton, you should know that there is a secret underground installation frequented by Clement's team in Maughton Forest.'
Morris's head tilted in acknowledgement. 'Thank you for your candour, Commander,' Morris added.
Clement explained the events of the past few days. Morris hadn’t interrupted but Clement saw the smallest of reactions on Morris’ face when he informed Johnny and Gubbins about the proximity of George’s body to the Operational Base. As tragic as George’s murder was, it was the disappearance of the report that furrowed the brows.
Gubbins remained silent for several minutes. ‘Chief Inspector, it is vital you find Stanley Russell and Elsie Wainwright. Kent and Sussex are our top-priority sectors. If these two people remain at large, they could jeopardise every cell in the country and we simply don’t have the personnel to replace them all. Especially now.’
‘Have you any leads, Chief Inspector?’ Johnny asked.
‘The pieces are coming together. I would like Scotland Yard to run a few checks on the bullets we have recovered from the various crime sites.’
‘As long as there is no mention of us here or the Auxiliary Units,’ Gubbins said.
There wasn’t much more to say. Being stood down should have made Clement happy. And as far as it involved his men, it did. But he didn’t feel joyful. In fact, failure is what he felt.
He and Arthur Morris left the office. There had been no mention of lunches this time; what’s more, Clement was left in little doubt that Gubbins and Johnny were regretting his involvement. No other group, Clement felt sure, had caused so many problems. At least his men were safe and that alone was cause for celebration. He pushed Johnny and Gubbins from his mind. ‘There is a place under St Martin-in-the-Fields where we can get some lunch. It will probably be bread and soup but it’s not too bad.’
‘Thank you, but no. I want to run some checks on those bullets. Even with top priority, it will probably take all day, so I’ll make my own way back to Lewes.’ Morris paused. ‘And rest assured, Clement, I will not mention anything of your clandestine activities.’
Clement smiled, feeling suddenly hungry. He watched Arthur Morris walk away then checked his watch. It was nearly one o’clock. He walked towards Trafalgar Square, heading towards St Martin-in-the-Fields.
Crossing The Strand, he heard the siren start. Slow to begin with, then heart-racing in its urgency. The noise bounced off the stone buildings and reverberated around him. A wave of pigeons lifted from the pavements, their wings loud with panic. People began to run. For a second he didn’t know what was happening.
He wheeled around. Above him he heard the repetitive low booming sound, like hundreds of cars spluttering and back-firing. A second later, the ground began to shake.
‘Get in the shelter!’ someone bellowed.
Clement turned again. A warden was yelling at him. He looked around, in the direction of the angry man’s pointed finger.
‘I’ll show you,’ a woman’s voice said.
He felt the tug on his arm. A young woman was pulling him along.
‘Down here,’ she said.
They hurried, with scores of others; like a human ribbon they streamed down the steps into the underground. Below it was dark and smelt of sweat and urine.
‘Quickly now,’ the girl was saying. ‘If we hurry we can find a place to lie down.’
‘Lie down?’ he mumbled.
‘They’re early today. I was hoping to have time to wash my hair before reporting back,’ the girl said.
‘How long does it last?’ Clement asked.
‘You’re not from around here, are you?’
‘No. I’m just in London for the day.’
The girl laughed. ‘Well, if it is like yesterday, we could be here all night.’
The girl ran forward and pounced on the wooden-planked station seat. ‘Come on!’ she called. ‘We can share the seat. The other night I had to lie on the steps. Bloody Jerries!’
Clement removed his coat and sat beside her.
‘Oh! Sorry, Vicar. I didn’t know.’
‘No harm done,’ he said. ‘I’m indebted to you for ushering me down here. I wouldn’t have known where to go.’
'Anne Chambers,' she said, her hand thrust towards him.
‘Reverend Wisdom,’ he said smiling, shaking the girl’s hand.
The rumble of bombs rattled above them. He glanced around. No-one seemed to be paying much attention. Someone had turned on some lights. But the underground was grimy and dingy. He remembered the crypt at Christ Church, Mayfair. Somehow at Christ Church, sitting among the sarcophagi had seemed more normal than sitting and waiting for the forces of good and evil to transform the world above them as they knew it.
He stared at the people. Some sat or lay along the platform. Everyone waited. It was a well-rehearsed routine, but to an onlooker it was the most extraordinary sight. People,
probably total strangers, sat side by side along the platform like Gwen’s Italian sardines. Women were making tea on small paraffin cookers near a brick column upon which were advertising posters. He stared at one. It showed Weston-Super-Mare, couples sitting idly in deck chairs staring at a golden setting sun and enjoying life. Fate had a cruel sense of humour.
He gazed around the space. Other women were knitting, the needles clicking hard, the repetitive sound bouncing off the hard surfaces then stopping each time the earth shook. He thought of Mary and prayed there were no stray aeroplanes over Fearnley Maughton today. A man stoked his pipe and sat down on a chair as though he was in his own home. What Clement saw was visible resilience, but what he smelled was suppressed fear.
‘Tell me about yourself, Vicar?’ Anne said, settling on the bench. ‘Are you married?’
He smiled at Anne. If the woman was afraid she didn't show it. But then he knew from Coleshill, and his time in the trenches, that some people talk a lot when nervous. Clement nodded. ‘Over twenty years. My wife used to work in London, at The Admiralty.’ He paused, thinking of Miss Bradwynn. ‘What about you?’
The girl stood and removed her coat and threw it over the seat. ‘London born and bred, me.'
It wasn’t until she sat down that he realised she was wearing a nurse’s uniform.
'Do you work hereabouts?' he asked.
She nodded. ‘Charing Cross.'
The memory flashed in Clement's mind. Elsie. Elsie said she had worked at Charing Cross. He turned to face Anne.
'I trained at Guys,' Anne went on, 'but I've been delivering babies at Charing Cross ever since. I like London, Vicar. Couldn’t live anywhere else. Although there is a rumour at the hospital that if the bombing keeps up they are going to relocate us to Hertfordshire. Wherever that is.’
‘I don’t suppose you ever worked with an Elizabeth Wainwright?’
‘Yes, I knew Elsie.’
The girl’s response was so unexpected Clement felt his jaw drop. ‘She worked in my village, in East Sussex.’
