The Girls in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  An NCO came in and handed the Win Co a piece of paper. He scowled and his expression changed from mildly concerned to grim. ‘ACW1 374 is a highly trained and skilled plotter. We need her back.’

  ‘Am I still going to Lattimore solo, sir?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Take a motorbike and depart immediately. A car will follow you.’

  Oscar set off at the double. Jane had been taken about an hour ago. If that bastard was taking her to Lattimore she would be arriving about now unless there was some sort of hold-up. He hesitated in the entrance hall, not sure in which direction to go to find his transport.

  An NCO beckoned from the front door. ‘Good luck, sir. You’ll need these.’ The young man handed him a pair of goggles and some flying gloves.

  ‘Thank you. Much appreciated.’

  A motorbike was waiting on the kerb. It was a powerful beast and he thought he’d be able to travel the thirty miles far quicker than in a car. He kicked it into life, opened the throttle and took off with a roar. He was out of the city and halfway to St Albans in less than half an hour.

  His mind was blank. His full attention was on the road and getting to Lattimore in the shortest possible time. What he was going to do when he arrived could be dealt with later.

  Lattimore was a compact, well laid out little village and the spire was visible as he raced in. He braked furiously when he saw the church. The vicarage was usually fairly adjacent. Two middle-aged matrons emerged through the lych gate. He shouted over the wall.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies, can you direct me to the home of Mr and Mrs Hadley?’

  ‘Go to the end of this street and it’s the large Georgian house on your left. It has a green front door.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  He accelerated the remaining half a mile and saw the building he wanted just ahead. He braked, turned off the engine and kicked down the stand. No point in giving them warning of his arrival.

  He moved stealthily beside the neatly clipped hedge, keeping his head low in case it could be seen from the house. There was a drive of sorts just ahead and it appeared to lead around to the rear of the place. He needed to see if the car was back.

  The track led to a series of outbuildings. None of them contained a large black Austin. His stomach clenched. He’d pinned his hopes on the fact that she would be brought here. If she’d been taken somewhere else he might never find her.

  He reversed his steps, grabbed the motorbike and headed for the vicarage. He rode up the drive and saw a curtain move as he dismounted. He’d been seen and hopefully one of the Jacksons would be able to throw some light on this disaster.

  The front door opened as he walked up to it. ‘Good afternoon, young man, how can I be of assistance to you?’ The man with the dog collar reminded him of his own father and this gave him the confidence to be open about his reasons for being there.

  ‘Reverend Jackson, I’m Flight Lieutenant Stanton. I’m a close friend of Jane Hadley’s. Her father abducted her earlier today and I’ve come to get her back.’

  ‘That’s very bad news indeed, young man? I take it you know what that poor girl’s situation was until she managed to escape last year.’

  ‘I do, sir, which is why it’s imperative that I find her as soon as possible. I checked the house and the car’s not there. I’m hoping you might be able to tell me where he might have taken her.’

  ‘I do know but I’m afraid it’s some considerable distance from here. A great-aunt of his left him a substantial property in a small village called Churt. It’s about fifteen miles the other side of Guildford.’

  ‘That’s about forty miles from here. Can you give me directions or an address?’

  ‘Whilst you turn your bike round, I’ll fetch it. I have it written down in my study.’

  Unfortunately, the vicar had the address but no idea of the exact whereabouts of Sumiton Manor. Oscar did know how to get to Guildford and just prayed he would be there in time. He’d been travelling flat out, weaving in and out of the army lorries and occasional civilian vehicle, for some time when he remembered that he had neglected to tell Jackson to ring Victory House with this new information.

  Whoever was following him would now be even further behind so it would be up to him to effect the rescue. How hard could it be to take Jane from the clutches of a middle-aged bank manager and a couple of private detectives?

  *

  Jane slowly opened her eyes. Why was it so dark? Where was she? What had happened to her? Who had dumped her on the floor of a freezing cold cellar?

  She attempted to move her hands but they were tied together. Her feet were free, which was a good thing. Her head hurt most dreadfully. She was finding it hard to think coherently. The cold seeped through her clothes and this helped her to concentrate. If she stood up she would be less uncomfortable.

  Using her feet as levers she scuffled and wriggled and managed to roll onto her back. A wave of nausea almost overwhelmed her and she tasted bile. Maybe it would be better to keep still.

  She closed her eyes again and let her mind drift in the hope she would recall the events that had led up to her incarceration. What did she know? One – she was a prisoner. Two – she was hurt. She shivered.

  Had the Germans captured her? That couldn’t be true as there were no Germans wandering about London. No point in dwelling on this. Her priority was, first, to get herself off the floor and second, find something to sit on.

  This time she was more cautious. Keeping her head as still as possible she carefully pushed herself up on her elbows. Painful, but so far so good. If she straightened her arms she would be sitting up, which would be an improvement, but with her hands tied this was impossible.

  On her knees – that would be easier. She took several deep breaths before gingerly rolling over. It was several minutes before she was in control again and able to put her bound hands to the floor and push.

  Eventually she was semi-upright, on her knees, but wasn’t sure if, without her hands to balance, she would be able to get to her feet. Whoever had taken her would expect her to be in a miserable heap on the floor. She was determined to be upright so she could face them.

  Her eyes had slowly adjusted to the darkness and there was a faint glimmer of light coming from what was possibly a boarded-up window. She wasn’t in a cellar. This knowledge galvanised her into action. Ignoring the nausea, the pain in her head, the cold and stiffness of her limbs, she rocked backwards and then leaned forward whilst pressing her toes into the ground.

  It worked. She was standing. She wasn’t sure how long she could remain like this as her legs were trembling, her head swimming and she thought she was about to be sick. Breathing slowly through her nose and out through her mouth did the trick.

  Turning her head was impossible so she slowly moved her feet in a circle to examine her surroundings. She was in a shed or outbuilding of some sort. The walls were brick, the floor mud, and the window had been blocked from the inside. Holding her hands out in front she paced first the length and then the breadth – probably about eight feet by ten.

  There were heaps of debris, crates and boxes, piled against the wall at the window end. With any luck she would find something to use to prise off the rope around her wrists. She remembered reading in a murder mystery that a captive had used a broken bottle but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do this even if she found one.

  She was a bit warmer after moving about and her brain was functioning better. She still couldn’t remember how she’d come to be here but she wasn’t going to worry about that at the moment. She moved towards the window. Even with her hands bound she thought she could move some of the things blocking the light.

  As long as she moved slowly, she could manage. Her instinct was to tear at the things, let the light in before her captors came back. There was something she couldn’t quite grasp – fleeting images and thoughts that made no sense.

  With some difficulty she removed several boxes and then welcome light flooded in throu
gh the gap she’d made. She stared at her arms. She was in some sort of uniform. Air Force blue – she was a WAAF. Why couldn’t she remember any of this?

  She reviewed again what she did know. Someone had taken her prisoner. Had the Germans captured her? Did she work in some secret place, have vital information, and they were going to interrogate and torture her?

  The stream of sunlight was enough for her to see to drag a couple of packing cases over to the window and sit on them. Tears trickled down her cheeks. How could she ever escape if she didn’t even know her own name or where she came from?

  She must have dozed off, as she woke later with a jolt. Someone was coming.

  23

  Oscar drove like a maniac. He flashed through villages and towns narrowly avoiding unwary pedestrians and other road users. He paused in Guildford for directions to Churt, but that was his only stop.

  His face was numb. Thank God for the goggles and gloves. Several times he’d had to use his feet to prevent disaster and, from the feel of it, one of them was now missing the leather sole. Not wishing to draw attention to himself as he arrived at his destination, he slowed to a more sensible speed.

  He found the house easily enough. It was isolated, set in extensive grounds, a mile or so from the village itself. He chugged along until he found a track – no doubt the tradesmen’s entrance years ago – and turned into it. The hedges on either side were high enough to conceal his progress and he was pretty sure that travelling at this speed no one would hear him either.

  Halfway along the engine spluttered and died. He’d run out of petrol. The Almighty had done his best, had got him here; now it was up to him. His first task was to find Jane, make sure she was safe. After that he would deal with the bastards who’d taken her.

  He dumped the motorbike in the ditch, removed his greatcoat, goggles and gloves and dropped them on top of it. His arms needed to be free. He wished again that he had his revolver with him.

  He jogged along the lane until he saw the red-tiled roofs of the brick-built stables, stores and barns just ahead. The house was several hundred yards away. The first thing he saw when he emerged from the end of the track was a large black Austin. A surge of excitement shot through him. He’d come to the right place.

  Keeping low, he crept to the car and put his hand on the bonnet. It was cold. Not good – it meant it had arrived some time ago. As he moved away he glanced into the rear of the vehicle. What was that on the seat against the right-hand passenger door?

  Ignoring caution, he threw it open. He’d not been mistaken. It was blood. In fact, now he looked closely, there was also blood in the footwell and smeared across the back of the seat. He wanted to smash his fist through the window. Jane had been injured – possibly, no probably, seriously.

  It would be better if he didn’t meet that bastard as Hadley was unlikely to survive the encounter. He decided to do a cursory search of the outbuildings first. It was unlikely Jane would be locked in one of those but it made sense to look before he headed for the house.

  He checked he couldn’t be seen before heading for the first barn. This was a coach house, open-fronted, so this didn’t require more than a glance. There was a row of stables – also empty. That left a series of sheds and storerooms to investigate. That shouldn’t take long.

  All these were windowless and all were locked. He rattled on the doors and called her name quietly. As expected, there was no response. He bitterly regretted not having contacted Victory House and given them the new directions.

  He would have to be more cautious approaching the house. He wanted to get Jane to safety before he dealt with her captors. It would be better if reinforcements arrived before he came face-to-face with that bastard as the way he was feeling right now he wouldn’t be able to control his fury. He wasn’t a violent man – but this was different.

  There was sufficient shrubbery for him to dodge behind. He was facing the rear of the building and the shutters were closed. He would break in from this side – there was bound to be a loose catch on one of the shutters. If he’d been wearing his flying boots he could have used the knife he kept pushed into the top. This was an essential piece of kit for a flyer. It was to cut the strings of his chute when he landed if he was obliged to bail out.

  There was a wide flagstone terrace, which was broken halfway along by steps leading into a formal garden. Maybe he would be better breaking in through the French doors that faced the lawns. Better to have a recce where he was first and then decide.

  The windowsills were shoulder height, which was going to make climbing in problematic. Another reason to use the doors to enter. The shutters opened when he pulled. He needed to find something to stand on if he was going to be able to push up this window and clamber in.

  There might be something in one of the storerooms he could use or he could just creep along the terrace and go in from there. He grabbed the edge of the sill and heaved himself up so his elbows were jammed on it and he could see into the room beyond.

  What little furniture there was in there was draped with dust sheets. From the look of it nobody had been in there for years. He dropped to the ground and was about to try his luck further along when he heard someone coming through the shrubbery behind him.

  He rolled under the nearest overhanging rhododendron bush not a moment too soon. He heard voices. Bloody hell – there were two people coming. Should he stay where he was or make a dash for it?

  ‘I tell you, Jimmy, the owners are here. My Molly swears she saw a big black car go up the drive a while ago.’

  ‘I reckon if you’re right, Dave, we can ask to be paid what we’re owed for keeping the grounds tidy.’

  Gardeners – not looking for him. He could hardly pop out and speak to them so it would be better to lie doggo and avoid awkward questions.

  As soon as the men had vanished around the corner, no doubt heading for the back door, he scrambled out of his hiding place and brushed himself down. He was about to continue when he paused to think.

  There being unwanted and unexpected callers was to his advantage. The longer they stayed to argue their cause the better it would be for him and for Jane. The gardeners would hardly be invited into the drawing room so it would be the perfect time to prise open those doors and slip in to search the house.

  He put his shoulder to the frame, the wood splintered, and they sprung open. He froze. Had anyone heard the racket? He was across the room before he understood the significance of the furniture in here also being under covers. The house was basically unoccupied. Jane had been brought here because Hadley thought he would be undisturbed.

  Cautiously he opened the double doors at the far end a fraction and put his ear to the crack. Yes – there were voices, but they weren’t close. He slipped through into a substantial entrance hall. Where would Jane be imprisoned? Upstairs was the most likely place.

  He looked in all the rooms on the first floor and found nothing. The staircase to the upper floor was at the end of the passageway. There was a window overlooking the outbuildings. He glanced sideways. He clutched the wall. That bastard was hurrying towards the locked sheds that he’d dismissed as being empty. He was swinging a folded leather belt in one hand.

  *

  Jane no longer cared who was coming. What really frightened her was the fact that she’d lost her memory. Nothing anyone could do to her could be as bad as not knowing who she was. She wasn’t even going to bother to stand up and face her captor. She was comfortable leaning against the wall on a packing case with the sun playing across her face.

  Someone was unlocking the door. She shifted slightly so she could see the person. If he was a German he’d hardly be wearing SS uniform but she was curious to know who had gone to so much trouble and what they wanted from her.

  The door opened and a middle-aged man, smartly dressed, with dark hair flecked with grey, stood framed there. He didn’t look like a kidnapper. He looked like – well – an ordinary person, but a very angry, tight-lipped ordinary perso
n.

  He remained in the doorway glaring at her. She smiled. This enraged him more and suddenly she was terrified. She didn’t know why, but this man meant her harm.

  ‘You dare to smile at me? I was too lenient with you in the past. That’s changed. Things will be different now. I’m going to show you the error of your ways.’ He was holding a belt in his hand.

  She was unable to move. Why did this stranger talk to her as if he knew her? Why did he hate her and want to hurt her? She needed to get up but her limbs refused to obey her instructions and she remained frozen, hunched on the packing cases, pressing herself against the wall.

  ‘On your feet. Get over here. Do it now.’

  She shook her head. That was a mistake. Her eyes blurred and reality began to slip away.

  *

  Oscar was hurtling down the stairs, through the drawing room and out of the broken French doors seconds after he saw the figure approaching the sheds. He entered the shed at full speed, shoulder first, and Hadley didn’t stand a chance. He went down as if poleaxed. The belt flew from his hand and skittered across the floor.

  A white-hot rage engulfed him. The bastard was pushing himself upright. He let him stand and then floored him a second time with a right hook that lifted Hadley from his feet. This time he remained down. Unconscious.

  Jane was staring at him, eyes wide, no sign of recognition. One side of her hair was matted with blood and her uniform collar was red. A blow to her head must have caused the confusion. He moved to her side.

  ‘Jane, I’m Oscar Stanton. I was sent to rescue you. Do I have your permission to pick you up?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t know who that horrible man was. I’m glad you knocked him down.’

  Even her voice sounded different. It took all his self-control not to hold her tight, reassure her that he loved her and no one would ever hurt her again. Time enough to worry about her memory loss when she was safe in hospital.