The Woman in the Wood

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘Yes, I suppose so, clever clogs. Now can I make us a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘Tea would be good, but the kitchen is a bit of a mess,’ he admitted. ‘It’s on my list of things to do this evening.’

  He was right, the kitchen was a mess, and as Maisy waited for the kettle to boil she stacked up the dirty dishes next to the sink. She would have done more but it was hard to do much with an arm in plaster.

  ‘There we are,’ she said, putting Dove’s tea down on the little table beside him. ‘I’ll just nip back and get mine.’

  At first they only talked about books and programmes on the wireless, but then the teacher looked at her sternly. ‘What is it, Maisy? I can see something is troubling you. Is it just Duncan going?’

  ‘No, I really am fine about that,’ she said. ‘It’s Grainger. I know it’s silly, but I keep getting the feeling he’s around here somewhere, watching me.’

  Dove’s eyes widened. ‘I have to say, I think such a thing is utterly implausible. He’s better known round here than anywhere – someone would be bound to spot him. But tell me why you think he might want to watch you.’

  ‘Because I was instrumental in getting the police on his tail, both at the cottage where he was holding Duncan, and later on at the place on the beach. Perhaps he wants to teach me a lesson about sticking my nose into things.’

  Dove laughed. ‘I don’t think so, Maisy. He’s definitely a psychopath, but that doesn’t make him stupid. He’s not going to risk his freedom by coming to see you. If I may say so, sweetheart, you are being a little paranoid.’

  ‘Perhaps I am.’ She laughed, but without humour. ‘So let’s change the subject. Have you got any new pupils?’

  ‘I have indeed. Two boys, who both need bringing up to scratch for their exams. I’m also coaching a twelve-year-old girl who needs general help to catch up with her peers. She was in hospital for over a year.’

  ‘Poor kid! I hope she’s better now?’

  ‘Like many kids who’ve had some adversity, she’s very determined not just to catch up, but surpass. Anyway, tell me your plans for when the arm is better.’

  ‘I really don’t know. I’d like to be with the children in Brighton, and I need to go back there at least to finish my typing course. But I don’t want to leave Duncan, and anyway, the Ripleys won’t need me for much longer. I’ve thought of going to London to find a secretarial job, but lately I’ve become unsure of everything.’

  Mr Dove smiled at her, his eyes full of understanding. ‘Then abandon all plans for the time being. Just see what turns up. I’m glad you seem to have made a real connection with your father at last. He came to see me when you were missing and I really liked him.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, Maisy. He’s an interesting man. Like me, he loves books and history. He told me a bit about the turmoil in Europe after the war, with all the refugees and displaced people, some so full of hatred towards the Nazis or the Russians, they were taking brutal revenge. He was one of the top men sorting it out over there – I don’t think you knew that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘We used to ask him what he’d been doing when he’d been away, but he was always vague, and to be honest, both Duncan and I thought he just shuffled papers around.’

  ‘He was vague because he witnessed things you can’t tell children about. And he was in the front line, Maisy, he was no paper shuffler. He’s a father to be proud of.’

  Maisy’s eyes welled up. ‘We thought he stayed away because he didn’t like us, or Mother,’ she said in a small, shaky voice.

  ‘Heroes don’t always carry guns or wear uniforms. Sometimes, too, they are so intent on putting things right for other people – getting them shelter, medical help and food to eat – they overlook their own family. Alastair Mitcham is never going to be a man who does small talk, or readily shows his emotions, but what I saw in him when you were missing, and Duncan was in hospital, was the sort of quiet courage that meant he would give his life for either of you. I’ve been in terrible battles, Maisy, and had officers I looked up to and those I didn’t. But your father, although not a soldier, was born to lead. Had he been my commanding officer I would have followed him blindly.’

  ‘Really?’ she sobbed. ‘You aren’t just saying it to make me feel better about him?’

  ‘Do I ever tell you things to make you feel better? I seem to remember calling you a halfwit one day!’

  Maisy wiped her tears away and smiled. ‘I knew you didn’t really mean it.’

  ‘Well, if you can be that sure of me, try trusting your dad too. I know the thing about your mother is distressing, but he handled that as well as anyone could. I think he would like to start again with you and Duncan, to be a real family. He spoke to me of selling your old house and moving somewhere you and Duncan would like better – Chelsea, or Chiswick. I suspect you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Maisy nodded. ‘It would be great to start again in a new home with none of the old memories. Why are you always so wise and reasonable? You ought to be grumpy and bitter, raging about the unfairness of it all. But instead you just glow with contentment.’

  ‘I’m not a hundred percent contented. I get a bit lonely, and sometimes really irritated that I can’t hop on a bus, weed the garden and a million other things. But I’m healthy, I’ve still got my sight and my brain, and I can sit here in the sunshine watching and listening to the birds. I don’t feel bitter because I’ve seen men with far worse injuries than mine, and if I was grumpy I wouldn’t get nice visitors like you.’

  ‘I wish you didn’t get lonely. It would be lovely if you found a nice lady like Janice, even if she was just a housekeeper and friend.’

  He smiled. She got the feeling he thought she was being a little naïve.

  ‘I agree, Janice or someone just as jolly and kind as her would be good. She’s been along to visit lots of times and it’s always a pleasure to see her. But I’m a realist, Maisy. Not many women would see me as much of a catch, and I’m never going to risk humiliation by touting for one.’

  Maisy giggled. ‘You do use some funny expressions. “Touting”, that makes me see you holding up a banner saying “Be my friend”.’

  Dove laughed too. ‘No point in “touting” in Burley. They all do that whispering behind their hands thing, no doubt saying, “Just look at that poor man.” ’

  ‘With us they whisper, “Violet Mitcham is getting her comeuppance – one tragedy after another in that family.” ’

  ‘As long as we can laugh about such things they can’t hurt us,’ Dove said.

  ‘I’d better go now,’ Maisy said. ‘It’s been good to laugh and to talk. When I get the plaster off my arm I’ll come and spring-clean your kitchen.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he replied.

  Back at Nightingales, Maisy told Janice a little bit about her conversation with Mr Dove.

  ‘He’s such a lovely man,’ she sighed. ‘I hate to think of him being lonely and struggling to do everything for himself.’

  ‘If I was to lose my job here I’d gladly go and look after him,’ Janice said, looking just a little dreamy eyed. ‘That cottage needs some love and attention but it’s a pretty little place, and like you said, he is a lovely man.’

  ‘Oh ho ho!’ Maisy pulled a silly face. ‘You’re a bit sweet on him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Janice said stoutly. ‘As if! I was only saying he’d be nice to work for, that’s all. Now I need some things in Lyndhurst, so if you want to come too, we could go on the bus tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll drop a letter to Linda at her house to ask when she’ll be home again,’ Maisy said. ‘It would be nice to see her again.’

  ‘And no doubt that boy you liked? I heard he was in the search party for you.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ Maisy asked. Janice hadn’t said anything about it before.

  ‘Surely you’ve realized by now that anything to do with Violet Mit
cham’s grandchildren is hot gossip?’ Janice chuckled. ‘At this very moment someone has probably been told you’re having sausages for supper, and they’re getting jealous.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Janice.’ Maisy pretended to put her nose in the air. ‘But if you want to pass on some really hot gossip, you can say that I need to buy a new bra tomorrow in Lyndhurst.’

  22

  Mr Dove looked up from his books as Duncan came into his garden. ‘Hullo! I didn’t think you were ever going to come out of the forest again. It’s been weeks.’

  Duncan laughed. ‘I do love it there, but sadly I know I’ve got to plan a career before long. Hence why I’m here. I want to pick your brains.’

  ‘Well, pick away, my boy.’ Dove smiled. ‘But how about a cold drink, or a cup of tea first?’

  ‘Some squash would be nice,’ Duncan said. ‘Shall I get it? And one for you too?’

  ‘I do like visitors who wait on me. There’s a bottle of orange on the draining board. Glasses on a tray, and, yes, I’d like one too, please.’

  Once they were both settled with their drinks, Duncan asked Dove if he thought he had any chance of becoming a doctor.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly bright enough,’ Dove said thoughtfully. ‘You’d have to sit O and A levels and you’d probably need extra coaching to catch up, but I think you could do it easily. Perhaps it would be a good idea if I contacted a medical school to see exactly what qualifications you need to get in?’

  ‘Would you mind doing that for me?’ Duncan asked. ‘I think Grandmother or my father would be happy to pay you to coach me.’

  ‘That would mean you staying here in Burley. Is that what you’d like?’

  Duncan looked thoughtful. ‘Mostly it’s the only place I want to be, but—’ He broke off suddenly.

  ‘You think it might be advisable to be somewhere with no bad memories?’

  Duncan nodded. ‘Did you find when you moved here that you stopped thinking about all the bad stuff you’d been through?’

  ‘It wasn’t moving here that stopped that. It was dealing with it, thinking it all through, laying it out and looking at it. People make a mistake in thinking moving away solves problems or bad memories. While it helps to have a new start, a new home, job or town, unless you can find a way of putting the bad stuff away, it will just rear its ugly head again. I suggested a while ago that you should write down what you went through, but I suspect you haven’t done that?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ Duncan hung his head. ‘I tried once but the words looked so ugly, so I stopped. I started to tell Grace, but I found I couldn’t tell a woman that sort of thing.’

  Dove waited a few moments before speaking.

  ‘But I think you could tell another man – me?’

  He watched Duncan’s face contorting, struggling with what he wanted to say, but not knowing where to start or even the right words.

  ‘You could start by telling me how he picked you up,’ Dove suggested gently. ‘Your sandal broke, I think?’

  ‘That’s right, the buckle came off and my sandal wouldn’t stay on my foot without it. I was looking in the grass beside the road for some string or something to tie it on to get me home, and Mr Grainger pulled up in his car. I was only a couple of miles out of Burley. He told me to hop in the car and he’d take me home. He put my bike in the boot. But then he said he just had to go somewhere first, and if I fancied an outing I could go with him. Well, I hadn’t got anything else to do and I liked his company, so I agreed. He was so nice to me. He even stopped and bought me a drink and a sandwich. I was enjoying being with him.’

  ‘But he took you somewhere and then you realized something was wrong?’

  ‘Well, I started to worry a bit when he kept driving and driving past Southampton, because I was supposed to be home for supper. Then he turned off the main road on to a lane, and suddenly there were no more houses. We went through a big gateway, with huge, rusting iron gates, and at the end of the drive there was a big house, surrounded by tall trees.’

  Duncan began to see that place again, reliving what it looked like and how he suddenly felt scared.

  The house looked derelict, boards over the windows, weeds growing out of the steps up to the front door and out of drainpipes. ‘I want to go home,’ he said, but Grainger looked at him and laughed.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Duncan. I will be taking you home, but I’ve got to go in here first with some stuff. You’ll like it, I promise you.’

  Duncan opened the car door and got out cautiously as he had bare feet, having taken off the one good sandal. All at once Grainger was beside him, holding a large shopping bag. He put his arm around Duncan’s shoulder and led him towards a much smaller door at the side of the house. He opened it with a key, but locked it again as soon as they were inside.

  They were in a smallish, bare room. It smelled of mould and neglect, wallpaper peeling off the walls, and as they went through it into the hall, Grainger locked that door too.

  At that point Duncan became really alarmed. The house felt sinister. He couldn’t imagine what business Grainger could have here, and the locked doors suggested a prison of sorts.

  ‘I keep it locked so my boys can have some privacy,’ Grainger said, but he had a wolfish expression that made Duncan feel even more scared.

  ‘What boys?’ he asked. ‘You mean there’s some living here?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a regular holiday camp,’ Grainger said, unlocking another door across a wide hall, and all at once they were in a very big, scruffy room, with several sofas and armchairs dotted around.

  Four boys got to their feet as they came in; Duncan thought they were even younger than him. Grainger introduced them as Michael, James, Ian and Peter, but it was the strangest introduction Duncan had ever encountered because they all looked pale-faced and scared stiff. The room had no natural light since the windows were boarded up. Later Duncan was to discover it wasn’t just the boards outside but steel shutters on the inside, operated from somewhere else in the house.

  ‘Take the bag and put the food in the fridge, Michael,’ Grainger said, and the boy leapt forward, grabbed the bag and scuttled out into an adjoining room.

  ‘I want you boys to take care of Duncan. He’ll be staying for a while,’ Grainger said.

  ‘I will not,’ Duncan retorted, turning to Grainger in anger. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? What is this place?’ He made for the door. ‘Unlock this,’ he demanded. ‘Now!’

  Grainger just gave him that wolfish smile again, and all at once Duncan knew this was some horrible kind of set-up and he was in danger. He ran at the man as if in a rugby tackle, intending to knock him down and take the keys.

  Grainger caught hold of his shoulders and before Duncan could move to defend himself, the man punched him hard on the jaw, knocking him down on to the floor. ‘You will stay here,’ he said. ‘I’m going now – my boys will explain what’s expected of you.’

  The shock of the punch and being delivered to some strange prison for no reason that he could understand was completely overwhelming. Grainger left the room quickly, locking the door behind him. Peter, a sweet-faced blond boy, came forward to help him up.

  ‘We have to do what he says, or he punishes us,’ he explained, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve only been here three days, but Michael, James and Ian have been here for ages.’

  Duncan rubbed his jaw. It really hurt, but the injury was the least of his worries. He just didn’t understand what this was about. ‘Why did he bring me here, and why are you all here?’

  Michael, a dark-haired boy with freckles and mournful dark eyes, had just come back into the room from the kitchen.

  ‘We’re his slaves, we have to do what he tells us, whether that’s sucking his cock, bending over so he can bugger us, or allowing ourselves to be cut.’

  For a second Duncan thought that was a crude and unpleasant joke, but Michael pulled up a very grubby shirt to reveal lacerations across his chest. ‘I got th
at on my first night here for trying to fight him off.’

  All at once Duncan knew he had stumbled into something terrible. It was like the worst possible nightmare – but he wasn’t going to wake up and find it wasn’t real.

  ‘All of you?’ he asked, looking at each of the boys in turn.

  They nodded, and now in the artificial, rather dim light he could see how listless, thin and drawn they all were. ‘Have you tried to escape?’ he asked. ‘We must be able to if we all work together.’

  ‘We’ve tried everything,’ Ian, a small redhead, spoke up. ‘He burned us all with cigarettes when he found we’d tried to smash the lock on the door.’ He held out his arm to Duncan to show him ten or twelve small burns, some of them weeping and angry, looking as if they were infected.

  James sat on the arm of one of the sofas. He was taller than the other boys, another blond but with a hard set to his features. ‘I’d had all this from my stepfather, and when Don was kind to me and said he’d take me somewhere safe, I believed him. But he’s even worse. Sometimes he brings a couple of mates here and they have their way with us too.’

  That night Duncan learned about things he couldn’t have even imagined possible, let alone happening to a group of boys aged thirteen to fifteen.

  They called Grainger Don, and they all said how he had seemed like a kindly stranger when he first spoke to them. In Michael’s case he had asked him the way to a nearby road and Michael had got in to direct him as it was on his way home. He had stopped James, saying he was a doctor and he’d come to take him home as his mother was ill.

  In all four cases the boys had been fooled into thinking he was a real gentleman, but once they had gone a little way in the car, he made an excuse and the next thing they knew he was putting something over their mouth and nose that made them pass out. When they came round they were here.

  All that was alarming enough, but Michael said there had been two other boys when he first arrived, weeks ago. ‘One was John Seeward from Portsmouth and the other was Eric Jones from Southampton. We think he took them out and killed them,’ Michael said. ‘It’ll be me next, I’ve been here the longest.’