The second was that he felt a hand touch the back of his wrist.
It was utterly unexpected. The hand squeezed his tightly and it was as if strength flowed into him from that touch. With the touch came back sensation. First, pain from his arm and his face and then a slow, steadily growing anger.
He felt the cold metal of a knife work through the leather belt and, feeling the warning pat of the unknown hand, stayed exactly as he was, as if his hands were still tied. He felt the knife being put into his hands and, as he grasped the handle, another pat of approval came from the hand behind him.
Anthony tensed himself to creep away but he was brought up short by a commotion from the cottage.
There was the sound of running feet and von Hagen stormed out of the house in a towering fury. ‘She’s gone!’ he shouted. ‘The woman’s gone!’
Keegan snapped his head round and the chauffeur got out of the car. ‘She can’t have gone, boss,’ he stammered.
‘She has,’ ground out von Hagen. He marched up to Anthony and stood, hands on hips, glaring at him. ‘Where is she?’
A deep fear gripped Anthony. She could only be one person. ‘I don’t know,’ he said with as much conviction as he could muster.
Von Hagen started forward. Anthony readied himself, bunching the muscles in his legs. Then once again, von Hagen raised his hand and struck out in a stunning blow.
He’d made a mistake. This time Anthony wasn’t tied up.
Anthony launched himself away from the blow and flung himself at von Hagen, knife at the ready. Keegan, taken by surprise, fumbled the gun, dropped it and tried to knock the knife out of Anthony’s hand. Von Hagen jumped back but Anthony felt the knife dig into something solid.
Keegan kicked out, Anthony staggered back, crashed into von Hagen and they all went down together. Anthony felt a knee on his chest and hit out wildly. Someone crunched into his wounded arm and Anthony, mad with pain, hit blindly at the body in front of him.
He heard a gasp. Not a big gasp, but a sound as if a heavy man had sat on a cushion. Von Hagen stared at him with wide open eyes that showed nothing but absolute astonishment. He put a hand to his white shirt-front and brought it away black with something. It seemed to take Anthony ages to work out it was blood. Still with his eyes wide open, von Hagen tried to speak, gave another gasp, and fell, the knife buried in his chest.
‘Where’s the bloody gun?’ shouted the chauffeur.
‘I dropped it,’ yelled Keegan. ‘The boss is a gonner.’
The chauffeur took one look at von Hagen’s staring eyes. ‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered, backing away. ‘Bloody hell, Keegan, let’s get out of here.’ He groped his way into the car.
‘Wait!’ shouted Keegan, over the revving of the engine. He vaulted into the car beside the chauffeur. ‘Go! Go!’
The headlights snapped on and the car lurched out of the clearing, missing the trees by inches.
Anthony slumped down against the old garden wall.
‘Tara,’ he called, raising his head. ‘You can come out now.’
She came out of the darkness to sit beside him. Anthony realized she was crying. He reached out and comforted her with his good arm, holding her close to his chest, her head on his shoulder.
With a lifting of his heart he realized what he’d always known. Tara, clever, resourceful, passionate, loyal Tara was his; had to be his. As he realized the dangers she had faced and the trials she had surmounted to be safe with him at last, he was too happy to speak. He mourned Josette, mourned her deeply, but as he sat, holding Tara close, he felt a wave of deep contentment wash over him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually, drying her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’m sorry to cry, but I’ve been so scared. Josette was with them. Where is she?’
Anthony didn’t say anything. She looked at his face and understood. ‘She’s dead?’
‘Von Hagen killed her,’ said Anthony.
She shuddered. ‘Poor Josette.’
It seemed as good an epitaph as any.
‘What were you doing here?’ asked Anthony. ‘It seemed like a miracle when you patted my hand.’
‘They captured me,’ she said simply. ‘I’d got into the kitchen and seen them in the sitting room. I was outside when they caught me. It was the chauffeur and that other man. They argued what to do with me, then said they’d leave it up to the boss to decide.’ Anthony pulled her closer to him with a convulsive shudder. ‘They tied me up and locked me in the shed but they didn’t know I’d put the bread knife down my riding boot. I managed to get the knife out and cut myself free, then I broke the window and escaped.’
‘But why were you here in the first place?’ asked Anthony.
‘I met Matthew Stoker, the carter, on the road. He was talking to Ben Travis, which I thought was odd. Ben’s done odd-jobs for us lots of times but he’s a tramp, really. He’s usually beneath Stoker’s notice, but Stoker wanted to share a joke with him about a ditch and I imagine he thought Ben would do as well as anyone. Ben asked me if they needed any men for this film being made at Starhanger. I guessed what had happened from what Stoker told me. Then Ben said he wondered if this film was to blame for his usual sleeping-place, the old gamekeeper’s cottage, being taken over by a bunch of toffs in a car. Well, that sounded unusual, so I went to have a look. I left my horse tethered, walked to the edge of the clearing and saw Josette by the car. I knew Josette was involved, after you’d showed me that photograph of the little girl. I’d seen a similar photo in her room and I knew there was a secret about her. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my secret to give away.’
‘She’s Josette’s daughter,’ Anthony said.
Tara nodded. ‘I thought so. Anyway, Josette went inside and, as I listened to the men, I realized they were waiting for you. They said you were bound to turn up.’
Anthony said nothing but held her close.
It seemed like a long time before she spoke again. ‘I’m sorry the men in the car got away. They shouldn’t have done.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I stole their sugar from the kitchen and put it in the petrol. It was something I learned when I wrote the motoring pieces. I thought it would stop the car.’
Anthony threw back his head and laughed. ‘You wonderful, wonderful girl. Of course it’ll stop the car. It’ll run for a couple of miles at the most before the sugared petrol feeds through and then it’ll stop, sure enough.’ He tried to stand up. ‘Give me a hand, will you? We need to tell my people. They’ll round them up all right.’
Tara gently restrained him. ‘Stay there, Anthony.’ It was the first time she had ever called him by his name, not his title, and the sound of it thrilled him. ‘I’ll go. My horse is nearby. Who do I tell?’
Anthony reached awkwardly into his jacket pocket and handed her his notebook. Even that small movement hurt and he relapsed gratefully against the tree. ‘Look in there. There’s a list of telephone numbers. Ring Sir Charles Talbot and tell him Keegan and the chauffeur need picking up. Say we need an angel.’
She took the book. ‘Sir Charles Talbot? I thought he was more than he seemed.’ She paused for a brief moment and smiled, her eyes lighting up. ‘That sounds like top-secret information. Should you have told me?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go on, Tara. It’s urgent.’
She walked away quickly, then, just before she plunged into the trees, turned round. ‘Why doesn’t it matter?’
Anthony raised his head. ‘Because I’m going to marry you. If you’ll have me.’
She grinned. ‘I hoped that was it.’
‘I seem,’ said Sir Charles, ‘to spend far too much of my time visiting you in hospital.’
It was the next day. Anthony had been taken to a private ward in a hospital in Canterbury. Sir Charles had called last night and Anthony had wearily told him the truth about Josette Sherston. With his mind buzzing, Anthony thought he would never sleep, but nature had taken its eventual toll on his exhausted body. This mor
ning he’d been allowed to get up and, now that his arm and an array of cuts and bruises had been attended to, he’d been told he could leave that day.
‘However,’ continued Sir Charles, ‘you can be very pleased with yourself. With Keegan and Gallagher safe in custody . . .’
‘Gallagher?’ Anthony questioned.
‘The chauffeur. His name’s Gallagher. He’s a key member of the Sons of Hibernia and a very dangerous man. He’s wanted both here and in New York for a string of crimes.’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘It’s a pity about Mrs Sherston.’
Yes, thought Anthony with a twist of compassion. He thought it was a pity about Mrs Sherston.
‘We released Patrick Sherston this morning. I don’t know how the poor devil will put his life back together after something like this. He knew his wife was guilty, of course, after we’d arrested him. I admire him for what he did, even though it confused matters. It was a noble thing to carry the can like that. He was devastated to hear she was dead.’
Sir Charles sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling it’s for the best, though. I know it was Veronica O’Bryan’s doing, but there’s no doubt Josette Sherston was up to her neck in it, no matter how compelling the motive was. The main thing is Tara O’Bryan’s all right. I spoke to her earlier. She’s someone I admire, Brooke. She’s a very tough-minded girl.’
‘That’s just as well,’ said Anthony with the beginnings of a smile. ‘She’s going to marry me.’
Sir Charles raised his eyebrows. ‘Is she, by jingo? I always thought she was fond of you. Congratulations. She didn’t mention that. Well, that’s one good thing to come out of it all, to say nothing of “Frankie’s Letter” being finally dead. I told Miss O’Bryan about “Frankie’s Letter”, by the way, and the truth about her mother’s involvement.’
‘Did you?’ said Anthony, startled. ‘Blimey, Talbot, how did she take it?’
‘She wasn’t happy but she wanted the truth. If you’re going to marry her, I’d recommend the truth. She’s incredibly sharp.’
‘She’s simply incredible,’ murmured Anthony. ‘Talbot, I know I’ve mentioned this before, but this time I mean it. If I’m going to be a sober married man, I can’t carry on working for you. I’m going to join the Medical Corps.’
Sir Charles looked at him ruefully. ‘I thought you might.’ He saw the determination in Anthony’s face and shrugged. ‘I’ll be sorry to see you go. You might be safer staying in the Service. Being an army doctor is no picnic.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Anthony firmly. ‘Having said that, there’s one more mission I want to do off my own bat.’
‘Which is?’ asked Sir Charles sharply.
‘I want to go France. That kid Milly – I want to bring her home. Ever since I saw her picture her face has got to me.’
‘Take it up with your future wife,’ said Sir Charles after a few moments thought. ‘France, eh? D’you know, I might have a job for you in France.’
Anthony put down the letter from Patrick Sherston and looked through the open French windows into the garden. The war had been over for three years. Life – his life, Tara’s life, everyone’s life – had been altered out of all recognition by the war. For a moment, a deep longing for that happy, settled time before the war engulfed him, then he heard Tara laugh as she played with the children on the lawn. He sat back, lit his pipe, and let contentment wash over him.
Patrick Sherston had gone to Australia, leaving Britain for good. The letter said he was marrying again. Poor beggar, he deserved some happiness at last. Anthony thought of taking Sherston’s letter into the garden, but treated himself to a few more minutes of quiet reflection, looking through the windows.
Tara was engrossed in the children’s game. She had worked all morning, busy on her new novel. Her last book was a success. She was a far better writer than her father had ever been.
Milly, very much in charge, was laying out toys on the grass for a game of shop. Milly; exactly how he’d got into France and brought her home would make a book in itself. Perhaps Tara would write it one of these days, but that, added Anthony to himself, as he picked up the letter and walked outside, was quite another story.
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