The Chase: A Novel

by Brenda Joyce

  He had done it.

  He had gotten rid of the pompous bastard.

  He was free.

  Lionel smiled.

  He walked to a corner of the room where he kept a single burner to brew tea, and there he wiped the blade on a rag. Wadding up the rag, he put it in a laundry bag. He cleaned the floor, stripped, changed his clothes, and wiped up. Everything that was soiled went into the bag, which he intended to burn. His father remained on the floor on his back, drenched in blood, his eyes wide and unseeing.

  Lionel sat down at his desk, turning his chair to face his father. He must dispose of the body, he thought, in such a way that it would never be found. He pondered how he might do that, and the story he must concoct in order to appease the authorities when they eventually learned of Elgin’s disappearance.

  Lionel quickly decided what he must do. But as it was only seven in the evening, he must hide the body for the moment. He pushed his father under the bed. He would remove the body and all the evidence in the middle of the night, when his neighbors were asleep.

  For the first time in years, Lionel feel asleep within moments.

  CHAPTER 15

  August 23, 1940

  She’d been given a three-day leave, and today was the last day; tomorrow she would have to report back to her WAAF unit at Fighter Command. Rachel chose not to think about it. It was too pretty and pleasant a day—it was almost the kind of day where one could forget that the country was at war. The skies were blue and cloudless (she tried not to notice any vapor trails left over from air fights with the Luftwaffe), the day was warm and breezy, and it made her want to sing her thanks for being alive and whole. Just two days ago, the air station at Croyden, where Joshua was stationed, had been attacked. Only one soldier of the Royal Artillery had been injured this time; a few weeks ago, that had not been the case. Eleven airmen and one officer had been killed, not to mention hundreds of civilians, all in one monstrous air raid, which had been followed within days by another. According to Joshua, Croyden had looked more like the moon than the planet Earth.

  After the first devastating raid, several squadrons had been transferred to the Midlands while the station was repaired. Rachel could not be more thankful that Joshua had survived the attacks unscathed, and she was grateful that thus far her father and sisters also remained unharmed and in good health.

  Rachel had spent her leave at her home in the East End, and now she was on her bicycle, leaving London behind, on a pure whim. She would enjoy the day to its fullest, as if there were no war, because tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, she would spend twelve to fourteen hours daily wearing a pair of headphones, listening to and deciphering the conversations of the Luftwaffe as they battled the RAF overhead. There was no real end in sight.

  Rachel was not complaining. She was proud to do her duty and proud to be a WAAF in Great Britain’s time of need.

  A butterfly drifted over the handlebars of her bike. A lorry passed her on the two-lane country road she rode on. She had ridden by Greenwich some time ago. The industrial blight of London’s South End had been mostly replaced by pastures and grazing cows. True, some of the pastures were pockmarked with craters left by bombs. But even where the earth was scorched, Rachel could see tiny new blades of grass and yellow wildflowers emerging from the ashes and dirt.

  She was alive, Joshua was alive, and in a way, the fact of war was a godsend. Because after it was over, if her father had his way, she and Joshua would marry.

  Rachel tensed a little, slowing her bike as several couriers on motorcycles whizzed past her, followed by a rare civilian motorcar. Rachel felt like a traitor—how could she think, even for a moment, of the war as a godsend? The war was a terrible thing—the Germans had overrun Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland, not to mention Denmark, the Netherlands, Belgium, and France. And she did love Joshua. It was just that she wasn’t ready to get married so soon.

  Joshua wanted to marry immediately. She had known him for four years, ever since she was fourteen, and they had been given permission to date a year and a half ago, when Joshua had turned eighteen and promptly enlisted in the army. Even then, as much as Papa liked Joshua, he hadn’t liked her dating when she was still only sixteen. Rachel had been eager to begin dating him—the thought of being courted with candy and going to the cinema with a boy who had admired her for years and who was now in uniform seemed so glamorous. The reality was a bit different. The cinema, the candy, holding hands, even the kissing, it was all nice enough. Somehow, though, Rachel had expected more.

  She had never forgotten the way Harry Elgin had looked at Sarah and the way Sarah had looked at him. She had never forgotten the kiss they had shared, which she had witnessed on the day of his death. They had both been so young, but there had been so much passion. Rachel was too honest with herself not to know that she did not have that kind of passion. She loved Joshua, but her blood didn’t run wild when she saw him or when they kissed. Rachel was afraid it was a matter of character. Sarah was the passionate, fiery one; she was outspoken, aggressive, brave. Rachel remained kind and caring, the peacemaker, and until she had enlisted, both a surrogate mother to her sisters and a surrogate helpmeet for Papa.

  So maybe the passion she did not feel had little to do with her love for Joshua and everything to do with her own calm nature.

  Of course, he was perfect for her. He came from a good, hardworking, Orthodox family, Papa adored him, and so did she. One day they would marry. Rachel had no doubt. She’d have half a dozen children. Papa would move in with them. It would be a wonderful life.

  She ignored a pang inside her breast and pedaled faster. We’ll win the war first, she thought to herself. There was nothing wrong with putting duty ahead of self-interest. Even Papa would agree with that.

  But yesterday they had fought for the first time over the telephone. Joshua had asked her again to set a date, and she had declined. He had clearly been hurt, but Rachel had cajoled him back into a cheerful disposition. Her stomach hurt a little, just recalling that unpleasant argument. Why did he have to be so impatient?

  He did not know that she had recently been assigned to the top-secret Y unit. That had happened when her CO had discovered that she was fluent in French and Italian and could get by in German. She was immediately removed from her position as a radar operator and now spent all of her time listening to the enemy flying in the air above her.

  Rachel’s stomach growled, reminding her that she had packed a small picnic lunch and that she needed to find a pleasant spot to stop. She had also brought a book to read. She slowed her pedaling as several trucks passed her. Ahead was a fork in the road. Both roads appeared to lead to a smaller country lane. There were no road signs—they had been removed to fool the enemy should the Germans ever invade. A huge concrete box was also ahead of her, signaling the unpleasant presence of some sort of factory. Nowadays almost every factory, once used for civilian purposes, had been converted to wartime industry. Rachel did not want to think unkindly of the series of buildings with their sooty smokestacks, but they were a blight on the otherwise picturesque countryside and a reminder of the war that she wished to briefly forget.

  She decided to take the left fork, which would take her north toward Eltham, a pleasant little town. And in the next instant she heard an all too familiar mechanical screaming high above.

  Rachel slammed on her brakes and almost went over the handlebars, looking up.

  A huge plane coming at an impossible speed seemed to be diving down toward her.

  Abruptly it changed direction, moving back up toward the sun. But drifting down in its wake were black objects.

  A second later, the bombs landed and the gray structure exploded. Rachel dove to the ground as another series of explosions sounded. The screaming of the German bomber faded as it left the scene.

  Rachel spat out a mouthful of dirt and sat up and looked into the sky. She could see a tiny black speck, and then it was gone. She didn’t bother to shake her fist at i
t. Still, this was the very first time she had been so near a bombing. She was shaken to the core.

  Then she looked toward the factory.

  It was in flames. She could hear sirens, and she thought she heard cries and screams. No longer thinking about herself, she grabbed her bicycle, leaped on it, and pedaled quickly toward the factory. By the time she arrived, she saw that several other civilians had gathered, along with an ARP warden, his motorcar, and several bicycles parked before the burning building. An entire half of the structure had collapsed on top of itself. Through an entrance on the erect side, people were staggering out.

  Rachel left her bike and ran toward one of the workers, a woman who was coughing but unharmed. Rachel grabbed her. “Do you think there are people trapped in there?” she asked as a stream of factory workers continued to run out, a few wounded now appearing with the others. She was aware of another car coming to a stop in the lot before the building.

  “Thank God it’s mostly machinery in sections D and F,” the woman said, wiping her grimy cheeks. “But there are at least the two supervisors and a team of engineers who work round-the-clock in those sections.”

  A makeshift ambulance was pulling into the parking lot. It had clearly been converted from a vehicle used by a company that made vacuums, as one of the company’s slogans remained on the back door.

  “Are you all right?” Rachel asked the woman, who nodded. Then she pulled free of Rachel, calling out to a friend. Rachel watched her run to a co-worker who was holding her arm awkwardly to her chest.

  “Rachel? Is that you?”

  Rachel heard a vaguely familiar voice and she turned. Her eyes widened as she saw her cousin Lionel Elgin, whom she had not seen in about a year—and whom she preferred to avoid. “Lionel.”

  He walked over to her, looking quite smart in his dress uniform. Rachel had heard that he was in an intelligence unit and posted to the ministry of information. He paused beside her, his eyes meeting hers. Then he stared past her. “It looks as if they might have a few blokes trapped under the rubble. It might take the rescue squads some time to arrive.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Rachel agreed, as they started walking briskly toward the caved-in side of the building. It had become a way of life, she thought, to help those in need. Clearly, even her eccentric cousin had risen to the occasion of war. She heard a soft moan. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes, I do,” Lionel said grimly. Simultaneously, they broke into a run.

  Half a dozen women and older men joined them, and within moments, everyone was determinedly moving blocks of cement and girders of steel aside. For the next thirty minutes or so, Rachel and Lionel worked with the others soundlessly, managing to uncover and bring to safety three badly wounded workers. An ATF unit had arrived to help them and put out any fires. Finally the rescue squad arrived, and they were asked to move out of the way.

  Rachel turned her back on the scene, now shaken and exhausted. She found a tree and slid down to sit at the base of its trunk, watching as the ambulances were loaded with the wounded. She counted two dead, and it saddened her immensely. She did not think she was ever going to get used to the war.

  “You’re crying,” Lionel remarked.

  Rachel looked up at him. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  He scrutinized her, then smiled. “You haven’t changed.”

  Rachel didn’t know whether that was a compliment or not. “Actually, I have,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  He left her without a word. Rachel saw him go over to his motorcar. Even though he was in uniform, it was a civilian vehicle, and only the very rich could afford petrol for motoring. He returned with a thermos. “Tea.” He smiled at her. “It’s a bit weak.” He unscrewed the cap and poured her a cup, handing it to her.

  “Thank you, that’s so kind.” Rachel took a sip. It was indeed weak, and hardly sweet, but rationing had become stricter in the past month, and she did not blame him for reusing old teabags. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty, or that her hands were bleeding from scraping amid the rubble.

  Lionel sat down at the base of the tree beside her. He dug a half-eaten chocolate bar out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Are you sure?” Rachel asked hungrily.

  “Absolutely,” he said, smiling.

  Rachel ate the stale but delicious candy.

  “I heard you are stationed at Fighter Command,” he said when she had finished.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What do you do?”

  She lied. “I’m a radar operator.” She was not allowed to tell anyone what she really did.

  “How have you changed?” he asked.

  Rachel started. “I’m eighteen now, Lionel. The first time we met, I was thirteen.”

  Lionel smiled softly—as if fond of the memory. “I remember.”

  Rachel got chills. Didn’t he remember that his brother had died that weekend? Mistakenly shot by his own hand? She stood up, trying to brush off her skirt. The act was futile. “I think I had better go.”

  “Why? You’re on leave, aren’t you?”

  She handed him the empty cup. “Yes, but my leave ends today. I’d like to spend some more time with Papa and Hannah before I have to go back to the base.”

  “How is your father? And your sisters?” Lionel asked, screwing the cup back on the thermos.

  Rachel shivered again, though it was a hot August day. “Everyone is fine. Sarah drives an ambulance.”

  Lionel smiled. “That would be Sarah. In the thick of it. Is she still seducing boys?”

  Rachel stiffened. “She seduces no one. Men try to seduce her. They cannot stay away.”

  He seemed amused. “Will you ever defend me that way?”

  “Do you need defending?”

  “Perhaps. I am family.”

  “Yes, you are. Lionel, I really have to go.” She forced a smile. “It was nice to see you. Take care.” She turned.

  He caught her arm. “Did I hear something about an imminent engagement?”

  “There is no engagement,” she said more briskly than she intended.

  “Are you in love?”

  She stared at him. “Lionel—”

  “You’re not in love,” he said. It seemed to Rachel that he was pleased.

  She was not belligerent, like Sarah. When gauntlets were thrown, she turned the other cheek. She said, “Actually, I am in love. His name is Joshua Friedman, and he’s a sergeant in the Royal Artillery, stationed at the Croyden aerodrome. We’re waiting for the war to end before we get married.”

  “Croyden got hit badly, didn’t it?”

  “Very badly,” Rachel agreed. “Joshua said they lost the armory and the officers’ mess completely. Of course, you know the reports to the public weren’t accurate—it was so much worse than we were told. A hundred and eighteen civilians died, Lionel. Isn’t that terrible? I’m so relieved he wasn’t hurt.”

  Lionel looked through her. “The Gerries will get their due,” he said finally.

  He was so odd. “I do have to leave,” she said.

  “Don’t you want to ask about my family?”

  She looked at him. “I have merely assumed that Lady Ellen and your father are fine. And little John must be seven or eight by now.”

  “Seven, I think,” Lionel said. “You haven’t heard.”

  “I haven’t heard what?” Rachel asked, suddenly anxious.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” he said slowly. “My father disappeared about three weeks ago.”

  “What?” Rachel cried in shock.

  Lionel just nodded.

  “How does one disappear?” she asked, disbelieving.

  “I don’t know. But the authorities have made some outrageous claims,” he said very grimly.

  “What kind of claims? And how is Lady Elgin?”

  “She is hanging on. They claim to have found all of this secret correspondence hidden in his desk. They even found some sort of invisible ink. They say he is a Nazi supporter
, perhaps even a spy, and they believe he has fled to Germany.”

  Rachel felt herself gaping. She closed her jaw abruptly. “What?” she managed finally. “They think he is a spy?” Their dinner at the manor in Wales came to mind. She clearly recalled Papa and Elgin arguing furiously. The rest of her recollections were somewhat vague, but hadn’t Papa accused Elgin of being a fascist? Could it be true?

  “I know. It’s absurd. I am so angry every time I think of it.”

  Rachel looked at him as he sighed. He didn’t seem angry, just resigned. But if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he was not emotional by nature. “I am very sorry, Lionel,” she said, meaning it.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I knew you would be. I know you are the one person in my family I can count on, Rachel.”

  She was taken aback. They were family, but hardly close. Blood was thicker than water—that was one of her father’s favorite expressions. Still, Papa’s feelings for the Elgins had not changed. Rachel felt quite certain he was excluding them from the equation whenever he expressed such a familial sentiment.

  “Well, I have to get back to the ministry. I was on an assignment this morning. Do you need a lift?” he asked.

  “No, that’s quite all right,” she began, when she heard a familiar whirring noise. “Oh, no,” she cried.

  And then she heard the screaming, growing louder. In unison, they both looked up.

  The sun was in their eyes. For a moment, Rachel was blinded, and she lifted her hand to shield her gaze. In the next moment, a black T-shaped object emerged from behind the sun. As it did, machine guns began firing high above them, their noise unmistakable.

  Rachel gripped Lionel’s arm as another plane became visible, chasing the first.

  Lionel ran to his car. Machine-gun fire continued to sound. He returned, peering upward through a pair of binoculars.

  “What’s going on?” Rachel cried anxiously, also gazing at the sky and trying to watch the dogfight.