‘Seems to me you’re getting muddled. You been listening to tales about my father.’
‘Did it happen at home or did you persuade her to walk in the woods?’
‘No more questions!’ Tom said. ‘We been over and over it time and again. You won’t get me saying nothing different, not if you try from now to domesday.’
‘You certainly had plenty of time,’ Darns said, ‘to decide what story you would tell.’
He drew a chair from under the table and sat down opposite Tom. He opened a folder and turned over a few of the papers.
‘About this court martial when you were in the Army.’
‘Yes? What about it?’ Tom said.
‘You were charged with refusing to obey an order. You were found guilty and given five days’ F.P.’
‘You should know. You’re the one that’s looked it up.’
‘What was the order you refused to obey?’
‘Don’t it tell you in my record?’
‘The details are sparse. Even at the court martial itself they don’t seem to have asked what the order was.’
‘No. That’s right. It didn’t suit them.’
‘What was the order, Mr Maddox?’
‘I was told off as one of a firing-party.’
‘What made you refuse? A delicate stomach?’
‘I didn’t hold with killing my mates. They’d no right to ask me. They knew that.’
‘What about sergeants, Mr Maddox? Did you hold with killing them? Or one sergeant in particular, say, by the name of Townchurch? A man you fell foul of, I understand.’
‘Me and a few score others, yes.’
‘A man who was mortally wounded in the back, although he was facing the enemy, and who died making certain accusations. Or so I was told at Capleton barracks.’
‘I never killed him, if that’s what you’re saying. It was more than likely an accident.’
‘An accident! That takes some believing.’
‘Them things happened,’ Tom said. ‘I was blinded by an English shell but nobody says it was done on purpose.’
‘You look a bit groggy,’ Darns said. ‘Are you feeling ill?’
‘I’m all right,’ Tom said. ‘I’m just wondering what else you’re going to try and blame me for.’
‘You do look groggy all the same. Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea.’
‘I’d like to go home,’ Tom said. ‘That’s all I want. I just want to be took back home.’
Outside the room there was a sudden loud commotion; a scuffling at the door and voices upraised; then a woman’s voice ringing out above the rest. Darns got up and went out quickly. The policeman in the corner moved to the door. Tom sat listening as the voices outside slowly died away. His head felt hollow, like an empty shell, and the usual pins-and-needles feeling was spreading out from the back of his skull. Perhaps he was having strange fancies, but he could have sworn it was Betony’s voice he had heard outside in the corridor.
Betony and Darns stood facing each other in a small room with barred windows. They were quite alone.
‘Well, Miss Izzard, now you’ve got your way, what is it you have to say to me that’s so important?’
‘My foster-brother is a sick man. It’s very wrong that you should keep him here like this, and I have come to take him home.’
‘A sick man? Are you referring to his blindness?’
‘It’s not only that. Tom was badly blown up in the war and there was some damage to the brain. The doctors who saw him last February gave him a year at the outside. Too much strain could be very harmful and perhaps shorten his life still more.’
‘I see,’ Darns said. ‘And he himself doesn’t know this?’
‘No, nor mustn’t, ever!’ Betony said, with great passion.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Izzard,’ Darns said. ‘We aren’t monsters here, you know.’
‘You can check what I’ve told you by telephoning Dr Dundas at Norton.’
‘I may do that, but at present I’m willing to accept your word.’
‘Then I can take him home?’ she said.
Before Darns could answer, Penfold knocked and looked into the room, waving a piece of paper. Darns excused himself to Betony and stepped outside.
‘It’s Waring’s report on that scarf at last,’ Penfold said. ‘The blood is animal’s blood, sure enough, so we’re left with precious little to hammer Maddox with, aren’t we?’
‘I’m losing the desire to try,’ Darns said.
‘Feel he’s innocent, do you, sir?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve got no feelings either way. He certainly isn’t easy to rattle.’
‘One other thing,’ Penfold said. ‘Blackmore’s back from searching Scoate. He says it’s getting too dark to see. But he reckons he’d bet his last penny that there’s nothing to be found in those woods.’
‘That settles it, then. I’ll tell his sister she can take him home.’
A few minutes later, Betony and Tom walked out through the hall. Matthew Preston rose from his seat. He looked past them at Inspector Darns.
‘You letting him go? My dad won’t like that! I thought you was going to arrest him for murder.’
‘There is no evidence whatever against your brother-in-law,’ Darns said, ‘and you can tell your father I said so.’
‘I’ll tell him all right, but he ent going to like it! I reckon he’ll just about raise the roof!’
Matthew ran out, leaving the glass door swinging, and they heard him ride away on his motor-cycle. When Betony followed, guiding Tom down the steps, the pony and trap stood in the roadway with a caped policeman in attendance, and the two lamps had been lit ready. The sky was very dark now, but the rain was little more than a drizzle.
‘Smells good,’ Tom said, as they drove off. ‘I thought I should likely smother in there.’ And, after a while, he said: ‘I don’t understand about your wedding. I don’t, that’s a fact.’
‘It’s perfectly simple,’ Betony said. ‘It’s been postponed till another day. Such things do happen sometimes, you know. There’s nothing extraordinary about it.’
As they journeyed homeward dusk became night, although it was not much later than six o’clock. Tom was silent, sitting hunched behind her, and whenever she turned to look at him, his face in the glow of the lamps looked worn, his eyes anxious.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked once.
‘Right as rain,’ he said promptly.
‘I thought you looked tired.’
‘I was thinking of Linn, left alone all this time. She’ll be worried sick.’
‘We won’t be long now. We’re almost in Huntlip. We’ve just passed Steadworth Mill.’
At Carter’s Bridge, where the road crossed a bend in the Derrent Brook, a light was glimmering through the drizzle, and as she got nearer Betony saw that a man stood in the middle of the bridge, swinging a lantern.
‘What is it?’ Tom asked, as the pony slowed to a hesitant walk.
‘Someone with a lantern. I don’t know who.’
Betony halted and was at once sorry, for out of the darkness stepped four more men, and now she realized who they were. The man with the lantern was Harry Yelland, who had once been ‘engaged’ to Tilly Preston. The others were Emery and his three boys. They had chosen a good place for their ambush. The nearest house was half a mile.
‘It’s Yelland and the Prestons,’ she said to Tom. ‘We’re at Carter’s Bridge and they’re blocking the way.’
‘Can’t you drive through them?’
‘No. I’ve left it too late.’
She drove forward a little way, up the incline onto the bridge, hoping the Prestons would give ground before her, but Emery caught at the pony’s bridle and jerked him to a standstill. Betony took the whip from its socket.
‘Step aside and let us pass or you’ll be sorry, I promise you.’
‘He’s the one that’s going to be sorry. Him there behind you, who murdered my Tilly.’
‘The police ha
ve sent him home because there isn’t a shred of evidence against him. If they’re satisfied, why aren’t you?’
‘’Cos I know Tom Maddox better’n they do. I know what sort of stock he growed from. His father was a murderer and everyone knows it and the old saying speaks the truth ‒ like father, like son, every time.’
‘If that were true, we’d all be murderers,’ Betony said, ‘seeing we’re all descended from Cain.’
‘I’m not wasting time in arguments. Just hand that man over and you can get home.’
‘Do you set yourself above the law?’
‘He may be able to fool the police, but he’ll soon tell the truth when I get hold of him, you may be sure of that, by God!’
‘I’ve already told the truth!’ Tom said. ‘I’ve told it and told it and it ent going to change!’
‘Supposing you step down from there!’ Yelland shouted. ‘Instead of hiding behind a woman!’
‘This man is blind!’ Betony said. ‘Have you lost all sense of pity?’
‘We know he’s blind,’ Emery answered, ‘but it don’t mean he’s going to get away with murder.’
‘You will not set hands on my foster-brother unless you deal with me first!’
‘We mean you no harm, being a woman, but if you choose to hinder us, it’s your own fault if you get hurt.’
Emery let go of the bridle and came alongside the trap. He tried to step up onto the wheel. Betony struck at him with the whip-stock and he fell back, swearing, one hand covering his eyes. She flicked the reins and tried to drive on, but Matthew had taken his father’s place and was pulling hard on the pony’s bridle. The pony reared up and danced a little, the white sparks flying as his shoes scrabbled the smooth-worn cobbles. Alfie Preston got kicked on the knee, and his twin, Victor, was squeezed between the wheel of the trap and the low stone parapet of the bridge.
Harry Yelland set down his lantern and took a stone from the heap he had ready between his feet. His arm went back and the stone flew close past Betony’s face. Tom, behind her, gave a cry of pain, and when she turned to look at him, the blood was dark on his left temple. At the same moment, Emery Preston came forward again, but this time when Betony lashed at him with the whip, he caught hold of the thong and wrenched it clean out of her hands.
‘Now, then!’ he bellowed. ‘I’ve had about enough of this! Come down from that trap, Tom Maddox, or it’ll be worse for you in the end ’cos I’m just about running out of patience!’
Approaching the trap, he was trying the whip in his right hand. He looked as though he would use it on Tom. But now, suddenly, there came the sharp crack of a shotgun, which set the pony dancing again but brought the five men to a standstill. The skitter of shot went into the boughs of a willow overhead, and in the little silence that followed, a few spent pellets fell among them, pattering down like extra heavy drops of rain. Then a voice spoke and Jack Mercybright came up onto the bridge, into the light shed by the lantern. His shotgun lay in the crook of his arm, smoke curling from one barrel, and he turned it full on Harry Yelland.
‘Come away from that trap, all you others, or he gets the next lot in his guts. Make haste about it! No dilladerying or trying tricks. The sort of day I’ve had today, I’m in the right mood to murder someone, and I’d just as soon it was one of you as anyone else I can think of offhand.’
‘This is none of your business!’ Emery shouted. ‘We’ve got a score to settle with Maddox and it’s no concern of yours whatever!’
‘It is now,’ Jack said. ‘Move out of the way or Yelland gets it.’
His wet bearded face was grim and ferocious. They decided he meant every word he said. Emery twisted the whip in its thong and threw it onto Betony’s knees. He motioned his sons away from the trap, and led them back over the bridge, picking up the lantern as he went. Yelland followed, and the five of them stood at the side of the road, watching as Jack climbed into the trap.
Betony gave a flip of the reins and the pony pulled off over the bridge. As the trap passed him, Emery took a step forward, but at sight of the shotgun pointing towards him, he thought better of it and vented his feelings by pounding the panelwork with his fists.
‘We’ll get you, Tom Maddox, even if we do have to bide our time! No murderer yet ever went unpunished. Your crime will catch up with you, mark my words!’
‘Take no notice,’ Jack said, and, peering closer into Tom’s face: ‘Are you all right, boy? It looks like you’ve had a crack on the head.’
‘I’m all right,’ Tom said. ‘I just want to get back to Linn.’
‘We shan’t be long now,’ Jack said.
‘How did you happen to come by just then?’ Betony asked, over her shoulder.
‘I got a message from Linn, that’s how, saying Tom’d been took away, so I set out to go to Chepsworth to see the police like she asked me to.’
‘Armed with a shotgun?’ Betony said.
‘I saw the Prestons come jumbling out of The Rose and Crown and I judged they was up to some sort of mischief. So I went along to the haywarden’s office and borrowed this gun from Billy Ratchet.’
Tom, sitting hunched against the rain, could feel the blood from the wound on his forehead trickling down the side of his face. He wiped it away with his handkerchief. The wound was not hurting overmuch, but his whole head ached in a dense way, especially the back of his skull.
‘How did Linn manage to send you a message?’
‘She brought it herself,’ Jack said. ‘Godwin saw her.’
‘What, walked all that way?’ Tom exclaimed, and gave a groan, pressing the knuckles of his fists together and squeezing them hard between his knees. ‘But I told her not to go out of doors! She had no right to go walking so far! Supposing she was took ill going back? Supposing she was to lose the baby?’ And then suddenly, from the depths of his darkness and helplessness, he cried out in a great trembling voice, ‘For God’s sake, Betony, get me home!’
Betony whipped up the little pony and they drove fast through the stinging rain.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, when they came at last within sound of the Pikehouse. ‘It’s all right, Tom, there’s a light in the window so she must be there.’
In the Pikehouse kitchen, Mrs Gibbs removed her soiled apron, wrapped it in newspaper, and stowed it away in her leather bag. She heard the sound of the trap approaching and stood listening for it to stop. She went to the door and opened it wide.
‘My dear life!’ she said, seeing the blood on Tom’s forehead. ‘The policemen never done that to you, surely?’
‘Mrs Gibbs! How come you’re here? Where’s Linn?’
‘Linn’s all right So’s your little baby son. They’re both pretty fine, all things considered, and now they’re having a well-earnt rest. Here, sit down, young fella, you look as though you’re about all in.’
‘No, no,’ Tom said. ‘I want to see her.’
‘Well, you can’t go up dripping wet, can you? Nor with your head all bloody neither.’
‘Of course he can’t,’ Betony said. She drew him towards the blazing fire. ‘A minute or two won’t make much difference. You must shed a few of these wet clothes.’
He took off his cap, jacket, and bloodstained shirt, and Mrs Gibbs received them from him. She hung a towel round his shoulders.
‘Are you sure she’s all right?’ he asked. ‘You ent keeping nothing from me?’
‘I give you my word,’ Mrs Gibbs said, and touched his arm.
‘How long ago did the baby come?’
‘Half an hour or thereabouts, and if he’d come sooner he’d have stood a chance of getting hisself born between here and Blagg.’
‘You sure she ent done herself no harm?’
‘She’s used up every ounce of strength for the time being, but she’ll be all right, I promise you.’
‘Oughtn’t we to get the doctor?’
‘Yes,’ Jack said, ‘I’ll go and fetch him.’
‘It might be as well, to be on the safe side,’ sai
d Mrs Gibbs. ‘It’s Dr Dundas down in Norton. Second house past the post office.’
‘Tell him it’s urgent,’ Tom said.
‘I’ll bring him, don’t worry,’ Jack said, and the door closed behind him.
Mrs Gibbs was warming a shirt at the fire. She gave it to Tom and he put it on. He was trembling all over and his fingers could scarcely fasten the buttons. She had to help him. Betony brought a bowl of water and cleaned the blood from the cut on his temple. He bore it in silence, only dimly aware of what she was doing. He tucked his shirt into his trousers and ran a hand through his hair.
‘Am I tidy enough? Can I go up to her now?’ he asked.
‘Go, you,’ Mrs Gibbs said, ‘and I’ll come in a minute to show you your baby.’
In the tiny bedroom, Linn lay in bed feeling she would never move again. Close beside her, her baby lay in its wickerwork cot, a doll-like shape under the blankets, a smudge of dark hair just showing above. She could hear the voices in the kitchen below, and when Tom came up the steep stairs into the bedroom, she turned towards him, putting out a hand.
‘You’ve hurt your head,’ she said, in a weak voice.
‘It was an accident,’ Tom said. He did not want to tell her about the Prestons. ‘I hit myself on a low rafter.’
‘You look pale and tired. They had no right to keep you so long.’
‘I wish I could see how you are looking, after all you been through today.’
‘I’m not too bad. Mrs Gibbs was wonderful. Did she tell you we’ve got a son?’
‘Oh, I’ve heard about him. Is he there beside you? Does he like the cot I made for him?’
‘Come round,’ she said. ‘Seems to me he’s heard your voice and he’s listening to it. He’s turning his head this way and that.’
‘Is he?’ Tom said, and felt his way round to the cot. ‘Does he know I’m his father, d’you suppose?’
When he touched the blankets covering his son, and felt the warm body moving, small, under his hands, something leapt at his throat and took his breath away completely. Until this moment the baby had merely been part of Linn’s body; a part of the life they had together; something that made him fearful for her. But now as it stirred beneath the blankets, and he felt the warmth of it throbbing against the palms of his hands; felt the shape of it, and the way it squirmed, trying the strength of its small limbs; he knew it had a life all its own, its own heart and soul and obstinate will, its own place under the sun.
The Sorrowing Wind (The Apple Tree Saga Book 3) Page 22
