by Carola Dunn
Hanging on to him, she slogged up the hill at his side. Wetter and wetter, chillier and chillier, she tried to remember why she had insisted on coming.
The path, never more than a stripe of sparser grass across the close-cropped turf, was hard to make out in the dusk. For the most part it led straight up the slope, with here and there a zigzag around a stunted hawthorn. Daisy began to wonder whether her memory of the thorn thicket within the fort was accurate, and whether she was right to assume Phillip would have taken shelter there.
She pictured the interior of the circle as viewed from the gateway, where they had always entered. The hut was somewhat to the right of the centre, she thought, with the hawthorns visible beyond it to its right. According to the lay-out she and Lucy had pieced together, that meant the thicket would be to her right when they reached the track at the top.
“Which way?” said Alec.
“To the right. Oh, you mean now?” Rounding a tree, they had come to a fork. The right-hand branch led away around the hillside, the left-hand upward. “No, left here.”
They trudged between two more hawthorns and faced a bare slope to the top. Alec stopped.
“If they’re watching in this direction, they can’t miss us.” He looked back. “Pearson, do you see any alternative approach?”
Tommy came up beside him. Hand sheltering his eyes from the rain, he scanned the surroundings. “No,” he said baldly, “but at least it’s no Vimy Ridge. I presume they’re not waiting with artillery and machine-guns. In any case, I rather doubt they have a sentry out in this foul weather, not being disciplined troops.”
“Let’s hope not.” Alec glanced at his wrist-watch. “We can’t wait for it to get any darker. In spite of this gloom, the sun’s only just setting and the half-light may linger for another hour. We’ll have to risk it.”
There was no way to tell whether they were observed as they moved out into the open. For all they knew, a look-out could be rushing to the hut. By the time they reached the top, perhaps the kidnappers would be hustling Gloria down the track on the far side of the hill.
Might they even mistake the amateur rescue-party for police and kill her?
Daisy forced her weary legs to move faster. She strained her ears: surely Phillip would attempt to save Gloria if they tried to move her, and surely he’d shout as he attacked—before they knocked the poor, gallant chump out again.
The only sounds were the wind and the rain, and the distant, sleepy bleating of sheep settling for the night.
At last they reached the level track circling the base of the mound. Daisy walked round to the right. “It must be about here,” she said doubtfully. “I can’t be quite sure.”
She eyed the steep bank without enthusiasm, without the least desire to climb. However, after her insistence on coming, it would be too frightfully shabby to back down now. Moving forward, she reached for a handhold.
Alec instantly pulled her back. “You’re not going up, Daisy.”
Equally instantly, perversely, she was determined to do it. She racked her brains for reasons why she was the best choice.
“The first thing Phillip sees will be a silhouette. If it’s a man, he may think it’s one of the villains and raise an outcry.”
“Someone can wear your hat.”
As he spoke, Daisy pulled away from his grasp and started up the bank. After a couple of feet, she promptly slid down again.
“Blast, it’s fearfully slippery in the rain. You’ll have to give me a boost. And as I’m the lightest, I’m the one to do it.”
The others had gathered round by then. “I am not hefty, look you,” said Owen. “It’s glad I’d be to go, sir.”
“Phillip might refuse to budge for Owen,” Daisy pointed out, silently berating herself for persisting in the face of any number of excellent excuses. “I can talk him into joining the rest of us.”
“Daisy’s right,” Tommy said reluctantly. “Petrie won’t be happy to be asked to abandon his vigil at the crucial moment. He’d quite likely disregard a servant.”
Alec conceded. “All right, but Daisy, if you get up there and see anyone but Petrie, you slide straight back down. Or if you don’t see him right away. Don’t hunt around for him. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Bincombe, you’re tallest and strongest. See if you can get her to the top.”
It was a fearfully undignified scramble, in the course of which Daisy managed to kick the uncomplaining Binkie in the face. At the last, one of her feet in each of his hands, he gave her a great heave. She shot upwards and only just stopped herself slithering head-first down the reverse slope. The electric torch in her mac pocket thumped her hip painfully.
Gasping for breath, she lay on the ridge, peering down into the bowl. Not a soul in sight, though soft lamplight glowed between the chinks in the stone walls of the shepherd’s hut. The wind seemed to have died, and she heard a murmur of voices but failed to make out any words.
The hawthorn-patch was still a bit further to her right. Alec could not have meant she was not to look for Phillip in the thicket just because she had miscalculated its position. She wriggled along the top of the bank, silently cursing the torch, till she was able to peer down among the tangled, spiky branches.
She couldn’t see Phillip, but there was only one hole in the thick growth large enough for the passage of a large body, a few feet ahead of her.
Daisy squirmed forward, cupped her hands around her mouth, and hissed, “Phillip!”
A rustle and a squeak might have been a frightened rabbit. Daisy hoped it was Phillip—being stabbed by a thorn? A moment later, the soles of a pair of boots came into view. They vanished; there was more rustling; and Phillip’s fair head appeared.
“Daisy!” He mouthed the word, or spoke in a whisper too low to be heard over rain pelting on leaves. Her name was followed by what looked like, “Confound it, what the deuce are you doing here?”
She beckoned. He cast a glance backward, then crawled up to her.
“What the deuce are you doing here?” he repeated in an audible whisper.
“Never mind that. Come on down and explain what’s going on.”
Phillip shook his head. “Something might happen while I’m not watching.”
“Listen, old dear, you can’t do anything to help Gloria on your own, and Alec can’t plan the most effective help with you playing the loose cannon.”
“Fletcher’s here?”
“Of course. A fat lot of use I’d be to you on my own. Alec, Tommy, Binkie, and four servants—eight men with you. Enough to rescue her. Do come on. Time may be important.”
He cast another longing glance in the direction of the hut, then raised himself the last few inches to look down the other side. The others had moved along the track and now stood directly below Daisy and Phillip. Tommy gestured urgently.
“Oh, right-oh,” Phillip sighed.
Daisy was already so sodden she simply sat on the grass and whooshed down the bank. Alec broke her fall, catching her hands and pulling her to him.
“He argued,” she said, breathless but smug, as Phillip landed beside her. “He wouldn’t have come for Owen.”
Alec’s smile was maddeningly sceptical. He let her go and said, “Petrie, have any of the men left yet to pick up the ransom?”
“No. They’re all in the hut with Gloria, all four of them. The fellow on watch over the track refused to stick it out in the rain. We can easily bag the lot. Let’s go!” He took a step forward.
“Hold on,” said Alec, not budging.
“Steady, old chap.” Tommy put out a restraining hand. “We need to know a bit more about what we’re getting into.”
“Carlin,” Alec addressed the gamekeeper, “can you sneak around and keep an eye on the gateway without being seen?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Off you go, then.” He eyed the wiry gardener. “Morgan, you look pretty nippy on your feet. Go with Carlin but keep back, well out of sight. If he sees a
nyone leave, you run back to tell us.”
The two went off. Alec turned back to Phillip. “The hut has only one door, I take it?”
“Yes, doesn’t it, Daisy? A narrow opening, round the other side. I couldn’t see it from here.”
“So you don’t know whether there is an actual door or only a doorway?”
“There never used to be a door, just old, rusty iron hinges sticking out of the wall.”
“They haven’t had much time to rig one up,” Daisy said. “It seems like forever but it was only last night they left the witch’s cottage.”
“Could have brought one with them,” Binkie put in. “Knew they might have to come here, what? Had a tent.”
“True. Damn—sorry, Daisy!—I wish I knew. What about windows?”
“Not even window-holes,” Phillip said promptly, and Daisy nodded agreement. “No holes in the walls. Actually, though one thinks of it as dilapidated, it’s pretty solid except for the chimney. The bit sticking up fell into the inside bit and blocked it up an age ago.”
“No big holes in the walls,” Daisy corrected him, “but whatever was used to stuff up the gaps between the stones is gone. I saw their light through dozens of little holes.”
“By Jove, you’re right! We can peep through and see what they’re up to before we burst in. Let’s go, Fletcher. We outnumber them two to one.”
“Good odds,” Alec acknowledged, “but they have Miss Arbuckle. With three, say, to fight us off in a narrow doorway, leaving one to threaten her—no, I don’t like it. Pearson?”
“I have to agree. What’s more, if we go in through the gateway to spy on them through the chinks in the walls, we risk being seen by whoever comes out to go for the money. All he has to do is run back to warn them and they become virtually impregnable.”
Phillip groaned. “What do we do then?”
“Wait,” said Alec. “With one or more gone, we can surround the place unseen and have a much better chance of dealing with the rest. I’d hoped to station men all around on top of the bank, but it looks as if that’s out.”
“Impossible,” Daisy confirmed. “The grass is too short for handholds and much too slippery for footholds. Even Binkie couldn’t shove all of you up there.”
“So I’ll leave Carlin watching the gateway. Let’s see, who’s the best runner besides Morgan?”
“Me, sir,” said Ernest eagerly. “I always win the egg-and-spoon race at the church fête.”
“I’m not so bad myself,” Phillip protested.
“Then both of you go round the other way and keep an eye on the track down to the lane. In case Carlin misses something, see which of you can get back here fastest if anyone goes down.”
Phillip and the footman hurried off around the bend.
“All right,” said Alec, “with Petrie safe out of the way—Bincombe, do you think you can put Pearson on top of the mound?”
Binkie surveyed Tommy’s middling-tall but stocky form. “Give it a try,” he grunted.
Even with Truscott helping on one side and Alec on the other, Tommy proved too great a weight for Binkie to boost to the crest. After three attempts, Alec turned with a rueful face to Daisy.
“Aren’t you glad I came?” she said tartly.
“I could fetch Owen back. He can’t weigh much more than you.”
“That would waste time. I’m ready. I just wish I’d thought to bring some chocolate.”
Truscott delved into his pocket. “Here, Miss Daisy. Never go anywhere without it.”
“Angel!”
This time, tired by his efforts to hoist Tommy, Binkie gave her just enough impetus to reach the top safely. She lay there, nibbling chocolate, her gaze fixed on the hut. Nothing moved.
The murmur of voices came from both the hut and the track below, where Tommy and Alec were no doubt discussing a plan of attack. Every now and then, Alec called up softly, and Daisy responded with a wave to show she was still alert.
She was too damp and chilly to feel the least drowsiness, despite insufficient sleep last night. Though she would have liked to sit up and huddle with her arms around her knees, that would make her stand out silhouetted against the skyline. Still, the temptation grew as the risk waned with the daylight.
It was growing dark. Nothing moved.
And then came the growl of a motor engine and a light in the sky, headlamp beams glinting off a thousand raindrops. Footsteps pounded along the track as Phillip and Ernest arrived from one direction, Owen Morgan from the other.
Daisy strained her ears to hear their excited but hushed voices. Not that she couldn’t guess what was going on: Crawford had arrived.
A flicker of light crossed the gateway and the engine’s rumble was suddenly louder before it cut off. At the same moment Daisy noticed the appearance of a glimmer of light reflected from the rain falling directly beyond the hut. Twisting, she leaned as far down the slope as she could without losing her balance.
“Alec! They have a door!”
“Thanks, love. You have your torch?”
“Yes.”
“Flash once if Crawford goes to the hut, twice if he’s carrying a bag, three times if anyone comes out and goes to the car. Got it?”
“Got it.”
She hauled herself back up, just in time to see a torch-beam start to bob along from the gateway towards the hut. While trying to keep an eye on it, she extricated her own torch from her pocket, reached down the bank, and flashed the button on once.
As Crawford came a little closer, the back-scatter of light from his torch revealed a bulging attaché-case in his other hand. Daisy flashed twice.
“Right, miss.” Ernest’s low voice, then his footsteps, running.
Daisy glanced down. The rotters had gone and left her!
She looked back at the hut. Crawford’s figure stood out momentarily against the dancing raindrops, then vanished. The light from the doorway vanished too, as the makeshift door thudded shut.
The voices within were louder now, but still unintelligible. The only light was the flecks glowing through the chinks between the stones in the wall, a galaxy of irregular stars come to rest on earth.
A shadow eclipsed a patch of stars, a man-shaped shadow. As it moved on, another took its place and then a third.
They were surrounding the hut. Daisy could not decide whether she was sorry or very, very glad she had promised to keep well out of the way. It was agony not to be able to tell what was going on.
For what seemed an age nothing appeared to happen. Then everything happened at once.
Light flooded from the opening door. A man yelled. Alec cried out, “Police! Come out one by one with your hands raised.” Someone shouted. Gloria squealed.
A few moments of ominous quiet were followed by an urgent voice. Then came a gunshot, and a scream of pain.
Alec? Her heart choking her, Daisy slid down the bank and ran towards the hut.
21
Alec was pleased with the silently efficient way his men flitted across the grass and took up their posts surrounding the shepherd’s hut. The light spilling from the nooks and crannies was just enough for him to make them out.
He had stationed Morgan and Ernest on either side—both were slightly built and too young to have seen combat—and Carlin, strong but slowed by age, at the rear. Their responsibility was to yell for help in the unlikely event of the kidnappers battering their way out through the walls, or to lend their aid if called.
That left the odds even. Surprise was essential.
Petrie, Bincombe, Pearson, and the hefty chauffeur, Truscott, lurked in a semi-circle between the hut and the gateway, beyond the reach of the light when the door opened, by Alec’s reckoning. Their eyes were accustomed to the dark. Those emerging from the hut would be framed against the doorway and virtually blinded for a few moments when they moved away from it.
His ear to one of the crevices in the front wall, Alec listened to the hasty counting of rustling banknotes. Turning his head to peep through
the hole, he saw the back of a frayed and grimy coat collar, the nape of a still grimier neck, and a chequered cloth cap.
He didn’t dare move to another cranny in hopes of a better view for fear of making a noise. In any case, listening was more likely to tell him what was going on, he thought, and once more he pressed his ear to the cold stone.
“You guys satisfied I haven’t pulled anything on you, huh?” The American drawl dripped sarcasm.
“Looks orright, mate.”
“Then give me my passport and get out of here!” Crawford snarled.
“Aincha gonna give us a lift down to the van?”
“In a two-seater? Come off it! ’Sides, I plan to spend a while alone with Miss Gloria Arbuckle.” His tone was now smoothly complacent.
Miss Arbuckle’s frightened squeak must have drowned out Petrie’s gasp of outrage, quickly silenced by Pearson’s hand across his mouth.
A different Cockney voice said irresolutely, “You swore you wasn’t going to do nuffing to ’er.”
“Just a little chat, to give her a message for her poppa. Scram, fellas, and don’t worry your little heads about us. It’s been swell working with you.” The sarcasm was back.
Not for a second did Alec believe the American’s disclaimer. As he listened, he wondered briefly whether to let the London roughs pass unmolested, at the risk of losing them, for the sake of concentrating his forces on Crawford. Petrie said he had disabled their van, so it was no great risk.
It was, however, too late to change the plan of campaign. Even as he reached that decision, the door opened and a large man stepped out, turning up his coat collar against the rain.
“Gorblimey, it ain’t fit for a dog out ’ere! Can’t see a bloody fing.”
“Use yer bloody torch, cock.”
Fumbling in his pocket, the first man walked into the darkness and Bincombe’s fist. All Alec heard was a soft thunk.
The second man, torch already in hand, moved towards a similar destiny as the third crossed the threshold.
Alec couldn’t tell what went wrong. A muffled squawk alerted the third man. With an inarticulate yell he jumped back through the narrow doorway.
