The 9

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘She must be out of her mind with worry,’ Ena said.

  ‘She is. She’s worried that her parents were caught up in the second bombing, which is why she wants to go to Coventry. And she’s too upset to drive herself.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  Mr Silcott smiled at Ena but didn’t look at Freda. ‘So I must take her. But first I shall fetch your work.’ He disappeared through the gaping aperture and into the factory.

  Although she had put on a smart suit and had ironed a clean blouse, Ena needed to be reassured. ‘Do I look smart enough to go to this Bletchley place, Freda?’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Freda pulled at the buckle at the waist of her mackintosh. ‘This is not what I would normally wear to go to Bletchley Park. To be honest, with everything that was going on last night, I didn’t think you’d get the wiring on the rotors finished, so I didn’t put on my best coat.’

  ‘Ready, ladies?’ Mr Silcott called, emerging from the factory carrying a large reinforced suitcase containing Ena’s work. ‘It’s heavy,’ he said, handing it to Ena, so she could get the measure of its weight.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she smiled.

  ‘Perhaps you can take it in turns. You won’t have to carry it far. I’ll take you to Rugby station in the car and as soon as I get home I’ll telephone Bletchley, ask them to collect you from the station. So,’ he said, looking from Ena to Freda, ‘if you are both ready? We have half an hour to get to the station. If we leave now, you’ll make the 9:45.’

  Ena sat in the back of Herbert Silcott’s big green Austin with the case containing her work on the seat next to her. Freda sat in the front passenger seat and chatted non-stop, telling Mr Silcott how sorry she was that the factory had been damaged in the bombing and that she hoped it would be back to full production very soon. ‘And if there is anything I can do. Anything at all, Herbert,’ she cooed.

  Ena’s cheeks flushed at Freda’s blatant show of affection and she looked out of the window. As she turned, she caught Mr Silcott looking at her in the reverse mirror. He wants to see my reaction, she thought, and put on a smile of surprise, as if she hadn’t heard what Freda said.

  The train was ready to leave when they arrived on the platform at Rugby station. Ena carried the case to the train while Mr Silcott went to the ticket office. As soon as she saw him heading across the platform, she boarded. Out of breath, he handed Freda the tickets. ‘I’ll make sure someone’s there to meet you when you arrive. Have a safe journey,’ he said, glancing at the case at Ena’s feet. Ena nodded, bent down, and took hold of the handle.

  Freda jumped onto the train waving the tickets, the platform attendant blew his whistle, and Mr Silcott closed the door.

  Waving goodbye to her boss, Ena suddenly remembered the wages. ‘Mr Silcott?’ she shouted at the top of her voice, ‘Don’t forget the wages at five o’clock!’

  ‘Oh my God, I’d--!’

  ‘The women are depending on you.’

  Smoke and steam curled around Mr Silcott’s legs. When it had devoured him entirely, Ena closed the window and followed Freda along the corridor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Holding the case with both hands, Ena struggled past several soldiers standing in the corridor smoking. ‘How will we know them?’ she whispered, catching Freda up. ‘When we get to you know where?’

  ‘We won’t. They’ll know us. At least they’ll know me from going down before with Herbert.’ The train juddered and Freda wobbled on her high-heels, falling against the window. ‘Damn trains! I’d much rather go down by car.’ She pushed herself off the window ledge and tutted at a smear of grease on her glove. Recovered, she walked on, leaving Ena trailing behind with the heavy case. ‘This is it,’ Freda called, opening the door to their compartment.

  Ena looked through the window, fully expecting to see the compartment full of soldiers. First class carriages and compartments were ignored these days. It was often a free-for-all when troops were on the move, but today the overspill of servicemen only extended to the corridor. ‘I hope Mr Silcott doesn’t forget to telephone for someone to collect us,’ Ena said, struggling through the door with the heavy case. Placing it under the window, she flopped into the nearest seat. Freda sat opposite. Ena was about to ask her friend what Bletchley Park was like when the door opened and two Wrens entered, followed by man wearing a dark overcoat and a black trilby hat.

  The Wrens sat on the same side of the carriage as Ena – one next to her, the other by the door. Both took documents from their shoulder bags and began to read. Leaning her legs protectively against her case of work, Ena watched the man drop his attaché case onto the seat next to Freda, and then haul his suitcase onto the overhead rack. As he took off his hat, a strand of blond hair fell onto his forehead. He ran his fingers through it, smoothing it with the flat of his hand into the rest of his brilliantined hair. He took off his coat and turned it inside out before folding it in half and putting it on the rack next to his suitcase.

  Taking his seat, the man tugged at his trousers above each knee, lifting his feet to show highly polished black shoes. Her brother Tom did the same when he wore his best suit. He said it stopped his trousers from wearing shiny at the knee. When the man finally settled, he took The Times from his attaché case, shook it open, and began to read.

  Good-looking but a bit fussy, Ena thought. With a sideways glance at Freda, Ena bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. Freda rolled her eyes and looked out of the window. Trying not to giggle, Ena did the same.

  The trees were bare of leaves and the hedges sparse. Cows and sheep grazed in the fields, and in the distance, women bundled up in thick winter coats were potato picking.

  Ena shivered, grateful that she didn’t have to work on the land. Her oldest sister Bess and a team of land girls had turned the Foxden Estate, where Ena’s father had been head groom until the beginning of the war, into arable land. They worked every day from before dawn until after dark. Bess also had evacuees living at the Hall: her old landlady from London and her housemates – the youngest of them had a baby – as well as the children of her Jewish friends. They owned a theatre in London and had given Ena’s second sister Margaret a job as an usherette.

  Ena hadn’t seen Margaret for some time. Shortly after marrying Bill she’d moved to London to be with him, and hadn’t been home since. In a recent letter, Margaret said she and Bill would be home for Christmas. Bill’s parents lived in Coventry, so they would probably come up sooner.

  Ena’s attention was brought back to the train’s interior when the man sitting next to Freda laid his newspaper on his lap and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He opened the box and offered one to Freda. ‘Thank you.’ Taking a cigarette, she put it to her lips.

  He offered the packet to Ena. ‘No, thank you.’ She enjoyed the occasional cigarette but not while she was travelling. She suffered from travel sickness and inhaling cigarette smoke would make her throw up. She swallowed hard. Just the thought of smoking made her feel queasy. She took a pear drop from her handbag and popped it into her mouth. She sucked pear drops on the train, the bus, or in a car. Like looking out of the window, it took her mind off feeling sick.

  She watched the man flick the wheel on the side of his lighter. A small blue flame sprang up and Freda leant towards it. Sucking air through the cigarette, it soon ignited. Freda sat back in her seat, inhaled deeply, and returned her gaze to what was happening beyond the train’s window.

  ‘Ena? Got a pear drop?’ her friend whispered five minutes later, after stubbing out the cigarette in the half-moon shaped brass ashtray under the window. Ena delved into her handbag, produced the cone-shaped paper packet, twisted it open, and gave it to Freda. ‘Thanks.’ Freda wrinkled her nose. ‘Take the taste of the cigarette away.’ She put a sweet in her mouth and returned the packet.

  The man sitting next to Freda lowered his paper and looked at Ena. ‘Would you like a sweet?’ she asked.

  ‘Thank you.’ He to
ok a pear drop, held it between his fingers, and looked at it curiously. After an encouraging nod from Ena, he put it in his mouth and crunched. ‘Ah! You said sweet, but the taste is sharp.’ His eyes sparkled with amusement, and after running his tongue along his front teeth, he said, ‘It is good. Thank you.’ He lifted his paper and resumed reading.

  Ena was thinking how strange it was that the man didn’t know what a pear drop tasted like when she heard the train’s brakes hiss and engage. The train was pulling into Northampton station. She looked along the platform. People were standing two deep waiting to board. A group of soldiers were smoking cigarettes. After throwing the stubs to the ground, and stamping them out, they hauled their kit bags onto their shoulders and filed onto the train.

  The door opened and Ena turned to see two men in black-belted mackintoshes and black trilbies enter. They looked so alike they could have been brothers. On closer inspection, the shorter of the men had a round face, the taller man’s face was angular. They both had dark hair and blue eyes. She wondered if they might be Irish.

  ‘Magazine, Ena?’ Freda asked, forcing a Woman’s Own into Ena’s hands and frowning.

  ‘What? Oh, thank you,’ Ena said, realising that she had been staring at the two men. Opening the magazine, she glanced down at the case but then decided she shouldn’t attract attention to herself. She lifted her head and turned a page of the magazine. Pretending to read, she sat back in her seat and mouthed, Sorry.

  ‘Tickets please!’

  Most people had their tickets ready. Ena didn’t have one. Mr Silcott had given Freda both tickets, which she handed over. The ticket inspector ripped the tickets in half, put the Rugby to Bletchley section in a leather shoulder bag, and gave Freda the return stubs.

  ‘I’m going to wash my hands, Freda,’ Ena whispered, and carefully stepping round the feet of the other passengers, she left the compartment. Walking along the corridor, more to stretch her legs than anything, she saw the door to the toilet. The oblong panel by the handle said “vacant” and she entered. She didn’t need to go to the toilet, but she went anyway. Better to go now than have to ask where the Ladies was when she got to--

  She felt sick. She always did when she travelled, but this was different. Today, just thinking about where she was going made her tummy reel. She slid back the small window above the sink and inhaled. The acrid smell of soot and smoke filled her nostrils, stinging the back of her throat. She exhaled, then held her breath as the cold air rushed over her face.

  Feeling somewhat better, Ena washed and dried her hands, refreshed her lipstick and combed the wave at the front of her hair back into place. She leant into the small mirror. She looked pale. ‘Lack of sleep,’ she said to herself then took a deep breath to settle her tummy. She didn’t think she would be physically sick. Today she felt more nervous than anything. She had wanted to go to the top-secret place – where her work ended up – for months. Now she was almost there, she would give anything not to be going.

  On the way back to the compartment, she felt the train judder and slow down. As she opened the compartment door, Freda was talking to the man next to her. She was telling him their cover story. ‘We’re going to visit a friend who we,’ she motioned with her hand to Ena, ‘used to work with. She married a chap from Bletchley and moved there. She’s expecting, anytime now.’ She looked at Ena, raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  Oh heck! She wants me to carry on with the story. ‘Yes, we’re having twins.’ The man laughed and Ena corrected, ‘Not us. We’re not having--’ She looked at Freda.

  ‘Now you’re back, I’ll go and wash my hands,’ Freda said. Rolling her eyes as she passed Ena, she left the compartment.

  Feeling she’d let Freda down, Ena absentmindedly took a pear drop from the packet. She glanced at the man. He was staring at her. ‘Would you like another?’ He shook his head. ‘I get travel sick, you see,’ she said, putting a sweet in her mouth.

  Freda returned as the train pulled into Bletchley station. It came to a juddering halt, catching her off balance. She lurched to the right as the man who had been sitting next to her was getting up. He put his arms out and Freda fell into them. ‘Thank you,’ Freda whispered, looking dreamily into the man’s eyes. ‘I’m not used to travelling by train.’

  What a fib, Ena thought. Freda took the train to Northampton and back every time she visited her uncle for the weekend, which was at least once a month. Embarrassed by her friend’s blatant flirting, Ena jumped up and busied herself by putting on her gloves. Hauling her gasmask onto her shoulder, she picked up her handbag. Perhaps Freda isn’t having an affair with Mr Silcott after all, she thought, grabbing the handle of the suitcase. Perhaps she only flirts with him the way she’s flirting with this man. Pondering her workmate’s dalliances, Ena heard Freda call her. When she turned round the man had gone.

  As they left the station, they were met by a powerfully built man in a dark blue coat and cap. ‘Commander Dalton asked me to pick you up, Miss King,’ he said to Freda. He looked at Ena. ‘I’ll take that, miss,’ he said, standing almost to attention.

  Freda nodded and Ena reluctantly handed over the case of work. ‘Don’t look so worried. Your work will be safe with Commander Dalton’s driver.’

  Ena smiled at the man. He didn’t return the pleasantry.

  The car was typical of the kind used by high ranking military officers. It was big and black, the kind she’d seen her brother Tom driving when he’d called at Foxden after taking army majors and generals to top-secret meetings in Northampton.

  The man opened the back door of the car and laid the suitcase on the seat, pushing it gently into the middle. He motioned to Ena to get in. She sat down, lifted her feet up and swung them into the car. After closing her door, he went round to the other side, by which time Freda was sitting in the car with the door closed. He nodded and took his place behind the steering wheel.

  During the short drive to Bletchley Park, Ena looked out of the window. On the left were allotments, on the right, a wire fence, and beyond that rows of single-storey buildings.

  The car stopped and the driver wound down his window. Ena could see the security gate and the waist and legs of a man in uniform. She craned her neck and looked over the top of the driver’s seat as the man’s torso, and then his head, came into view. An RAF corporal, his face, framed by the driver’s open window, looked first at Freda, and then at Ena.

  ‘Got your identity papers, Ena?’ Freda asked, hers already in her hand. Ena took the grey National Registration Identity card and Mr Silcott’s Bletchley Park pass from her handbag and gave them to Freda. When the man appeared at the back window, Freda wound it down and handed him their documents. He looked at Ena’s papers and then at her face, keeping eye contact with her for what seemed like minutes but could only have been seconds. He glanced at Freda and nodded. Freda gave Ena her papers, and after a short exchange with the driver, who Ena heard explain why she was using Herbert Silcott’s pass, the guard waved the car through.

  As the car cruised along the drive, a huge red brick and sand-coloured stone building came into view. Ena looked at Freda and whispered, ‘What a strange-looking building. I imagined it to be like Foxden Hall, a big country house. This looks like four country houses, from four different periods in history, all joined together. Look at the battlements, and the big green dome on the end.’ Ena laughed. ‘It looks like it belongs in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale.’ Freda nodded in the direction of the driver, put her finger to her lips, and mouthed shush. ‘Sorry.’

  The car pulled up outside the mansion’s main entrance. The driver, first out of the car, opened Freda’s door, before walking swiftly round the back of the car and opening Ena’s. Clambering out, she looked up at the house and, overawed by the sheer size of it, stood on the drive in a daze.

  She turned to Freda, but she wasn’t there. She and the driver were standing in the doorway of the mansion waiting for her to join them. Ena ran and caught them up, side-stepping around one of two
evil-looking stone griffins that stared at her from plinths on either side of the main entrance.

  Before entering the mansion, Ena took her case from the driver and, breathless with excitement, followed Freda into the building. The inside was as dramatic as the outside. The stone arches and green and red stained glass windows reminded Ena of Lowarth Church. The floor was polished wood, and walls and ceiling wood panelling. Walking along the main corridor, their footsteps echoed, as if the building were announcing their arrival.

  Ena offered Freda the case. She shook her head. ‘I’ll come with you, but you can sign the work in.’ Ena felt the nerves in her stomach tighten as she followed Freda to the reception desk.

  ‘This is work from Silcott’s Engineering in Lowarth,’ she said nervously to a man wearing an army officer’s uniform with a security badge on the lapel.

  The man smiled at her, stepped round the side of the desk, and took the work. Opening a large ledger, he turned it round so the pages were facing Ena and handed her a pen. ‘If you’ll sign here, miss?’ He pointed to a blank line three-quarters of the way down the book.

  Ena wrote her name in her best longhand and thanked the man. Pushing the large book back to him, she took out her identity card. The officer turned the ledger, and picked up the card. After studying both signatures, he said, ‘If you’ll take a seat.’

  Ena and Freda crossed the reception area to a bench by the window and sat down. ‘What happens now?’ Ena asked.

  ‘Commander Dalton, who commissions the work, may want to see us as it wasn’t Herbert who signed in the work.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ena pulled a face and pretended to bite her nails.