Buried Crown

by Ally Sherrick

  He started. Kitty. What was she doing here? He kept his head bent and carried on scouring the ground.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Nothing. I—’ He sniffed and shook his head. If he said the words – that the ring was gone – it would make it real, and then what?

  A warm hand gripped his shoulder. ‘Are you crying?’

  He wiped his face with his sleeve and shrugged her hand off. ‘Leave me alone. What are you doing following me anyway?’

  Kitty hugged her arms across her stomach and drew in a breath. ‘There has been some bad news.’

  George reached for Spud’s lead and got slowly to his feet. ‘What?’

  She looked down at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘London. It was bombed last night. There were so many planes they thought it was the invasion. It is why they rang the church bells, though Opa and I were both sound asleep and did not hear them . . .’

  George’s heart lurched. So the Jerries had attacked yesterday. It was bad enough hearing the news about London. But what about Charlie? He groaned and closed his eyes.

  ‘George? Are you all right?’

  He blinked and looked back at her in a daze. ‘My brother. That’s why they sent him up yesterday. I’ve got to go over to the base. Find out if he got back all right . . .’ He turned to go.

  Kitty gripped his arm. ‘Wait.’

  He tried to pull free but she clung on tight. He spun back round to face her. ‘What?’

  ‘Come home with me. We will tell Opa. He will help you. I know he will.’

  He frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘We have a telephone. We can call the airbase instead. It will be quicker.’

  He hesitated. He was desperate to go back to the base, but she was right. He’d find out sooner if he went with her. He heaved a sigh. ‘I s’pose.’

  ‘Come.’ She took Spud’s lead from him and set off up the hill towards the market square.

  He scanned about him one final time, but it was no use. The ring was nowhere to be seen. Hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pockets, he trudged after her.

  There were more people on the streets now. A lot more than usual for a Sunday morning. They stood in small huddles, their faces wearing looks of shock and concern. From the snatches George heard of their hushed conversations, it was clear they were all talking about the same thing.

  ‘Terrible! Hundreds of ’em. Like a plague of locusts.’

  ‘. . . a firestorm. Not a builden’ left standen’, so I heard.’

  ‘Those poor people! Bombed out of house and home.’

  The words, half murmured, half sobbed, wormed into his ears, filling George with a fresh sense of dread. If there were as many planes as everyone was saying, what chance would Charlie and the others have stood? He curled up his fingers. Best not to listen to them. It was only making him feel worse. He put his head down and hurried on after Kitty.

  As they climbed the stairs, the old man came out of the study to meet them. ‘George?’ He raised a tufty white eyebrow. ‘What are you doing here?’

  George shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

  Kitty jutted out her chin. ‘He has come to stay with us, Opa. The man he was living with is a bully. He was going to beat George’s dog’ – she dipped down and gave Spud a quick pat – ‘so he decided to run away.’

  George’s jaw tightened. ‘I wasn’t running away. I went to the airbase to find my brother, ’cept he went off to fight the Jerries, and now . . .’ He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat again.

  ‘George is worried about him. I said you would telephone the airbase and check to see if he is all right.’

  Ernst Regenbogen frowned. ‘I am not sure that is a good idea, Liebling. It will be a busy time for them. Especially after what happened last night.’

  George took a step forwards. ‘Please, mister.’

  The old man gave a small sigh. ‘Very well, I will try.’ Turning back into the study, he walked over to the table where the telephone sat and picked up the receiver. He hooked his finger in the dial and spun it round. ‘Operator? Can you connect me to the local airbase? Yes, thank you, I will hold.’

  As the seconds ticked by, the knot in George’s stomach tightened. ‘Why don’t they hurry up and answer?’

  The old man put a finger to his lips as a tinny voice buzzed into the receiver. ‘Hello, I am hoping you can help me. I would like to enquire about one of your pilots. I understand he was in combat yesterday. I wondered if—’

  The tinny voice cut across him. George stepped alongside, straining to hear.

  Ernst Regenbogen drew in a breath. ‘Yes. I realize you are busy, sir, but—’

  A surge of impatience swept through George. He snatched the receiver from him and pressed it to his ear.

  ‘My brother, Charlie Penny. He went up to fight the Jerries yesterday. I want to know if he got back all right?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The voice was crystal clear now. ‘But as I’ve just explained to the gentleman, even if I knew I’m not permitted to give that information out over the telephone.’

  ‘But you’ve got to tell me. Please! He’s all I’ve got . . .’ George gave a choked sob.

  ‘How old are you, lad?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  The man on the other end of the phone hesitated, then cleared his throat. ‘Wait a moment.’ There was a dull thud and the sound of footsteps marching away.

  Kitty pushed in next to George. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘He’s gone to check.’ George rolled his eyes. What was taking him so long?

  Ernst Regenbogen squeezed his arm. ‘It is difficult, I know, but try and be patient, George.’

  George blew out his cheeks. At last, after what seemed like an age, the footsteps came marching back.

  ‘Sergeant Penny, you say? Are you his next of kin?’

  A cold flutter ran down the back of George’s spine. They were the same words the policemen had used when they’d come to tell them about Mum and Dad.

  ‘Yes. George Penny. I told you before – I’m his brother.’

  The man coughed and fell silent.

  ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes. Look, perhaps you’d better put me back on to the gentleman who made the call.’

  ‘No. He’s my brother, so you can tell me!’

  The man cleared his throat. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . . I’m afraid your brother didn’t come back last night.’

  A sharp stabbing pain shot through George’s chest. ‘Wh-what? But where . . . where is he?’

  ‘We don’t know. One of the other pilots who went up with him reported smoke coming from Sergeant Penny’s plane after he’d engaged with the enemy. The pilot says the Spit went down and—’

  ‘No!’ George dropped the receiver and stumbled backwards.

  Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘What is it?’ She reached out a hand.

  He twisted away from her, eyes blurring. The worst had happened. He’d lost the ring, and now, because of it, Charlie was gone too. He shuddered and sank to the floor, head bowed, arms clutched tight about him.

  A whiskery snout poked the back of his hand. ‘Not now.’ He pushed Spud off. The dog whimpered and slunk away across the room.

  The old man’s voice sounded behind him. ‘I am sorry, sir. He is upset. Yes, I understand. We live over the museum. The number is Woodbridge four-five-three. Thank you, sir. Goodbye.’ The receiver clicked back into place.

  A firm hand gripped George’s shoulder and shook him gently.

  ‘George?’

  He kept his head down, fighting back the tears.

  ‘Listen to me. All is not lost.’

  ‘Wh-what?’ He blinked and jerked up his head.

  Ernst Regenbogen peered down at him, his blue eyes a mix of kindness and concern. ‘Charlie is reported missing, not dead.’

  George gulped in a breath. ‘I . . . I don’t understand.’

 
‘The man on the phone was about to tell you. They found the wreckage of your brother’s plane on a beach further up the coast, but there was no body.’

  George scrubbed at his eyes. ‘But if he bailed out and he’s alive, he’d have turned up by now, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Not necessarily. If he is injured and no one saw where he fell—’

  George scrambled to his feet. ‘But they’re looking for him, aren’t they?’

  Ernst Regenbogen gave a sigh. ‘They are doing their best, but it is not easy. They are expecting the Luftwaffe’s bombers to return again soon and I am afraid with so many other lives at risk, to go hunting for a single pilot may not be such a priority.’

  Fresh tears sprang to George’s eyes. ‘But . . . but he’s my brother.’

  The old man put an arm round his shoulder and drew him close. ‘I know, George. I know. But the man has promised to call us as soon as they have any news.’

  ‘When?’

  He frowned. ‘I do not know. He said it would be a day or two at least. Maybe longer.’

  George pulled away from him. ‘A day or two? I can’t wait that long! And Charlie can’t either. Not if he’s hurt.’ He turned towards the door.

  Ernst Regenbogen caught him by the arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the airbase. To make them do a proper search.’ He made to wrench free, but the old man was stronger than he looked.

  ‘No! Listen. The RAF – the whole country – is on high alert. They will not let you near the place. And besides, from what you have said of him, I do not think your brother would approve of such a rash action either. Those people have a very important job to do. You will not be helping if you distract them from it.’

  George heaved a sigh. Kitty’s granddad was right; he knew it. But if Charlie was lying injured in a ditch somewhere . . . He shivered.

  ‘Come now.’ Ernst Regenbogen gave him a reassuring smile. ‘It is hard, but you must do your best not to think the worst. There is still a chance, and where there is a chance, there is hope too.’

  George’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .’ His lips trembled. He looked away again.

  ‘We understand. Don’t we, Kitty?’

  ‘Yes, Opa.’ Kitty reached out and gave George’s hand a quick squeeze. ‘Shall I go and make us a cup of tea?’

  ‘That is an excellent idea. I will come and help.’ As the old man turned to go, he tipped his head at the small furry figure lying hunched against the wall in the far corner of the room. ‘I think perhaps an apology is due to someone else too, don’t you?‘

  George’s cheeks flushed. He glanced over at Spud and nodded.

  The old man cleared his throat. ‘Good. Now, once you have made up and the three of you have had a bit of breakfast, you can go for a walk along the river. The fresh air will do you all good, I am sure.’ He gave George a quick wink and followed Kitty out into the hall.

  George walked over to where Spud lay, head sunk between his paws. The dog lifted his snout as he approached and peered back at him uncertainly.

  He squatted down and stretched out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Spud. I won’t be mean to you ever again, I promise.’

  The dog crept forwards, eyebrows twitching. He sniffed hesitantly at George’s fingers, then gave them a quick lick.

  George heaved a sigh and pulled him close, pressing his cheek against his soft fur.

  At least he still had Spud.

  He couldn’t face eating much breakfast. He didn’t want to go for a walk either, but in the end it seemed better to be doing something rather than sitting around waiting.

  As Kitty led them off down the back streets, he made sure to keep his eyes peeled for Bill Jarvis again. The last thing he wanted was to bump into him.

  The tide was out when they reached the quayside, leaving the river to weave its way like a sludge-coloured snake between marooned boats and islands of marsh grass. A bunch of gulls wheeled and screeched above them, swooping down every now and again to scavenge for food.

  George’s nostrils pricked at the smell of seaweed and wet mud; it reminded him of home and summer afternoons with Charlie down by the Thames, hunting for bits of driftwood for the model plane they were building. Charlie had promised they’d finish it before he left to join the RAF, but they never had, and now . . . George’s heart shrank up inside him. Now, what if it was too late?

  He ran his finger over the space where the ring had been and stifled a groan.

  Kitty glanced at him. ‘Are you thinking about your brother?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I know it is hard, but remember what Opa said about having hope.’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s my fault he’s missing.’

  She frowned. ‘How can it be?’

  He hugged his arms to his chest. ‘You remember the ring I was wearing?’

  ‘Your mother’s ring? Yes, it is beautiful.’

  ‘It was . . .’

  Kitty’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I lost it.’

  Her fingers fluttered to her necklace as if to check it was still there. ‘But where? When?’

  ‘This morning. Scroggins came after me when I was out walking. Started having a go at me about Charlie; blaming him and the RAF for his brother getting wounded at Dunkirk. Then he jumped me and took my money – Charlie’s money. The ring . . . it . . . it must’ve come off in the struggle.’ His chest squeezed again at the memory.

  ‘So that is what you were looking for when I found you?’

  George bit his lip and nodded again.

  ‘Still, I do not see what that has got to do with your brother?’

  George heaved out a breath and hung his head. ‘Charlie gave it to me before he left to join up. He told me to keep it safe. Said if I did he’d come back to me. ’Cept . . . ’cept I didn’t, did I? And now he’s missing and—’ He gulped as fresh tears pricked his eyes.

  Kitty reached out and took his hand. ‘It is not your fault. How could it be? Besides, you only lost the ring this morning.’

  She meant well. George knew that. But what did it matter when he’d lost the ring. The fact was he’d broken his promise to Charlie to keep it safe, and now he was missing – or worse . . . He turned away from her and looked out across the shimmering brown mud, doing his best to hold the tears at bay.

  Kitty cleared her throat and pointed to the top of the steep wooded bank opposite. ‘That is where Opa and the others found the ship burial.’

  George drew in a breath and squinted out at the distant grass-topped ridge poking above the trees.

  She shot a quick look back at him. ‘I could take you there now, if you like?’

  George kicked at a tussock of grass growing next to the path. A puff of sandy brown dust rose into the air. He shrugged. ‘I s’pose. How far is it?’

  Kitty glanced up the river and frowned. ‘It will take about an hour, maybe a little longer. That is if we do not get stopped at the pillbox.’

  ‘Pillbox?’

  ‘It is a sort of guard post, on the other side of the bridge. Opa says they have put a pair of Home Guardsmen there to keep a lookout in case the enemy comes.’

  A sudden memory of the strange plane he’d seen yesterday leapt into George’s head. He looked up, half expecting to see it fly into view, but except for a few gulls the sky was empty. He shrugged. It couldn’t have been a Jerry plane anyway. If it was, the Home Guard would have reported it and it’d be all over town by now. Especially after what had happened last night.

  He kicked at the grass tussock again. ‘I can’t see the guards being bothered with us. So, are we going, or what?’

  Kitty opened her mouth as if to say something, then clamped it shut and set off along the path at a brisk walk.

  George flushed. He’d been rude again. He hadn’t meant to be. She and her granddad had been kind to him. And they were right. The only thing he could do now was to wait and hope.

  A sharp yip jolted him out
of his thoughts. Spud stood in front of him, ears pricked, tail wagging, straining against the lead.

  ‘All right, boy, all right. I’m coming.’ Throwing another glance at the ridge, he hunched his shoulders and let Spud tug him up the path after her.

  They followed the path for about a mile, skirting round boatyards and passing wooden jetties, until finally a bridge came into view.

  As they approached it, George spotted the pillbox. It was set halfway up a bank on the opposite side, a low concrete building with slits in the walls, which he guessed were for keeping a lookout from and firing on the enemy.

  Kitty glanced at it nervously. ‘What if they do try and stop us?’

  ‘Why should they? We ain’t Nazis, are we?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Well then. Come on, boy.’ George scrambled up the last bit of path and out on to the bridge.

  But the guards didn’t appear, and there was no sign of them when they reached the other side either.

  Kitty frowned. ‘That is odd. I am sure Opa said there was always someone on duty here.’

  George shrugged. ‘Maybe they’ve gone for lunch.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Look, how should I know?’ He jerked his head at a fork in the road. ‘Where to now?’

  She gave a loud huff and marched past him, taking the road to their right.

  As they rounded the first bend, she gestured at a bramble-lined path leading away into a patch of dense woodland. ‘This way.’ She wrapped her skirts round her legs and headed off down it.

  Spud tugged on the lead, eager to follow.

  George eyed the brambles warily. ‘Hold on, boy.’ Picking up a stick, he beat the worst of them back and set off after her into the shadowy gloom.

  They’d been going about ten minutes, stopping every so often for George to clear the way, when Kitty pulled up suddenly.

  ‘We must be careful here. There is a drop.’ She pointed ahead to where the path hugged the edge of a steep-sided pit.

  As they balanced past it in single file, George took a quick look down. The bottom was a good fifteen feet beneath them, littered with rocks and the trunks of dead trees. He licked his lips. Fall down there and you wouldn’t be getting out again in a hurry.