`Both set's are working fine,' he reported, removing the headphones. `This one has slightly cleaner audio of the two, but there's nothing much in it. Just been testing it into a dummy load. Good audio quality, and I've got the deviation set up just right. I'm shoving the signal through a 10-watt linear so that it'll be strong everywhere.'
`And the spare set's hidden?'
`In the best place -- amongst all my junk.'
`Prescott will be here at ten to six,' said Malone glancing out of the window. The sun was still bright. `Do you have a mechanical typewriter I could use, sir?'
Harding chuckled. `I've got about ten uncollected repairs. I've a feeling that they're going to be worth something now.'
`And some paper please, and a desk by a window.'
`Yes -- of course. But it's hardly a good time to start that novel you've been putting off, is it?'
Malone gave a thin smile. `I'm not going to write a novel, Mr Harding.’
Chapter 37.
`NO!' SCREAMED ANNE, and she threw herself across the kitchen just as Vikki swung the cleaver down. But the wicked blade snagged on the overhead onion strings. Such was the girl's demented strength that she ripped the rack from its ceiling Rawlplugs and sent a salvo of giant Spanish onions cannonballing across the kitchen, bouncing off walls and clattering across the Aga. The rack crashed to the floor just as Anne made a frantic grab for Vikki's hand. That the cleaver had become briefly entangled did little to lessen the force of Vikki's swing but it was deflected with the result that the heavy blade splintered into the pine table with such force that it sank deep into the stout planking, missing Vikki's outstretched wrist by a centimetre. She sobbed in anguish and tried to lever the cleaver free, frantically working it back and forth, but her mother was upon her. They crashed to the floor -- a flail of entangled blonde hair and thrashing limbs.
`Vikki, my darling! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!'
Then mother and daughter were in each others arms, embracing in a mutual flood of tears. Anne's hysterical sobbing make it impossible for her to blurt out coherent sentences. `How could I have said... Oh, Vikki -- my darling... Precious... Please forgive me... Please...'
`Mum...'
`Such a wicked thing I said...'
`You were frightened. Just as I was...'
`Vikki... Vikki...' Anne clung to her daughter and yet she was alone in a vacuum of misery and guilt. She had been the cause of it so very nearly happening again. Her anguish brought on renewed sobs.
Vikki cradled her mother face in her hands and smiled through her tears. `Please don't cry, mum. I do understand -- really I do.'
The miracle of Vikki's loving touch stilled Anne's torment. Two wonderfully perfect, comforting hands, two warm caressing palms, ten tenderly stroking fingers, long and perfect. She stared at her daughter, took those wonderful hands in her own, and looked at them in turn before pressing them against her face again. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of an angel touching her, soothing away the years of guilt -- banishing the agony of a decade of recriminations and stopping baying packs of a new and equally terrifying guilt that would have snarled and snapped at her reason until the end of her days, and would have surely ripped her soul from her body and condemned her to eternal damnation. How could she have thought that this wonder she was holding now, that was holding her, was anything other than the work of God?
Chapter 38.
`DINNER WILL BE SERVED in one hour,' David announced, entering his small living room. He dropped into an armchair and admired the outline of Ellen's figure. She was standing at the window, enjoying the last of the setting sun while watching the Crittendens at work on Brenda. The light made fascinating highlights in her rich, dark hair. `Roast chicken -- strangled by my own hand...'
`Please, David!'
`New potatoes -- first of the year -- grown in the greenhouse. Baked parsnips -- just lifted. And gravy granules just arrived on the gravy train.'
Ellen laughed. `Do they always work on Sunday?'
`Bisto granules work every day of the week.'
`Charlie and his family!'
`Oh they never worry about time. They're working because it's still daylight, because they enjoy it, because they love steam engines, and because they're sober. Charlie's dad owned a beast like Brenda which is why he's so keen to get her running.'
David joined Ellen at the window. Together they watched Charlie Crittenden position the new wheel for the showmans' engine on the monster's front axle and yell at his sons for the toolbox. The entire family were swarming over the machine, even Grandpa Crittenden was hard at work, vigorously working a long-handled wire brush back and forth through the boiler tubes, producing clouds of powdery rust. Charlie's wife was using wire soap pads on brass pipes so that any leaks would be clean for brazing. In the process she was restoring a shine that the venerable pipework hadn't known for nearly half a century.
`Charlie says there's less wrong with the thing than he thought. He reckons if I can spare some anthracite beans from the greenhouse boiler, he'll have it at running at low pressure by Wednesday... You know -- it might come in useful if the dynamo's okay and this crazy situation goes on. In her day Brenda could generate enough power to run a village.'
`And enough sulphur and smoke to asphyxiate a village.' Ellen paused and added quietly, `I think it will continue.'
She and David had visited the Wall that afternoon and had marvelled at its strange resistance properties. They had chatted to others and were surprised at how widespread was the belief that there were some sort of alien creatures hiding in the unknown depths of Pentworth Lake. One of them was an earnest young man -- one of the original ufologist invasion. He had stayed on when his colleagues had tired of the hunt and gone home. He had assured Ellen and David that there was a galactic war in progress and that there was a scout ship in Pentworth Lake that had surrounded itself with a shield as protection against enemy scout ships.
`If there are aliens or whatever in your swamp--'
`Lake!'
`Then you ought to charge them rent.'
`I can't joke about it, Dave. I think the damned thing's permanent.'
`Maybe you're right,' David replied, looking at his watch. `We'll know one or the other what our beloved chairman thinks in a few minutes.'
Ellen snorted and leaned contentedly against him when he put his arm around her. `Smells good. I'm starving. I've not eaten all day.' `You had your chance at lunchtime. Freebie chips from Adrian Roscoe.'
David didn't see the hardening of Ellen's expression. `I have to watch my weight -- fried food is not a good idea.'
`This from someone who can scoff doorstep bacon sarnies when digging and whose idea of a balanced diet is how much Camembert she can perch on a cream cracker.'
`I wish we could have gone to see the cave today.'
`Tomorrow.'
`David...'
`Hmm?'
`Supposing this... This crisis goes on forever? The world will never know about my discovery.'
The light was failing. The Crittendens started cleaning and stowing their tools.
`Funny really,' mused David. `If it does go on for a long time, Charlie and his family will notice the least. They haven't got much use for electricity. I offered to lay it on to their caravans but they weren't interested. They cook with oil or gas or whatever they can steal. Their day is geared to the hours of daylight. They're up as soon it's light, work till they drop, and go to bed early. They're happy living in the past.' He looked at his watch. `Time to hear what the asinine Asquith has to say.'
`Ellen grimaced. `He'll drone on for hours and never get to the point.'
`He's not that bad, Ellen.'
`I liken him to a mud-dwelling estuary creature with just enough brain cells to perceive a dim sense of panic twice a day when the tide goes out.'
They sat down. David switched on a portable radio and tuned across the FM band. `Amazing,' he muttered. `Stone dead silence.'
The tuner hit on a pilot to
ne. A minute later the tone faded and Bob Harding's voice was heard. He announced the first broadcast of Radio Pentworth and introduced Asquith Prescott.
`Good evening ladies and gentlemen,' Prescott began. `I doubt if there is anyone in the Pentworth area who isn't aware of the extraordinary fate that has overtaken our community. As from last night we have been enclosed by a seemingly impenetrable and invisible dome, six miles in diameter and effectively imprisoning some 6000 of us within an area of 30 square miles, with many suffering the anguish of separation from loved ones.'
Ellen's dislike of the man coloured her judgement; although boorish, Prescott was an experienced speaker with an easy, informal and brisk, business-like delivery that inspired confidence and carried authority. His usage of miles instead of kilometres conveyed an affinity for the security of the past.
`We are lucky in having the services of Councillor Robert Harding who is a senior government advisor on scientific matters. It's thanks to him that I am able to talk to you now. He has examined the Wall and has confirmed what many of you have suspected all along -- that it is definitely not of earthly origin. It is also certain that the centre of dome is Pentworth Lake. It is to the credit of the good sense of the people of Pentworth that there has been no panic. Whoever these creatures or beings are, or what their purpose is in coming here, or how long they intend to stay, we can only guess. But at least we know from the design of their amazing force wall that they mean us no harm. But the loss of all our public utilities and our total isolation is causing massive problems for all of us.
`But our immediate concern is our air quality. It has got steadily worse today therefore, even if the dome lasts only a day or so, we must deal with the problem now. In the interests of us all, particularly our children, do not use your cars, or motorbikes, or any form of combustion engine unless it is absolutely essential. Only emergency vehicles are exempt. The same goes for barbecues and bonfires: a total voluntary ban until we have more information from our advisors. Clean air must be our first priority.'
Prescott spoke for a further three minutes in which he urged those with bottled or LPG gas, or methane digesters, to form communal cooking groups for those without -- such gases gave off very little carbon and sulphur; those with good boreholes to provide an outside tap for others to use. He urged utmost economy with water in household tanks and on no account were lavatories on main drainage to be flushed. In all he covered a further five interim emergency measures, including a request for all food shops to sell only perishable stock, and concluded with:
`If the crisis continues we will call on everyone in the setting up of voluntary groups to deal with day-to-day and long term problems. The British have always been good at rising to challenges such as these which I am laying before you. Our best qualities shine in adversity. Father Adrian Roscoe and his Bodian Brethren have already responded by providing free cooked lunches today and will do so again tomorrow at Pentworth House between midday and 2:00pm. They will also be making a start on deliveries of fresh bread and milk tomorrow morning. Initial priority will be given to families with children. With such public-spiritedness and your fortitude and willingness to make sacrifices, I am confident that we will overcome all our problems.
`Thank you for listening to me. I will talk to you again at the same time tomorrow. Goodnight and God bless you all.'
Harding came on. `That was Asquith Prescott, Chairman of Pentworth Town Council. If the crisis continues, there will be an informal extra-ordinary meeting of the town council at Mr Prescott's house at 10:00am tomorrow morning. All town councillors and district councillors are urged to do their utmost to attend. There will be further bulletins on this frequency tomorrow at noon and 6:00pm. Radio Pentworth is closing down now. Good night. Please switch off your radio now.'
The carrier continued for a few seconds and dropped.
`Well,' said David, jabbing the radio's power key and looking at his watch. `Believe it or not but Prescott spoke for less than five minutes. Why can't he do that in committee?'
`He was impressive,' Ellen grudgingly admitted.
`More than that, he carried weight and authority. That little piece is going to help a lot of people sleep easier tonight. Right -- I'd better see about dinner.' He paused at the door. `It'll have to be a candlelit dinner. Probably just as well with my cooking.'
`David -- did anyone ever call you a great romantic? If so, they were lying.'
`And no TV. So afterwards it's either looking at my old family photos with a torch, or an early night.'
`Which would you prefer, Don Juan?'
`I'll go and look for the albums and a torch.'
Ellen threw a cushion at him.
Chapter 39.
PRESCOTT STACKED THE THREE pages of his typewritten speech and looked at Malone and Harding in turn. The battery light that Harding had rigged in the workshop caught his self-satisfied expression.
`How did I do, gentlemen?'
`Not one fluff, sir,' said Malone, maintaining a blank expression to conceal his surprise at Prescott's smooth, authoritative delivery.
Harding was more forthcoming. `You were excellent, Asquith. The best I've ever heard you.'
Prescott nodded and steepled his fingers. Reading the speech seemed to have changed his whole demeanour. He was more assured, confident. `Having a good speech helped. My compliments to whoever wrote it, Mr Malone.'
`I'll see that they're passed on, sir.'
`I'd like to hear the tape, please.'
Harding rewound a battery-powered cassette. The three men listened to the replay.
`Mmm...' said Prescott when it was over. `I don't like puffing up that madman, Roscoe, but you were right, Mr Malone. The way it comes across makes it sound as if we initiated his efforts.'
`Why did you change the venue for the council meeting from the town hall to your house, sir?' asked Malone, half-suspecting what the answer would be.
`In a word -- control,' said Prescott curtly. `As it's to be extra-ordinary meeting, I can hold it where I like. I want people to speak freely and I want to invite more than just local councillors. We're going to need the input from a lot of talented people if we're to see ourselves through this mess. People who may not be used to council procedure. I don't want their ideas inhibited by packed public benches. Holding the meeting at my house means that I can exclude the public and make it more relaxed and informal. Does that answer your question?'
`Thank you, sir,' said Malone, deriving no satisfaction from having been right.
Prescott stood. He even to have gained in physical stature. `Right. Well done getting all this fixed up, Bob. Radio is going to be our most powerful asset. Keeping people informed. Absolutely vital to ensure their willing cooperation.' He glanced at his watch. `I'd better be going. It'll take me a good hour to get home.'
`An hour?' Harding queried.
`I walked,' Prescott replied. `If the bit about pollution hadn't been included in the speech, I would've insisted on it going in. I'm certain to run into a lot of people on my way home. They will see me setting an example. To say one thing and be seen doing another would undermine my authority.'
Harding rose to show Prescott out.
`One thing, Mr Malone,' said Prescott, pausing at the door. `If Inspector Evans can spare you, I'd like you to attend the council meeting. Perhaps you'll write me an even better speech for tomorrow evening's broadcast?'
When he was alone Malone wondered about Prescott's unsuspected hidden depths. It seemed that he had misjudged the man.
And that worried Malone.
Chapter 40.
ONE MAN WHO WAS NOT PLEASED with Asquith Prescott's broadcast was Adrian Roscoe. He summoned Claire Lake to his office. An intelligent girl. Good family. Well educated and a good organizer which was why he had put her in charge of the milk distribution scheme.
`Did you see a tall man in the courtyard at lunchtime, Claire? Brown, wide-set eyes. Grey slacks. Athletic-looking.' His tone was kindly. His quarrel wasn't with her.<
br />
`Yes, father. He gave me a couple of names and addresses. Neighbours of his with children.'
Malone!
`And he asked you questions, I expect?'
`Well -- yes.' The girl looked worried and fingered her clipboard nervously. She had considered the man attractive. `I'm sorry, father -- did I do wrong in talking to him?'
Roscoe smiled reassuringly. `Of course not, Claire. But I expect he asked a lot of questions?'
`Yes -- in a friendly sort of way.'
`And you answered them in friendly sort of way. Well -- that's good, Claire. We need to spread the word. God's word should never be hidden if we are to triumph over his enemies.'
`Yes, father.'
`How are the distribution plans going?'
`Very well, father. We've just done a dummy loading up of one of the phaetons. The ponies will have no trouble no pulling a load of about 500 half litre cartons.'
Roscoe nodded. Pentworth House had two of the lightweight pony-drawn open carriages. They were used to take visitors on tours of the park. They had been popular and profitable.
`My big worry is that we'll run out of cartons by Wednesday,' Claire continued. `I did think of asking people to return them but we'd run into horrible sterilizing problems. If the divine curse continues, we'll have to resort to delivery direct from churns into peoples jugs as they did in the olden days.'
`The curse will continue, Claire, until we root out and destroy the evil that has brought God's wrath down upon us. But you're doing an excellent job. You have God's blessing, for he is watching over us to see how we bear up under the burden he has placed upon us.'
Claire smiled happily. Six months before she had tried to commit suicide having lost a baby and been abandoned by her husband -- whom she had loved passionately -- the only man she had ever known. Joining the brethren had given her a new-found self-respect -- it had been the best thing she had ever done. `There is something, father. The lost property from the party -- the artificial hand. Quite by chance I think I've found the owner.' She paused and consulted her clipboard. `Yes -- one of the helpful ladies I spoke to at lunchtime is a teacher at St Catherine's. A Mrs Simmons. She gave me several names and addresses. She mentioned a girl in her year who had a terrible accident about ten years ago and lost her left hand.'
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