He closed his eyes, hoping to doze off, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him go. For the past two years, he’d held up the relationship with Clare as hope and inspiration, not really questioning that they would be together eventually. But the dictates of the war had postponed that. She was working for Special Operations Executive, essentially as a secret agent. She had to go where she was needed. No choice in the matter.
All right, then. If you’re going to daydream about her, direct it. Don’t be at the mercy of sweet memories and images. Go on.
What if she comes back soon and we set up house as man and wife? Life goes on. The war ends favourably for the Allies. The years slide away. We grow old together.
He smiled to himself as a vivid memory came suddenly back to him. It was the summer when they consummated their love. Intense and all-consuming, nothing else had mattered. In a moment of sentimentality, he’d bought a book of Yeats poems. He liked one particular poem and he’d memorized it. With the interruptions of his job, it took him most of the week until he’d got it down cold, but he did. That night, they’d been able to go to their favourite hotel. They made love first, but when they were both lying in bed side by side, skin of arms and legs touching, he’d started to recite it to her.
“When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take –”
He didn’t get any further.
She sat bolt upright. “What? What do you mean, full of sleep? I will never, ever be the kind of old lady who dozes off in front of the fire.”
He was hurt by her rejection of what he thought was a romantic gesture on his part. He’d taken great pains to learn the poem, after all.
“It’s a poem about loving the woman when she’s no longer young. When she’s lost her beauty. Yeats wrote it to the woman he loved.”
“Should I be grateful for that? Is that what you’re saying? That love is based on physical attractiveness? That men don’t have to worry but women should be thankful if their husbands stick around long enough to wipe off their drool for them?”
“Clare. Don’t be ridiculous. Of course that’s not what I’m saying. I thought it was very tender and loving.”
“Yes, but they didn’t grow old together, did they? Maud Gonne turned him down several times. She married somebody else.”
“I didn’t know that. Besides, whatever his actual life was like, Yeats still wrote a bloody good poem.” Tyler tried to bring the focus back to what he’d been trying to say. “I want to grow old with you, Clare.”
“Hmm. Are you likely to nod by the fire?”
“I don’t know. Probably. Will you still love me in spite of the fact that by then I’ll have a fat gut and jowls?”
At that she burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine you with a fat gut. But yes, I suppose it wouldn’t stop me from loving you.” She rolled over and caressed his face. “I’m sorry, Tom. You took me by surprise. The truth is I don’t want to ever grow old.”
“What’s the alternative?”
She laughed at that. “Good point.”
“Besides,” he continued, “everybody goes through a phase when they think they’re going to die young. The world would end if it all came true.”
She paused. “I can always depend on you to be practical.” She went back to tracing his lips with her finger. “Finish the poem, please, Tom. Please. I promise I won’t interrupt.”
So he had. And he still remembered it.
“And one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.”
Tyler felt a wave of desperation sweep over him. He had to find out where she was and how she was. He had to.
—
The camp didn’t have a proper place of detention. So far, there had been no need to punish anybody for anything more than minor infractions: not keeping their bunks and lockers tidy; being insolent to the guards (very rare); quarrelling among themselves (more frequent now as Christmas approached and bad weather kept them confined). Usually the punishment was being confined to barracks, with extra KP duty added in some cases. However, if Captain Beattie thought one of the POWS needed a cooling-off period, as he put it, a small hut near the guardhouse had been set up to hold a couple of men for a short period of time.
The sergeant unlocked the door and directed Angelo to step inside. There were two bunk beds, a small table, and a chair. Functional not fancy.
“You’ll be by your lonesome,” said the sergeant. He scowled at Angelo. “You were a silly laddie, weren’t you? You know you shouldn’t have kept that ring. Not your property. Why’d you do it?”
Angelo shrugged. “Weak moment. It was there lying in mud. I pick it up.”
“Do you now see the error of your ways?”
“Indeed I do, indeed I do.”
He wasn’t going to confide in the sergeant how the delicate ring had been intended for his love. His wife in Christ.
Angelo put his knapsack on the lower of the two bunks. “I might as well take this one.”
The sergeant removed a little booklet from his pocket. “I’m obliged to read you the Geneva Convention rules for the treatment of prisoners of war who, for reasons later specified, are held in detention. First. You will be served three meals a day, same as the others, but you will have them here, not in the mess hut. Second. You get two periods of exercise a day, half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the afternoon. You have the right to refuse these periods if you so desire.” He looked at Angelo over the top of his glasses. “I recommend you take them. It can get mighty tedious in here after a while. Especially as you don’t have company at the moment. Third. You can request a pastoral visit. In your case that is probably the local padre. Good fellow. Name’s Father Keegan. He don’t speak Italian but I don’t suppose that matters. I recommend that as well. Breaks up the solitude. Four. You are entitled to receive writing materials, that is, paper and pencil. Five. You are expected to keep your sleeping quarters clean and tidy. There is a bucket for the necessaries. I recommend you hold on until you get to the latrines, which you can ask to do. Keeps the room a bit sweeter that way. You have an oil lamp over there but it must be extinguished by ten o’clock. Any questions?”
“No, Sergeant. Thank you.”
“Good. You might find it chilly in here but you have some coal for the heater. I recommend you don’t overdo it with the coal. It’s rationed. Wear your overcoat if you get too cold.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Angelo. It was indeed very chilly in the hut.
The sergeant smiled kindly. “Don’t look so down in the dumps. You’ll only be here for a week. You’ll survive. Besides, the captain’s heart is softer than a baby’s bottom. He’ll probably show you mercy and let you out sooner. It’s not as if you’ve done something so terrible.” He reached into his pocket. “Do you want your ciggie ration?” He held out three cigarettes.
“I’ll take two, and I’d be obliged if you would have the third one.”
The sergeant chuckled. “If you insist. They’re worse than smoking rope but better than nowt, I suppose.” He put one of the cigarettes into his jacket pocket.
Angelo took the other two and placed them on the bed beside him. The sergeant left and Angelo heard the sound of the key in the lock. He sat on the edge of the bunk and put his head in his hands.
—
“All change. All change,” the guard called as he walked up and down the platform. The train engine gasped and steam rose from its sides like an overworked horse. Passengers were spewing out of the carriages. Most seemed to know where they were going and immediately headed away from the train, threading their way through the dense crowds of other travellers. Mr. Misery had jumped out at once and was swallowed up, but Tyler paused and offered his hand to the ATS woman as she stepped down.
“Thank you. Nice to have met you.”
He would have liked to have utter words of comfort that would bring a smile back to that young face, but he didn’t have any. “Good luck” was all he could
manage.
She hurried away in the direction of another platform where a train was waiting. At least she had been completely discreet as to her final destination. It obviously wasn’t Shrewsbury.
He headed for the exit.
He’d been to Shrewsbury many times but he never failed to be impressed by the strange and wonderful architecture of the station. A castle? A grand manor? Could have been either. Not to mention the carved heads around the windows. The prison on the hill was visible across the platform, although a high wall now screened off the special platform that was used for incoming prisoners. He knew that those who were considered more reliable were offered the chance to shorten their sentences by enlisting. Apparently a lot of them were doing just that. Tyler wasn’t completely in favour of this new practice. As far as he was concerned, the seriously criminal characters weren’t going to change that much if they were soldiers. Perhaps the opposite would happen. The army would give them an opportunity to act out.
He headed for the police station. The crowds on the platforms had dissipated like the blowing leaves and the streets were empty, the pavements wet and black with rain. It wasn’t yet five o’clock but the dreary weather made it seem later. Darkness was pressing in fast. He hoped he could finish his business with the chief constable quickly.
Slightly to his surprise the reception desk at the police station was in the charge of a female auxiliary police officer. She looked to be a lot older than Agnes Mortimer but seemed just as competent and efficient. Tyler gave her his name and reason for being there.
She smiled at him. “Lieutenant Colonel Golden is ready for you, Inspector. I’ll show you to his office.”
She opened the connecting door into a narrow hall and he followed her. She tapped discreetly on a door farther down and he heard, “Come.”
“I’ll bring you some tea,” she said as she opened the door, and he stepped inside.
Tyler knew the chief constable of the Shropshire constabulary was a long-serving military man, as all those in the upper echelons were. He also knew Golden was about his own age, but he wasn’t prepared for how young his chief looked. His complexion was ruddy, his eyes clear, his moustache neat and trim. He exuded the aura of a man who was fit and vigorous. For some reason he made Tyler feel flabby, and he sucked in his stomach without quite realizing he was doing so.
Golden got to his feet and came around the desk with his hand outstretched.
“Inspector Tyler. Welcome. I’m glad to meet you finally. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The obvious rejoinder was “All good, I hope,” but Tyler didn’t feel like engaging in superficial jollity. He didn’t think the lieutenant colonel was the kind of man who tolerated coy rejoinders. If he said, “I’ve heard a lot about you,” that’s what he meant, no more, no less. Handshake (firm) over, he gestured for Tyler to take a seat and returned to his chair behind the desk.
“What can I do for you, Inspector? I must admit, your telephone call was most mysterious. You said you could not talk about your business unless we had a face-to-face meeting.”
Tyler nodded. “It involves the Official Secrets Act, sir.”
“Does it indeed?”
There was a tap on the door and the female officer entered carrying a tea tray. Tyler thought he’d relay this to Mortimer.
“Thank you, Miss Blandford,” said the chief. “You can put it on the desk. Ah, I see you’ve managed to dig out some biscuits. How clever of you. And my favourite digestives too.” Miss Blandford slipped away unobtrusively. Golden held up the teapot, which was protected by a knitted tea cozy. “Inspector? Allow me to pour you a cup. You must be parched after your journey.”
For a moment, Tyler thought the chief had him confused with somebody else who had come in from the wilds of London or Scotland. His journey, after all, had lasted only half an hour. Nevertheless, he smiled politely and accepted the cup of tea the chief offered him.
“You can doctor it as you like,” said Golden.
Tyler helped himself liberally to milk and sugar. Why not? This was the seat of the county constabulary, after all. They probably had more generous rations than Ludlow.
All that ritual taken care of, Golden put his cup and saucer on his desk.
“Now then. Do continue. Official Secrets Act, you said.”
Tyler related what had happened to Jasper Cartwright and where they’d found him. Golden listened attentively.
“Poor bugger. What a rotten way to die. And the coroner thought he could have been saved if he’d got medical attention soon enough?”
“That’s right. I will press for a second-degree murder charge.”
Golden drummed his fingers on his desk. “I can see how it would be most important to find out who would know the whereabouts of the hideout.” He bit his lip. “Bit of a problem. We’ve eased up somewhat from ’40, when it was all most hush-hush – directives from Churchill himself. He thought it was only by keeping the cells small and absolutely tight-lipped that we could protect the wider network in the event of capture by the enemy. It’s the principle foreign Resistance organizations should operate on and don’t always.”
“You said it was a bit of a problem, sir. I assume you do have a list of Auxiliaries?”
“It’s locked in my safe. Thank God we haven’t been invaded to date and I haven’t been coerced into revealing the combination.”
Tyler had the impression Golden wasn’t the kind of man who would be susceptible to coercion, as he termed it, but who knows? He’d been told every man had his breaking point.
The chief constable tossed back the dregs of his tea, stood, crossed the room, and locked the door.
“Miss Blandford is totally trustworthy but this is standard procedure.”
He walked to the wall behind his desk, where there hung a rather insipid framed portrait of King George. He removed the print, revealing what looked like a small safe recessed into the wall.
“Not too imaginative a concealment, but this safe is supposed to be completely bombproof.” He began to turn the combination lock. “I’ve memorized this…or at least I hope so.”
Whatever he did must have been right because the safe opened at a tug. He reached inside and took out a manila envelope. It was sealed with a red wax seal that looked very official. The words “TOP SECRET” were stamped across the front. Using a letter opener he quickly slit the wax seal and removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope.
“Let’s see, the only ones you are interested in are the members of the Bitterley cell. There are two agents in that area. This county isn’t considered high priority so all of the cells are small.” He scanned the paper. “Now here it gets a mite complicated. What I have are the code names. Their real names are somewhere else.” He looked at Tyler with a rather embarrassed expression. “Makes things awkward but obviously much safer. If this did fall into Boche hands, they still wouldn’t know who the men were.”
The chief handed him the sheet of paper. There were only two names: EZEKIEL and ZECHARIAH.
“The Auxiliaries favour biblical names,” said Golden.
“How can I get the real names, sir?”
“Those are in the possession of the chief inspector for Shrewsbury.” He drummed his fingers again. “Deuced bad timing for you, but McDavitt is this moment undergoing an emergency appendectomy in hospital. Oh, he’s not in danger, apparently, but he won’t be compos mentis until tomorrow. However, I shall visit him first thing and get the combination to his safe. I’ll get the real names you’re looking for. We won’t be able to ring you, can’t risk being compromised. Do you want to stay here overnight? Or would you rather get back? Won’t make things move any faster if you do stay.”
“I’ll get back then, sir.”
“All right. I’ll have one of my constables catch the first train into Ludlow and deliver the information personally.”
Tyler exhaled. Damn. He didn’t think there was any way they could speed up the process but he didn’t want to let anything
– make that anybody – slip through his fingers.
“I’ll have that paper back, if you don’t mind,” said Golden. “Have you memorized the information?”
Tyler nodded. Two names weren’t exactly taxing to his brain.
He stood up. “Thank you, sir. I wonder if I mightn’t make a telephone call to my sergeant before I leave.”
“Of course, ask Miss Blandford to connect you. And next time you come to Shrewsbury, Inspector, let’s make sure we get in a luncheon or even a dinner. I have the feeling we have a lot in common.”
Tyler was rather flattered by the comment, although he wasn’t sure what the chief could be referring to. They came from totally different backgrounds. Perhaps he’s was suffering from a heartache as well.
Golden walked him to the door, his hand on Tyler’s shoulder.
“I hope you nab the culprit quickly. We’ve got enough savagery happening on the front. Last thing we need is to bring it here.” He lowered his voice. “Tell you the truth, in confidence, Inspector, I’m thinking of re-enlisting in the army. I’ve been a military man for so much of my life, I can’t get used to sitting behind a desk while the fight goes on elsewhere. I believe my experience might be put to better use on the front lines than pushing paper around here.”
“Good luck, sir. I wish you well.”
They shook hands again, and Tyler went out to the reception desk to make his request to the efficient Miss Blandford. She put him through to the Ludlow police station immediately and Rowell came on the line.
“Any word on the boys, Oliver?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. It’s so blasted dark now that I don’t know what else we can do. I told the search party to come back. They’ve been out there for two hours at least. With the blackout in operation we can’t show much light as it is.”
Dead Ground in Between Page 21
