Bloody Right

by Georgia Evans

  A bit snooty, that, but he nodded in total agreement. “We do indeed, Doctor. Not that I grudged it, you understand. He was in a bad way when we found him. A bad business, this. Very bad.”

  “Odd too. He told me he was kidnapped and brought here.”

  “As I said, a bad business, but seems the perpetrator has fled. Fortunately no lasting harm done.”

  She was not about to disabuse him on that point. After all, his erstwhile gardener wasn’t going to cause any more harm.

  Miss Aubin was waiting in the hall. “Doctor, could I come down and see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Surgery hours are five to seven.”

  “May I come a few minutes early? I need to be back to serve dinner. Molly does well, but I should be there.”

  In ordinary circumstances Alice would have refused but she sensed it wasn’t her health that Miss Aubin wanted to discuss. “Come about a quarter to? I should be home then. Unless I have an emergency call.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wondering what that was about, and consigning that concern to later, Alice drove Whorleigh home, down to Brytewood.

  “You can drop me at home,” he said. “And thank you for getting me out of there.”

  “Not so easy, Mr. Whorleigh. You’re coming home with me. Gran wants a word with you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Thank you, Doctor, but I need to get home. You do understand, don’t you?”

  Attention on the road, Alice found herself agreeing with Whorleigh. He was probably worn out, and needed rest. “Of course.”

  “Good of you to give me a lift. Much obliged I am.”

  “My pleasure.” Not entirely true.

  “I need a nice quiet afternoon on my own to recover. Would be best.” Alice nodded, her attention on the bend ahead. “If you just turn off up Clandon Lane you could drop me off and avoid going through the village.”

  She had her mouth open to agree, when something snapped into place in her mind. “Mr. Whorleigh, what are you trying?”

  “Damnation!” he muttered, half under his breath. “Why doesn’t it work on you? You’re just like your grandmother!”

  “I take that as a compliment, Mr. Whorleigh, and on a point of interest, what were you doing?”

  “Just talking, and I am weary.”

  “I’m sure you are, Mr. Whorleigh, but not too tired to tell us all you know. If this unpleasant incident hasn’t shown you we have trouble right here in Brytewood, nothing will, and you deserve to be hauled off by Vampires for good!”

  Definitely poor bedside manner, but she was tired too and worried into the bargain.

  “Vampires.” She could almost hear him gulp with horror. “That’s what your grandmother said.”

  “Pity you didn’t listen to her. Might have spared yourself a nasty experience.”

  He was quiet as she passed the end of Clandon Lane, obviously given up all thoughts of skiving off home. “I should have guessed.”

  “Their strength?”

  “That and…oh, sweet Jesus! That one bit me, will that mean I turn into one?”

  He was starting to shake. She pulled the car to a stop and grabbed his shoulders. “Calm down, Mr. Whorleigh, and no, I don’t think so.”

  “How do you know? All the stories say…”

  “There are also stories about Pixies and Elves. How much of all that is true?”

  “How do you know it isn’t true about Vampires? How do you know I won’t turn into one of those things? You don’t, do you?”

  He looked petrified. “I can’t swear to it, but listen. The two who took you, we have every reason to believe are German spies.” That definitely got his full attention. “We also have Vampires on our side. Gran met one who’s working in France with the resistance. He told us a good bit about Vampires, although they vary depending on what he called the blood line, but he was certain a single bite didn’t turn a person. It takes more, but…” An idea struck her. “Feeding off a human does set up a sort of interdependency.” It had with that weasly Jeff Williams, Andrew’s old plant manager. That might be useful.

  “I think, Mr. Whorleigh, you are entitled to revenge.” That cheered him up no end. “Want to join with us and try to kill this thing?”

  “Don’t have much choice, do I, Doctor? You’re as good as abducting me as it is.”

  “You’d really rather I left you here by the side of the road for one of them to find you again?”

  The look he gave her answered that. “I’m in with you, but what do you think you and your old grandmother can do against two of them?”

  “It’s not just the two of us, Mr. Whorleigh, and there’s only one. Now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They grabbed you from the shop then stopped and argued while one made the other get out?”

  “That’s right, he had something to deliver up Bell Lane.”

  “Yes. Flowers from Sir James Gregory to Nurse Prewitt. She got married on Saturday morning. You don’t have to worry about that one. I recognized him from an earlier meeting and Gloria and Mary staked him.”

  “Mary who?”

  He was going to know anyway. “Mary LaPrioux. The new schoolteacher, evacuated from Guernsey.”

  “I know who she is. She registered in my shop. But she’s only a little thing.”

  “True, but short or not, she staked him. I helped, but she and Gloria did the deed. Just like you and me and Gran, there’s more to Mary than anyone would guess. So, you’re in with us? Want to make sure this one gets his chips?”

  “Yes, Doctor. I’m with you lot. Whatever you all are.”

  She started the engine and headed for home. Amazing how a man couldn’t stand thinking a girl could outdo him. “I’m glad you’re joining us, Mr. Whorleigh. England needs all of us right now.”

  He said nothing else the rest of the way. Alice drove as fast as safety prescribed. No point in giving him time to get cold feet.

  Good thing she’d asked Peter to light the fire in the drawing room, Helen Burrows thought to herself. It gave young Gryffyth and Mary a nice private place for their argument. Not that it was that private, the way Gryffyth was raising his voice, but at least they were together, and as long as she kept the kitchen door closed, she couldn’t always hear what they were saying.

  Peter came in from feeding the chickens, and looked toward the closed door. “Are they still at it?”

  “That they are,” the sergeant said, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “They’ll settle it soon enough.”

  A particularly loud, male, “Will you listen to common sense?” reverberated through the door.

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” wasn’t as loud, but the higher pitch carried even better.

  “Dammit, Mary!” made up for it.

  “Are you sure someone shouldn’t intervene?” Peter asked. It sounded like Dunkirk all over again in there.

  “Heavens, no,” Helen Burrows replied. “It’s just a lover’s spat. You and Alice have had your share.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, looking at his grandmother-in-law, “but I don’t grow talons or breathe fire when I get irate.”

  Howell Pendragon gave a little chuckle. “Not to worry, Peter. My boy won’t do a thing to her. He’s too much in love with her, as you are with your Alice.”

  “What are they arguing about?”

  Helen Burrows gave a sigh. “Where she’s going to live. She insists she’s going to camp out at Gloria’s once they get the roof covered over and the windows repaired. He wants her to move in with him and Howell.”

  Peter let out a whistle. “She’s a schoolteacher! Do you blame her? Around here tongues wag like flags in the breeze.”

  “Come off it, Peter. They can hardly say much with Howell living there as chaperone, and there’s no way Gloria’s house will be habitable for weeks.”

  “They will though.”

  “Not if they get married,” Howell added. “That’s really what the lad’s bowling for.”


  And he thought he and Alice had moved fast. “Good luck to them both.”

  “They need to sort it out soon,” Howell went on. “Alice is on her way back by now, I’ll be bound.”

  With Whorleigh. “Do we really need him with us? If ever there’s a scofflaw, it’s Sam Whorleigh. How he gets away with it I don’t know.” He paused. “Still, I do owe him one. If he’d acted differently, lord knows what would have happened to Alice after that baker creature attacked her.”

  “Whorleigh did us a favor there. Maybe we’ll get some sense out of him, now he’s tasted trouble,” Mrs. Burrows said.

  “Well, if you ask me…”

  They were destined to never hear the end of Howell Pendragon’s words. A great crash and a cry of shock from the drawing room had their complete attention.

  “Oh, dear, I do hope that’s not the French clock on the mantelpiece. I was meaning to pack it away in case we got hit.” Mrs. Burrows shook her head, and went on with her knitting.

  “That should settle things,” Howell added. “Shocked a bit of sense into them, I hope.”

  Things had gone quiet. A few minutes later, Mary and Gryffyth appeared. She was red in the face and he looked as if he’d been running his hands through his hair.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Burrows,” Mary said. “We’ve a confession. I’m really sorry, but…”

  “We knocked off a vase and broke it. The blue one. Terribly sorry,” Gryffyth added.

  “The Wedgwood one, I’m afraid,” Mary specified. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Didn’t throw it at Gryff’s head, did you?” Pendragon asked.

  “Good Lord, no!”

  “I knocked the table, to be honest,” Gryffyth said.

  “Best clean it up then, son. Ask Helen for the dustpan and brush.”

  Peter knew where it was kept. He grabbed it from the broom cupboard and handed it to Gryffyth and they both went out, Mary apologizing again as Helen Burrows waved her off.

  “That should settle them,” Pendragon said, sounding frightfully pleased with himself.

  “Pity about that vase. It was a wedding present to Alice’s parents, but better break a vase than a heart. You’re sure they’ll sort it out?” she asked Pendragon.

  “Yeah, if not, I’ll have Mrs. Chivers, as billeting officer, assign her to me. Even Mary won’t argue with that.”

  Mrs. Chivers might. “Why not just say so from the beginning?” Peter asked. “You could have saved them a big argument.”

  Pendragon chuckled. “They needed that. Gryffyth had to learn Mary isn’t the wet dishrag sort. She might be sweet and nice-mannered, but she’s made of steel underneath. Just what he needs.”

  When Alice got back, Peter would repeat the whole incident to her. Maybe she could make sense of it.

  But seemed his grandmother-in-law and Howell had been right. Mary and Gryffyth emerged smiling, and peace reigned in the kitchen as she and Mrs. Burrows got busy checking the pie and the vegetables, and Peter, Gryffyth and Howell were set to lay the table.

  “I imagine that Sam Whorleigh will be in need of a good meal when he gets here. If we feed him well, even he’ll be hard pressed to be awkward.”

  No one argued with Mrs. Burrows’s words of wisdom.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Come in, Mr. Whorleigh. I told Alice to be sure to bring you back with her.”

  Peter suppressed a smile. The man looked ready to bolt. Pendragon must think so too, he’d taken up a post by the door. Ready to head him off if he tried to run?

  “I think Gran’s got lunch almost ready,” Alice said, giving him a gentle nudge forward.

  “It is, indeed, and Sam Whorleigh, you look as if you need a good, solid meal. It’s been a nasty weekend so far for you.”

  Hadn’t exactly been a picnic for the village either, but the man did look awful. The confident, blustering shopkeeper looked more like a cowed dog. Of course, facing a roomful of Others you’re not sure are one-hundred-percent friendly could have that effect. Peter had been knocked off kelter more than once by this lot.

  “If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Burrows,” he said. “I told the doctor, I’d be happy to go on home.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Pendragon said, with a laugh. “Bet you tried your Elf persuasion on her too. Did you find it didn’t work?”

  Whorleigh was clearly not amused.

  “Get that sour lemon expression off your face,” Mrs. Burrows told him. “We all know what you are. If you’d just joined with us when first asked you might well have escaped a nasty experience, but you’re here now. That’s what’s important. We’ve a lot to do.”

  “I didn’t see much of them,” Whorleigh volunteered. “And what are you going to do about them anyway?”

  The man—sorry, Elf—was going to have a revelation in the next couple of hours.

  “That can wait until after lunch I think, Mr. Whorleigh. We were just waiting for you and Alice to arrive.”

  Peter stared at the laden table with amazement. Honestly, Lord Woolaton should call on Helen Burrows for advice on stretching food rations. She’d made two enormous chicken pies from the hen Peter had helped her kill and pluck on Friday. The pies were stuffed with potatoes, onions, carrots and tinned peas as well, and the aroma had been making his mouth water for the past hour. They also had dishes of cabbage, carrots, brussels sprouts and masses of mashed potatoes, no doubt from one of the farmers who seemed to pay Alice in kind rather than coin of the realm.

  Once they’d delved their way through that lot, she produced rice pudding and baked apples.

  “Now,” Helen Burrows said, after most of them had opted to have both and were busy spooning and chewing, “we might as well get started. I know Mr. Whorleigh has questions, but first we should let him know what’s going on.”

  “First, I’d like to know why you think my business is yours?” Whorleigh said.

  Staying long enough to eat his way through second helpings of everything, made his business theirs. Not that Peter was about to say that out loud. Instead he replied, “There’s been a lot of trouble here since September, Mr. Whorleigh. We’ve been under attack. I’m sure Alice mentioned something.”

  “She said the ones who took me were Vampires.” Didn’t sound as if he believed that one hundred percent.

  “You doubt our good doctor?” Pendragon asked. Almost sounded like a challenge.

  “Not after what they did to me!” Whorleigh replied. He looked at Mary. “You took a stake to that one.” Peter understood the man’s skepticism. Looking at Mary, small, peaches and cream skin, and hair curled around her face, it was hard to imagine her shoving a stake into a Vampire.

  “Yes, with Gloria’s help. He’s done for.”

  “Good!” He smiled. Not a nice smile but no one missed the meaning. “Thank you. Anything you need, just ask. Tell the nurse the same too. I’m much obliged.”

  “Mr. Whorleigh,” Mary replied. “I appreciate the gesture, but it’s not groceries and supplies we need most from you.”

  “Eh?”

  “You’re Other, Whorleigh,” Howell Pendragon said. “We need your gifts and powers to help take down this last one.” His tone brooked no arguments.

  “What can I do?”

  “That depends on you, Whorleigh.” Gryffyth did not sound pleased. The slight to Mary’s Vampire-slaying skills must have rubbed him wrong. “It’s very simple. We have Vampires among us. We had four, now we’re down to one. The police or the army can’t take care of them, so it’s up to us.”

  “Why us in particular?” His glance took in the whole table.

  “We’re Other,” Gryffyth replied.

  “What are you?”

  “He’s my son,” Pendragon replied.

  “And you are?” The man made no attempt to be nice. Did they really need him?

  “I am the Pendragon,” he replied, standing. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. Peter knew what to expect. Whorleigh had no idea.
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  Pendragon let out a roar, pressed his hands on the table and they all watched as his fingers turned to claws, his nails to talons, and his skin became nothing short of reptilian. No matter how many times one saw it, it was downright impressive.

  Whorleigh looked ready to go into shock. “You’re really a Dragon?”

  “The Pendragon,” he replied, as he slipped his jacket back on and sat down.

  After that Pixies and Water Sprites seemed a bit tame, but Whorleigh seemed willing to give his respect to Vampire-killing Pixies and Sprites. “What about you?” he asked Peter.

  “Me? I’m just plain common or garden-human, I’m afraid. I’m along for the ride.”

  “And to help kill Vampires when needed,” Alice added, with a grin in his direction.

  “Alright,” Whorleigh said. Pendragon’s demonstration seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of him a bit. It was an improvement. “So there’s Vampires lurking about. Some are dead, but not all.” They were all dead to be exact, but now wasn’t the time to get pedantic. “What the heck are they doing here?”

  “We’ve all asked the very same question,” Alice replied. “We don’t know for certain, but because of the first one’s connection with Miss Waite, who was arrested as a spy, we suspect that’s what they are. And as such, up to no good. There’s been more than one attack on the munitions plant, and it doesn’t take much imagination to know why they’re interested in Wharton Lacey.”

  “The weekend visitors,” Howell added.

  “Sorry, I’m not with you there, Dad,” Gryffyth said.

  “Visitors. Quite a few of them and, by the look of the cars that go up there, they’re army or government people,” his father replied. “It’s an open secret, like the munitions plant. Everyone knows about it, but knows they shouldn’t talk about it, especially after finding out about Miss Waite.”

  “No wonder the Germans want a spy there,” Gryffyth added.

  “Maybe more than just watching,” Mary said. Her clear teacher’s voice got attention. “Wouldn’t killing a few selected government people really tilt things in their favor?”