Message For Hitler

by Cate M. Ruane

  “Capital,” said Lord Sopwith.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I ASKED IF IT WAS TRUE we were going for fish and chips. Lord Sopwith said a gentleman never lies. I thought about the note he’d just dictated to me.

  “Taking a rest are we?”

  “In a matter of speaking,” he said.

  Duncan was waiting around the corner with the car, reading the sports section but on the lookout for our arrival. He opened the passenger door for us, even though I tried to beat him to it. We piled into the front seat again, me in the middle.

  “There’s been a slight alteration to the plan, Duncan.” Turned out that Duncan was already in on “The Plan.” Lord Sopwith spoke in a whisper, even though the windows were rolled up. “We will first stop off at a chip shop. We’ll take it in a package and eat on the go, what? Not too heavy a meal, because we may be called upon to swim.”

  The Rolls pulled up in front of a fish and chip stand across from the sea-front. Me and Duncan went to place our order. I had to make sure they didn’t put vinegar on my chips. I asked the cook to slobber on the tomato sauce, because he wouldn’t know what ketchup was. My vocabulary was becoming more British every day. My ma wasn’t going to like it one bit. Ever since Jack swore allegiance to King and Country, she’d been making donations to the Irish Republican Army.

  Back in the Rolls, with greasy bags sitting on our laps, we ate our supper while Lord Sopwith outlined “The Plan.” You call a plan like his a smoke-out.

  Same as me, Lord Sopwith had a sharp eye. When we first drove into town, he noticed that most of the boats were tethered to the docks—in clear view of pedestrians strolling along the waterfront or sitting out at a restaurant or pub. The idea was to rent the most seaworthy boat. Lord Sopwith was a champion World-Cup yachtsman and would have no trouble operating it. We’d move the boat over to a deserted part of the sea-front, somewhere with a lot of bomb damage, hence, where most people didn’t want to be strolling, afraid they’d step on an unexploded shell. We’d leave the boat unattended and then find a hiding spot that gave us a good view and a clear shot. The Nazis would be looking to steal a boat, and ours would “suit their purposes to perfection.”

  “It’s a good plan, your lordship,” said Duncan. “And am I right to assume I’ll be the one holding the Webley? Being I’m the one been practicing.”

  Lord Sopwith winked at Duncan. I started to protest. But to tell you true, I wouldn’t know a Webley if it hit me on the head. I wished now I’d brought along my slingshot. Marbles might have come in useful, too. Even a yo-yo would’ve been better than nothing.

  “You are the sentry,” said Lord Sopwith, speaking to me. “A very critical position. But in no instance are you to involve yourself beyond that.”

  “What are you playing, sir,” I asked.

  “I am the ship’s captain, and your commanding officer.” I stood at attention and saluted. Duncan did the same. We followed our chief to the boat docks.

  It didn’t take long to pick the right vessel. She was a tugboat with a small cabin up front. The hull was painted green and the top half of the boat was white. It stood out in the moonlight. Little Union Jacks were strung from the mast to a ladder at the back. Lord Sopwith made a deal with the owner, who told us he’d fallen on hard times ever since the war started, what with German U-boats patrolling the Channel and preventing him from going into the deep waters. He was happy to get a wad of British pounds and Lord Sopwith’s pledge to replace the boat if anything catastrophic happened to it.

  “I’m off to the pub for a nip,” said the tugboat owner, patting his wallet. “The one what’s not a pile of bricks.”

  “Cheerio,” I said.

  We waded over to the boat in nothing but our drawers. Lord Sopwith and Duncan climbed into the boat while I turned the crank that raised the anchor.

  “She’s a bit of a rust-bucket,” said Duncan. “Not like Endeavour.”

  “Don’t be a snob, Duncan,” said Lord Sopwith. “She shall suit our purposes to perfection.” When Lord Sopwith got the boat started, she belched black smoke from a stack on top of the cabin. Once she got going though, she chugged along just fine. The perfect spot turned out to be right in front of what was once Dover’s fanciest hotel. Now it was a heap of rubble. We dropped anchor about fifty yards from the shore, where the water was still deep—alongside a long pier that jutted out to the sea. I might’ve been able to leap to the boardwalk pillions and climb to the top, staying bone dry—only I didn’t want to abandon my two comrades, who were older and might need my help. I’ll admit that my heart raced as I jumped into the water, pointing my toes and keeping my arms pressed to my side, hoping not to belly flop. My body was like a torpedo, my feet hit the bottom of the sea and I pushed off, forgetting about the cut in my foot until it was too late; salt water stung it worse than rubbing alcohol. For a minute there—under the dark waves, water up my nose, swallowing a mouthful of brine—I panicked. But I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes and I knew I’d make it. I surfaced, gulped air, and then got the idea to float on my back, pushing backwards like a retreating dolphin. It was a struggle, what with the tide going out instead of in. And the water was ice cold. Lord Sopwith and Duncan were waiting for me at the shore.

  “Now back to the Rolls where we will re-clothe ourselves,” said Lord Sopwith. He’d worked out all the details.

  “If you’d told me the plan sooner, I would’ve brought along those fluffy towels with the hotel name embroidered on them,” I said. “They were laying on our beds.”

  “I’ll never keep you in the dark again, young man,” said Lord Sopwith, shivering.

  Duncan drove the Rolls closer to where we’d left the boat, while Lord Sopwith and me got back into our clothes. Then Lord Sopwith walked over to a phone booth and called the DCI at his home exchange.

  “Jolly good news,” he said when he hung up the receiver.

  “Shucks,” I said, stamping my foot. “They’ve caught them already?”

  “Don’t lose heart, young man. We may have a crack at them yet. Two men, meeting the exact description of Daphne’s drawing, were earlier this evening spotted in a Dover pub having a pint of beer and four orders of bangers and mash. The barmaid is 100% certain they were the very Germans whom we seek. The devil, dressed as an RAF navigator, attempted to flirt with the barmaid, if you can believe it. The other man, who she mistook for his son, didn’t say a peep—had his head in the plate the whole time. I’d say this is your Fritz character, the Luftwaffe man. “There’s one point that’s troubling the Detective Chief Inspector. And I must say, it is disturbing news.”

  “They popped someone!”

  “No, Tommy, they seduced someone. You see, the barmaid later watched as the German succeeded in wooing a WAAF into the booth. She was then seen leaving the pub in the company of the two men.” He shook is head. “If you want my opinion, morals have declined since the start of this war. It’s all this improper fraternizing between men and women—in the factories, in the services, in public houses. Why, before the war it would have been unheard of for a decent English girl to go into a pub unescorted and walk out with two Nazis.”

  “She may be a hostage, your lordship,” said Duncan. “If they show up with the lass, what are we to do?”

  “By golly—rescue the silly girl of course!” said Lord Sopwith, raising his palms. “Now, more than ever, it’s of paramount importance that we keep our wits about us.”

  The obvious place to hide was up on the pier. There were little gazebos built along the wood boardwalk, which would provide the perfect cover. We’d have a clear view of the boat and, if need be, one of us could climb down to the water in seconds flat and stop Fritz and his accomplice from escaping. I made my suggestion to Lord Sopwith.

  “Roger that,” he said.

  That’s when Lord Sopwith began doubting the idea of having me along for the stake-out—started saying I was too young, should be in bed, that Lady Sop was going to have a conniption because he
’d let me along this far. He even brought my ma into the equation. I had to swear to stay hidden out of sight if there was even the slightest trouble. I wasn’t allowed to “engage the enemy.” Not even to save Lord Sopwith and Duncan. And if I disobeyed orders, I’d never get another pence of allowance or a bite of Mrs. Balson’s delicious pudding. We crept to one of the gazebos, keeping low so that the railing and benches blocked our view from the seashore.

  “We should’ve brought your high-powered binoculars, sir,” I said.

  “We’ll see them if they make a move towards the boat. As fate would have it, they’ve picked a bright night to make an escape.”

  An hour flew by while we watched solitary pedestrians walking along the seashore and the road that fronted it. Duncan was the first to spot a man, making his way down the pier. As he came closer to our position, we could see he had a billy club in his hand.

  “I don’t recognize the fella,” I whispered when he was about ten feet from us.

  “Are you certain?” asked Lord Sopwith.

  With the man five feet from us, I said: “100%. For one thing, he’s wearing a police uniform.”

  “Who’s there!” shouted the copper. “Come out and present yourselves immediately.” We stepped out from the gazebo and he shined a flashlight in our faces, making sure we saw the club he was wielding.

  “Thomas Sopwith, at your service. Am I correct in saying that you report to DCI Harris?”

  The copper put the club under his armpit and shook Lord Sopwith’s hand. “Joining in the search, are you? Seen any suspicious activity?”

  Lord Sopwith assured him we had everything under control, mentioning that he worked with the Air Ministry and that both he and Duncan were trained for this kind of operation. “Now, Constable, be so good as to let us get back to our post,” he said.

  “Carry on, gentlemen,” said the copper, who turned around and left the pier.

  We sat on the floor inside the gazebo, all eyes on the seashore. Another hour or two passed by with nothing to break the boredom. Then, when the moon was right overhead, we spotted a car driving from a side street and heading toward the pier. The headlights were off, but that didn’t mean anything—the blackout was in effect.

  “It could be two lovers, out for a rendezvous,” said Lord Sopwith.

  The car stopped and we watched as a woman stepped from the driver’s side, leaning against the hood of the car. She lit a cigarette. It was too dark, and we were too far away, to get a good view of her as she gazed out to sea. After a minute or two, she tossed the cigarette butt into the sand, got back into her car, and drove back down the same side street.

  “Well, that was exciting,” I said.

  More time passed—just as action packed. The three of us were having trouble keeping our eyes opened. Duncan suggested we take turns napping—two on duty, one resting. This way we’d save our energy for the chase. Lord Sopwith supported the plan and I was chosen to nap first.

  “Wake me up if you see anyone approaching,” I said.

  And they promised to do it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I WAS SOUND ASLEEP when the air-raid sirens woke me, not sure how much time had passed. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Lord Sopwith and Duncan shaking themselves awake. I jumped up to see if the tugboat was still there bobbing on the Channel waters.

  It was.

  “We’ll have to find a bomb shelter, I’m afraid,” said Lord Sopwith. “This position is too exposed.”

  I figured we had about five minutes to find cover before bombs began dropping. We ran to the Rolls and Lord Sopwith gave the order to head back to the guest house. He wanted to make sure Daphne and Lady Sopwith were safe. We found them in an Anderson shelter in the back yard. “Plenty of room for everyone,” said Mrs. Hill, making space for us. “And refreshments provided at no extra charge.”

  “Very thoughtful of you,” said Lady Sop.

  It was dark in the shelter. I sat on the ground, taking no particular notice of the man sitting next to me. “Good to see you, kiddo,” he said, slapping my back.

  Mrs. Hill lit a candle so I was able to get a good look at my brother Jack. Daphne was sitting on his lap. Squadron Leader Kennard was sitting next to Jack, and Sel Edner was opposite me.

  “Sel— you’re alive! Gee, I’m glad.”

  “The Eagle rises again,” he said, tapping his head. “Most of the boys are back in the saddle now. The Jerries can’t keep us down, no siree.”

  Turned out that Lady Sopwith decided to call my brother, telling him where we were. She wanted Daphne’s parents’ number, too, just in case she didn’t wake up from her nap: next of kin.

  Kennard said: “Jack and I deserved a little holiday after three weeks on. Not that going in chase of a downed Luftwaffe pilot is much of a holiday. Edner here was corralled into joining the posse as we filed our flight plan. Technically, he’s still on medical leave.”

  “I can’t think of a finer way to spend my holiday,” said Jack, squeezing Daphne.

  A bomb dropped close enough to shake the ground. Mrs. Hill screamed and grabbed onto Squadron Leader Kennard. Lady Sop began singing a patriotic song, while she unpacked a basket full of snacks. She was a great sport.

  “What news, Tommy? And don’t think for a second you’re off the hook for leaving us behind in that way—it was beastly wrong,” said Daphne.

  “I am to blame for the subterfuge,” said Lord Sopwith. “You needed your rest, my dear.” The ground shook again. The noise was deafening.

  “I hope the Spits survive,” said Jack. “We left them sitting out on the tarmac.”

  Mrs. Hill passed around a plate of cheese—Kent made, she said—scones with strawberry jam, and apples. Daphne asked me to leave something for the rest of them, but turned down a scone when I offered her a bite of mine. “I’m still a bit wobbly,” she said.

  “My dear,” said Lady Sop to her husband, “did you know someone tried to poison Daphne?”

  “If it’s true, I’ll tear them limb from limb,” said Jack.

  “I really don’t think it was intentional,” said Daphne, naïve as usual. “It’s just that the symptoms were so like hemlock poisoning. The plant is all over the yard at the WAAF billet where I’d just had tea. But for heaven’s sake, the whole idea is insane—who would want to kill me?”

  “About a dozen women I can think of off the top of my head,” said Jack.

  The shelter rumbled as another bomb exploded. My ears rang.

  “That might have been the neighbor’s house,” said Mrs. Hill eventually. “It sounded that close, wouldn’t you say?”

  BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! The Germans were right overhead, having a field day. It was too loud to keep talking, so I got to thinking. Racking my brain, I pictured the kitchen in the WAAF billet, just as it was on Sunday afternoon when I’d finished up the yard work and found Daphne having tea-time with her friends. I remembered that Geraldine was there and so was Blanche. With Blanche there was the jealousy motive. Or maybe it was a German husband who put her up to it. Dot was there, too—on my list of suspects. Then there was Alice. But I couldn’t remember if she’d been there having tea. I didn’t like the woman, but Lady Sheffield vouched for her and I trusted Lady Sheffield. I’d seen her son’s grave with my own eyes. And besides, there was her Star of David necklace.

  “Jack,” I said, first break in the action. “This morning when Mrs. Wigglesworth called you, what did she say?”

  “Mrs. Who?” asked Jack.

  “Mrs. Wigglesworth—you know, the Luftwaffe pilot’s English grandma.”

  “He has an English grandmother?” asked Kennard. “Are you serious?”

  “It was Geraldine that she reached,” I said. “When she called the base to tell you I was being held hostage by her grandson.”

  “But, Thomas,” said Daphne. “I saw Geraldine this afternoon and she said nothing about a phone call.”

  My head began spinning, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you sa
ying no one gave you the message—the message from Mrs. Wigglesworth asking you to come and rescue me in Mayfair?” It was dawning on me that my brother and Kennard didn’t get the message. And yet, I was dang-tootin’ sure Mrs. Wigglesworth was telling me the truth when she said she’d spoken to Geraldine. “How well do you know Geraldine?” I asked.

  “Who is Geraldine?” asked Lady Sop. “Do I know the woman?”

  “No, Warrant Officer Geraldine Noble,” I said.

  “You’re not suggesting it was Geraldine who poisoned me?” said Daphne.

  “And tripped the squadron giving Sel here a concussion. And poisoned the food in the base kitchen. And put hemlock in your tea, Daphne. And also made it so your Spitfire would catch fire, Jack.”

  “That’s preposterous,” said Daphne.

  “I think, bub, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Jack. “Geraldine wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s a swell gal. She’s dating a buddy of ours.”

  Daphne was still protesting. Squadron Leader Kennard piped in, defending Geraldine’s “stellar” reputation. Sel chimed in and said he thought she was a swell gal, too. I was alone in my suspicions, but I was sticking to my guns. Mrs. Wigglesworth definitely spoke with Geraldine. I said:

  “So, how did you know I was a hostage? How did you know we were headed for Dover? Are you telling me you never came to rescue me from Mrs. Wigglesworth’s house in London? Are you telling me you didn’t read the note she left behind for you?”

  “Who is Mrs. Wigglesworth again?” asked Lady Sop. “I’m having trouble keeping up.”

  The all-clear siren went off and we exited the shelter. The first thing we did was to follow Mrs. Hill to the fence that divided her property from the neighbor’s. We heard a fire truck came to a stop in front of the house; or what once was a house, anyway. Little bonfires dotted the lawn. Two women dressed in Home Guard uniforms jumped out of a jeep.