‘I have to hide the others. You’ll have to untie my stays to find them.’ She swivelled, felt the stays loosen behind her as his fingers touched them, trembling. ‘Now pull them off,’ she whispered.
He reached under her skirt and hauled the stays down: a blessed release, though she had already loosened them while Madame at the hotel prepared the picnic basket. Charlie sniffed them, and began to chew. The whalebone crunched. A doggy grin crossed his face and he crunched some more.
Sophie looked up at Angus. Suddenly she was giggling, leaning on his chest, feeling the rumble of his laughter too. Charlie gave a satisfied growl as another whalebone broke.
‘A dog is not supposed to chew your stays in the best seductions.’
‘So this is a seduction?’ he asked, suddenly serious.
‘Yes. It may be the only one I ever do successfully, so be quiet and do what you are told. Charlie, you be quiet too.’
‘Hrff,’ said Charlie, with satisfaction.
‘Sophie.’ Angus’s arms tightened about her. He kissed her hair, lifted her face and kissed that too, eyes, lips. He pulled back. ‘Sophie, I love you.’
‘Even though I only have two breasts?’
‘Maybe you’ll grow some more. When we’re married I will have to check them, very often —’
A voice muttered just beyond the farmhouse wall. ‘I reckon they’re in the chimney!’
How had daylight thrust itself into the world so quickly? Angus got her behind him before she knew it was happening. ‘We’re English,’ he called as she hurriedly did up her buttons.
‘Are you, now? Prove it! And come out with your hands up!’
‘Stay here,’ he murmured.
Angus stepped out of the chimney, his hands in the air. Sophie watched as two English army privates faced him, one with a rifle, bayonet fixed. Both had the stunted, narrow-shouldered look of the men she’d seen in London’s East End, mud and blood on their uniforms, unshaven faces, and eyes that didn’t blink.
Fox eyes, Sophie thought. Foxes who have been hunted by the hounds, who know they will die, and no longer care because they’ve run too long.
‘What do you think, Johnno? Shoot ’im anyway? Probably pinched that uniform from one of our lot.’
Sophie pushed herself out of the chimney, the dog at her heels. ‘No! We really are English!’
The smaller of the two men grinned. He had no teeth. ‘Knew I’d heard a woman. Prove yer English, ducky.’
‘How …’ Suddenly she knew. She began to sing. Words a patient had sung every time she’d changed his dressings; said it lessened the pain if he did. A pre-war music-hall song, with the words changed to fit the rougher time. They seemed particularly fitting now.
‘Lottie Collins has no drawers
Will you kindly lend her yours?
She is going far away
To sing “Ta ra ra ra boom de ay” …’
Both soldiers were grinning now. Angus’s expression was impossible to read.
‘So she is English. Right then, love, let’s see your drawers.’
She’d hoped the music-hall song would make them think of girls at home. But maybe they used girls at home like this too.
Angus stood in front of her, his elbows out to block her from their view. ‘Put your weapons down now. That is an order.’
Neither made any sign they had heard him or even noticed his insignia of rank. Charlie growled. Sophie pushed his head to make him sit. The dog might grab one of them before he could use his rifle, but the other could still shoot him.
Angus’s hands clenched into fists. ‘I gave you an order, soldier!’
‘An’ I heard it. But I reckon we’re gunna be shot anyway, by the firing squad or the Hun, whichever gets us first. An’ if you had a pistol handy you’d ’ave it out by now.’ The grin grew wider as Angus’s hands didn’t move towards a weapon. ‘I thought as much. We heard what you was doing in there. Officers only, eh?’ He glanced back at Sophie. ‘Now, lift them skirts and lie down.’
Angus lunged towards them. She grabbed his arm. He stared at her for a brief second.
Please understand, she thought. Please, Angus. Let them try to rape me. Stay still. Look beaten, till both men look only at me. Our only chance is to take them unawares.
Angus met her eyes, then nodded, the smallest of nods. He knew she had her pistol. His eyes said, As soon as I move, you attack them too.
She bent down and slowly gripped the hem of her skirt. Next to her Charlie wagged his tail, as though this were a game.
The men’s eyes followed the silk skirt as she slid it almost imperceptibly up her legs, over her ripped stockings, showing her bare thighs. ‘I should open my bodice too,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t you think I should open my bodice?’
‘We kin do that, missy.’
Don’t move, Angus, she thought. She glanced at him; she saw the breath of a nod again. Distract them, she told herself. Lull them so they don’t watch him, or my hand when it reaches for the pistol. ‘But you might get my bodice dirty. I’ll let you watch how it’s done.’ She undid one button, then another, let the fabric slide down her now-bare breasts before she touched the third.
Both men stared only at her now. She met their eyes, and smiled, looking up at them through her lashes. ‘On second thoughts, I should unhook my stockings first. Don’t want them to get holes.’
The stockings were mostly holes already, but at least both garters were intact. She pushed down one garter, cream brocade, lifted it to her lips, kissed it, then held it out. ‘Which one of you would like my garter? Which one of you wants to take me first? I’m all yours now …’ She moved her hand into her pocket, pulled back the pistol’s safety catch …
The men’s mouths were open. Stayed open as four shots ripped four holes in the morning and their backs, even though she hadn’t had a chance to shoot.
The men flopped like puppets onto the ground.
Angus must have managed to get one of their weapons! No time to wonder how now. ‘The car!’ she hissed. ‘Come on, you stupid dog, don’t sniff them …’
She bent to pull at Charlie’s fur as Angus grabbed her shoulder.
‘Sophie, stop.’
She realised Angus hadn’t shot the men at all. Couldn’t have shot them, not in the back.
‘Hände hoch!’ The order came from just beyond the wall.
Charlie sat, as though he felt the order was directed at him, not them. His tail thudded on the ground. He looked towards Sophie as though saying, ‘See? That’s what you need to say. I am a good dog.’
Sophie glanced at Angus. Once again he shifted his body to protect her from any shots.
‘Do what he says, put your hands up,’ he said quietly. ‘Prisoner of war is better than being dead. Or so I gather.’ He gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘It’s good they are asking us to surrender. It means there is someone in charge. Means …’ He hesitated. ‘Things will be … controlled …’
So the Germans won’t rape me, thought Sophie. Possibly. She nodded.
Angus raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m not armed.’ Sophie gave a fleeting thought to her still half-bare breasts, then raised her hands too. Charlie wagged his tail, as though hoping for a biscuit or a game.
A face peered around the wall, and then advanced, bayonet out. A German private. The soldier patted Angus down, hunting for arms, then, reassured he had no weapon, yelled something. Two more men followed him, in the uniforms of German privates too. Behind them a booted officer leaned on a cane. Red stained one half of his shirt. Fresh blood, dripping onto the mud.
Sophie let her hands fall. She quickly did up her buttons.
‘That was quite a show, Miss Higgs.’
‘Dolphie! What …? I …’
‘I think the English phrase is “Fancy seeing you here”. Sophie, what are you doing in a war zone? Are you a nurse?’
‘Yes.’ It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. ‘Are we in the middle of German territory?’
Beside her, Angus stared at Dolphie, at her, clearly remembering the count from Sophie’s story in the night; possibly wondering, as she was, if he too might be here to stop tomorrow’s carnage — or to assist it.
She could see Dolphie considering how much to tell her. ‘This is held by no one, at this moment. But I am not sure where either force is. My regiment is a long way from here. My men and I are … on a mission.’
Was such a coincidence possible? Was it a coincidence? Given the troop positions this was probably the best, or even only, route possible, for this particular mission, on this particular night. Malcolm will show up next, she thought. And the earl, and possibly Jones, carrying coffee for breakfast.
‘Dolphie, your shoulder needs to be bandaged.’
‘I hope it will be. May I ask who this gentleman is?’
‘He’s a friend,’ she said shortly. She was blowed if she was going to do drawing-room introductions in a war zone. And besides, Angus’s role in what might be treason would need to be kept quiet, whether they landed in a prisoner-of-war camp or escaped. No, when they escaped.
‘I … see.’
‘No, you damn well don’t. Look, I’m going to rip up my petticoat for bandages. Is that all right? Dolphie, take your shirt off.’
‘Ah, Sophie. You will never know how often I have dreamed you would say that to me. But not … quite like this.’ He looked at Angus as he said it, not at her.
‘Your men can cover us,’ she said impatiently as she tugged the petticoat down from under her skirt. ‘I’m armed only with a petticoat.’ She pulled at it. The seam held. She looked over at Angus. ‘Rip it into pieces, please.’
Angus’s look was indecipherable. ‘You know,’ he said conversationally, ‘I dreamed of ripping your underwear, but not quite like this.’
Staking his claim, just as Dolphie had tried to do. Just what she needed: two possessive men in the middle of a battlefield.
‘Just rip.’
Two tugs. The seams gave. Angus handed the strip back to her, then glanced infinitesimally at her pocket with the pistol as he began to rip off more petticoat. ‘Thank you,’ she said, just as conversationally. ‘You always know what to do.’
‘I hope so,’ he said quietly. ‘Sit,’ he added to Charlie, who had bounced up in case he was invited to rip too, all injury forgotten in a chance to play. Charlie sat, then put his head on his paws, watching to see what the next human game might be.
‘Here.’ Sophie balled the strip of cloth as a pad and pressed it against the blood that welled from Dolphie’s shoulder; Angus handed her another to tie in a rough bandage to keep it there. ‘Try not to move.’
Dolphie looked almost amused, despite the black shadows under his eyes. ‘I am afraid that will not be possible.’
She looked up from her bandaging. ‘Dolphie, please, let us go.’
‘You know that I can’t. Your friend here must be taken prisoner, you understand?’
‘I understand you think it’s your duty.’
‘Yes. It is my duty. A duty you do not understand, and I have no time to explain. And you …’ He paused. ‘I will see what I can arrange. When I can make a telephone call I may be able to help you. But that may not be for a week or more.’
She imagined seeing the war out in a cold German castle. ‘Dolphie, I have to get somewhere. It’s important.’
‘As I must get somewhere. And that is important too.’
‘Nothing can be as important as what I am trying to do today.’ She could not ask if he was attempting to stop the gas attack. His escort might not know his true purpose. ‘Dolphie, I give you my word we won’t try to hurt you, or any of your men. I give you my word that Germans will not be killed or hurt because you let me go now.’
‘Sophie, I regret this deeply. But you do not understand.’
‘I regret this too,’ she said.
She tilted the gun in her pocket, glad the soldiers were standing so still, trying to follow the exchange in a foreign language; glad of the years of potting rabbits, with no time to raise the gun to her eye to aim.
Two shots. A soldier sank to the ground, red stars appearing, one on his forehead, a second in his neck. Angus threw the petticoat over the soldier next to him, then lunged, bringing him down like a footballer. Sophie fired at the third soldier, before he came to his senses and used his rifle; she saw the red rose bloom on his shoulder, saw him fall, turned her pistol to Dolphie.
His own pistol was in his hand.
‘You gave your word,’ said Dolphie.
Angus seized some shreds of petticoat, and tied the wrists of the man he’d felled, and then his ankles. One of the other fallen Germans groaned.
‘I lied,’ said Sophie as Angus efficiently took off the wounded boy’s shirt — for he was a boy, she saw, perhaps as young as Angus’s borstal boy — to tie his wrists together. Angus glanced at her, then took off the boy’s undershirt to pack against the wound in his shoulder, tying it with another strip of petticoat. Sophie watched him. She wanted to sob; to beg the boy’s forgiveness; to run and keep running; to close her eyes and vanish back to Thuringa where war was safely across the world.
She could do none of these, not even show her anguish and remorse. Worse: part of her was proud that unlike the men Angus had mentioned, she had been able to shoot when necessary. She had killed a man, wounded a second.
But I am not a soldier, she thought. What am I, then? A murderer?
She managed to give a polite bob. ‘I am sorry if I have not followed the correct traditions of a war, or of a gentleman.’
‘These are my men. Loyal men, doing their duty.’
She wanted to cry, ‘I’m doing my duty too! I am trying to save hundreds. Thousands. And if you are too, then I could not ask you, in case the men with you did not know what you intend. I did what I had to.’ And yet she knew that in the years to come — decades, if she lived that long — this one action would slice her nights to nightmares.
Angus reached for the boy’s rifle. ‘Do not do that, Captain,’ added Dolphie, almost casually. ‘Not while my pistol is aimed at Miss Higgs. I can shoot both of you.’
‘No,’ said Angus. ‘If you shoot me, Miss Higgs will shoot you before you can shoot her. If you shoot her, I will have my hands around your throat by the time your finger has left the trigger.’
‘I do not think so,’ said Dolphie.
‘Angus.’ Sophie didn’t look at him, just at Dolphie. ‘You know where to go. I don’t. The paper is in my bag. You know what you need to say. If Dolphie and I shoot each other, then you’ll be free to go. Do it.’
‘Sophie … Yes. I know where to take it. If I have to.’
Dolphie’s expression had changed. ‘What paper are you talking about? Sophie, why are you here, now? Today? Are you really a nurse?’
Should she tell him that this was what nurses did on their day off, in a silk dress, seducing an officer in a war zone?
‘Dolphie,’ she said gently. ‘You are the enemy. I cannot tell you that. Will you really shoot me? There is no point shooting only one of us. If you can’t shoot us both, then why shoot one?’
‘Woof,’ said Charlie. He looked from person to person, as though making a decision. Suddenly he got up and moved to Sophie, then leaned against her leg. He growled softly, at Dolphie and Angus, at all the world in general, except Sophie.
‘See?’ she said to Dolphie. ‘Charlie will kill you if you hurt me.’ She doubted Charlie would do anything of the kind. But at least he looked big and was no longer slobbering. ‘You’re outnumbered.’
‘I can shoot a dog,’ Dolphie said, but even as he said it she knew it wasn’t true. Knew, too, that he wouldn’t shoot her.
He lowered his pistol.
‘Put it on the ground.’
He did. And in that moment she knew for sure how Hannelore had got the information, knew why Dolphie was where he was, where she was, in that place, at that time. Not an unlikely coincidence. He had inadvertently set her on his own mission, al
though it appeared he did not know that Hannelore had sent the information to her. One man, at least, had not a full heart to do what he had been ordered to do.
Two duties. One to his country, and one to the sense of humanity that remained despite the necessities of war.
She looked at the dead German boy, at the white-faced one groaning on the ground. Had she killed a boy of loyalty and integrity, who knew he was risking his life and reputation to help Dolphie stop the gas from being used? Or had the boy merely been following orders?
She couldn’t ask. Not now.
Could Dolphie really stop the Germans from using the gas? Possibly, as an officer. At least he might stop them from using it today, tomorrow, this week, until the other side had time to understand the threat, protect themselves in whatever way was possible.
But Dolphie had no car. Presumably he had had one. Presumably he, too, had tried other means to stop this, and had been driven to try to intervene at the last possible moment, just as she was. Presumably, too, he had been attacked, either by the Allies or by his own side. And she had now shot two of the men who might have helped him.
She — or rather, Angus, with his uniform and medal — had more chance of saving lives today than Dolphie. She saw the moment when Dolphie realised that as well. Dolphie always understands, she thought vaguely.
Dolphie stared at her. ‘If you tie me up, you are signing death warrants for me and my men.’
She would not cry. Could not cry. Would she ever be able to? Sophie Higgs, murderer and liar. ‘So what do I do with you?’
‘I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman that we will not try to hinder your escape.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I am an officer and a gentleman.’
‘And I am an ignorant colonial?’ And liar. Liar. Murderer, she thought.
The pain in his smile was not from what must be the agony of his wound. ‘You never did see me, did you, Sophie? I made most sure that you would not. Even now, you see me as an enemy, not a man. But I saw you. And I did love you.’
Did? Something tore. Perhaps her heart. But how could any man, even a soldier — especially a soldier — love a woman who had just shot his men in cold blood? Or not quite cold, perhaps, for she still trembled.
Miss Lily’s Lovely Ladies Page 44
