by Lydia Syson
“We know you’re in there!”
Did they? Henryk felt Peggy shake her head, moving just a fraction, so he would know it wasn’t true. At last he laid his arm around her, very, very gently, holding her to him, as much to comfort himself as to keep her still and silent and safe.
Another voice.
“Do you see anything? What can you hear?”
“Look behind the altar.”
“Shhh. Just listen a moment?”
Another stranger. More banging. Doors. They must be checking the vestry. Henryk was pretty confident he’d covered his tracks well. They would find the cassock hanging from a peg, just as he had. The hymnbooks piled up. Some spare altarcloths.
The next voice was full of authority.
“We’ve got the place surrounded. You may as well come out now.”
Henryk heard Peggy swallow. Again, a tiny movement of her head. Hot darkness. Her trembling against his hips.
He began to count. Footsteps. Striding closer, then shuffling away. Stopping and starting. The loose benches beside the altar scraped against the brick; he heard a grunt, as if someone had leaned over the altar rail to lift the cloth. And then the steps and voices came back their way. Steps, and a low, irregular thud—perhaps the wooden handle of a pitchfork, perhaps the butt of a rifle. Someone was mounting the pulpit. He was right overhead. It felt crushing.
Henryk and Peggy shrank as one from the boards above them, squeezing themselves away from the thunder of boots. He gripped her hand and felt his pressure returned. He had never been so glad not to be alone.
They waited.
“Don’t know when I was last in here,” said one man. “Hard to tell if anything’s been disturbed, isn't it?”
A different kind of grunt. Muttering about cobwebs.
“If someone has been here, they knew how to cover their tracks, I reckon. Hmmm … not sure about this though …”
And then the door banged again, and they heard a new voice—familiar—young. Ernest.
“Hey! I’ve found something! I’ve found a parachute.”
“A parachute? Where?”
“In the bank … Gut Sewer. Come with me … quick … I’ll show you.”
“What did I tell you, Ted? Didn’t I always say it had to be a parachutist?”
The voices retreated. Peggy collapsed against Henryk a little more, and a gasp escaped him.
48
They were alone again. Peggy’s racing heart gradually reined itself in. She felt as if she’d been knocked down, winded.
“Why did he do that?” she finally said. “I can’t believe it. I’ll never forgive him.”
“Shhhhh,” said Henryk. “You must not say that. You don’t understand. He has saved us.” His whispered words dusted her cheek.
“What?”
“It would have been easy to give us away—me and you. Just to say ‘look—they are there. I have seen him.’ But he didn’t, did he? He has led them away from here. That is why he came.”
He was right, of course. One more minute and the men would have found something that betrayed them.
“I wonder if he has really found your parachute,” said Peggy, reluctant to move.
“He did. But not today.”
“What? When? I didn’t know.”
“He told me, the first time I saw him alone. I believed him.”
Peggy didn’t like the idea of Ernest and Henryk sharing a secret, without her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
“He didn’t tell me. I don’t know why not,” Peggy admitted. “He can be funny like that. You don’t always know what he’s thinking. Like June always says: a queer customer.”
“A ‘dark horse?’”
Henryk shifted a little, separating himself from her just a fraction, as though re-establishing proprieties, and they lay there for a while, in the darkness and the dust. Peggy could feel the texture of his trousers at the back of her bared thigh, his knees nestling into the back of her own. Her dress must have ridden right up as she wriggled in. She couldn’t tell if he had noticed—surely not, in the dark, and rush? She wondered if she could adjust her clothing without drawing attention to its waywardness. Her new underwear made her feel terrifyingly, deliciously naked.
He sighed into her neck.
Her body seemed to be fighting itself. Strange aching waves flooded from her very center, though the arm she had been leaning on was numb and lifeless. Peggy didn’t dare shift position, for fear Henryk would think she wanted to get away, and she really didn’t. It was the very last thing she wanted. Despite the sweat prickling in her armpits, and between her thighs, despite the oven-like heat in that hideaway under the pulpit, she would endure anything to prolong this moment.
“Peggy?”
“Yes?”
“You said they were looking for a murderer. So they are not looking for me?”
“No, no. Nobody knows anything about you. Nobody except Ernest. But of course if they catch you now …” The awful stillness of the looker’s body came rushing back to Peggy. Her head rang with the howl of his dog. “Oh, Henryk. I found him. His throat was cut. There was so much blood.” She wondered what they had done with the dog.
“Who, Peggy?” said Henryk very gently, stroking her arm with just one finger, or so it felt. What was she saying? Dear God, she was going to give herself away. She couldn’t keep her mind on any track for ten seconds. “Tell me who it was. Someone you know?”
“Not exactly. An old man. His name was Frank. He used to look after sheep on the Marsh. Before the war.”
“Poor Peggy.” His fingertips had found the tears on her face. She hadn’t even known she was crying.
“Poor Frank. And his dog was just waiting there by him, making such an awful noise, as though he wanted to die too. As though he couldn’t go on.”
“A dog? A black dog—black and white? I saw a dog this morning, through the window … far away … but it was alone.”
“Did you see anything else today? You would have told me if anyone had come here?”
“No, nobody has ever come here before, not once. Only you and Ernest.”
Thank God. A small hiccup escaped.
“Yesterday I thought …”
“Yes?” said Peggy.
“Yesterday, I saw a boy. I thought it was Ernest. But he was too big. He had a bicycle.”
“And?”
“He stopped. At the gap in the hedge, you know? I stood away from the window, watching. And he stared across at the church, for a long time. A very long time. I was ready to hide. And then he just went.”
“What did he look like?”
“Too far away. I can’t say. He wore a cap, I think. He moved like someone young. That’s all I know.”
“But that was yesterday … the looker died today.” Peggy dismissed this passing boy, whoever he was. She wondered if she would ever get the sight of the dead looker out of her head, if she could ever stop reliving that moment of realization. “Is it possible … can a man cut his own throat, Henryk? What do you think? People do, don’t they?”
“Henryk?” she said, alarmed at his silence, suddenly twisting round. Her arm bashed against wood, and she cried out briefly. He soothed her, and she let him.
“You are right. It does happen. It can happen. For some. But I don’t know what kind of man he was, this looker.”
“I don’t either, not really.” She had the feeling that the looker could see things other people couldn’t, that he had something like second sight. An inner eye. Maybe he knew the invasion was coming any moment. “It was suicide. It must have been. Although …” At least she hadn’t let herself see his eyes. She didn’t think she could ever forget a dead man’s eyes. “No. I’m sure there’s no murderer to find. Everything is so peculiar at the moment. Everyone rushing to conclusions—look, here we are, doing it ourselves! But why would anyone want to murder a harmless old man? It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Behind her, Henryk shifted the we
ight on his hips. Peggy felt his movements, and wished she knew what he was thinking.
“It will blow over. In a few days. It’s sure to,” she said. Either it would blow over, or the Germans would be here. “But they’ll start looking for me soon too. They’ll think something else has happened. I’ve got to get away from here. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they’re all out of sight and then you can come out too,” she said, her voice still low, but calmer and more decided. She listened carefully before pushing open the hatch, and felt the cooler air of the church on her cheek with a kind of relief. Blowing her hair out of her face, Peggy held down the skirt of her dress with one hand and wormed her way out of their hole. Her legs had to pass within inches of his lips.
Peggy checked the view from every window. The coast looked clear enough, but she knew how deceptive this landscape could be.
“Yes. Come out.”
Henryk emerged, creaky and stiff, and stood beside her, taller and lankier than ever. He wasn’t getting enough to eat, Peggy worried. Look at the hollows in his cheeks. Look at the bones of his wrists, on those arms so much longer than the sleeves of her father’s shirt. She was starving him. Raw vegetables and scraps simply weren’t enough. Those beautiful hungry eyes, never still.
“I should go,” said Henryk.
Peggy tried not to let her voice rise. Her thoughts poured into the silence and came out of her mouth too quickly. “Where could you go? Where could be safer than here? You really can’t, not yet, not just now.” She wanted to say something else. Lots of things. Like … Please don’t leave me … I can’t bear it if you go … I’ll miss you forever … She tried again. “Not now.”
“I cannot stay here forever.”
No. She could see how restless he was again. But still she could play for time. Peggy forced her voice to sound measured and thoughtful, kept it calm and steady.
“Of course not. Not forever.” She even made herself laugh out loud at the thought. “But there couldn’t be a worse time to go than now. When everyone is looking for a murderer. A stranger round here, goodness me! Y—you can’t imagine. You won’t stand a chance.” She could feel the distance growing between them. “We’ve got to wait, sit it out,” she went on. “And then … well, we can see. You can’t do anything rash while there’s such a fuss on. Nobody knows what’s going to happen next, do they? Nobody at all. Tell me you won’t do anything rash, Henryk.”
That would do. She mustn’t plead. She was beginning to sound like her mother, pleading with her father. Pleading never worked. It made people go.
He shook his head. What kind of an answer was that?
Peggy reached up quickly and kissed Henryk on the cheek. There. Now she had to get out, as fast as she possibly could.
“Peggy?” She heard him call at her retreating back, but she was beyond speech now. “Thank you, Peggy!”
And the door swung shut.
49
They followed the line of scrubby wind-beaten willows, Ernest making sure he kept ahead of the three men to give himself time.
“How much further?” called Fred. “You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?”
The men kept looking around. They were excited, Ernest realized. They were enjoying this. It was their moment, what they’d been waiting for at last. They were treating him like someone important, and he felt almost seduced by it. They trusted him because of the plane, he decided. He’d already proved himself reliable. That would help.
“No, nobody. Just … I was looking … I just noticed …” They couldn’t expect him to say much when he was so out of breath. “This way.” Be careful, he told himself. Careful not to say too much.
“I thought you were meant to be looking after Peggy,” said Fred.
“I am … I was … she went home … to lie down,” he lied.
The worry was finding it again. Was this the right part of the ditch? All the vegetation suddenly looked the same. Everything looked the same. There were lots of clumps of nettles. The reeds were the same everywhere.
“Hold on … look, over there.”
Ernest pointed. The farmhands who’d been working in the fields with them began to use their pitchforks. Ted and Harry, they were called. Prodding at the bank. Tossing the scummy old reeds aside to see what lay beneath.
“That’s right.” He remembered now. He was sure. “Look. Here …”
The earth was looser. He scrabbled at it, clawing with his hands, blindly. Yes.
“He’s got it!” Fred was right behind him. “Clever lad! Out the way, now.”
It really hadn’t been very well hidden in the first place, even before Ernest’s cover-up. The signs were obvious, once you knew what you were looking for. If it had rained hard, it could have been washed out. If this ditch had filled up, and the water had risen, it would have come up like a bloated corpse. Ernest stood back and watched as they pulled out the material, bundling it over several pairs of arms. There were yards and yards of filthy silk, unmanageable, damp, and musty. The men poked around a little more, and discovered a deflated lifevest.
“But these have been here a while, I reckon,” said Ted.
Ernest felt sick. He looked from one man to the other, felt his eyes staring. He blinked. He mustn’t give himself away. But maybe they’d have some way of telling—when it was buried, when it was covered up, who did it. Maybe that was the kind of thing you learned in the LDF, or whatever it was they called it now. The Home Guard.
“Do you think so?”
“Smell it.”
Fred made a face.
“Look at the stains.”
“Watch you don’t tear it.”
Straps and cords began to emerge. Webbing, a buckle.
“Don’t you think we should leave this to the authorities?” suggested Harry. He was beginning to look nervous. “Tampering with evidence now, aren’t we? What if someone’s watching?”
Uncle Fred drew himself up. “I am the authority round here right now,” he said proudly. “But I will make it a priority to inform my superior officer of our findings at once. Harry, Ted: stay here and guard the parachute. Mr. Carpenter should be on his way.”
50
By teatime, more discoveries had been made. A fisherman’s waders stolen at Dungeness. A deflated rubber dinghy found washed up a few miles along the coast, towards Camber. An investigation was under way. And Peggy learned that in due course there would be an inquest, and she would have to speak.
For now she listened, but said as little as she could. She had acquired a victim-by-proxy kind of status. A hurt party, officially, the family tiptoed round her as if she were a sleeping patient. That was fine by Peggy.
“I don’t want you two going anywhere without telling me where you’ve gone,” said Mum, standing up to clear the table.
“How far is anywhere?” asked Ernest. “What if you’re not here to tell? What if you’re at the factory?”
“I’ve got the rest of this week off for the haymaking. I’ll be here.”
“But do you mean …?”
“Ask no questions, young man …” interrupted their aunt, letting the words hang.
Peggy decided she actually hated her. Already that afternoon Myra had found an excuse to get to the post office herself, where she’d clearly been asking plenty of questions, and answering them too. And it wasn’t true that Ernest would be told no lies, whether he asked questions or not. Peggy watched her aunt bustling about the kitchen in a triumphant, “told-you-so” kind of way and couldn’t understand what gave her the right. In all her doom-mongering, Myra had never predicted anything like this.
“Pass me the dishcloth, Ernest,” Peggy said. “I’ll wipe the table.”
Crumbs were weighing on her mind. And so was the difficulty of keeping Henryk fed, with all this extra alarm and suspicion abroad. He couldn’t have many potatoes left. No more toast. They were getting through the carrots so fast Peggy was sure someone would notice. There was a helping or two left of that evening’s stew but she couldn�
��t think how to get it to him.
“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” said Myra. “Put Fred’s plate in the bottom oven, would you? He can have it when he’s back from patrol. Lord knows he’ll need it.”
“I’m going to check on Claudie again,” said June.
“She’s fine, dear. I peeked in just before supper and she was sleeping like a lamb.” Peggy’s mum put a cup of tea in front of June, and rested her hands on her shoulders to sit her gently down again. “Here, have some sugar.”
“I hate to think of Dad out there tonight,” said June, making a whirlpool with her teaspoon, and staring down into it. “Will he back before dark?”
“I very much doubt it, dear,” Myra replied. “But don’t you worry: your father can take care of himself.”
Peggy wiped her hands, and felt her eyebrows rise. Perhaps she had misread her aunt’s stress on “your father,” and the sideways glance, and everything else that implied, but it seemed unlikely.
“Let’s go and do the blackout, Ernest. We might as well be ready.”
At the landing, they pressed their foreheads to the cool glass of the window and stared out across the Marsh, looking for movement. There’d be hours of light left. It was much too early, really.
“Do you think Fred will take the patrol back to the church?” whispered Ernest.
“I hope not. I don’t see why he should. I think they’re more interested in the coast now they’ve found that boat. They’ll be looking in that direction, I expect.” Peggy had almost persuaded herself.
“I wish Dad was here. I wish we could have stayed in Lydd.”
“No point in thinking like that,” said Peggy. Not out loud, anyway. She gave his hand a little squeeze before pulling the dark curtains across. She thought about Jeannie and her family, safely in town, with houses all around, an air-raid shelter in the back garden and a whole camp full of soldiers just a shout away. But no Henryk. “Don’t worry, Ernest. The war won’t last forever.”
He stomped into their bedroom without replying. The bedsprings winced as he threw himself onto the mattress, and Peggy knew Ernest’s face would be buried in his pillow.
