‘Mr Eldon.’ Cold as the glacier in her eyes, Katrin’s reply cut the query hovering on lips caught firm against emotion. ‘I am to ask you go to Mr Whitman’s office at once, and Mr Eldon . . .’ she paused, her glance chiselling his, ‘. . . please address me as Miss Hawley!’
13
‘My machine were switched off waitin’ of a new drill to be fitted, that be ’ow I come to hear what were said.’
‘But why would her say that?’ Drying her hands on the washroom towel, Becky Turner cast a glance at the woman standing with fingers held beneath a running tap.
‘ ’Ow would I know!’ The woman shook water from her hands. ‘But I do know what I ’eard and it were that wench tellin’ Isaac Eldon . . .’
‘Who’s tellin’ what to Isaac Eldon . . . ? But don’t say ’til I’ve been to the lav’.’ Alice dashed into the washroom and disappeared into a cubicle. Minutes later, trying without success to build a lather from the tablet of coarse brown soap, she rephrased her question.
‘It be like I were tellin’ Becky, I ’eard that there Hawley wench put a flea in Eldon’s ear.’
Alice pulled the towel on its wooden roller searching for a dry spot. ‘I reckon you’ve got that wrong,’ she said ‘I don’t see nobody giving Isaac Eldon a flea in the ear.’
The retort was tart. ‘Well you reckon what you will but I knows what I ’eard an’ it were that wench say clear, “Mr Eldon,” her said, “Mr Eldon, please address me as Miss Hawley!”’ The woman sniffed disapproval, ‘If that ain’t a flea in the ear then tell me what is!’
‘Do you think that is really what Kate said?’ Becky asked the question she had been forced to hold until break.
Newspaper-wrapped sandwiches tucked under her arm, Alice glanced about the machine shop emptying rapidly of workers. She didn’t really want to chat right now whatever the topic, this was the time she enjoyed, watching the huge crane lift crates of shells easy as lifting an empty cup.
‘Can’t believe anythin’ Nosy Nora says,’ she answered dismissively, hoping to end the conversation and for Becky to follow the others to the canteen.
‘But her seemed sure enough.’ Becky seemed not to notice Alice’s offhand manner. ‘Her face dropped a mile when you said you couldn’t see anybody giving Isaac Eldon a flea in the ear.’
Why couldn’t Becky leave it? Why didn’t she go along with the rest of them? Any second now they would be spotted by the night foreman and that would put an end to any chance of indulging in fantasies of monsters and fire-breathing dragons. ‘Sure is one thing, but truth is another and how much Nosy Nora tells of one and how little of the other is anybody’s guess; we all know how ready that one is to call the kettle black.’
‘Mmm.’ Becky nodded. ‘Like my mum says, gossip and lies often share the same bed, but . . . well I can’t help but wonder whether there might be something . . .’
Hearing the deep rumble which heralded the approach of the steam driven crane, Alice caught at her friend’s arm drawing her to crouch in a well of darkness between machinery.
‘Alice we shouldn’t . . .’
Alice gave a warning shush. To be caught by this particular foreman would result in a more serious dressing down than that Isaac Eldon might give. Feeling Becky resist she leaned closer, murmuring there was nothing to worry over provided they remain still and silent. But the words froze in her throat as Alice stared at the feet of the man come to a halt before their hiding place.
Isaac Eldon was no longer works manager!
Notepad on her knee Katrin felt the words push against her brain.
Isaac Eldon had been relieved of his post!
‘I haven’t said anything until now, Isaac had always been . . .’ The explanation ended abruptly, Arthur Whitman’s look indicating regret. ‘Katrin,’ he cleared his throat, ‘the workload here in the office will, as a result of what has happened, increase substantially and it will probably be a week or two before I can bring in trained help.’
Katrin’s mind cleared. Help of any kind was the last thing she wanted.
‘We have had this conversation before,’ she said quietly. ‘The answer I gave then was “let me try”, my answer is the same now.’
His deep brown eyes reflected relief. ‘I was hoping you would say that . . . selfish, I know, but I was hoping. But I’ll take in Isaac’s paperwork,’ he paused. ‘Oh yes, he told me who it was saw to that . . . you have my gratitude, Katrin.’
Isaac Eldon had admitted she kept the wheels of his department running smoothly. Was she surprised? Katrin looked down at the pad on her knee. Strangely she was not.
‘The man who came to see me, the one who asked I send for Isaac, he was from the Ministry.’
The Ministry! She had expected the police to come for Eldon, but this . . . this was so much better.
‘. . . is it Robert . . . is it my son?’
She had so wanted to throw her reply back at him, to answer no, Isaac Eldon, it is not your son, but you will feel pain, pain of a sort you never expected, it is your turn to suffer! But she had kept her words for a time when the pleasure of speaking them would be even more intense.
She asked, with a show of concern, ‘Is Mr Eldon in some kind of trouble?’
‘You know as much as I do, Katrin. The fellow just asked Isaac to accompany him and they left together. No doubt there is speculation, I can’t prevent that, but I prefer not to be a part of it.’
‘You know as much as I do, Katrin.’
Katrin gave herself fully to the jubilation in her soul.
But he didn’t know as much as she did. Arthur Whitman did not know the arrest of Isaac Eldon could only be the result of her phone call.
Providence had truly smiled the evening she had collided with that figure coming from the library. He had been so apologetic, blaming himself for not looking where he was going. She had wanted to hug him. On seeing what was strewn across the narrow pavement, she had realised this was her chance.
‘This looks interesting.’
She had made it sound no more than politeness, seeming to give only a cursory glance to the sheet she had picked up. But interest had been very real indeed.
‘What is it for . . . ? Oh sorry, I’m being too inquisitive.’
Had it been innocence or had he simply been too involved in gathering his belongings to recognise the ploy? Whichever, he had replied with a smile that the papers and books he juggled into the crook of an arm were to do with a project he was working on.
‘It must be very complicated judging by those maps.’
‘I get a lot of help,’ he had said taking the last sheet of paper from her, ‘My grandfather helps me.’
His grandfather. Katrin smiled contentedly. His grandfather, Isaac Eldon.
‘I ain’t never going to do that again. It scared the you-know-what out of me. Next time we are on night shift I’m off to the canteen at the first flicker of them lights. You want to play hide an’ seek with the foreman then you play on your own.’
‘Oh c’mon,’ Alice laughed. ‘You know you enjoyed it.’
‘Enjoyed!’ Becky exclaimed. ‘I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoys being caught in an air raid. I tell you, Alice, seein’ that foreman standing no more than a yard away . . .’
‘Two feet.’ Alice laughed again. ‘You seen his two feet.’
‘It weren’t funny.’ Becky giggled in spite of herself. ‘I thought he had to hear the way my heart was pounding.’
‘He couldn’t hear anything over the racket that crane makes. Has me wonder why they take out them shells only at night; I mean where’s the benefit of waiting for the cover of darkness when that crane makes so much racket it’s probably heard by any Gerry plane that happens to be around.’
‘Shush! You never know who could be listening. Let Isaac Eldon catch you and you’ll be for it.’
‘Speaking of Eldon,’ Alice changed the subject glibly, ‘it were not to be given word of Robert that he was called into Whitman’s office. But why is he
not workin’ at Prodor any more? I asked Kate but seems her knows no more than we do.’
‘Do you think his going has somethin’ to do with what Nora says her heard Kate say, y’know callin’ her Miss Hawley?’
Sandwiches eaten, Alice folded the sheet of newspaper and slipped it into her bag, mindful of the edict that every scrap must be saved toward the war effort. Though quite how it was used evaded her.
‘I think now what I thought then.’ She picked up the mug of tea purchased from the canteen counter. ‘Kate Hawley wouldn’t say no such thing, her wouldn’t hurt anybody’s feelings.’
‘Still, I can’t help but wonder . . . Nora was so positive.’
‘Huh! You know about folk on a soapbox, if they goes on long enough and loud enough then there’s them who’ll believe what they say no matter how crackpotical, and nobody has a soapbox bigger than Nora’s.’
‘Then you don’t believe what her said.’
‘O’ course I don’t and neither will you if you have any sense!’ Alice retorted. ‘Kate Hawley couldn’t be unkind if her tried; look how upset her was over Freda Evans being sent down, and what about the way her helped me with applying for the Forces, her took it that bad when it turned out I couldn’t get in you would have thought it were all her fault.’
‘You’re right.’ Becky nodded. ‘Whatever it is has Isaac Eldon sacked it won’t have anything to do with Kate.’
This was the second time he had come to the house. Miriam Carson looked at the man on the couch. He had already spoken with Reuben, her son had answered every question, so why was he here again?
‘We have to check everything very carefully.’
Almost as though her questions had been spoken aloud! Miriam set down her tea. Did the official-looking card he showed enable him to read people’s minds along with the rest of the privileges it seemed to hold?
‘Reuben wouldn’t keep anything back.’
The man met Miriam’s glance. Defence, attack, all the characteristics of the female defending her young . . . well, good for her.
‘I am sure he wouldn’t.’ He gave a brief a placatory smile and stirred milk into his cup. ‘He has been most helpful.’
‘So why do you have to talk to him again?’
The man she had come to know as Philip Conroy paused, then, as though coming to a difficult decision, said quietly, ‘Mrs Carson, the information we were given regarding Reuben was . . .’ he paused again, ‘is . . . a matter of national security.’
National security! He thought her son was some sort of spy? But, how could he be? Reuben was just a boy, what would he know of spies and national security?
‘Try to understand, we have to investigate wherever and whenever suspicions are voiced even though the suspect is quite young.’
Suspect! Then he did think Reuben was a spy!
‘Is,’ she forced a reply, ‘you said is, does that mean . . .?’
‘Mrs Carson,’ Philip Conroy interrupted quickly, ‘it means only that information is being acted upon.’
‘And who is it supplied you with that information? Who can dislike Reuben so much they accuse him of spying?’
‘I’m sorry, I cannot answer that.’
‘You can’t tell who it is doing the accusing?’ Miriam snapped. ‘You can protect them yet subject a young lad to all kinds of questions? That’s what you call security? Well I call it downright sly. You bring your informant here, let whoever it is tell his mother Reuben Carson be a threat to national security!’
He wouldn’t give tuppence for the informant leaving the house in one piece!
‘That is something else I cannot do.’ Philip Conroy hid his appreciation of the woman stating her challenge. ‘But this I will tell you, the information was given by telephone.’
‘Telephone . . . ! But who? I doubt you’ll find any man in Cross Street knows how to use one.’
It had been no man, a female had made that call; that too he could not reveal to this woman.
‘Mrs Carson,’ he began again, ‘the material found in your son’s room, what can you tell me about it?’
‘You know what it is, Reuben told you.’
‘Yes.’ Philip Conroy’s fair hair caught light from the one electric bulb allowed to illuminate the living room.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Now I am asking you.’
She had gone over it again, trying to recall everything Reuben had told her, but only now did she realise her son had told her virtually nothing apart from the papers he was writing and sketching were his homework project. She had not looked closely at them! Why would she?
Had the sharpness of that reply been due more to her feeling of guilt at not showing deeper interest in Reuben’s school work than irritation at questions repeated over and again? Miriam knew it was. But where could she find time? How often she had wanted to sit and talk with Reuben, to share his interests as she had once done . . . as Tom had done. But her wants had to take second place to those of the factory. And her son’s needs? They also must play second fiddle in the orchestra of war.
‘Miriam . . . Miriam, you be all right?’
Absorbed in thought, Miriam had not heard the tread behind her.
‘Dad!’
Seeing the worry leap into his daughter’s eyes, Isaac Eldon took her into his arms. ‘Nothing be wrong.’
But there was something wrong. Why else would her father be home so soon? He worked longer hours now than he had at Prodor.
‘Reuben?’
Miriam stepped free. ‘Yes, he went straight upstairs on coming from school and hasn’t come down since.’
‘Conroy?’ Isaac glanced toward the living room then at Miriam’s further nod led the way there.
‘Mrs Carson, Mr Eldon,’ Philip Conroy began as father and daughter were seated, ‘I apologise for calling at this hour but . . .’
‘But darkness be a better cover than camouflage.’
‘It does help not to be seen.’ Philip Conroy smiled. ‘Loose tongues and all that.’
‘Ar, there’s been one o’ them waggin’, spreadin’ muck. Be that why you’re here again, been a few more shovelsful throwed your way, has there?’
‘No, Mr Eldon.’
‘Then why do you be in my ’ouse, and why bring me away from my work?’
‘We have our reasons.’
‘Reasons!’ Isaac’s tone hardened. ‘Then you’d better tell ’em to me afore I throw you out.’
‘That is my intention.’ Philip Conroy’s smile faded. ‘But first Mrs Carson, will you call your son.’
‘Reuben, where did you get the information you have recorded on these maps, who did you ask to help you?’ Philip Conroy watched the face of the boy, watched for any flicker in the clear eyes, any nuance of uncertainty across the features.
‘I told you, I had no need to ask ’cos I knew all of that already.’
‘When we spoke before, didn’t you say your grandfather had helped you?’
A quick smile at the man sitting beside him. Philip Conroy mentally listed the observation.
‘He did, but not with drawing maps. Granddad’s no hand at drawing.’
‘And with the descriptions . . . the names of various premises, the products they make, maybe he helped with that?’
‘Wasn’t no need, I’ve known those places since I was little.’
‘That do be my doin’.’ Isaac intervened. ‘You see, I don’t ’ave a deal o’ book learnin’, no sooner I turned twelve than I was put to earnin’ a livin’, workin’ to help rear them younger than meself. That bein’ so I had little to pass on to my son ’cept what I’d learned out of the classroom. I could only teach him what I had taught myself, to have an interest in all around him, it became the same with my grandson.’
‘That’s right.’ Reuben beamed. ‘Granddad and me often went for walks on Sunday, or sometimes he took me fishing, that is how I know names and places, Granddad pointed them out, I’m sure I got them right.’
Philip Conroy glanced at the
briefcase he lifted to his lap, then looked again at the boy. ‘Reuben . . . have you discussed this with anyone?’
The smile was wiped instantly by a frown and the answer was no longer that of a boy.
‘Mr Conroy, my dad said I was never to break a promise if it were in my power to keep it and my mum says always to tell the truth. Well, I am doing both. I am telling the truth in saying I kept the promise I gave you, I haven’t spoken a word of your coming here, not to anybody.’
‘And your homework?’
A slight pink tinge crept into Reuben’s face. ‘That . . .’ he looked at his mother, ‘that were a bit of a lie, but that were cos you asked me to say it wasn’t finished.’
‘Thank you, Reuben.’ Philip Conroy smiled. ‘Now with your mother and your grandfather’s agreement there is one more thing we would like you to do.’
14
Isaac Eldon had been given the sack. So went the rumours circulating the factory, folk asking why? What had he done to get himself dismissed?
They could ask. Katrin slipped into her grey worsted skirt. They could gossip all they liked but only she had the answer. It was more than the sack. Eldon had not been handed his cards then given leave to walk from the premises alone as would be the normal way of things, he had been escorted by a man dressed in a dark suit . . . a man Whitman had said came from the Ministry. Not a uniformed policeman, but someone from the government. Meeting her own eyes in the mirror, Katrin smiled in satisfaction. Everything had gone just as she would have it.
What she had seen fall from that boy’s hand – the maps drawn with pencil, and coloured with wax crayon, squares and rectangles, names of factories, steel works, railways and canals marking each – had stared their promise at her.
And she had availed herself of it.
‘I don’t want to be a gettin’ o’ nobody into no trouble . . .’
Shrugging into a matching grey jacket, she let recollection trickle through her mind.
‘. . . it were a seein’ o’ all them maps . . . factories an’ the like, all drawed wi’ names to ’em an’ what it be they meks, well it d’aint seem right to me . . . ’specially seein’ as every name were blotted out wi’ paint the minute war were declared, I means to say, where be the use in a doin’ o’ all that, o’ paintin’ all o’ them places wi’ that there camelflaarge if’n kids can walk around wi’ maps a markin’ o’ every one?’
A Step Too Far Page 10
