Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  The lad darted back to the garage and watched the car reverse out into the laneway, keeping an eye out for attackers. He stayed hidden behind the dustbins while Mr Mathers got out and shut the garage doors, locked them and got back into the car.

  No one watching would realise there was a lad left behind, but Jim was ready to give anyone who tried to follow Mr Mathers a right old shock.

  He patted the key in his pocket. It would let him into the house again if he needed a refuge from some lads he was on bad terms with. That had happened a couple of times recently because he wouldn’t pay them twopence a week safety money.

  The car stayed in the lane a little longer, its engine running, giving Jim time to get ready for his part in this. He grinned as he removed the lids of the dustbins standing at the rear entrance and crouched down again behind them. He was going to enjoy this.

  When Mr Mathers drove off, Jim heard another car start up and watched as it rolled slowly out from the bit of spare ground further along the lane. It hadn’t lit its headlights even though it was still dark. There was no reason for a strange car to be here at this early hour, anyway, because only residents were supposed to use the laneway. What’s more, that particular house had been empty since the beginning of the war, Mr Mathers had said when telling him what to watch out for.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t! I’m not having Mr Mathers hurt,’ Jim muttered and as the car moved forward, he sent two lidless dustbins rolling out into its path, spilling rubbish and broken bricks everywhere. He followed that by hurling two heavy spanners Mr Mathers had given him when they made this plan towards the car’s windscreen.

  After that he ran for his life, delighted to have smashed the windscreen, showering the occupants with broken glass. He’d always been a good bowler when they played cricket in the street!

  He risked a peep behind him. The men in the car were too busy dealing with shards of glass and a punctured tyre to follow him but they’d not have caught him even if they’d tried.

  He fingered the two half-crowns in his pocket. His mother would have enough money to feed them all for several days, thanks to Mr Mathers.

  Good start to the day, this had been.

  Pity the war had ended. If he’d gone as a soldier, Jim could have sent his wages home to his mam. But he was small and scrawny for his age and no one would ever have believed him if he’d pretended to be older and tried to enlist.

  Perhaps one day he might join the Army anyway. You got fed well if you were a soldier and they taught you trades. It was the only way he’d ever have a chance of getting a decent job. Unless Mr Mathers had meant what he said. But he hadn’t said what sort of job.

  There was hardly any traffic on the dark streets at this early hour, just a few gaslights burning dimly here and there. The lamplighters hadn’t even started extinguishing them yet.

  Mathers stopped the car once to make sure no one was following them, then smiled as he set off again. ‘That lad is a treasure, Nora, an absolute treasure, sharp as a tack. I’ll get Mr Cotterell to take an interest in him when everything settles down again. He always tells us to keep an eye out for likely people for the bureau.’

  ‘If everything settles down,’ Nora said. ‘I never expected this sort of thing to happen after peace had been declared.’

  She was always grumpy in the early mornings, though cheerful enough once she got going. He liked to tease her about that.

  They went round to the back of Lady Berrens’ elegant terraced house, as ordered.

  Mr Cotterell came out of the house carrying a carpet bag.

  ‘Hop out, lass. Don’t forget your bag.’

  Mr Cotterell gestured to the back gate. ‘Get inside quickly, Nora. You’re expected and you’ll be safe here.’

  He watched her inside, then tossed the carpet bag into the rear seat and took the seat next to the driver. ‘No trouble?’

  ‘They were waiting and tried to follow us. I had young Jim ready to help deflect their attention, sir.’ He explained what he’d arranged.

  Mr Cotterell chuckled. ‘Your protégé sounds to be a good lad. You must introduce him to me once this is over.’

  ‘I thought you were bringing someone else with you today?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure of him, not sure enough to risk my life, anyway. I’ve given him another job. You and I will manage. We’ve been in some sticky situations together over the years and got out of them again. Head for Swindon.’

  A little later, Mathers asked, ‘Do you know where Miss Georgie is, sir?’

  ‘I gather from one of my staff at Westcott that Georgie found out who her real mother was. I’d been looking for our letters for years, because my wife stole them and hid them. I asked my staff to keep an eye open for them, just as I’d asked you. They found a couple that must have fallen out of a bookcase.’

  He sighed and stared into the distance for a few seconds, then resumed his explanation. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Georgie to try to make contact with the Baxters. I doubt any of her enemies would look for her in Swindon, and she might have realised that, so we’ll go to them first. If she’s not there, she’ll be with her friend Bella in Honeyfield, but that’s a more obvious place and I shall be disappointed in her if that’s where she went.’

  ‘Is this Bella’s connection to our Miss Cotterell known, then?’

  ‘Yes. And Bella has visited us a couple of times. If the main traitor is who I think it is, he would have made it his business to find out about all my daughter’s friends when he decided to use her to get to me.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It won’t take us long to call on the Baxters first. It’s more or less on our way. If she’s not there, Georgie can only be in Honeyfield, in which case I’ll need to get her away from there as quickly as possible.’

  He was silent for a few moments, then said in a low, calm voice, ‘If anything happens to me and you survive, your first priority will be to get Georgie to safety. Take her to Lady Berrens.’

  Mathers didn’t say anything, but he was astounded that his master thought this situation so perilous.

  As if he’d read his mind, Mr Cotterell said, ‘If they can’t control what I do, these men may get desperate. I have no doubt that if all else fails, they’ll shoot to kill if they can get me in their sights. I hope to settle Georgie’s safety before they can do anything to either of us. Or to you. I apologise for putting your life in danger today, Mathers.’

  ‘I’m here willingly, sir, as I’m sure you appreciate.’

  They’d been together a long time and had a strange relationship, not quite friends because of their difference in status, but far more than merely employer and servant. They were both aware of where to draw the line.

  They didn’t chat after that but drove on as dawn began to lighten the sky behind them, though darkness still mantled the countryside ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Patrick didn’t say much as they walked back to Pear Tree Lane, but Gregory could see that he was watchful about their surroundings. As was Gregory. It was almost a disappointment when they didn’t encounter anything suspicious.

  At the cottage, Patrick held out a silver coin and thanked his companion.

  Gregory would have preferred to refuse it, but money was short so he accepted the florin and mumbled a thank you. He wasn’t in a position to turn down two shillings for such an easy job.

  His companion held out one arm to stop him going away.

  ‘Look, I may not be around for a while. Could you keep an eye on this house for me? I’ll pay you to come round and—’

  ‘Yes, I’ll keep an eye on it, and on Mrs Bella next door too, if Mr T is away. I ent getting a lot of work at the moment so it’s not as if I’ve anything else to do. Nice lady, Mrs T, and so is her husband. Nor you don’t need to pay me for keeping an eye on things at your place. I’d do it anyway.’

  ‘You’re a good chap.’

  ‘Mmm. Will you be coming back here again?’

  ‘I hope so. I like the
feel of Honeyfield – what I’ve seen of it so far, anyway.’

  ‘You’d fit in well here, sir. Eh, it’s a grand place in peacetime. I’d swear even the birds sing more sweetly here than in other places I’ve been.’

  Suddenly embarrassed by his own fanciful words, he muttered farewell, calling his dog to heel. But before they went into the house, he waited by the gate to see that Patrick was safely inside Orchard View. Miss Cotterell threw herself into his arms even before they’d closed the door. A smile at the sight of that lingered on Gregory’s face. He could smell weddings in the air.

  He ambled down the little street, stopping at the end to look back. Nice little street, this. Shame to think of anyone bringing violence here, wanting to hurt its occupants. Damned shame.

  They didn’t need or deserve trouble in Honeyfield. Men from the village had given their lives for their country and now that peace had been declared, those who’d survived just wanted to get on with living.

  He wished he could have gone to war and done his bit, but his damned eyes always let him down for close work. As a lad he’d been told to wear spectacles, but he’d refused to walk round looking like an owl with the stupid contraption falling off his nose whenever he threw a ball or wrestled with another lad.

  His poor eyesight wouldn’t stop him helping to build a war memorial to the fallen in his spare time, though. That at least he could do.

  He walked on slowly, still thinking about this situation. It came to him suddenly as he reached his gate that the best thing to do would be to catch the villains and give them a sound drubbing, and be done with the problem once and for all. Peace in Britain should mean peace in Honeyfield as well. And who better to make sure of that than those who lived here and knew every inch of the village and the nearby countryside, eh? You didn’t have to be able to read spidery little squiggles in a book to do that.

  He handed over the money to his wife, asking if she could spare enough for him to buy half a pint of beer. When she handed back sixpence, he couldn’t resist kissing her soundly on the lips.

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘Kissing in the daytime! Aren’t you afraid your friends will see you acting soft? What brought that on, anyway?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just felt like it.’ Then he set off for a drink with his friends.

  Her voice echoed after him as he opened the front door to leave.

  ‘I know what you’re after tonight, Gregory Clarke.’

  She didn’t sound annoyed about it, though. He could always tell. He chuckled as he closed the door behind him. He’d look forward to pleasuring her later. She was a good lass in bed. She’d been a good mother, too, till their children left home, and they’d both been relieved that their son had come through the war safely.

  Gregory frowned. That was another reason for sorting out these villains. He didn’t want them hurting people like his son during the years to come.

  And what was he doing daydreaming like that? He should be working something out to help end this mess. He’d tell his friends at the pub what was going on and they’d talk about what exactly they could do to put paid to such human vermin.

  They’d feel the same as him about protecting their families, he was sure. His friends might be too old to fight for their country, or they might not see well enough to aim a damned gun, but they could deal with troublemakers if they banded together. You didn’t need to see all the wrinkles on his face from two yards away to thump a chap who deserved it.

  He’d have to spin out his one drink to last all evening. Eh, he missed going to the pub now money was tight. There had been lean pickings round here lately and if that damned Spanish flu came here, it’d find a lot of people who weren’t in the best of health to fight it off. Thank goodness you could still catch the odd rabbit or two. You needed meat to keep your muscles strong.

  Now, stop daydreaming, Gregory, he told himself again. You and the lads have some villains to catch, then a war memorial to build.

  Opening the door of the pub, he walked briskly into its light and warmth.

  When Patrick got to the front door, it opened before he could knock and as he stepped over the threshold Georgie flung herself into his arms.

  ‘You took so long! I was worried about you.’

  He edged her further inside while still keeping hold of her soft body – just for a minute! – then carefully slid the door bolts into place with one hand.

  ‘Everything all right here?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve been waiting for you to get back and for it to get dark.’

  She hadn’t pulled away, so he gave into temptation and kissed her. Ah, she felt so good and—

  Rosie called out from the kitchen, ‘Tea’s ready!’

  He stepped reluctantly away from Georgie but his feelings escaped him. ‘What a time to try to court a lass!’

  ‘Any time is good for you to court me. After this is over, you won’t let anything, even my father, stop you, will you, Patrick?’

  ‘You’ve worried about him doing that a couple of times. Is he a big chap?’

  ‘No. Tall and thin, and he’s nearly sixty now, but he’s used to taking command and people always seem to end up doing as he tells them, one way or the other.’

  ‘Well, we’ll face that hurdle when we come to it. To hell with them all. You and I are definitely courting.’

  She beamed at him and he knew that one thing at least was going well in his world. He put his arm round her shoulders and they walked together towards the kitchen.

  Just being beside her made him feel good. She was so special, such a lovely honest woman. He wouldn’t be answerable if anyone hurt her.

  They were all quiet as they ate their tea, the only sounds being the clink of spoons on the big plates and a soft ‘Mmmm, please,’ from Martin when he finished his first helping of stew and was offered another by Rosie.

  Although all three men tucked into a second helping, neither of the women did.

  Patrick pushed his empty plate away with a happy sigh. ‘You’re a good cook, Rosie. Thank you.’

  ‘I only know how to do a few things, nothing fancy, but I do enjoy cooking, I must admit.’

  ‘When this is over, I’ll give you a cook book,’ Georgie offered. ‘Someone gave it to me once, but I’m not interested in cooking, let alone fiddling around with fancy things. I wasn’t interested in the man who gave it to me, either. I haven’t even touched it for years, because it reminds me of him, but it’s got a lot of recipes in it and you’ll have no bad memories tied to it.’

  Dennis looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you like doing then, if you don’t mind me asking, Georgie? I thought all women liked keeping their houses nice and looking after their families.’

  Her voice came out sharper than she’d meant it to. ‘Aren’t they the men’s houses too?’

  He stared at her blankly, so she didn’t pursue the point. A lot of men had the same reaction, couldn’t see women anywhere except in the home. Even when she was doing war work, and doing it well, some men had treated her as if she was a different and rather inferior species. And most women who’d taken over men’s jobs had still been paid less than them for doing the same work, hadn’t they? That seemed so unfair.

  She realised Patrick was repeating the question his friend had asked.

  ‘What do you like doing, Georgie?’

  She turned to him as she answered, hoping he wouldn’t mock her. ‘I like to be out of doors much better than fiddling around inside a house: driving cars, walking through the countryside, riding horses, not to hunt – I think chasing foxes is a silly waste of time – just to enjoy the countryside. My father’s wife stopped me doing that sort of thing when she decided I was old enough to be married off. She kept me sitting round indoors fiddling with embroidery or practising the piano.’

  She chuckled as she added, ‘Though you’d have to pay people to listen to a concert if I was involved, so I was never invited to perform, and my embroidery always got into a tangle of threads and crooked stit
ches. As for her idea of a good husband, it didn’t match mine at all.’

  ‘Was life that tedious?’

  She smiled as a happier memory suddenly surfaced. ‘Mostly. But there were good moments. Time I spent with my twin, particularly. And even she couldn’t keep me penned up all the time, so I escaped sometimes and went for long walks. Once, the housekeeper had her young nephew to stay and he brought his Meccano set with him. He was more interested in reading books about other countries in the Empire than in building things. He wanted to emigrate to Australia or Canada one day, you see. So I lent him some of our books and he let me play with his toy while he was there. My father’s wife would have thrown a fit if she’d found out.’

  She saw them staring at her. ‘Sorry. You can’t be interested in that.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Patrick said quietly.

  Martin leant forward, joining in. ‘I’ve seen them Meccano sets in shop windows, but never touched one. Well, they cost a lot – toys for rich children, they are. Might be interesting to fiddle around with, though. I like building things too, especially walls. Stone walls.’

  She didn’t think he even realised that his big, rough hands had shaped placing a stone on an imaginary wall in the air to illustrate his point. Some men were like that. Not good with words, but good with their hands.

  She tried to lighten the mood. ‘When this war is over, I’ll buy one of the biggest Meccano sets there is and we’ll all have a little holiday at Westcott House. Those who want to can play with the Meccano, or just laze around and eat some good, hearty meals without having to rush off anywhere or struggle to stay safe.’

  Rosie stood up. ‘That’d be lovely – a holiday, I mean. I don’t want to build things, but I’d love to lie around all day like a lady and read a book from start to finish without being interrupted. But what I’m going to do now is wash the dishes and scour out that saucepan. Just eat the last couple of spoonfuls for me, Martin, there’s a good lad. It’d be a shame to waste it.’