Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  He scraped every scrap off the pan while he was at it, and Georgie exchanged amused glances with Rosie. That man certainly liked his food.

  Rosie took the empty pan off him. ‘Don’t scrape a hole in the bottom.’

  Georgie had noticed her put a kettle over the kitchen range before they began eating and now she poured the hot water into a bowl. Rosie was so well organised with details. ‘I’ll dry the dishes for you. And the men can sweep up the crumbs and tidy the room.’

  They looked a little surprised at being asked to do housework, but did as she’d told them when Patrick set an example.

  Rosie winked at her. ‘Thanks. I know there won’t be anyone left to see the clean dishes once we leave, or the tidy room, but I can’t bear to leave the place dirty.’

  By the time they’d finished clearing up and set their bags and bundles ready near the back door, dusk had veiled the garden outside in ever-darkening shadows.

  ‘Time to leave,’ Patrick said. ‘The moon isn’t due to rise yet, thank goodness, so if we’re careful, no one will see us go. I’ll light a candle and leave it upstairs and we’ll take another candle stub into the front room before we open the back door, so that the house still looks occupied. Two minutes, everyone.’

  Just before the first three set off, he said, ‘If you hear or see anyone, don’t make a shushing noise. That sound carries a long way on a still night. Just grab hold of the nearest person and squeeze hard, then stand absolutely still.’

  Dennis, Rosie and Martin left first, with Patrick standing just outside the kitchen door, flattened against the wall in the dark shadow cast by the eaves, in case anyone attacked and help was needed.

  It was good to have someone like Patrick guarding your back, Dennis thought as he led the other two in single file towards the back of the garden, with Rosie walking between the men. He and Patrick had checked out the best route earlier.

  Every one of his senses was on high alert, but he hoped they would make it without problems. He didn’t want Rosie getting hurt.

  By the time they got to the mainly leafless bushes along the back wall, his eyes had grown more accustomed to the dimness. He turned to the right. It was only a few steps to the ruined fence that had once separated the two properties.

  When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Patrick go back into the house, presumably to fetch Georgie.

  Dennis was about to send his two companions across the Tesworths’ back garden to their summer house when he saw a man come round the side of the house they’d just left. Thank goodness the others were still next to him. He grabbed their shoulders and gave them a quick squeeze. They stood still immediately.

  Then he could only wait, straining his eyes to see what happened. He hoped Patrick didn’t come out again or there’d be trouble.

  From the angle of his head, the intruder was looking up at the lighted window of the bedroom with the candle in it. After a few moments, he turned and went back the way he’d come. Wanted them to be asleep before they struck, Dennis guessed.

  He waited a few moments but the man didn’t return, so he tapped Martin and Rosie on the shoulders and gave them a little push.

  The two of them moved through a gap in the ruined fence and across the back of the grounds next door, leaving him to wait and listen. Everything was quiet, thank goodness. He prayed it’d stay that way and let the other two get away before the intruder returned. He didn’t want anything to happen to Rosie, let alone Patrick or Georgie.

  A light was showing in a window on the far side of Mr T’s house, which was helping Martin and Rosie pick their way across the rear garden. The wooden summer house was painted white, but it was only a shadowy grey mass in this dimness.

  Dennis could see his two friends a little more clearly now, dark silhouettes against the pale summer house. Then they vanished through the black oblong of its doorway and all was still again.

  From where he stood, he couldn’t tell whether they were safe inside it. Their enemies could have set a trap. No, surely not? He had to assume that his friends were safe – there had been no sound since they went inside – but he’d still take great care how he entered the place when his turn came.

  He waited for Patrick and Georgie to come out and join him, his eyes scanning and re-scanning his surroundings.

  What was taking them so long? What if the intruder came back again and brought others with him?

  ‘Time to get ready,’ Patrick told Georgie when he’d come inside after seeing the others reach the back fence.

  He opened the door a fraction, then closed it again with great care and whispered, ‘I heard something moving just outside here. It’s not Dennis, I’m sure. Stay where you are and don’t make a sound.’ He went to peep out of a corner of the kitchen window. He was, he hoped, hidden behind a couple of large bottles on the windowsill.

  There! He hadn’t been wrong. A man came into view, moving very slowly indeed, staring up at the lit bedroom. For several long seconds, he stood motionless, then turned and went back the way he’d come.

  Their enemies must be planning to do something tonight.

  Once the stranger had vanished round the front of the house, Patrick waited a minute or so, then took a chance and opened the door again. He pulled Georgie out and locked it, then led her to the back fence, all the time listening and watching carefully. To his relief she too knew how to move quietly.

  They then found Dennis waiting as planned. He pressed one finger against his lips, leant closer and mouthed the words, ‘Intruder, wait.’

  Patrick nodded and they stayed where they were for a little longer to check that the man hadn’t heard them leave the house.

  After a while Dennis jerked his head in the direction of the summer house and Patrick nodded, waving one hand to indicate that the other two should go first. He stayed where he was, watching them and the house he’d just left alternately.

  It seemed a very long time until his friends vanished into the summer house. Only then did he follow them, pausing on the way across the garden to listen very hard before continuing.

  You couldn’t be too careful when lives were at stake. Especially Georgie’s life.

  Inside the summer house it was dark and Patrick was glad when Mr Tesworth flashed a torch round briefly as if to show them their surroundings. When he moved to lock the door they’d come in by, Patrick grabbed his hand to stop him. ‘Does that key work quietly? They may still be out there in our garden.’

  ‘Martin told me about them. They didn’t waste much time, did they? Luckily I oiled the lock earlier.’

  Mr T turned the key and though it made a clicking sound, it was very faint and it seemed unlikely that it could be heard above the usual night noises.

  ‘We should leave straight away.’

  ‘What about your wife?’

  ‘I have a fellow I trust staying with Bella and neighbours who’ll come running if she calls for help. I’ll come home to her once I’m sure you’re all safe. My friend came in the back way before it got dark and said he saw no one loitering in the street.’

  ‘Is he armed?’

  ‘They both are. How many did you see?’

  ‘Only one man, but I’m sure he didn’t come alone. He seemed too confident for that. I think the lighted candle upstairs put him off going inside, but I’d guess they’re planning something for later tonight, after we’re supposed to be asleep.’

  ‘Then we’d better get you away from here as quickly as possible, eh?’ Tez moved to the rear wall and shone his torch quickly to show them the hidden door before unlocking it and reaching out to move some strands of ivy aside.

  A man was standing outside. ‘This is Cole,’ Tez whispered and beckoned to them.

  They left the summer house one by one, Patrick last of all, then he heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Having two locked doors between them and the attackers made him feel a little easier, because the perimeter wall of the orchard was higher than his head, so a person would have to climb
up on something even to see over it.

  Cole led the way to the right, walking close to the wall and turning his head occasionally to make sure they were still following him.

  They must have gone about a quarter of a mile before he held up one hand and stopped next to another big wooden door in the wall, putting a finger on his lips to indicate they should continue to be quiet. He produced a key and when they were all inside the garden on the other side, he locked the gate again.

  Another man came across to join them, accompanied by a dog. It was tall but thinner than Gregory’s Rex. It came to sniff them one by one and its master said ‘Friend!’ each time, as Gregory had done with Rex. Well-trained animals, both of them.

  Not until that was done did Cole beckon again and lead the way towards the big house at the other end of the large garden.

  They entered the house by a back door into what seemed to be the servants’ quarters. These were bigger than the whole house they’d just left. Patrick had seen places like this, or sometimes only the ruins of them, in France.

  He felt a great deal better about Georgie’s safety now they were indoors again.

  He wondered when their pursuers would try to break into the house they’d left. He’d have loved to see their faces when they found no one there.

  ‘This is Doohey,’ Cole told them once they were all indoors. ‘He and his dog Jago come to help out here sometimes when there’s trouble. He’ll be staying around tonight to help keep you safe.’

  A woman came to join them.

  ‘And this is my wife Sal, who works here at Honeyfield House.’

  ‘We’ve got rooms ready, but it’s a bit early to go to bed, so I’ve got the kettle simmering. Would you like a cup of cocoa and a piece of cake?’

  The men all made approving noises.

  Rosie chuckled. ‘They’re stomachs on wheels, this lot are, Sal. They never turn down food. I don’t know how they fit everything in. I wouldn’t mind a cup of cocoa, though.’

  ‘Where are the other women?’ Cole asked his wife.

  ‘Sitting in the library, chatting. I’ll take them a jug of cocoa in but I won’t introduce you to them until the morning.’ She went across to the huge kitchen range and moved a large copper kettle on to the hotter part. ‘Soon be ready.’

  ‘The chaps in the village are planning to give them sods a good trouncing,’ Cole announced gleefully. ‘And I’d be happy to help if I wasn’t needed here.’

  It was rather an anticlimax to have got here without trouble, Patrick thought. Surely they couldn’t have got away as easily as this?

  He had a feeling that their troubles hadn’t ended yet, because their pursuers had never been far behind them. It was the sort of feeling he’d had at times during the war. He always paid heed to it, always. It had saved his life once or twice.

  These people must know a lot about Georgie. How? Was it that toffee-nosed captain who’d blabbed? Or was it someone else?

  And was her father safe? Did he know the villains were after his daughter? Or was he out of the picture permanently?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cotterell and Mathers timed their arrival in Swindon for the early morning. They stopped to buy breakfast from a small workmen’s café on a side street and waited impatiently for the bacon and eggs to arrive.

  ‘Ah, good. Here it is. I never think well on an empty stomach.’ Cotterell picked up his knife and fork.

  ‘I never say no to a meal. I went hungry too often as a child.’

  After a few mouthfuls, Cotterell said, ‘We’ll go to Simpton Street once we’ve finished. I’ve been there before, so I’ll tell you the way.’

  ‘Won’t they be at work by then?’

  ‘The men will but the women will probably be at home. It’s too early for them to have gone shopping yet. Women are usually easier to deal with.’

  They knocked on the door of Number 17 and a young woman opened it.

  ‘I was a friend of Mary Jane Baxter, who once lived here. My name is Cotterell. Ah, I see you recognise it. I was wondering if my daughter came here recently to look for her mother’s family?’

  ‘I’m too busy to talk.’ The woman tried to close the door on them.

  Cotterell held it open with one foot. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, madam, but my daughter is in danger and I need to reach her as quickly as possible. I know she wanted to find out about her mother so if you’ve seen her or know anything, I beg you to tell me.’

  A sturdy young man came along the hall from the rear of the house. He must have been listening because he said quietly, ‘Better let them come in, Helen, love.’

  She stepped back and opened a door halfway along the hall, gesturing to them to follow her inside.

  ‘Thank you. I’m Gerald Cotterell and this is Mathers, who helps me. And you are?’

  ‘Wally Grant. My mother was Mary Jane’s older sister. And this is my wife, Helen.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you both.’

  The front room was full of stiff furniture and didn’t look as if it was ever used, but Cotterell went over to the sofa when Wally indicated he should sit there. He waited for Mrs Grant to sit down before following suit.

  ‘I don’t know what you think we can do,’ his host said.

  He studied the young man, then nodded as if he liked what he saw. ‘What I tell you mustn’t go any further. This is a matter of national security and could affect the coming peace talks.’

  He sat waiting while his host looked at him in shock and studied him all over again, as if expecting to see something different in his face.

  ‘My mother didn’t want to have anything to do with you, Mr Cotterell, but I heard from another family member that you truly loved my aunt.’

  ‘Yes. I was extremely upset when Mary Jane died. I’d have married her if I hadn’t been married already. I persuaded my wife to bring up the twins who cost your aunt her life, and pretend they were hers. I wanted to avoid the stigma of bastardy for them. You know what people can be like about that.’

  Wally nodded.

  ‘But I’ve many times wished I hadn’t done it. I knew already that my wife wasn’t a good mother, though I didn’t realise how unkind she’d be to Georgie until it was too late. But even then I had to think of my country’s needs as well as my own.’

  ‘Your son was killed in the war, I believe.’

  Cotterell inclined his head, pressing his lips tightly together and looking down for a few moments.

  The young man took a deep breath and said, ‘As it happens, I don’t approve of pretending my aunt Mary Jane didn’t exist and I wish I’d been here to meet my cousin when she turned up.’

  ‘Georgie did come here, then?’

  It was the young woman who answered. ‘Yes. On Wednesday. And she seemed a decent sort. But Wally’s mother was ill and I didn’t want to upset her.’

  ‘I hope your mother has recovered now,’ Cotterell said politely.

  ‘She died. Spanish influenza.’ Wally turned to his wife. ‘Get that piece of paper, love.’

  She went out and brought back a slightly crumpled page torn from a writing pad. ‘This is where your daughter said to send word if Wally wanted to contact her.’

  ‘I was going to do that, but my mother died that same evening and we had to bury her quite quickly. They’re rushing the funerals through with no thought to how the families feel.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Yes. I am too. She was a good mother. I haven’t even gone back to work yet because my father’s been ill as well. It looks as if he’ll recover, though. I would have gone back to work if the war had still been on, but as peace has been declared, things are not as urgent and I was able to take a few days’ leave.’

  ‘Your daughter seemed upset by what I told her about the family,’ the young woman volunteered.

  ‘Yes. She would be. Georgie wanted very much to meet her mother’s side of the family, to have some relatives. I have very few on my side, you see.’
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  ‘We’ll do something about that now,’ Wally said. ‘And we can do it openly, since my mother isn’t here to protest. I loved her dearly but she could hold a grudge better than anyone I’ve ever met.’ He fell silent and made a furtive swipe at a tear.

  Cotterell studied the piece of paper. ‘Honeyfield. I’d hoped you would have given her shelter here. Honeyfield won’t be safe enough. I pray we get to her in time, because these traitors won’t hesitate to kill her if their mission fails.’

  ‘What?’ Wally gaped at him. ‘Someone wants to kill her?’

  ‘I’m not exaggerating.’

  ‘Then I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To make up for us turning her away.’

  For a few slow moments Cotterell frowned at him, then shrugged. ‘As long as you’ll obey my orders.’

  Wally nodded at once.

  His wife looked at him anxiously but didn’t try to persuade him not to go.

  ‘We’ll use Westcott as our base – it’s my country house – and drive across to Honeyfield after dark.’ Cotterell turned to Mrs Grant. ‘Is there anyone round here with a telephone in case we need to contact you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Only posh people have telephones. I trust my Wally. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he doesn’t take risks.’

  ‘I know how to defend myself, too,’ Wally added. ‘I don’t seek out fights, but sometimes you can’t avoid them.’

  ‘Good to know.’

  They were on their way within minutes.

  This time Cotterell got behind the wheel. ‘I’ll drive.’

  ‘Won’t your enemies be watching out for you at Westcott, sir?’ Mathers asked. ‘If you were in the back, you could slide down out of sight.’

  ‘We won’t be going to the house itself, or even through the village, but to my head gardener’s cottage, via a slightly different approach to the rear of my property. The cottage stands on its own and I can trust Spalding absolutely.’