by Roland Moore
“What? Why?”
“If he arrives at seven o’clock. You can leave just before then and run to Pasture Farm, get the map and come back,” Vernon said.
Iris struggled to process all this. “Finch is the insurance that I’ll come back? But how?”
“Because if you’re not back by nine o’clock, I’ll poison him,” Evelyn stated, her eyes staring with contempt at Iris. It was such a matter-of-fact statement that Iris was chilled by its ruthlessness. She realised how little Fred Finch meant to Evelyn, to either of them. They had come so far, done so many bad things that they viewed him as being totally expendable. Nothing was going to get in their way.
Iris couldn’t help but utter a nervous laugh. How would they get away with it? But then she remembered how ruthless Evelyn had already been, getting her thrown out of Pasture Farm to save her own neck, punching her to stop her. And that was without thinking about the dark depths into which Vernon had sunk. He had already murdered his own son, albeit in a moment of immediately regretted anger, and pinned the murder on another man. Iris realised, in horror, that this pair really would carry out their threat. They were dangerous and she couldn’t underestimate them.
Two hours to run from here to Pasture Farm and back again? Could she even do that?
“We don’t want to have to do that, Iris, but we will if we have to,” Vernon said.
“We’re desperate,” Evelyn added. “All you have to do is get the map and Finch will be fine. But if you double-cross us, I will kill him.”
Vernon nodded at Iris for added emphasis. Then his arms moved quickly and he clutched Iris’s chin tightly in his hand, his fingers pressing hard into her cheeks. She yelped in surprise and pain. “Do you understand, Iris?”
Iris nodded, terrified.
“Good girl,” Vernon stated. He released his grip and got up from the edge of the bed. Evelyn walked around towards him and they moved towards the door. Vernon stooped to pick up the shard dagger of soup bowl on his way. He offered a cheery smile to Iris, the sort of smile that you’d give when it had been nice to see someone again. It felt hugely inappropriate under the circumstances and only served to chill Iris even more. She watched as they left and was, for once, mildly relieved when she heard them lock the door behind them. At least it was a barrier, of sorts, even if they controlled it. Iris slumped back into the bed, her mind spinning with what had happened.
Vernon had kept his promise to come back for her.
And now she had to keep her promise and get the map. Finch’s life depended on it.
“How about that one?” Esther pulled out a maroon-coloured tie with a tasteful pattern of tiny silver rectangles and showed it to Martin, who was standing in his only suit in front of the dressing-table mirror. “It’s one of Fred’s, but I’m sure he won’t mind.” Martin shook his head. On his bed was a selection of ties, from the garish to the conservative, and he liked none of them.
“You’re going to have to wear a tie, meeting Iris’s mother!” Esther said firmly.
“I know. I just don’t like any of them. They all make me look like I’m a bank manager or I’m going to a funeral.” He tugged at the shoulder of his suit. It was a light grey two-piece that was too big for him, the shoulders swamping him like something Boris Karloff would have worn in Frankenstein.
Martin felt uncomfortable, and at first Esther assumed it was just his reluctance to wear a suit. But fairly quickly another thought had crossed her mind. He was nervous about going to meet Margot Dawson in Northampton. As he tutted and debated which tie was the least dreadful option, Esther decided to tackle the elephant in the room.
“You’ll be fine tomorrow. She’s a nice woman, by all accounts.”
“It feels odd.”
“In what way?”
“Dunno.” Martin shrugged, accidentally accentuating his large padded shoulders. “I’m not sure I know what to say to her.”
Esther sat on the bed and took a deep breath, seeing the insecurity in his eyes. It was at times like these that he seemed like a young 16-year-old rather than the man he aspired to be the rest of the time. She saw the years melt away and she wanted to hug him like she’d done when he was six. But realising that he might reject such contact now, Esther merely patted the space next to her on the bed. Martin moved towards her and sat down.
“It’s difficult. She might be there at the house, in which case you have to encourage her to come back here. Continue her service in the Women’s Land Army. But if she’s not there, you’re going to have to deal with Margot Dawson being upset. She won’t know where her daughter is and she’ll be worried.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Martin said. “If Iris is there, it’ll be easy.”
“I know.”
“It’s just, I want to do it. I know I could do it. But -”
“But what?”
“But if Iris and I ever get serious, I don’t want this to be the way I meet her family. Coming to say she’s deserted.”
Esther nodded, her eyes full of understanding. She started to fold up the ties that were on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting them away, because I can go, if you want me to.”
Martin gritted his teeth and shook his head, annoyance at himself for not being able to do this. Part of him really wanted to go, to prove himself. After a moment, he looked at Esther and smiled in relief. For the first time since they had come to his bedroom to choose his outfit, she saw his face relax. This was what he had secretly wanted. The one thing he couldn’t ask for outright.
“Would you mind?” Martin asked.
“Not at all, love.” Esther ruffled his hair, and to her surprise, he let her do it without complaint. She looked proudly at her boy. “You wanted to do it, and I’m proud of you. And you’re right, it’s no way to meet her family for the first time.” She rose to her feet and placed the folded ties in the wardrobe. “Especially if you ever start courting her!”
As night time came, Iris couldn’t sleep. She stared through the small window of her prison, her breath condensing on the glass, contemplating what would happen. The garden was small, but most of its space had been turned over to growing vegetables, in line with the Government’s instructions to ‘Dig for Victory’. She couldn’t see much beyond the tall hedges of the garden, but she supposed it was a remote and isolated cottage as she couldn’t see any other people walking past, and no other buildings were dotted on the horizon.
She thought about what she would have to do tomorrow. She heard Vernon’s words in her head:
“If he arrives at seven o’clock, you can leave just before then and run to Pasture Farm, get the map and come back.”
Her legs were bruised and painful and she wondered if she would be able to run fast enough on them to get back in time to save Finch. Even if she was fully fit and healthy - could she do that?
The black patent-leather shoes of a 10-year-old girl, running full pelt along a cobbled street -
Iris had to focus. It couldn’t become clouded by the emotions of the past; the time she’d tried to shut away forever. Instead she thought about Finch and the dreadful fate that was in her hands. Iris felt despair in the pit of her stomach that they could view Finch as their insurance. He was expendable. Iris had to save him.
Suddenly she spotted a figure down below, in the garden, walking down the rows of potato plants. It was Evelyn Gray, dressed in a long, blue casual dress. She had thick gardening gloves, secateurs and a small wooden trug. Was she gardening at this time of night? Evelyn passed the rows of potatoes and bent down to a green plant growing nearby. Carefully, she held the top of it while she snipped at the base. Then she used the secateurs to edge it onto the trug, trying to touch it as little as possible. Iris could see it wasn’t a potato plant, and as she focused her eyes, she recognised its distinctive spade-shaped green leaves. A plant that would grow happily near to potatoes. Deadly Nightshade. It was appropriately named as even getting the juice onto your skin c
ould make you quite sick, and ingesting it would result in an agonising death. Iris had often dealt with it in the fields.
As Evelyn started back towards the house, with her toxic cutting, she glanced up and smiled at Iris.
Iris felt her stomach knot inside, sick with the knowledge that Evelyn was really going to do this.
Iris stayed at the window, staring numbly at the garden, a place now illuminated in monochrome solely by the moonlight above. In her head all she could hear was the desperate breathing of a 10-year-old girl -
- running, running.
Chapter 17
Amongst the crowd of passengers disembarking from the afternoon train at Northampton Castle, was a middle-aged woman with an address on a piece of paper and a troubled expression. Esther Reeves stood in the middle of the concourse as soldiers and workers walked around her. She was dressed in her best coat and gloves, but she had decided not to wear a hat, fearing it might appear slightly too much; too formal. She imagined it would be tough enough for Margot Dawson opening the door to her without it seeming too official a visit. Esther hoped everything could be solved amicably, over a cup of tea, without recourse to having to officially report Iris for desertion. And desertion would be what it was, since conscription had come in. Esther walked out of the station, surprised to see that the streets were shiny and black with recent rain. Martin had made her a sandwich that she had eaten on the train, but that didn’t stop her feeling tempted as she passed a street vendor selling hot sweetcorn cobs. Esther felt tired, in need of a pick-me-up. But she eschewed the idea of a cob, fearing she would get butter on her coat, and set off for Stanley Street and the Dawson family home. She hadn’t had time to inform Margot that she was coming, as the Dawsons didn’t own a telephone, and there was no time to write. So she knew the visit would be a surprise. Esther hoped that Margot would be at home.
It wasn’t a long walk from the station, but Esther found herself trudging down streets, each less busy than the last, until she reached Stanley Street, a cobbled street full of near-identical terraced houses stretching into the distance. She looked for the right house as she walked along, passing a group of dirty-faced children playing happily with a football. An old woman was sitting on her front step, watching the world go by, so Esther nodded hello as she passed. The woman looked her up and down, perhaps wondering what her business would be. Finally Esther reached the Dawson house, aware that the old woman from along the street was still watching her, with no hint of shame at staring for so long. Esther realised that, like it or not, she would have to do this with an audience. The Dawson house had a single front window downstairs and two upstairs, bedecked with net curtains. A light-blue front door had a heavy brass knocker and was in a better state of repair than the houses on either side. Esther gave the knocker a short rap with her gloved hand. She waited for a moment and then stepped back onto the cobbles to look up at the top windows. Was anyone home? She couldn’t see any sign of movement. She knocked again and waited.
Finally Esther thought she might as well use the nosey neighbour to her advantage, so she walked back to the old woman on the step.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Margot Dawson. Do you know where she might be, please?”
“She’s working. Working at the munitions factory,” the old woman said, eyeing Esther with interest.
“And where is that?” Esther asked.
“It’s down the end, right, then second left. You can’t miss the building. Big old bugger.”
Esther nodded her thanks and started off down the road, aware of net curtains twitching in her wake.
Soon she reached the factory. It was a large converted sawmill that had been turned over to war use. Workers were heading back to work through the wooden gates after having a break for lunch, desperately finishing their cigarettes. The metal gates had long since gone to help the war effort and the wooden ones were temporary, hurriedly erected affairs. Esther scanned the faces of the workers, women like herself, mostly wearing headscarves and overalls; men with flat caps and trilby hats. There were dozens of women who could have been Margot Dawson. Esther had no description of the woman, so she knew she would have to go in to talk to a manager and ask to see her.
Esther waited until no more workers returned, assuming that everyone would be inside now. Then she headed into the factory and found the foreman’s office. To the sides of the office, workers busied themselves assembling bullets and bombs. The factory was noisy so Esther had to raise her voice to make the foreman understand her. When she explained who she was and that it was official war business on behalf of the Women’s Land Army, he agreed to fetch Margot Dawson.
Esther waited, glancing at the posters on the wall. Among them, cartoon drawings urged women to make do and mend, a woman in a headscarf held a drill and urged people to work for the war. Esther thought how lucky she was to be spending her war on a farm and not in a dangerous munitions factory. Both were equally hard work, but the surroundings of idyllic countryside made it more bearable for her. She had become so distracted that at first she didn’t notice the slightly built woman with red hair tied up under a scarf. Margot Dawson stood with folded arms and a worried expression on her pale face. She looked so similar to Iris it was uncanny.
After Esther introduced herself, she steered Margot towards the exit.
“Can we talk in private? Somewhere we can hear each other?”
They went outside into the courtyard of the factory. Esther outlined what had happened, that Iris had run away from her current placement. Margot took this in, her face etched with concern.
“Has she come home to you?” Esther asked.
“No, I’ve not seen her,” Margot said anxiously. Her voice had no trace of an accent, and was instead like the presenters on the radio. She sounded more like a lady than a factory worker, but fear was rising in her voice. “Where can she be?”
Esther sighed. She wished that Iris was with her mother. It would have been so much easier. Now she didn’t really know what to do or say to help the situation, and ease this anxious woman’s concerns about her eldest daughter. They were both now looking for a missing person. Where was Iris Dawson?
Iris had woken early, after only a few hours’ sleep. Her head was throbbing and her right hand was hurting like hell. She was desperate to take the finger splints off and see what the damage was, but part of her thought she’d wait until this whole episode was over. At least her hand was bandaged and secure for now. Evelyn brought in breakfast. A cheese omelette.
“You should eat. Get your strength up for later.”
“What have you put in it?” Iris scowled.
Evelyn smiled, amused. “Nothing. I need you fit and well. But I’m glad you saw me fetching the nightshade. It always strikes me as incredible that something so deadly grows so freely in the countryside.”
“It’s something we’re always finding,” Iris replied grimly.
Iris looked at the congealed egg on her plate. It wasn’t an appetising omelette, but she was starving so she wolfed it down in a few big, messy mouthfuls. Evelyn watched, impressed at her appetite.
“That will help you with the running. I’ve invited Fred to dinner. He’s very excited, as you can imagine.”
Evelyn went to take the plate, but Iris grabbed her arm. Evelyn readied herself for another fight, but Iris just wanted to ask her a question, something that had been troubling her. “Why do I have to run there? Why can’t Vernon drive me to Pasture Farm to get the map?”
“It’s simply that he can’t drive. Oh, he can chug about on a tractor, but driving a car badly might attract unwanted attention to himself. So that’s why.” Evelyn smiled. “Anything else?”
“No.” Iris sighed. “It’s just I don’t know if I can run.”
“Well, let’s hope you can,” Evelyn replied, her eyes icy and blank. Iris felt a chill of horror; the hairs standing up on her neck.
“Where will you go? When you have the map?” she asked.
“That’s somethi
ng I’m hardly going to tell you, is it?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“There’s one more thing,” Iris said, holding out her bandaged hand. “It hurts. I need it looking at.”
Evelyn sighed in frustration. She didn’t reply as she left the room with the plate and cutlery, so Iris didn’t know whether her request would be ignored or not. But about a half an hour later, Evelyn bustled back in with a metallic kidney dish, a dressing, a bottle of iodine and some scissors. She cut off the old bandage and both she and Iris recoiled at what they saw. Iris’s fingers were swollen and badly bruised, looking like glistening purple sausages against the splint.
“I was worried about this,” Evelyn said, setting to work with the iodine.
“What is it?”
“They might be broken. But I don’t think they’re infected.”
“You don’t think? I need them looked at, by someone who knows what they’re doing,” Iris snapped.
“I’m not fetching anyone to look at them,” Evelyn replied, coldly. “You’ll be gone tonight and you can sort it out after that.”
“I need them sorting out now. I can’t run with them throbbing like this.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“But they really hurt.”
“Then you’d better be a brave girl, hadn’t you?” Evelyn looked distressed, as if this was all getting too much for her. Iris wondered if she was being coerced by Vernon. Why was she doing this for him? She watched as Evelyn wound a new bandage around her fingers, pushing them tight against the splint.
“You don’t have to go along with this,” Iris said, keeping her voice low.
Evelyn busied herself with the bandage, not making eye contact.
“Please. You could let me go or leave me here and I promise not to call for help until you’ve had time to get away. Then you get away, Vernon gets away and no one gets hurt.”
“No one will get hurt if you’re back at nine o’clock.” Evelyn fastened it together with a pin and then started to collect her dish and accoutrements. Iris tried to flex her hand, but it was bound too tightly to move the fingers. As Evelyn went to leave, Iris caught her arm with her good hand to stop her.
