Henry, the Gaoler

by A. W. Exley

  Her fingers curled into the collar of my coat. "Give me an afternoon, Henry, like before. A few hours to remind me that my heart still beats?"

  The steady thrum in my chest stuttered and almost halted at her request. How could I risk her?

  "Hazel!" a voice boomed from down below. The noise didn't make it up the tight spiral but rather skated in through the open window. "Dinner is ready!"

  Mr Morris called for his daughter. I had to go before I was discovered.

  Her hands wound into the fabric. "Promise me, Henry. One afternoon."

  I had climbed out of a trench and run across No Man's Land, but the thought of a few hours in the sunshine paralysed me with fear. When I didn't answer she shook me.

  Yes, I mouthed and nodded.

  A grin broke her over face and she leaned up and kissed my cheek. "Thank you. Stay here for ten minutes and I'll make sure they are both inside before you leave. And if you look under the window seat you'll find the grappling hook and a length of rope. Use them to get back over the wall."

  She ran to the window that overlooked the cottage and enclosure.

  "Coming now!" she yelled to her father below and then she was gone. Like a forest sprite she darted away and down into the dark.

  I stood in the middle of her room like someone robbed of all his senses, not just his voice. My hand rubbed at the spot where she had pressed her lips. What was I to do now? Her life might depend on an afternoon outside, but it could cost mine.

  8

  With each day there were fewer reported new cases of influenza. As much as I wanted to isolate Hazel from the slightest waft of contaminated air, I had made a promise to give her one afternoon of freedom, and I would see it through.

  I made plans for her brief escape from the tower. It needed to be something memorable. Especially since if Mr Morris caught us I doubt we would ever have another chance. He would probably chain Hazel to his leg so she could never be beyond his gaze or reach. I tried to think where to take her that would be enough of an adventure, but far from prying eyes or any chance of lingering contamination. I didn't want to risk anyone breathing on her.

  The day had finally arrived for me to liberate Hazel, if only for a short time. While I didn't have the most exciting outing planned, I hoped events would be sufficient to break the monotony of her captivity. There could only be one possible fly in my ointment—her parents. To ensure I could extract Hazel from the tower and from under her parents' noses, I planned a distraction.

  A rather large one.

  With a tail and an attitude.

  Grazing out in their paddock, Mr Morris kept a handsome bull who serviced their three dairy cows. With a sleek black coat and a sweeping curve to his horns, he was a magnificent-looking beast. He was also stubborn, belligerent, and short tempered, and you didn't want to get between him and his girls. Little did he know, but he snagged the leading role in my breakout plan.

  The ten-foot wall around the Morris compound had two entrances. One faced the open meadow and was the main way in and out for people. Aside from that imposing door, a gate around the far side was tucked against the embrace of the hill. This sliding entrance led to a path that curved along the lay of the land to the adjacent barn and smaller holding paddocks. Used like a funnel for the animals, it allowed the pigs out to root in the fields and under the trees. Today it was going to let something larger in.

  I couldn't decide if my actions would warrant an award for bravery (most unlikely) or stupidity. Or perhaps it showed the extent of my mind’s abnormality that I even thought of the idea.

  Running from isolated tree to isolated tree, I jumped the low fence into the larger holding paddock. The cows and bull grazed at the lush autumn grass and ignored me. Keeping a vigilant eye on the bull, I grabbed the closest cow's halter and waved a piece of bread under her nose. An enormous pink tongue tried to wrap around my fingers, but I dangled the treat out of the way and she took a step toward me.

  Using the bread like a carrot on a stick, combined with gentle pressure on her halter, I manoeuvred the cow along the rear path. The bull called out and his bellows increased in volume and pitch as we moved beyond his line of sight. I soon arrived at the back gate with my bovine friend. This was where my plan became sticky; I had no idea where anyone was inside.

  I prayed Hazel had seen me from the tower and planned some diversion of her own, not that we had any chance to collaborate. She was a smart girl and if she watched me for long enough, she would have seen me sneak around back and encourage the cow to accompany me on a walk. The gate slid to one side on its runner and I let out a sigh of relief as her face peered around.

  "What ever are you up to?" she whispered.

  I swiped the air with one hand and she stepped to the side. Then, I tossed the bread in front of the cow and she trotted inside, chasing after the tasty morsel. From behind came an outraged bellow. The bull didn't like one of his heifers out of sight and this one had been missing for far too long. He was coming to investigate, at speed judging by the thundering pound of cloven hooves on the track behind me.

  Hazel's eyes widened as she looked over my shoulder. I grabbed her hand and pulled her through to the outside as the bull charged. He barrelled into the compound after his missing heifer. Not waiting to see what happened next, I slammed the gate shut behind him.

  Screams, yells and more bellowing came from behind the wall. My distraction worked, but we didn't have long. I tugged and started running. Hazel burst into laughter and we pounded across the fields to where Cossimo waited behind a tree. I jumped into the saddle and held my hand out to her. In a fit of giggles, she placed a foot in the stirrup and I hauled her up behind me.

  Cossimo might not be a dashing white stallion to rescue the maiden from the tower, but the chunky cob had heart and stamina. We galloped across the landscape and left the long shadow of the tower far behind. Soon enough Mr Morris would discover Hazel missing and set off to find her and drag her back, but I could give her a few hours before he found us.

  With her arms tight around me and her face pressed to my back, I didn't want to stop. Could Cossimo carry us away from the demons that chased us both? Hazel's perhaps, but never mine. Even as we rode, they squirmed in the scant distance separating me from the woman resting her cheek against the rough wool of my coat.

  We galloped until the field under the cob's hooves turned into incline and we trotted up the rise to reach the sole tree occupying a hill. I jumped down and held out a hand to Hazel. She frowned and looked around. Below us, on the other side, sat Serenity House. Its three storeys of warm golden brick stretched out wings on either side. Massive columns, perfectly in proportion to the rest of the enormous house, held aloft the portico. An expanse of green lawn ran from the house down to the river winding its way past the front.

  "Oh. You brought me to stare at the big house?" Hazel's voice held a tinge of disappointment.

  Before answering I first undid the strap holding the bed roll to the back of the saddle and unhooked the saddlebags. Then I pointed to a shape in the distance, an enormous pile of timber close to the water's edge.

  Guy Fawkes, I mouthed. Already people swirled around the lawn below us, bundled up in warm coats against the chill. They made small groups, and soon laughter and chatter drifted up to us.

  I spread out the blanket for us to sit on and dropped the saddlebags. Within, Magda had packed enough to feed the two of us along with a thermos flask of hot chocolate.

  "Oh." Hazel joined me on the ground but still didn't look happy about the offered entertainment.

  I swallowed my disappointment. I had let her down. As a lowly farm hand, I couldn't offer much. There was little available as cheap entertainment in the countryside. We had to manufacture our own fun, and for most of the lads that involved farm animals.

  On my pittance of a wage there would never be fancy cars, expensive restaurants, or nights at the theatre. The bonfire was the best I could think of, particularly given the sombre cloud the village
lived under. Warrens, the butler, organised the Guy Fawkes bonfire for those working at Serenity House. A night drinking a few beers and letting off some fireworks in remembrance of the man who tried to blow up Parliament would be a sorely needed distraction.

  Someone threw a torch into the pile of wood and a roar went up from the crowd as orange licked around the timbers. Two men carried out a small table and a large box. Another man held what appeared to be a tuber, but turned out to be the cone of a gramophone. One man turned the brass handle and dropped the needle on the record, and music wafted across the lawn and spun up to us.

  Hazel hummed along a few bars and then fell silent. When she spoke, her words were so low I almost missed them. "Why did you forget me?"

  I shook my head. She couldn't be more wrong. She was carved into my skin so deep it would be etched on my bones. Even in the blackest hour of the darkest day, I remembered her. I reached into my jacket pocket, the one over my heart, and pulled out my most prized possession.

  My hand shook as I held the rectangle of paper. Creased and lined, the edges were ratty. It had been drenched in water and baked in the sun, but the photo had kept me company throughout. A young girl of thirteen smiled at the camera. Two long plaits hung either side of her face. There were flowers on her dress, but the sepia tones of the photograph washed them out.

  "You kept it?" She looked from me to photograph and then leaned closer to trace a fingertip around the jagged edge.

  My last week before deployment a photographer came to the village, available to take photographs for the families of those about to depart. I had snuck Hazel away from the tower that day and had her portrait taken. The reminder had stayed with me every day since.

  "Why didn't you write me?" Her voice quavered and her eyes filled with tears. "Day after day I waited for word of you."

  My mouth dropped open. My brain took longer to catch up and my fingers patted down my pockets looking for the notebook and pencil.

  I did. Every Sunday I wrote you.

  "No." She shook her head. "I never received any letters."

  I underlined the word every a few times in dark, bold stripes. Without fail. 52 letters or cards a year for 4 years.

  "I don't understand. I never received any letters. I thought you were off having a grand old time and forgot all about me."

  I tapped the paper a few more times. The mail service during war was notoriously unreliable and had the added risk of trucks and vessels being blown up or torpedoed. But surely some of those two hundred letters should have found their way to her hands. Unless—

  "Mother and father," she whispered, jumping to the same conclusion.

  If her parents stopped my letters to her, could they have intervened in anything she penned to me? I scratched the words with a shaky hand. Why didn't you write me?

  Her gaze widened. "Oh, Henry, but I did. That's why it hurt so much when you didn't reply."

  She fell silent and leaned her head on my shoulder for long minutes of companionship. After a while, she drew a deep breath and looked up. "How could they deny us our letters? What harm was there in our correspondence?"

  She turned her face away from me, but the last ray of sun lit her skin and the tears turned silver as they trickled down her cheek.

  My hands curled into fists. All those words I poured out to Hazel over the years and her parents silenced my voice. I imagined my letters and postcards thrown into a fire or tossed from the cart to moulder and rot on the roadside. And what of her replies? What thoughts or dreams did she commit to her pages? I would never know.

  Dark fell and the people below became shadows. The fire mesmerised us with the flickers of colour as the flames danced higher and higher, reaching to the sky. Hazel nestled against me and there was nothing to do but wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold her close.

  We ate the cold pies, fruit, and cake that Magda crammed into my saddlebag. Then we sipped hot chocolate from dented tin cups. Hardly a banquet. I offered all I had, but I feared it wasn't enough.

  She curled her hands around the mug and watched a trail of steam swirl around and dissipate into the dark. "What happened, Henry? What did you endure that stole your voice?"

  I couldn't answer her. Why ruin the evening? And I didn't want her to look at me like the others. I didn't want her to see the coward. The boy who so scared he pissed himself where he stood in the trenches. The weak soldier responsible for Sir Jeffrey's sad state.

  A shrill noise broke the night and I jumped. My mind screamed. Incoming! I reached for Hazel but she had jumped up. No! We needed to find shelter. We were so exposed up here with nowhere to take cover.

  "Fireworks," she exclaimed as the missile burst and scattered sparks of blue, silver and purple across the sky. She dropped her mug to the ground, spun to me and held out her hand.

  Fireworks? My heart pounded hard as my mind tried to rationalise the noise that seemed so similar to incoming artillery. Only Hazel's delight stopped me from bolting down the hill. My pulse eased. I took her hand and we stood on the edge of the hillock. Skyrockets and Catherine wheels spun away from the central bonfire. The assembled people shouted in approval as each new display shot upward and the streaks reflected in the still water of the river.

  All too soon, the sky went black. Even the bonfire burned down as the timbers turned to embers and the smoke winding upward obscured the stars. People disappeared back into the big house and left us alone.

  I lit the lantern, illuminating our tiny corner of the world.

  I have to take you back, I wrote on my pad by its thin light.

  "I know. I must go back to my gaol for now." Such sadness coloured her voice as she gazed at the stars far above our heads.

  I always thought her so independent, capable, and stubborn. My mind could not imagine that Hazel Morris would tolerate captivity for much longer. I must either set her free or lose her friendship forever.

  I gripped the stub of pencil tight and jotted down my question. Why haven't you run away?

  "Because mother needs me. And because I have been waiting for you to return."

  Crumbs. The pencil fell from between my limp fingers and she laughed. Her eyes sparkled with humour as she picked the pencil up from the grass and tucked it between my thumb and finger. A jest. Obviously. Wasn't it? Why would she wait in that tower for me? The silly farm boy with nothing to his name. Not even a voice.

  She elbowed me, but her gaze turned serious. "Some walls are made of stronger stuff than mere stone. I believed my parents needed me and it was my duty to stay with them. I thought I could never leave because it would be too much for them to bear. But not now. Not knowing they kept your letters from me. They deceived us both, and they have stolen too much from me."

  Perhaps I simply wasn't good enough for their daughter so they stopped what was between us before it ever had a chance to grow. I suspected they saved her for someone far more worthy than me, like a noble husband. Or did they simply want their daughter to stay with them forever?

  She glanced up at the dusting of stars above our heads. Her voice, when she spoke, was wistful and full of longing. "But I will be free, Henry. Neither you nor my parents can keep me buried above ground forever."

  If she were mine I would be tempted to lock her away so no other man could lay eyes on her. But I wasn't stupid enough to write that in my notebook. I could promise her something, though.

  Come up with a plan and once the pandemic is over, I WILL help you.

  She stared at my scribbled words. "No. You promised when the war was over and it lasted four years. Who knows when the pandemic will end? I cannot wait forever, Henry. When I turn eighteen, I will fly the nest."

  Her birthday was in March. Four months wasn't long enough. What if I lost her? Then I looked into her eyes and saw the slow death awaiting her in the tower.

  Spring, when you are eighteen then. My hand shook, but I wrote the words.

  "Do you promise?" Steel glinted in her gaze.

  I spat into my p
alm and held my hand out to her. She paused for a moment, and then did likewise. We shook on it. I was condemned to Hell anyway, may as well add to my torture by helping her achieve her goal. I would do everything to help Hazel reclaim her life.

  Then I could drown my sorrow when some worthy chap folded her in his arms and kissed those luscious pink lips.

  9

  Guy Fawkes was followed by a much larger celebration. Armistice came on 11 November, 1918 and the war was truly over. Relief shuddered through my body as fear slipped away. For months I had worried that if the war continued, I would be sent back to the front. We held a subdued celebration in the kitchen, toasted peace, and tried not to think about Sir Jeffrey upstairs or all those who would never come home.

  Winter arrived early and by the end of November, tones of grey and brown blanketed the countryside. No new cases of flu emerged, which lightened the mood. As a nation we had collectively held our breath for months, and then let it out as a wintery blast of relief. It seemed at last our battles were over and we could look forward to Christmas.

  Ella beamed with joy when Sir Jeffrey stopped drooling. I tried to share in her excitement, but it was difficult when his condition was entirely my fault. What I would have given to swap places with him. It should have been me, not our brave and heroic colonel. Would anyone have grieved if I had fallen instead? I had no wife, family, or estate relying on me to guide them. My remains could have lain undiscovered in the mud, for no one would miss me.

  Except Hazel. She said she waited for me to return.

  I cut back on my hours at Serenity House as the number of sick diminished. No new patients arrived and the few who lingered in the ballroom seemed more likely to pass than recover. Stewart and I began the process of preparing the farm for winter and moved the stock closer to the house. I was in the stables, pitchfork in hand and mucking out the stalls, when the peace was broken.