Dominion

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘He knew what you’d think of what he was doing,’ Irene said bitterly.

  Sarah looked at her sister. ‘I wonder if he cared.’ She frowned. ‘You said he phoned you from here, he must have come back to look for me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He must have wanted me to go with him.’

  ‘On the run? You’re not saying you would have gone?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ But even as Sarah said the words she knew that she would have followed David.

  Irene said, ‘He always looked down on Steve and me, always seemed to think he was better—’

  ‘I don’t think it was like that,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘I think the anger just grew in him these last few years, anger at what Britain’s become.’

  ‘Are you saying you agree with him? After what he’s done?’ Irene’s voice took on its familiar self-righteous tone.

  ‘Maybe I do.’ Sarah thought of Mrs Templeman. ‘I’ve seen some things I haven’t told you about. What Mosley and his people are doing.’ She spoke with sudden fury. ‘Helping the Germans build their empire of sadism.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah,’ Irene answered impatiently. ‘What would the Resistance bring if they won? More violence, more scapegoats, maybe even communism? And how can they think they could ever defeat the Germans?’

  ‘Are the Germans really so invincible? Maybe that’s the mistake we’ve been making for the last twelve years. They’re being beaten in Russia, people say the regime would fall apart if Hitler died.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘They’re having trouble in France now they’re trying to force French men to work in Germany. And in Spain. And we’re not exactly doing a brilliant job of keeping the Empire together, are we?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Dear God, here we are arguing bloody politics again!’

  Irene’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I just – I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right what’s happening to the Jews, putting them into camps like this, but—’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I fear for my children, you see, the boys. If – if order breaks down, I’m so frightened for their future.’

  ‘This isn’t the world any of us wanted, is it?’

  Irene shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you remember when we were young, all the peace work we did with Daddy?’

  ‘It seems so long ago.’

  ‘Poor Mummy and Daddy,’ Sarah said. ‘I should think this’ll just about finish Daddy off. I wonder if David ever thought of that,’ she added bleakly.

  Irene stood up. ‘I’m going to stay with you for a while,’ she said decisively. ‘Steve’s at home, I’ll ring and tell him he can jolly well look after the boys today. Now come on, let’s get you washed and dressed. When did you last eat?’ She took Sarah’s arm and helped her to her feet.

  ‘I had some tea and buns yesterday afternoon.’ Sarah realized how hungry she was. She remembered the cafe in Highgate, her encounter with Carol and thought, what will happen to her? She groaned. Irene held her close. ‘Come on, dear, let’s get some food inside you.’

  Irene looked after her as though she were a child again, running a bath and cooking a meal, then sitting talking to her about their childhood, not their peace activities but ordinary family memories, life at home and at school. The morning was cold and clear. Sarah said gratefully, ‘You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s what a big sister has to do.’

  ‘Remember when I was little and used to be frightened by Daddy’s facemask? Mummy would get cross but you’d comfort me. I always felt guilty about that, how it must’ve hurt Daddy.’

  ‘Those masks people wore just after the Great War were terrible things. It was easier for me, I was older. Any little girl would have been frightened.’ Irene led Sarah upstairs and saw her safely into bed again. She drifted off to sleep once more, to the reassuring sound of Irene washing up downstairs.

  She slept another couple of hours. When she woke again she felt properly awake. It was nearly three. Irene was sitting in the lounge, drinking tea. She looked tired herself. There were streaks of grey in her sister’s hair, Sarah saw; she was starting to look middle-aged. Irene turned to Sarah with a weary smile.

  ‘How are you, dear?’

  ‘Oh – all right. I’ve a bit of a headache.’

  Irene stood. ‘Now you’re awake, why don’t I go home and get an overnight bag, then come and spend the night here?’

  ‘What will Steve say?’

  ‘It’ll be all right, I’ll tell him you’re not well. I’ll just go to the loo, then get my coat.’

  She went upstairs, touching Sarah’s arm as she passed her. Sarah sat looking out of the window. Across the road there was frost on the lawn of the little park with the old air-raid shelter at the end. She thought of David: looking dapper in his suit and bowler hat; dancing with her the night they met; collapsing in the snow after Charlie died. His cold withdrawal recently. Why had he come back for her? Was it just his sense of duty, a reluctance to throw her to the wolves, or something more? If I’d known what he was doing, she thought, would I have supported him? That’s the pity of it, he didn’t trust me enough to ask. A cold anger began to grow inside her.

  A ring at the doorbell brought her back to reality with a jump. Fear clutched at her again as she walked to the front door. She called out, tremulously, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Police.’

  She opened the door a crack. A tall, middle-aged man with a bushy moustache stood on the doorstep, a sergeant’s stripes on the blue sleeve of his coat. He looked like the traditional image of a British policeman but he wore the flat cap of an Auxiliary and there was the bulge of a gun at his waist.

  ‘May I come in, madam?’ His tone was polite but very firm. Sarah stepped back and he entered, looking around the hall as he wiped his boots carefully on the doormat. He took off his cap, revealing a head as bald as his moustache was luxuriant.

  ‘Mrs Sarah Fitzgerald?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in for questioning, madam.’

  ‘Senate House again?’ Her voice rose.

  ‘I’ve to take you to the local station for now. There’s a Special Branch officer there wants to talk to you.’

  Sarah asked, ‘Is there – is there news of my husband?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that, madam.’ The sound of the toilet flushing came from the floor above. The sergeant looked up the stairs. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘My sister.’

  Then, looking past him into the kitchen, Sarah saw the back door slowly open. To her astonishment a middle-aged woman in a grey coat came in; she was short and stocky and had a round face, hard, sharp eyes behind steel spectacles and a tight mouth. She was carrying, of all things, a shopping bag. She put a finger to her lips, indicating Sarah should be quiet. Then, as Sarah watched frozen to the spot, she walked quietly but very quickly through the kitchen into the hall, up behind the policeman. She drew something from her pocket, raised it and hit the policeman sharply on the back of the head just as, becoming aware of something, he’d begun to turn towards her. He let out a cry and stumbled sideways into the banisters, blood seeping from the base of his skull. Sarah saw the woman had a small lead pipe in her hand, the sort of weapon the Jive Boys used.

  ‘I’m from the Resistance,’ the woman said, quickly and sharply. ‘Your husband is with us, we’ve come to get you.’ All the time she had one eye on the dazed policeman. He groaned and to Sarah’s horror began to stagger upright, blinking as he looked at the two women. ‘You fucking bitches,’ he said groggily, ‘You’ve had it now . . .’

  He reached inside his coat. The woman was holding up her piece of pipe threateningly, ready to lunge forward, but the policeman was pulling a gun from his pocket. Sarah heard a click as he cocked it. Then he turned at the sound of a shriek from the top of the stairs. Irene stood there, her coat over one arm, staring at the man in horror.

  Sarah reached out
and picked up the heavy Regency vase from the telephone table. She lifted it above her head with both arms and brought it down with all her strength on the top of the policeman’s head. He made a little moan and fell down in a heap.

  Irene put her hands to her face. ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she moaned, over and over again. The stranger reached down and picked up the gun. Then she put a hand to the policeman’s neck. All her movements were swift and professional.

  ‘He’s alive,’ the woman said in a sharp voice. ‘You did well there.’ She stood up, then went into the lounge and, twitching the net curtain aside, looked out. Irene came down the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring. Sarah put her arm round her. The woman came back. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald,’ she said sharply, ‘we must go now.’ She looked at Irene. ‘Are you her sister?’

  ‘Yes. Are you from—’

  ‘The Resistance. Does anyone else know you’re here?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Then you get out of here, now. Get into your car and drive away. We’ll go out the back way. Go on. We won’t have much time; they’ll soon start wondering what happened to him.’ She looked down at the unconscious policeman. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘What do you mean, deal with him?’ Irene asked, her voice horrified.

  The woman looked meaningfully at the gun, then back at Irene.

  ‘No!’ Sarah shouted. ‘You’re not going to kill a man in my house.’

  ‘He saw me,’ Meg answered levelly. ‘And worse, he saw your sister. Do you want her identified, her family arrested and questioned?’

  ‘Oh God, the children . . .’ Irene sat on the bottom stair, on the point of collapse.

  Meg looked fixedly at Sarah. ‘This is a war, and you’re in it now. You’re not on the sidelines any more.’

  Sarah said, ‘How did you know to come in when you did?’

  Meg snapped, ‘Because I’ve been watching this house for hours. Watching you two through the window. I was just about to come and get you this morning when –’ she inclined her head at Irene – ‘you drove up. I’ve been walking up and down the road, waiting for you to leave, pretending to be a woman shopping. I saw the police car come and thought it was now or never. All right?’ Her voice rose angrily.

  ‘Go now,’ Sarah said to Irene. ‘Now.’ She went to her and gave her sister an immense hug. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

  Irene pulled away. She looked at the body by the stairs, the brightly coloured pieces of the broken vase. She said to Sarah, ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too. Now go, think of the children.’

  For an unbearable moment Irene stood irresolute, then she put on her coat, walked slowly to the door and went out.

  The woman turned to Sarah. ‘You’d better get your coat too, it’s cold. Go on.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Meg. Now hurry.’

  Sarah fetched her coat and handbag. Outside, she heard Irene’s car engine start and the vehicle pull away. She wondered if she would ever see her again. Meg said, ‘Go and wait in the back garden. I’ll join you in a moment.’

  Standing in the cold garden, looking at the brown flowerbeds she and David had worked on not much more than a week ago, Sarah heard a muffled bang from inside the house. She closed her eyes.

  Meg came out. Her prim little mouth was set hard. She met Sarah’s look challengingly. ‘We have to climb over the fence, get to the lane that runs along the back. That’s how I got in. Be careful not to tear your clothes. We’re going on public transport, you don’t want to draw any attention to yourself.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Meg smiled encouragingly then, the first touch of humanity Sarah had seen in her face. ‘Somewhere safe,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  FRANK FELT BEN’S PINCH and when he woke he thought he was back at school, in the dormitory, and they were doing something to him. He screamed. Then he saw he was in a strange room, with David and Ben and it all came back; he hadn’t managed to kill himself and now they had him.

  David leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch. He said, ‘It’s all right, Frank, we’ve got you away from the hospital, we’re going to take you somewhere safe.’ Frank stared back at him. Last night, when David came up to him in the road, he had felt a surge of relief for a second and then renewed fear, because his friend had to be part of the conspiracy. He couldn’t remember anything since then. David’s expression now was the same as last night’s, a sort of desperate compassion.

  ‘Where am I?’ Frank said. His head was thumping, his voice hoarse.

  ‘In a house some way from the hospital. We’re safe.’ Frank became aware of sounds outside the room, footsteps. David gave him a sickly smile. ‘You’ve startled everybody, yelling like that.’

  The door opened and Geoff came in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Frank woke up; he shouted, he’s confused. It’s all right.’

  Ben asked Frank, ‘How’re ye feeling?’

  ‘I’ve a headache.’ There were other people in the doorway now; he saw a tall, pretty woman who Frank thought had been there the night before, and a stern-looking old man.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the old man asked sharply. ‘That yell gave Elsie a shock. What’s the matter with him?’

  He gave Frank a worried stare. Frank had seen that look before, on the faces of visitors coming to the asylum, people who were scared of the mad. Ben said, briskly, ‘Leave David and me wi’ him, will you? Every thing’s all right.’

  The others went out, the old man giving Frank that look again over his shoulder. Ben asked him some more about his headache, which was fading now, held fingers up in front of his face for him to count, took his pulse. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, looking relieved. ‘Sorry I had tae give you such a big dose last night, but we had to get you out.’ He looked genuinely apologetic.

  ‘Why have you done this?’

  ‘We’re all working for the Resistance, pal. We’ re gonna get ye oot the country.’

  Frank turned to David, his voice catching. ‘Why?’

  ‘You remember why you got put in the hospital?’ David hesitated. ‘Because your brother –’ he hesitated – ‘fell out of the window.’

  ‘I pushed him,’ Frank said bleakly.

  ‘Well, we know your brother told you something important.’ Frank’s eyes widened with fear, and David raised his hands in a soothing gesture. ‘That’s all we know. Your brother told people in America what he had done, and they asked us to get you out. We don’t know what it is that you know, we don’t want you to tell us. We probably wouldn’t understand anyway,’ he added in an attempt at humour.

  ‘Where is Edgar?’

  ‘Still in America. He’s being held somewhere safe. That’s all we’ve been told. You see, the American security services got in touch with us, they asked us to free you.’

  ‘We’re going across country to the south coast,’ Ben continued. ‘The Americans plan to pick us up in a submarine. What aboot that, eh?’

  Frank tried to think. He said, ‘But two policemen came, just before you did. One of them was German. I thought you were all working together.’

  ‘No.’ David looked hurt. ‘How could you think that?’

  ‘How would I know any different?’ Frank asked with sudden anger.

  Ben said, ‘We think the Germans also know you have important information. That’s why we had to get you out straight away.’

  Frank looked between them. It was hard to take in. Ben said, ‘Did you tell the police anything when they came to see you that day?’

  ‘No! And I’m not saying any more to anyone. Maybe I don’t know anything,’ he added defiantly.

  ‘All right, Frank,’ David said soothingly. ‘But please, you have to trust us.’

  Ben asked, ‘Is that why you tried to kill yourself? Because you were scared someone wid force you to tell what you knew?’

  Frank nodded dumbly. His head still ached but he had to con
centrate. He still couldn’t quite believe what David and Ben were saying was true, but he was starting to feel flickers of something he hadn’t known in a long time: hope. He said, ‘They’ll be after us.’

  ‘Yes,’ David agreed heavily. ‘We have to hide out here till our people tell us it’s safe to continue to London.’

  A thought struck Frank. ‘What about your wife, David? Your job?’

  ‘My job’s finished. I’m on the run like you now.’ His eyes were bleak. ‘My wife didn’t know I was working for the Resistance. Our people are trying to get her out, too.’

  Ben said, ‘Why don’t we gi’ you a shave, then you can get dressed in some nice new clothes we’ve got for you, and get something to eat.’ He reached out and grasped Frank’s shoulder, making him cringe again. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to tell us anything, just go along with us. That’s how we’ll stay safe. Will ye dae that, Frank?’

  ‘They’ll be after us,’ Frank said again. ‘When they find we’ve gone.’

  ‘They won’t get us, we’re smart.’

  ‘I don’t want to be drugged again like last night.’

  ‘All right. I’ll just give you your normal dose. Just to keep you calm.’

  ‘I’ll behave,’ Frank said bitterly. He hated the way Ben spoke to him sometimes, as though he were a child. He was beginning to believe their story, but even if what they said was true the police and the Germans would be searching already. If the Germans had any inkling of what he knew they would be desperate to find him. He thought, I’ll wait, I’ll find a chance, I’ll still finish it. Then he glanced at David’s serious, unhappy face and something in his look, the memory of their old friendship, made him want to cling to life. He clenched his good hand into a tight fist. He mustn’t allow himself to think like that. There was still only one certain way to keep his secret safe.

  Ben took him to the bathroom and shaved him, Frank guessed because they didn’t trust him with an open razor. Afterwards he changed his clothes under Ben’s eye. When he had finished dressing he went over and looked out of the bedroom window. He saw a gravel drive, some shrubbery, a dead-looking palm tree, everything covered in frost. Directly below him was the car they had arrived in, the roof glittering with ice crystals. They were only on the first floor. If he jumped out he would land on the car and might break a leg or an arm but that was all. The enormity and horror of what he was thinking, what he had already tried to do, suddenly overwhelmed him and he leaned his head forward, resting it on the cold glass.