A bee buzzed by, and there was birdsong and the gentle clucking of hens at their feet as Miss Templeton continued. ‘Soldiers are trained to obey without question and to kill on command. Some do, most don’t, not even in the heat of battle. Those of us who had to kill not in the heat of battle but when circumstances required it, were given special training. Training, mind you, not conditioning. We had to be in control of our actions at all times; otherwise one is as much a danger to oneself as to the enemy. We were trained to react to a threat, and educated as to what that reaction should be. All very well in theory, actually, but when some huge thug is coming at one with a bayonet, one does have a tendency to act first and think about it later. But even in that situation, there must be something that motivates you, that drives your actions.’
She looked closely at Lucy. ‘These men who hurt you; do you hate them?’
‘Yes,’ said Lucy. ‘But if I’m honest, I think I fear them more than I hate them. I mean, I always hated them, but still I stayed. I was too scared to leave.’
‘Ah, well, it is sometimes difficult to feel sufficient hatred for things done to oneself. Things done to someone else for whom we care… now, that is an entirely different matter. One can use that sort of motivation to accomplish some very surprising things.’
Miss Templeton sank into her own thoughts for a while, but whether summoning memories or banishing demons, Lucy couldn’t tell. Eventually, she heaved a great sigh.
‘Alas, the world views such behaviour very differently in a woman than it does in a man. If a man saves someone’s life under perilous circumstances, he gets a medal for bravery. If a woman does the same thing, they put it down to maternal instinct. And, you see, if it’s an instinct then you can’t really help yourself, so you don’t get any credit for it.’
~~~
On Saturday Bill was up and about earlier than usual. Lucy found him in the front room sitting at an elegant side table on which he had piled a box of papers, a John Bull printing set, and several ink bottles. It was cold in the room, so she lit the fire and brought in one of the fan heaters from the workshop. Bill seemed cheerful enough but preoccupied, so she left him to it. She did a bit of housework and listened to the radio. Clive lay beside the stove and dozed.
‘I suppose this is how normal people live,’ she thought to herself. About midday she heard a vehicle drive up. Going to the door she saw a now-familiar old Land Rover much splattered with mud. Hugh got out and, when he saw her at the door, grinned broadly. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag. Taking his cap off and wiping his boots on the mat, he came into the kitchen and put the bag on the worktop next to the sink. Inside were three very plump, well-dressed pheasants.
‘I thought you might be able to find a use for these,’ he said. ‘I’ve done all the necessary and they’re oven-ready.’
Lucy thanked him warmly and offered him tea. He sat down and, while drinking his brew, told her the goings-on of his farm as if she knew the name of every field and crop he was talking about. When Bill came into the room, Hugh stood up to greet him as he always did. Lucy liked that; it was delightfully old-fashioned and respectful. When they were all seated, Hugh gave Bill the farming news. Because Bill actually did know the name of every field and crop Hugh was talking about, it was slightly more detailed this time.
Lucy showed Bill the pheasants, and he made appreciative noises over them, then leaned back in his chair and watched Lucy and Hugh talk about the weather. He could see the interest these two had in each another, and he could also see that unless someone took charge of the situation they would probably continue to dither like a pair of butterflies over the same daisy forever. So he had a gentle coughing fit to get their attention and then said what a kindness it would be if some generous neighbour would take Lucy for dinner somewhere pleasant tomorrow night.
Lucy turned red and glared at him, but Hugh only laughed and said he would be more than happy if she would allow him to be that lucky neighbour. Lucy felt both flattered and ambushed by Hugh’s obvious delight in the idea, and it was agreed that he would pick her up at seven the next evening. She tried a rearguard action as he was leaving, though, by saying she would have to get Bill’s supper, but that was easily defeated by Bill’s saying he was not a bloody invalid and she could leave something in the oven for him. All the same, Lucy followed Hugh out to his Land Rover and asked him if it was really all right; if he had something else on, she would certainly understand. Hugh was adamant there was nothing he would rather do than take her out to dinner. He had heard good things about a new restaurant and they would try it out.
When she came back into the kitchen, Lucy didn’t know whether she was cross with Bill or not. The day after tomorrow was the 5th, and she thought it was the height of stupidity that she should be out the night before. On the other hand, she really did like the idea of going out with Hugh, and it would be a real treat to have someone cook for her for a change. She decided she would take soundings from tonight’s dinner companions. As Bill had returned to his papers, she started preparing the meal.
Sid turned up early with muddy boots and a wind-burned face, but Lucy was happy to fill him with tea and watch him demolish half a tin of biscuits. She suddenly realized how fond of him she had grown; his company was almost as enjoyable and comforting to her now as Bill’s. She was making a stew, and he volunteered to peel the spuds, working beside her at the sink and telling her tales that made her laugh and forget just what this meal was really all about. At some point Bill came in and sat in his armchair to listen to Sid’s nonsense and doze.
Miss Templeton arrived at seven carrying a shopping bag that chinked. She was wearing a voluminous skirt, myriad layers of carefully mended fine wool jumpers, and, in honour of the special occasion, a string of pearls and just a hint of lipstick. As she was shown in, Sid rose to his feet and was formally introduced. Then Bill led her to the head of the table and pulled the chair out for her. From her shopping bag, Miss Templeton brought out three bottles of wine. They all bore simple homemade labels with ‘Sloe Gin’ written on them.
‘I thought these might jolly the evening along,’ she said.
During the meal, Miss Templeton and Sid got to know each other. They knew about each other, of course, as they had both lived in the neighbourhood for ages, but somehow their paths had never crossed. Now it appeared they had quite a few things in common despite their age difference.
The stew and dumplings were delicious, and Lucy received many sincere compliments on them. She was surprised by how much food Miss Templeton managed to tuck away, but even more at how relaxed she was and how fully she seemed to enjoy the company around her. She was still the grand if slightly eccentric old lady, but now and then a devilish streak would peep out like a red silk petticoat from under a nun’s habit. Lucy thought this might be due to Sid’s influence, or perhaps it was the sloe gin. Probably both.
When everyone had eaten their fill, the plates were cleared away and stacked on the worktop. Sid got up and fetched a large box of very expensive chocolates he had brought and put those in the middle of the table, then got out the sketch he had made of Skates’s house and the surrounding area. Miss Templeton sipped her sloe gin and studied the sketch, then complimented Sid on his reconnaissance.
‘Now,’ said Sid, ‘just to go over our basic plan once more, it is simply for Bill to deliver the restored chair and the new one, then demand the rest of his money before letting Skates have the original two. Simple and not out of character. Skates’s reaction will most likely be to send Warren to pick up the two chairs from Bill, take the money back, kill him, and set fire to his workshop.’
‘And the key to our defensive strategy,’ chimed in Miss Templeton, ‘is to create scenarios in which the options open to Skates and Warren are limited both as to time and place.’
They decided to start with Warren. Miss Templeton knew the layout of Bill’s farm in general terms but had not been round it with a strategic eye, so she, Sid, and Lucy walked out into
the yard. With the only lights above the kitchen door and the workshop, most of the surroundings were just shapes in the shadows. They agreed that if Warren came, he’d probably park his motorbike by the field entrance and walk through the meadow. From there he could get over the meadow gate and into the passage between the barn and the cart shed. This passage was some eighteen feet wide and about thirty feet long. Stone walls rose up either side, and it was not possible to see from one end of it to the other.
It was getting cold, so the three of them made their way back into the house and the warmth of the kitchen. Bill was right where they had left him and looked half asleep, but he perked up when the others sat down and poured more sloe gin into their glasses.
‘So, if and when Warren does show up, where and how are we going to deal with him?’ Lucy asked.
‘Ambushes are a right bugger,’ said Sid. ‘It’s sod’s law that wherever you set one up will be the wrong place at the right time or vice versa. We have to make it as easy for the bastard as we can without making it look too easy. For example, if we string a light up in that passage to discourage him from using it, he’ll just try his luck through one of the buildings and get into the yard that way.’
‘If we trap him in that passage, though,’ said Bill thoughtfully, ‘he could be dealt with there and then.’ And he told them about the man trap he had found in one of his sheds a few months before. ‘That could work,’ said Sid. ‘The passage is concrete, same as the yard, but we might be able to hide the thing with a bit of dirty straw and muck.’
Miss Templeton suggested wrapping a bit of barbed wire round the top bar of the gate but leaving enough of a gap for a hand hold in just the right place where a person making use of it would be bound to step on the trap as they climbed over the gate.
Sid said he would look into it in the morning, but all agreed it was a good idea. The focus then changed to Bill’s visit to Skates.
‘On the basis that no plan survives contact with the enemy,’ said Sid, ‘I don’t think there is a lot of finessing to be done there. Just get into the house, mate, and then blast away to the best of your ability. After that, your goal is to cover your tracks and destroy as much of the evidence as possible. And for that, you can’t beat a good fire.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lucy wholeheartedly. ‘Arson has been a real signature dish of those two, and it will be quite fitting for them to experience it themselves, even if they are dead at the time. After all,’ she added with a smile, ‘it’s the thought that counts.’
Sid recommended a simple mixture of petrol and Calor gas cylinders. ‘A technique much favoured by the gentlemen of the IRA, and very effective it is. Almost untraceable, too, as far as the cylinders are concerned.’
‘And how am I going to carry huge, heavy gas cylinders from the van to the house, let alone cans of petrol?’ asked Bill.
‘The small cylinders like we used for the grain dryer will do fine,’ said Sid, ‘but you’ll need at least two of them.’
‘And one Jerry can of petrol goes a long way,’ added Miss Templeton. ‘The important thing is to spread it around as much as you can. And you will be full of adrenalin after the shootings. Two gas cylinders and even two cans of petrol will present no problem to you as long as you move quickly.’
Bill sat and listened, occasionally adding something, but mostly just taking it all in as if it were someone else who would be doing all these things. But he actually had little doubt in his own mind that he would be able to do them when the time came. Yes, he was ill, very ill, but he believed in the old adage that ‘a candle burns brighter just before the flame dies’. His own body was telling him this and, helped by the stimulants he had got from Dr Hall, he believed he would have the strength. He had a score to settle, and in his soul he felt this to be a legitimate blood debt. He simply had to succeed.
So it was decided that Bill would phone Skates the next day and tell him he would have the chairs finished by late Monday and would deliver them that evening.
Miss Templeton then asked to see their arsenal. The guns were fetched from their various hiding places and put on the table for her inspection. She examined the weapons as another elderly lady might have scrutinized handbags in Harrods. The sawn-off shotgun elicited a genteel ‘tut-tut’, but mostly in sorrow for the butchering of a once-beautiful weapon.
‘Nasty things,’ she said, ‘but very effective. We used these a lot.’ Next she picked up the huge revolver, weighed it in her hands, then brought it smoothly up to the firing position. ‘Not bad after all these years,’ she said, with some little pride. ‘But I couldn’t hold it for long and the recoil would definitely be too much for me.’ Then she picked up the pistol that Sid had supplied.
‘Now this is better. A model 36. Good balance. Yes, that’s lovely.’ This was almost too much for Lucy. The incongruity of an elderly lady with a cut-glass accent politely remarking on the merits of various firearms suddenly struck her, and she was in grave danger of laughing out loud. Must be nerves, she thought.
Miss Templeton went home that night feeling more alive than she had in decades. Bill said his goodnights briefly and went gratefully to his bed, while Lucy and Sid took Clive for his evening walk. As they patrolled the yard, Lucy suddenly remembered she hadn’t mentioned going out with Hugh the next evening and asked Sid what he thought about it.
Without hesitation, he answered, ‘I think it’s a grand idea, lass. None of us knows what the next couple of days may bring. A few hours of normality with a good bloke like Hugh Dawlish will take your mind off things. Besides, if you try to back out now, Bill and I will carry you there!’
This made Lucy laugh and put her mind at rest, at least as far as the next night was concerned. As to the one after that, well, that was another matter entirely.
Chapter 41
SUNDAY, 4 NOVEMBER
Sunday the 4th November was a miserable sort of day: rainy, cold, and depressing. Winter was giving a preview of what it would be up to in a month or so, and the landscape had become drab and waterlogged.
Under Bill’s direction, Sid got out the man trap and oiled it up. Lucy came out to watch and make sure Clive got nowhere near the horrible thing. The two crescent arms were nearly three feet wide, and it took a lot of effort to open the jaws and set the spring trap that sat in the middle.
‘It looks like a giant metal clam,’ she remarked.
‘It’s a very simple mechanism,’ said Sid, then activated the spring by placing a long piece of timber about four inches square on the base plate. The vicious iron teeth came together with a loud clang and the wood was bit in two just about where a man’s ankle would be. All three of them stood silently looking down at the evil machine.
‘Were these things actually used?’ asked Lucy.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Bill. ‘These and lots of other nasty devices like them. Not that long ago, either.’
‘Well, it will certainly slow up Wonder Boy,’ said Sid. ‘Now we just have to work out where to put it and the best way to camouflage it.’
The entrance into the passage from the meadow was through a traditional five-bar gate about six feet wide and just over four feet high. It was ancient and rickety and normally left open. Some of the timbers were rotten and some were missing. When closed it would be easy enough to climb over, but would someone who was unfamiliar with it choose to do that at night?
‘How about we pull the gate almost closed and leave the chain and padlock in the ring on the post? asked Bill. ‘It’ll look like we closed it but forgot to lock it afterwards; the sort of thing that happens when you’re in a hurry.’
They agreed it would be simpler to do that than to try and work out exactly where Warren might climb over it and land. Also, it would be easier to camouflage the trap if it was further away, in shadow near the wall. Normally such traps were buried in long grass or undergrowth on a track known to be used by poachers, but on a cement-floored passageway the only option was to try to cover it with straw, leaves, and other rubbish th
at tends to accumulate in such places. Darkness would help, but the trap was about eight inches high when opened, which made it difficult to hide. Sid tried all manner of ways, but was satisfied with none of them. Finally he decided the only answer was to create a depression for it.
The concrete floor of the passage was badly cracked. Sid levered up a few of the slabs and thankfully there were no cobbles below, so he was able to create a fairly large area of muddy ground all around the gate. He scraped away the rubble and dug enough of an indentation to take the trap, then hauled away the displaced concrete. Then he put the trap into the hole and camouflaged it as best he could with dirt, leaves, and other detritus. They all agreed that this did the trick: the trap was well hidden and in a likely place for someone slipping into the passage to step.
As they left, Sid blocked the entrance to the passage with a hurdle just in case Clive got curious and decided to go for a sniff around the newly excavated area.
Back in the kitchen with a well-earned cup of tea, Sid gave his mind to all the places in which Warren could hide if he did get into the yard. The cart shed where Lucy kept her car was open all down one side. Then there were all the other buildings, including the stables, milking parlour, and cattle shed. All could provide cover and a place from which to launch an ambush. The bugger of it was that the lighting was so poor. However, there was an electric supply run from the workshop into the cart shed and stables, and that cable had been fixed high across the passage, so electricity was near enough at hand to fix up some better lights. He would go into town first thing in the morning and buy a couple of big halogen lamps and put them up. Bloody hell, he thought to himself, this is all getting a bit close to the wire. We should have done this weeks ago! Sid had been planning to go home that night, but with Lucy dining out with Hugh, he thought it might be better if he stayed, so he suggested to Bill that he pop out and get some Chinese, ‘just like old times’. Bill readily agreed.
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