“Nora.” She stuck her hand out in Joe’s peripheral vision. He shook it uncomfortably and settled into the leather seat. Joe masked any sign of excitement of sitting in a real motorcar.
“You don’t look like the usual sort they send us. The rough and ready type certainly has its appeal. Those dreamy eyes of yours will certainly spill a few secrets I dare say.”
Joe flushed red again as he noticed her eyes scanning his body hungrily.
The car bumped along a drive past an abbey to an ornate mansion. There were wooden huts and bunkhouses lined up on the grounds like unwanted intruders of the manicured grounds.
“Welcome to your new home, for the next few months at least. I will look forward to getting to know you better…Joseph?”
“Joe.” He shrugged.
Nora nodded to the green hut they had pulled up outside of. The door was open. There was a man inside, perched on the edge of a desk pouring through papers. He beckoned Joe to enter.
“Come in, Mason. What do you make of these?”
He thrust a wedge of papers into his hands. Nora was waiting at the door. The man dismissed her with a wave of the hand. Joe was stunned to see her winking at him before she wiggled away.
“Be afraid, old boy. Nora’s special talents of loosening the tightest of Nazi tongues are unrivalled in the field. But a boy like you, she’ll devour in one helping.” The man laughed.
Joe looked through the paperwork; it was a mass of number sequences. As his eyes skimmed line after line, some patterns and repeats jumped out. His initial thoughts were they looked like coordinates like you see on a map, but he dared not say that in case he sounded like an idiot. Joe couldn’t think of anything else to say. He mumbled, “I don’t know, sir.”
The man shrugged, looking disappointed.
This meeting was a chance of doing something for the war effort other than working the docks, so Joe risked sounding stupid. “Sir, it’s probably nothing, but I think there are some patterns in the numbers.”
“Go on, go on…”
“Could they be timings and coordinates on a map, sir?”
Joe had the man’s interest.
The man stubbed out his cigarette. “Possibly. What are you thinking?”
“I think amongst all these random numbers, there is a sequence of numbers and letters that seem to point to map coordinates—L35 N11 0100 020840. Is it a message or something? Perhaps something is happening at…” He moved towards the huge map of France on the wall of the cabin and traced it along the grid references of L35 and N11 until he found a church in a small town on the Normandy coastline. “Here…” Joe stabbed a finger at the map. “Something is happening here at 0100 hours on the 2 August 1940.” He gulped when he realised the date was one hour after the scheduled time of the Lammas ritual.
“Bloody hell, boy, do you know how long it takes to train code breakers to extract intel like that from this load of gobbledygook? I am going to explain why and how you came to be here. I trust I don’t need to tell you that any verbal exchanges in this room are confidential.”
Joe nodded earnestly, and the man continued. “The crosswords we gave you at the recruitment office are the same as those we print in the newspapers. They are carefully designed to distinguish those people whose minds are particularly good at solving cryptic puzzles and problems. We offer a small prize, which they have to collect from our offices in Hertfordshire where they are assessed for their suitability as code breakers. You see we believe that this war will be won by outsmarting the Germans by learning about their battle plans before they happen. We do this through espionage and through spying on their communications and attempting to break their secret codes then feeding misinformation back to them. You appear to have the brain for it, so how do you feel about espionage? Code breaking?”
Joe looked bewildered. The man continued. “A pretty boy like you with a brain like that, bloody godsend to the effort if you are willing to leave your scruples with your mother that is and get down and dirty. We’ll make a cracking spy out you. You see we have a whole department of code breakers who sit in a room day in and day out attempting to decipher codes on reams of paper, but if you were to drop one of those smart alecks in the field, they would piss their pants. What we need is someone with brains, brawn, guts and a knowledge of the occult. Your contacts tell me you could be the man for the job? The government deems it necessary to build a specialist occult unit within M16. Intelligence suggests Hitler has his own expert advisor of the dark arts whom appears to be his right hand man and strategist. Coded messages are flying all over Europe detailing secret battle plans, which originate from a man known as Shwatzadler and his order. We need someone to infiltrate the dark web, decipher secrets codes and get the messages back to Britain.”
Joe spluttered, panicked that his background was public knowledge. “I know nothing of the dark arts, sir. And a spy? I wouldn’t have a clue.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves. Crawley is the man that pulled strings for you and got you this meeting. He is a known sympathiser of the occult, and we know you are a member of the New Forest Coven of Witches. We know who you are, who your father is and where his loyalties lie. So, boy, if you are game and are brave enough to do your bit for the country, as of now, you are a member of his Majesty’s Secret Service.”
“Yes, sir, of course, but…”
“Very good. Welcome aboard. We shall begin your training next week. You will have a few days to say your goodbyes. Then we shall expect you back here promptly at 9am on Monday fifth August. Of course, you don’t mention your involvement here to anyone, not even your mother or your sweetheart. What you tell them is up to you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Nora, show this boy to his quarters, introduce him to Doris, sort out his training and then get him back to the station. And, Nora, try to keep those hands to yourself. He is still a boy. Let’s keep his innocence in check at least until he reaches the front.”
“Sir, may I ask the significance of the date in the intel…the second of August? Is there an operation planned that day?”
“You should probably be aware that sharing state secrets is a shooting offence, Mason. It is treason. Probably best we don’t disclose anything just yet.” He slapped Joe on the back, and he was ushered out of the cabin in a dream world.
It was Violet’s contact with Crawley that got him the meeting. He knew people and things. He must know something was going to happen on the second of August, something big. It must be the invasion. Joe had a little under a week to get back to training. If there was a planned invasion on Lammas, they had no choice but to do the ritual.
He stayed on the train past his stop and headed towards Hamble to see Violet.
CHAPTER 21
When Joe reached the base, he saw Violet’s bike parked outside the barracks. He rushed in to find her and came head-to-head with a scary matron. “No men in the women’s quarters.”
“I have an urgent message for Violet Gray.”
“You can give it to me. I will pass it on.”
“It must be delivered in person.”
“I can be trusted, young man.” The woman held out her calloused hand.
When I didn’t respond, she said abruptly, “Her plane is due in shortly then it is the curfew. Goodbye.”
Joe had no chance of getting past the bulldog of a woman. He turned and left but waited until darkness fell. Joe walked a little way up the lane behind her barracks and rested against a tree. He smoked and mulled over the day; he couldn’t quite believe he was to be a spy.
A plane flew over and landed. Joe crept up the lane and crouched down outside the windows of the prefabricated building. Violet climbed out of the plane, peeled off her goggles and flying hat then strode to the hut. The window was open. The night was still and hot.
In minutes the crackles of a gramophone record seeped melancholic sounds of jazz through the thin summer evening air. Joe listened for a moment. The lyrics spoke of the torment of innocen
ts losing their lives, metaphors of leaves and thorns being clipped but the strength of young flowers shooting through the rubble, resilient, refusing to hide, refusing to die. The song was such a haunting contrast of ugliness and beauty. But the sentiment rang true as he thought of the people being slaughtered in Europe because of their beliefs, their way of life or their heritage.
If the Nazis attacked England, the ancient communities of witches would be one of the first to go. Listening to that song, he had a moment of clarity. He had to do the ritual then he had to go to Europe and carry out whatever duties necessary. Joe might not be flying in a Spitfire and living out his dreams, but it seemed he owned unique talents, and he was going to use them.
Joe picked a few pebbles and clinked them at the window. A shocked white face topped with rollers gasped then shrieked a delighted giggle. He mouthed Violet’s name through the glass. In minutes she appeared by his side.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You’ll be shot.”
“I had to see you. I am in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lammas, I am in.”
“I thought you already said you would be there?” She looked confused.
“Yes, but I didn’t mean it before. Something happened today, something amazing, but I found out some information. I think the attack from Hitler is going to happen in the early hours of the morning after Lammas. We have to stop it. Then I am going away; I am joining up on Monday. It is top secret stuff. I can’t breathe a word to anyone. All I can say is it will be months before I see you again.”
“Darling, I am so happy for you. I knew you could do it, find a way to be the hero I know you can be.” Violet glanced at him. “Hold on. We have to celebrate.” She disappeared inside and emerged with the gramophone and a metal flask tucked under her arm. She shoved it into his arms and hopped on her bike. “C’mon.”
Joe jumped on the bike, and it hurtled along the lane towards the beach. The engine cut out, and the night was eerily silent.
Joe and Violet crunched along the pebbles on the beach, and then they spread out a blanket and placed the record player down carefully. Violet clicked the arm of the record into place and filled the night sky with jazz. She took Joe’s hands, and they danced together on the pebbles. Violet still had a black smudge on her face from her goggles, and her trademark red lipstick had been rubbed off. Her auburn hair tumbled naturally to her shoulders, and he noticed she was wearing a loose nightdress beneath her cardigan. The song that he heard through the barracks window clunked on, and they swayed in each other’s arms to it.
“What is this song? There is something about it. It so tragic but so beautiful.”
“It is called ‘A White Rose’.”
She rested her head in the hollow between Joe’s neck and shoulder, which appeared to be a perfect fit for the curve of her cheek.
“Violet, I might not see you again after the ritual. It is dangerous work I am going to be doing. I have to say it, even if you don’t feel the same, I hope I can win you round one day when I return a hero, but I love you.”
Her shining eyes looked into his, and that smile of hers spread across her face. For a moment, he thought she would say she loved him too, but she looked away briefly and kissed Joe gently on the cheek. Then she jumped up with a mischievous giggle.
“Get up!” Violet commanded as she tied her hair up in a red scarf. She peeled off her clothes then kicked off her nightgown.
“What are you doing? Are you insane?” He laughed.
Her body glowed white in the moonlight as she ran into the sea. Joe had no choice but to follow. She squealed as he splashed her, then she swam underwater and pulled Joe with her. They swam out in the unusually calm sea.
“Can we swim to America from here?” Violet said, laughing.
“Only the Isle of Wight on the other side of the river!”
They floated on their backs in the surprising warm Solent waters. Joe swam towards her and pulled her goose-pimpled body into his arms.
She wiggled out and challenged him, “Race you back to the beach!”
Violet screeched as Joe paced after her. They collapsed next to each other on the pebbles, laughing and cold.
“Here, that’ll warm your cockles.” She thrust a flask of whisky into his hands after he pulled his clothes on his damp body.
Joe held her shivering body in his arms and blew on her hands and rubbed them between his to warm them. She rested her head on his chest, and they sat in silence for a moment.
Violet said thoughtfully, “Soon we go to war. Do you think we shall all survive?”
She took her red scarf from her hair and wrapped it around the record we were listening to, and carefully placed it back in the sleeve. “A gift…to remember me. Come back safe. You never know miracles may happen, and I may still be here on your return. In the meantime, this will be our song. It is more than just a song, ‘A White Rose’ is special. It holds secrets, so Crawley tells me. He told me that I should give it to someone I trust in case anything happens to me. It was a gift. Now it is yours.”
Joe pulled the scarf from the sleeve and looked at the record and turned it over.
“You are clever. Perhaps you’ll work it out. It beats me.”
Violet pulled her white legs, visible through her wet nightdress, to her body and rested her pointed chin on her knees then turned to face Joe. “You will return a hero. Promise me that whatever you see, whatever you do, you won’t change. Be the dreamer always with that brave heart of yours. There is a lot of darkness out there. I have been there, and I have seen it.” Violet’s playfulness gave way to sadness. “I am no good for you, Joe. You must have realised by now. I am tangled up in a dangerous world, and I am drowning. In fact, for a moment when we were swimming in the sea, I thought how easy it would be to slip beneath the water and end my life on a wonderful night such as this. I know too many secrets about too many powerful people. Joe, I am terrified. They need my power for the ritual, but after that, I think they will want to silence me, get rid of me.”
“Who? What do you mean? I won’t let them. Let me help you,” Joe said.
“You may have gathered that Crawley is an important man. He is charismatic and has a gift of worming his way into wherever he wants to poke his nose. He calls himself the beast you know? He thinks it is a little joke. Ironic, because he looks like a teddy bear with that silly bow tie of his, but like the devil, Crawley knows how to learn of the deepest desires of people, and he seems to have the ability to grant them. He has slithered into the minds of men with influence. He appeals to their egos and their lust for power, wealth and sex, and he draws them to the darker side of our craft. When they have what they want, and they become useful, he demands payment. He blackmails them, teases them with the threat of scandal and ruin. He owns them.” Violet stared at the sea.
“You know, I am his ultimate triumph. I turned up on his doorstep, skinny and wide-eyed, my daddy rejected me, and I had magic in my veins and no idea what to do with it. I became his project then his protégé and tool. This war is a platform for men to achieve greatness to write themselves into the history books. Even have a bloody great statue built and stuck in the middle of London. Crawley has carefully handpicked men, groomed them and made introductions and got them into boardrooms where major decisions are made. You know there was a chance for this damn war to be avoided. Hitler could have been stopped before it escalated, but Crawley pushed the buttons that made it happen. What those politicians don’t know is that this man is playing both sides. Hedging his bets so he can sidle up to the winning side. He has now sneaked behind the heaviest, most secretive doors in the world. Those belonging to Erubus, the shadows, the puppet masters who control everything, and he is dragging me with him. I am done for one way or the other, Joe. I have to do whatever he says, or one little whisper will betray me, and I am thrown to the dogs. Oh god, Joe, they will tear me to pieces.”
Terrified, she gazed at Joe. She looked to the sea and chewed
her lower lip. She was hiding something. She looked at him again. Joe noticed her take a breath.
“What is it?” Joe asked suspiciously.
Violet stood and began to collect her things. “I can’t. I am sorry.” She shook her head. Her lip was trembling.
“Stop,” Joe said. “Whatever you are hiding, you can tell me. Trust me. I might be able to help.” Violet smiled and tears rolled from her eyes. She made her way to the bike. Joe sprung up and pulled her towards him. “Tell me,” he whispered into her hair.
“You will hate me.”
“Never.”
Her fingers grazed his upper arm gently then she spoke. “Joe, darling, Crawley chose to target you and Tom. He needed strong, young men with natural magic for his little personal army. Your father regularly boasted of your talents with fire, but nobody had seen you use it. Crawley used me to get you, test you and draw your magic out. I am so sorry. It was my brief to seduce you both. I had to find out your heart’s desires so he may grant them and then own you too.”
Joe looked at her. He was horrified. “It was all fake? You’ve played me like an idiot?”
She went to touch him, to reassure him, but Joe pushed her away.
“Joe, darling boy, it was facade to begin with, yes, but I grew to love you and Tom. We became friends. I have never had that, Joe. I never had a girlhood. I was thrust into an adult world when I was thirteen years old. I was forced to grow up fast. I would give anything to have that wonderful feeling I have with both of you, to last forever. For a while I felt happy with you. I was a normal girl, and I forgot the reason I got to know you both in the first place. Please, if you could find a way to forgive me, I can at least die in peace. I can’t let you go away without you knowing the truth.”
Violet’s eyes sparkled with tears; Joe could see how trapped she felt. She was petrified. He tried to listen, but anger and humiliation seethed through him. He couldn’t look at her. Her confession played again and again through his mind. “It was my brief to seduce you.” His heart thrummed in his ears. He couldn’t escape it. She had made a fool of him.
The Haunting of Violet Gray Page 18
