Bloody Right Read online

  Only one way to find out. She slit open the envelope with her knife and pulled out the single sheet. “Good heavens!” She looked up at Gloria’s obvious curiosity. “This is a turnup for the books. It’s from Miss Aubin. The cook at Wharton Lacey I met the other day. She’s inviting me to tea.”

  “You are honored.”

  Mary wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps. She says she’d like to make the acquaintance of a fellow islander.”

  “Seems reasonable enough. You don’t think so?”

  “Yes, it’s just…” How could she give a history of centuries of rivalry in sixty seconds? “There’s this thing between the islands. We call them crapauds: toads. They call us Guernsey donkeys. If my old grandfather were here he’d say to have nothing to do with her. She’d be devious and untrustworthy. But we’re two exiles and I bet she gets as homesick as I do.”

  “When’s she inviting you?”

  “This afternoon, if it’s convenient, as she has Wednesday afternoons free. If not, next week I think I’ll go.” Might help get her mind off Gryffyth. Not that she really wanted to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leatherhead

  “Like that one?” Howell asked as Helen slipped the ring over her knuckle.

  She looked down at the simple, oval garnet in a Victorian gold setting. “Yes,” she replied, “it’s perfect.” She glanced up at him; by the look on his face, he agreed.

  “We’ll take it.”

  “Excellent, sir,” the little man behind the counter replied. “If I may say so, a beautiful choice. You don’t see workmanship like that anymore. Anything else?” he asked. “I have some fine wedding rings.”

  Helen looked at her old wedding ring, lying on the strip of black velvet. The slim band of gold Paul gave her decades ago. She picked it up and slipped it into her handbag. She’d loved him since her girlhood, but life moved on. “Another day,” she said. “I want to enjoy wearing this one for a while first.”

  “Later,” Howell agreed. “We’ll come back another day. All set, Helen?”

  “Yes.” She hadn’t thought she could be happier than she was last night, but walking down Leatherhead High Street beside Howell Pendragon, she realized she’d been mistaken.

  “Let’s not go back yet,” she said. “I feel like being frivolous.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Pubs are open. How about we celebrate?”

  Since there was one just across the road, they crossed over and found a seat in the corner of the lounge bar. Helen settled for Guinness when the landlord claimed he had no gin.

  “To us,” she said, raising her glass.

  “To us, and our families,” he replied, clinking his glass against hers. “May we not shock them too much.”

  “I doubt we will and if we do, they’ve got a lot more to worry about right now than what we’re doing. How did things go with Gryffyth?” She wasn’t sure whether to ask, but he had mentioned it last night.

  “He hasn’t had my luck. She’s making him wait while she decides.”

  “Can’t blame her. He was pretty fast in asking. I hope she says yes though. She’s a nice girl and I think they’d do well together.” She took a sip of Guinness. “She’s Other, isn’t she?”

  Howell nodded. “Don’t miss much, do you, Helen?”

  “I try not to. Gryffyth knows?”

  “Yep. I told him, if he wanted to marry her he’d better come clean. You can’t keep that sort of thing from a future wife. If it’s going to make her do a runner, best find that out before they sign their marriage lines. Seems he was all set to tell her but she pipped him to the post and told him her news first. Between us now, she’s a Sprite.”

  “Well, I never! Know anything about Sprites, do you?”

  “Not a dicky bird.”

  “I suppose we’ll all find out. He can bring her up to The Gallop for supper tonight. Will be a good time for everyone to get to know about her.”

  “You’re right it would be, but…” He let out an exasperated sound. “Gryffyth’s gone all protective. Says he doesn’t want her put in any sort of danger. Doesn’t want her to know what’s been going on. I tried to talk sense into him but you know how young men are.”

  Having helped bring up Alice’s two brothers, yes, she did. But seemed a bit curt to agree wholeheartedly. “One can understand why he wants to keep her safe, but doesn’t he realize she’s caught up in it? As is everyone in the village, whether they know it or not. And that those of us with powers need to use them for the good of the country?”

  “He does, deep inside, but I’m not about to lecture him about sacrificing for England.”

  Good point. “Fair enough. Anyway, if she’s half as alert and astute as she appears, once she’s been around the pair of you for a little while, to say nothing of living under the same roof as Gloria, she’ll no doubt cotton on to things.” Helen just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  “And he might just get it through his thick head that there’s not much point thinking he can keep a woman from doing anything these days. I think he only half believes what your Alice and Gloria did to those two bloodsuckers.”

  “If Mary’s half the girl I think she is, she’ll show him.”

  “Will be fun to watch, eh, Helen?”

  She chuckled, half to herself, as she lifted her glass and sipped. “Just as long as you don’t start getting ideas about keeping me out of things.”

  He shook his head. “Helen, I’m not a man to beat my head against a brick wall. Mind you, anything you do, I do. We’re in this together.”

  “For better or for worse, eh?”

  “Let’s go for the better, my darling. Once this war’s over,” he added.

  “Amen to that.”

  They sat a few moments in silence. She longed to ask what he was thinking, but bit back her curiosity. If he wanted to tell her, he would. No point in prying.

  “I was thinking,” he began, putting down his beer. “How about we go and have lunch to celebrate? According to Gryff the British Restaurant up in the parish church hall does a decent enough meal.”

  Why not? She drained her glass and smiled at her husband-to-be. “What a good idea. Can’t be too late though. I have to get back and take care of supper tonight, if we’re still holding our Council of War.” And it would be fun to see how long it took everyone to notice her ring.

  “I’ll get you back in time, Helen, don’t you worry. I’ll even help peel potatoes if you like.”

  Wharton Lacey was a house and a half. After a long pull up the twisting drive, Mary paused on the crest and admired the view. It was like something off a calendar or a chocolate box: a lovely, old, pale yellow stucco house surrounded by rolling fields and winter-bare trees. She headed on down and looked around for an entrance. She doubted the wide front door was appropriate for tea with the cook. Dismounting, Mary wheeled her cycle around the side of the house, looking for a back door.

  Instead she found a man she immediately recognized as Sir James Gregory, talking to a younger man in corduroy trousers who carried a spade over his shoulder. A gardener?

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  Sir James smiled. “It’s the new schoolteacher, isn’t it? Forgive me, my dear, if I don’t remember your name.”

  “Mary LaPrioux,” she replied. “I came to see Miss Aubin and can’t find the door.”

  “Ah, a get-together of the Islanders,” he said.

  “Sort of,” she replied, uncomfortably aware that the gardener was staring at her. Something about him bothered her. A good deal. “Which way should I go?”

  “Cut through the drawing room,” he said. “Cross the hall and head for the baize-covered door that leads to the kitchen. That’s her domain.”

  “Thank you.”

  She was unreasonably relieved to get inside and away from the disturbing young man. She found the door, slowing just as much as she dared, to get a good look at the drawing room. The windows had been taped, just like every house in the village, but the blackout curta
ins were disguised under green satin striped ones. Nice.

  “You came in that way,” Miss Aubin said, sounding a mite disapproving.

  “I got lost and ran into Sir James Gregory. He told me to come this way.”

  “Fair enough. He’s a good employer. Can’t help being rich.” She led the way into a small, cozy parlor, leaving Mary by the fire while she fetched the tea.

  And it was some tea.

  Mary couldn’t decide and felt it rude to ask, if they always ate like this at Wharton Lacey or if Miss Aubin had put on a special spread for her. Cozy wasn’t the word for sitting by a roaring fire in Miss Aubin’s snug sitting room, eating a slice of jam sponge and that was after all but stuffing herself on ham and salmon sandwiches made with real butter.

  “Another cup?” Miss Aubin asked.

  “Please.” Mary passed over her cup and saucer. “It’s been a delicious tea.”

  That was a definitely sly smile. “We don’t go short of anything here, that’s the truth. I’ll pack up the leftover sandwiches and cake and you can take them home with you. I’ll bet you and Nurse Prewitt can eat them up between you.”

  After two days of marrowbone soup it would seem like a feast. “Oh, we could. It’s kind of you.”

  “Just sharing it around. We’ve plenty. The government gets some of the production from the Home Farm, but we seem to keep the lion’s share. We get a lot of visitors down here. Which means extra mouths to feed, but they won’t miss a few sandwiches and a bit of ham.” She handed the cup back to Mary. “Ever get news from home?”

  A bit of a switch. “I get those Red Cross letters from time to time. But there’s not much you can say in twenty-nine words. I did get a letter sent via a friend in Switzerland, but that had so many bits blacked out. I couldn’t help wondering which end did that. Or maybe both.”

  “They’re all still on the island?”

  Mary nodded. “All of them. Can’t help but worry about them. Your family?”

  “Still there. Apart from my brother’s wife who left to go back to her family in Devon.” She took a taste of tea and seemed to find it too hot. “Do you know anything of what’s happening on Jersey? About people getting taken to France? Or worse?”

  “I don’t know much about what’s happening on Guernsey, much less Jersey. But we set up a sort of code, in case things got really bad. So far no bad news. You haven’t heard anything?”

  “Seldom. My family isn’t much for writing.” The expression in her eyes matched the worried tone in her voice. If it had been someone her own age, Mary would have hugged her, but Miss Aubin was the age of her mother, and she held back.

  “It’s awful. Some days I wonder if this hideous war will ever end.”

  “Or if anyone will be alive to see it.” Miss Aubin shook her head. “Sorry, my dear, dumping my worries on you.”

  “They’re my worries too.”

  “If you ever hear news of Jersey, or deportations, you’ll let me know.”

  “Of course.” Although her family were unlikely to use their limited words on news of the crapauds. “Something is really worrying you?”

  Miss Aubin shook her head as if to deny it but let out a long sigh. “Yes. I’ve heard bad things. That everyone is in danger and people are getting taken away. I was hoping you might have heard something.”

  “Only that the place is overrun by Germans, which I’d worked out for myself. And they make everyone keep their boats in the harbor in St. Peter Port.” One look at Miss Aubin and she longed to reassure her that everything was fine, her family was well and there was nothing to worry about, but Mary wasn’t that big a liar. “It’s been a lovely tea but it’s getting on.” She’d have a long ride in the dark as it was.

  “I know. Let me wrap up everything for you.”

  As well as the packets of sandwiches and a good three quarters of the jam sponge, Miss Aubin produced a long loaf wrapped in paper. “It’s a Guernsey gauche, dear. Thought you’d enjoy it.”

  Mary almost gasped. She knew just how much butter and eggs it took to make one, to say nothing of the dried fruit. “Thank you, but…”

  “No buts, my dear. As I said, we don’t go short here. I just got a shipment of dried fruit to make a Christmas cake. A little peel and raisins won’t be missed. Hope I got it right. I’ve tasted it, but never made one before.”

  Not surprising. Mary doubted many Jersey cooks made a practice of cooking Guernsey specialties. “It will be wonderful.” And it was a darn good thing she had a big basket on her bicycle. “Thank you so much,” Mary said again, as she put on her coat and dug her gloves out of her pocket.

  “My pleasure, dear. We must do it again. You don’t know how much better I feel after our chat.”

  “You must visit us too. We can initiate Gloria into Island history. Remind her that we conquered England.” It was an old claim and brought a smile to Miss Aubin’s face.

  “A bit of history never hurts, does it?” she replied as she led Mary to the back door.

  Her bicycle stood where she’d left it, over by the stables. How had she missed the door? Looking back, Mary noticed it was hidden by a tall hedge. Next time she’d know.

  She loaded her lovely loot into her basket. “Thank you again,” she called and then stopped still, as she felt the hairs on her neck itch. Turning, she saw that the young gardener stood by the stable entrance. She wasn’t sure why he gave her the willies, but he did.

  “There you are, Paul,” Miss Aubin said. “I wondered where you got to.”

  “Talking to Sir James about the brussels sprouts,” he replied.

  “Now you’re back, I need you to bring in some coal for the dining room fire.”

  “Be along in a minute,” he said, as he gave Mary an odd look and walked toward the stables.

  His voice carried a tinge of insubordination but that wasn’t Mary’s concern. He was. The man oozed menace and danger in a way she’d never encountered in her life. Once Miss Aubin shut the door, she leapt on her bicycle and pedaled along the drive just as fast as she knew how.

  Until the gardener reappeared in front of her, fifty yards or so from the gates.

  She braked, and he had hold of the handlebars.

  Every instinct she possessed was on the alert. Danger and threat seeped out of his pores. He smelled strange. One would expect a gardener to smell of outdoors and fresh air. Not like a butcher shop. Odd. Maybe he’d been killing chickens or something.

  He smiled. “From Jersey, too, are you then?” he asked. “Relatives back there?”

  “No,” she replied. “I’m not.” And was not in the mood for conversation.

  “Oh, really? I distinctly heard Sir James say you were.”

  “He said ‘Islanders.’ There’s more than one island.”

  “Which one are you from then?”

  “What about you? Are you from these parts?” Might as well turn the questions back on him.

  “Lord, no! Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to. You were evacuated?”

  He wasn’t giving up, and she wasn’t telling. She didn’t want this unpleasant young man to know anything more about her if she could help it. And darn it, she would help it.

  The gates were in sight. Or at least the gateposts were. The iron gates were gone; no doubt that was Wharton Lacey’s contribution to the war effort. Just ahead was a low bridge over a stream. One more curve and she’d be out in the lane and riding away as fast as she could.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “I need to get on home. Would you mind getting out of my way?”

  Seemed he did. He didn’t let go but he did move to stand beside her, not directly in front. “Just a minute,” he said, leaning toward her and grabbing her shoulder.

  Mary gave him a shove with her bicycle but he didn’t budge. Just shoved back so she fell off it.

  She scrambled up and grabbed her bicycle. He let go of it, but before she could remount, grabbed her and stared into her eyes.

  Unease washed over her. There was
something really nasty about him. She let go of her bicycle and ran, taking several steps before he threw the bicycle down and advanced on her. He was snarling. No other word for it. Panic surged inside her. What was he? It happened so fast, faster than she could think, but as he grabbed her, mouth wide, teeth gleaming and eyes flashing, she sensed water.

  She was on the low bridge. She was safe. Drawing on the power under her, she shoved him sideways, pushing him off the bridge. The water was deep with November rain and he let out an unearthly scream as he splashed in.

  Mary ran back and grabbed her bicycle, then pedaled as fast as she could, letting the downhill momentum add speed. As his wails faded in the distance, she wondered if he could swim. So what? It couldn’t be that deep, after all, and cold water might cool him off.

  It was only after a mile or so of frantic pedaling that she felt safe from pursuit and slowed a little. Not that her heart rate eased. What had happened? He’d attacked her. No other word for it. Why? For rape? She shuddered. If so, it was an odd spot to pick, but she hadn’t sensed that sort of sexual menace. It was as if he’d wanted to take something else from her. And those nasty teeth. The funny look he’d given her disturbed her too. Boring into her eyeballs sounded fanciful but that was just how it felt.

  Damn! That gardener was some sort of Other. What now?

  Better talk it over with Gryffyth. He might know.

  Paul Schmidt hauled himself out of the stinking stream, still shaking and swearing revenge. How dare that insolent female throw him into water? And how in the name of hades had she managed that? What the hell was she? She’d not succumbed to his compulsion. Of course he had been on the bridge, and running water weakened him, but even so.

  He trudged up the drive. Who or what was she? The first he’d get from the cook, when he brought in the coal she wanted. She wouldn’t dare evade his questions like this one had. But what? Was she the killer? Seemed the whole damn village was populated with possible suspects. But if it was this one, he’d had a lucky escape. But how could that puny little creature slay two full-strength vampires? It defied reason.