Bloody Right Page 8

  “Bad weather for those escapees to be crossing the woods,” Rolf said, brushing the snow out of his eyes.

  “Covers their tracks, though,” Hans replied.

  All this talk about the two escaped prisoners of war, but they never arrived. They’d no doubt been killed or recaptured. But if they did come, Bela was ready. There was nothing to keep her here. Not anymore.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mary was sitting by the kitchen fire, sipping cocoa and thinking about Gryffyth Pendragon’s hand stroking her breast. On the radio, Lord Haw-Haw hectored on about the failure of the British government to protect its cities, and the inevitable capitulation of the British Empire, but it pretty much went over her head. One lone, derisory voice from Berlin hadn’t a hope of distracting her.

  She let him blether on, until the door opened and Gloria came in, looking tired. “Turn that thing off, please. I can’t cope with him tonight.”

  Unlike her, Gloria usually answered the radio back, giving cheeky, even rude responses to his pronouncements, but tonight she looked downright drawn as she hung up her coat.

  “Want some cocoa?” Mary asked. “There’s enough milk.” Gloria nodded and Mary jumped up. “I’ll make it for you. Have a seat, you look done in.” Gloria usually came back glowing from an evening in her fiancé’s company. “Something wrong?”

  Gloria hesitated a minute, as if sorting out her thoughts, or deciding what to say. “I’m just tired. This war’s getting me down. I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever end.” Mary understood that feeling. Gloria gave a weak smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be moaning to you, should I? I’ve got a roof over my head. I’m safe in my own home—or as safe as anyone is these days, and I’m a proper Millie Moaner.”

  “Best let it out. It’s getting me down too.” Or had been until this afternoon. “Are you hungry? I stopped by Whorleigh’s on my way home. I didn’t realize you’d be out until I saw your note.” Drat! That sounded like a complaint. Not what she’d intended. “It’ll be good tomorrow. It’s soup.”

  “You made soup?”

  “Beef and barley and veg. Or rather, barley, beef and veg. All Whorleigh had was marrow bones.”

  “I bet he had more. If you’d been Mrs. Chivers or Miss Wallington, he’d have found a couple of nice pork chops.”

  “They’re willing to pay the extra.”

  “Well, I won’t, on principle. Makes me cross that he’s raking in the money hand over fist while most of us keep the rules.”

  Mary agreed, but…“Doubt he gives a hoot about what we think. And there was a good bit of meat left on the bones.”

  “His mistake, no doubt.”

  Gloria really did have it in for him. Right now Mary was far too ecstatic, her mind too full of Gryffyth to get wound up over local black-market rackets. “Forget Whorleigh, let me make you a mug of cocoa. Sure you don’t want any soup? There’s lots.”

  “Let’s keep it for tomorrow. Cocoa’s perfect. Thank you, Mary, you’re a love.”

  Something was up. No doubt about it. It wasn’t like Gloria to collapse into a chair like that.

  Cocoa ready, Mary handed her the mug. “Something the matter?” she asked, as she sat down opposite Gloria.

  Gloria looked down at the mug between her hands. After what seemed like an age, she shook her head, “No.” Her entire body said yes. “Just tired, but tell me.” Her smile looked as if it took a good deal of effort. “Village gossip has Gryffyth Pendragon walking you home from school.”

  Heat flared from the base of Mary’s neck to the roots of her hair. Her throat all but closed up but by dint of hard swallowing, she managed to say, “Oh, yes. I saw him when I came out, so we chatted a bit. I asked him in for a cup of tea.” Might as well add that. Someone had no doubt timed to the second how long he was in her house.

  “Just a cup of tea?” Gloria asked with a grin, the drawn look fading from her eyes. “You didn’t offer him anything else? A little more hospitality?”

  “Well, yes. But we stopped short of wild sex on the kitchen table.” It was so good to hear Gloria laugh. Whatever bothered her had gone.

  “I don’t recommend the table, far too uncomfortable. I much prefer the sofa in the parlor. You’ll need to light the fire first though. Passion only heats you up so much.” She took a sip of cocoa. “So,” she said, going thoughtful. “You like him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Glad to hear it. After the way you gave Tom the brush-off, I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “Gryffyth Pendragon and Tom Longhurst are hardly comparable. Gryffyth hasn’t run around sleeping with half the county.”

  “I don’t think ‘sleeping’ is the operative word. On the other hand, Gryffyth hasn’t carried on with every female in the village under ninety.”

  “Hasn’t he?”

  Gloria took a long drink of cocoa, no doubt to drag this out. “No,” she replied, at long last. “Not as far as I know. Mind you, I’ve not lived here as long as Alice. She’d know.”

  No doubt, but Mary wasn’t quite up to asking the doctor for intimate details of Gryffyth’s past.

  Gloria finished her cocoa and rinsed out the mug. “We might as well both go to bed.” Best way to keep warm. “You know,” she said, as she reached for the tea towel and dried the mug, “people are going to talk. You ask him to dance and then he picks you up from school.”

  “So they gossip, Gloria. I’m used to village life. And what’s to talk about? We’re not going to have sex on the village green.”

  “But you are going to have sex?”

  “I sincerely hope so!”

  Lying in bed, the covers pulled up to her nose to keep warm, Mary wondered at her bluntness. She liked and trusted Gloria, but why had she been so shamefully honest? Because it was darn well true. She had a bad case of Gryffyth Pendragon, and she hoped she never recovered. He was a damn good kisser. He’d surely be fantastic once they got their clothes off.

  As the sun rose, Sam Whorleigh pedaled his bicycle up past the church. He enjoyed being out and about while most people were still getting up or eating breakfast. Mind you, after that nasty shock a few weeks back, when he’d found the doctor’s car in a ditch and her unconscious inside, he avoided the shortcut through the allotments. There’d been something downright wrong about it all.

  He took the road these days.

  Passing the winter-bare churchyard, he glanced at the tower, where the bells hadn’t sounded in over a year. He glanced at the bombed-out rectory. Stared and clutched the handlebars in a knuckle-whitening hold. The earth over by the ruined tennis court was shifting, as if a giant mole were raising a molehill. Like a fool, Whorleigh stopped. Staring as the earth opened and, in a spray of wet earth and tufts of grass, a creature emerged. A creature that emanated the same menace as that baker had. The thing spied him and shot toward him, eyes blazing and fangs gleaming.

  Leaping off his cycle and letting it fall to the ground, Whorleigh ran. Fast as only an elf can move, he leapt onto the church roof—the lychgate he’d used once before being far too close for safety—and lay panting on the leads, his fingers grasping the stonework until the thing ran off with a snarl and a quite unnecessary kick at the discarded bicycle.

  Whorleigh jumped down, on the far side from the lane. No point in risking an early riser seeing him. One look at the twisted front wheel and fork of his bicycle and it was obvious he’d be walking to work from now on. Damnation! He couldn’t even wheel it. He propped it against the churchyard wall and walked on up into the village center, his mind whirling.

  There was no denying that he’d seen something. Just as there was no denying, no matter how hard he tried, the strange incident with the baker who’d so mysteriously disappeared last month.

  What sort of Others were these, invading his bailiwick? And why him? And what were they after?

  The memory of a challenge old Mrs. Burrows had thrown at him still burned. He wanted to keep himself to himself and put away for a rainy day. Looked as
though a tempest was about to break.

  When he reached the village center, he walked right on past his shop and headed up the hill toward The Gallop. Much as it went against the grain, perhaps he needed to talk to the doctor’s grandmother after all.

  Mary LaPrioux lay awake, looking at the ceiling and summoning the courage to get out from under the warm covers into the unheated bedroom. She’d have to get up soon; it was her turn to take the damper off the boiler and make tea. But five more minutes…

  Forty-five wouldn’t be enough to sort out her thoughts. Maybe she needed another nocturnal trip out to the hammerpond to hope the water would clear her head. Was it possible, rational, or sane to fall in love like this? Maybe not, but it had happened. She burned for Gryffyth Pendragon’s touch, longed for him to wrap his arms around her, and ached deep inside at the thought of another kiss. Or twenty. Or a thousand. Or a lifetime of them.

  Whoa there!

  She put a foot out from under the covers. Maybe the chilly morning air would cool her ardor.

  It just cooled her foot.

  What was wrong, or maybe right, with her? She was pretty much prepared to offer to bear Gryffyth Pendragon’s children and she had no idea if he was even interested.

  Alright. He was interested. She’d noticed that much even when they were dancing. She’d bet the next month’s butter and sugar rations that it wasn’t part of his wooden leg she’d felt as he held her close. And as for when they’d snuggled up and shared the big armchair by the fire: He’d been very interested.

  Question was, was he interested in the same way?

  One way to find out was to ask, but brazen as she was feeling right now, that was a bit overmuch. He’d probably run a mile.

  She smiled. Wrong word. Running was something Gryffyth wasn’t likely to be doing.

  Oh! Darn it! Life had been so nice and calm and settled. Or at least as nice and calm and settled as was possible in the middle of a war, with her home invaded by the blasted Jerries.

  On the other hand, if there hadn’t been a war, and Guernsey invaded, she wouldn’t have evacuated, wouldn’t be here in Brytewood, and would never have met Gryffyth.

  She sort of owed nasty old Adolf a thank you.

  She also owed Gloria a cup of tea.

  Bracing herself for the cold air, Mary grabbed her dressing gown off the foot of the bed and pulled it on, then swung her legs out from under the covers and felt around for her slippers. Feet in and cozy, she got the rest of herself out of bed, stood up, tied the sash of her dressing gown and pattered downstairs.

  The boiler had gone out.

  At least they’d fetched in coke, last thing. She didn’t have to go outside and freeze the marrow of her bones. It was so cold here in England. How she longed for a nice damp, rainy island winter. None of these awful heavy frosts. The children might be excited at the prospect of snow. She was less enthusiastic.

  She riddled the boiler hard, tucked in a few twists of paper and a handful of kindling, tipped in a little coke and reached for the matches on the mantelpiece. Her hand froze in midair at the sound of a scream of utter terror.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Gloria!” Mary yelled, fumbling with the bolts on the back door before grabbing her coat and pulling it on as she ran down the garden path in her slippers.

  The postman was staggering to his feet. His bicycle lay on its side, wheels still spinning and the contents of his mailbag scattered across the lane. Mary grabbed his arm and helped him up. He was shaking, ashen-faced and gasping. Had to be shock.

  “What is it?” Gloria had her coat on over her nightgown but her feet were bare.

  “I don’t know. Something happened to him,” Mary replied. “And you need to put something on your feet.”

  “A monster, I swear it was,” the postman muttered, and started shaking even more.

  “Come on inside,” Gloria said. “I’m Nurse Prewitt. I’ll look at you and we’ll call the doctor if we need to.”

  “I know who you are, Nurse. Deliver your post, don’t I?” He gave a weak effort at a smile. “Hell, the post! Sorry, ladies,” he added.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mary said. “I’ll pick it up. Gloria, you get him inside.”

  Didn’t take long. Mail bags were sturdy and held together. Those convicts did a good job on them. Mary gathered up the scattered letters, including a few that ended up across the lane. She hitched the bag on her shoulders and picked up the bicycle, wheeling up the path, and went back into the cottage.

  By now she was freezing.

  The cold kitchen didn’t help but the fire had at least caught. Mary filled the kettle. “We’ll have you a cup of tea,” she promised. “The place should warm up soon.” To hasten that along, she lit the gas oven and left the door wide open. Might not be considered as conserving all possible fuel, but shock victims needed warmth. “A nice cup of tea will pick you up.”

  He didn’t look as if it would, though. Still sickly pale, he sat shuddering in a chair while Gloria put a blanket around his shoulders.

  “Sorry to be such a pest, Nurse,” he muttered, “but it were awful.”

  “What was?” Gloria asked, looking at a nasty bump on his forehead and a graze across his cheek.

  “It. The thing!” he whispered. “Honest, I’m not making this up.”

  “I’m sure you’re not, Mr….” She paused.

  “Bowles,” he replied. “Harry Bowles at your service, Nurse.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Bowles, as soon as that kettle boils we’ll have you a cup of tea, and once I have some warm water, we’ll clean up those cuts. You hit the road hard.”

  “I’m not surprised, Nurse. Scared the willies out of me, it did. Never seen anything like that in my entire life. And let me tell you, I saw some bad things back in the trenches.”

  “What did you see?” Gloria asked.

  He shuddered again. “Beats me. It were fast, nasty, and I felt scared out of my wits as it passed.”

  “Did you see it?” she went on.

  “I felt it, that were more than enough, Nurse. It came over me all dark and nasty like. Moved too fast to see.” He paused. “You think it was some sort of weird weather: one of those there tornados like they have in America?”

  “I’ve heard they’re terrifying,” Gloria agreed.

  There was something not quite right here, though Mary had no idea exactly what. Perhaps it was Gloria’s utter calm and acceptance of the bizarre story. Just then, the kettle started boiling. Mary reached for it, put a little hot water in a bowl, added cold from the tap, and handed it to Gloria. After she fetched Dettol and a cloth, Mary reached for the teapot. She darn well needed a cup.

  She’d never heard anything like that scream in her life. Postman Bowles had been utterly terrified. By what?

  “What do you think it was?” Mary asked Gloria after Mr. Bowles had gone, saying he couldn’t hang around, he had the morning post to deliver.

  “I don’t know,” Gloria said as she looked at the letters he’d left them. “This one looks a bit the worse for wear.” She held up a beige envelope.

  “It must have been one of those that ended up in the road.” It wasn’t like Gloria to be this casual over an injury. Was she unconcerned or distracted?

  “What do you think it was?” Mary repeated.

  Gloria shrugged and tore open the envelope. “I really don’t know.”

  “But a tornado?” Aside from the fact she doubted one had ever been seen in Surrey, this was too much like the Wizard of Oz. Only poor Mr. Bowles hadn’t gone any further than the road beneath him.

  “Really, Mary. Odd things happen in wartime. He was fine when he left.”

  If Gloria wasn’t actually lying, she was hiding something. Mary had looked too many short liars in the face not to recognize one her own size. But why? There had been something out there. As she ran down toward the gate, Mary had felt vestiges of a horror, like cobwebs dissipating in a breeze. But there’d been no breeze, no cobwebs, just
one scared-out-of-his-wits postman and a woman Mary thought her friend, lying.

  “It was a bit odd, don’t you think?” Mary persisted. “Should we let the police know?”

  “What could they do? Postman falls off his bicycle, it’s hardly criminal or a national emergency, is it? You really think it was something we should report?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say Yes, I do. It was something out of the normal run. I know. I’m one of those somethings. But she bit it back. How could she explain to sensible, down-to-earth Nurse Gloria about Water Sprites?

  “Want some toast?” Mary asked instead. “Since we’re both wide awake, we might as well have breakfast while the water warms up.”

  It was only after Mary got to school and settled her class, that she paused to think, and then remembered Gloria’s cut and grazed feet. She hadn’t treated them. Oh, well, she was the nurse after all, and maybe they weren’t as grazed as Mary remembered. It had been a rather chaotic incident after all.

  “So, Sam Whorleigh, you’re scared and so you need my help.” Not very charitable a greeting, but Helen Burrows forgave herself. The shopkeeper wasn’t her favorite person at the best of times, and he’d been quick enough to refuse to help when she’d asked.

  “Lord alone knows if anyone can help, but you…”—he hesitated as if searching for the right words—“intimated you understood about these things. So I came to you. You believe I saw that thing?”

  “Oh yes, you saw something,” she replied.

  “A Vampire,” Alice said.

  Whorleigh’s face was a picture. If he’d been scared before, now he was positively petrified. A nice woman wouldn’t smile at his obvious terror. Helen Burrows accepted she wasn’t truly nice.

  “Alice is right,” Peter added.

  They’d both come downstairs to her summons and now they all sat around the kitchen table. She’d made a pot of tea, for Alice and Peter really, not Sam Whorleigh, but she’d offered him one (he’d had a shock after all) and he was now on his second cup.