In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

Then a car door shut, and she heard the sound of an engine reversing. She looked for a way through the bushes, but the undergrowth was too thick to take a pony through. By the time she had found a way around, the track was deserted and only tyre marks indicated that the scene had just happened.

Phoebe’s heart was racing. She had enjoyed her sleuthing and spycatching with Alfie, but that had been more of a game than anything. Now a loaded gun had been passed from one person to another. And that person was frightened. Who were they, and what were they doing meeting at Farleigh? She needed to tell somebody. If she went to Pah, he probably wouldn’t believe her. Mah wouldn’t be interested. She could have told Pamma, but she was away. And Miss Gumble was out bird-watching for the day. What did it say on that poster with the seven rules on it? Report anything suspicious to the authorities. That, likely, meant the village constable. She didn’t think he was very bright, but he could at least pass the information along to the right people.

She had to find Alfie and tell him. He’d believe her. She rode back to the gamekeeper’s lodge, dismounted, and tied Snowball’s bridle to a tree branch. Mrs. Robbins looked uneasy and embarrassed as she opened the door.

“Oh, your ladyship, is something the matter? Mr. Robbins was having a bit of a lie-in this morning. He’s still in his nightclothes, and we’re not really ready to receive visitors.”

“I’m sorry, but is Alfie awake? I’d like a word with him,” Phoebe said.

“He’s in the kitchen, having his breakfast. I’ll go and get him for you,” she said.

Phoebe waited, and soon Alfie appeared, wiping his mouth. “Smashing porridge she makes. She’s a good cook all right.” He grinned. “What’s up? You look worried.”

“I am worried,” Phoebe said. “I don’t quite know what to do. I was out riding, and I heard a car driving up that old track behind the rhododendrons, and then I heard voices. One was a woman and she was frightened, and the man said she had to do something and gave her a loaded gun.”

“Blimey,” Alfie said. “Who was it?”

“That’s the problem. I was on Snowball, and the bushes are so thick there. By the time I found a way around, they’d both gone. So what do you think we should do?”

“Tell your dad, of course.”

“I suppose so. But he’d think I misheard or was making it up. I was wondering whether we should go to Constable Jarvis.”

“Him? He’s as thick as a plank.” Alfie looked scornful.

“But he is the authorities, isn’t he? My father probably wouldn’t believe me, and my mother wouldn’t listen, and Pamma’s away.”

Alfie nodded. “All right. We’ll go and see Constable Jarvis. But let me finish my breakfast first.”

“Alfie, this is urgent,” Phoebe said. “Get dressed. I’ll take Snowball back to the stables and meet you down here in half an hour.”

She urged Snowball into a reluctant canter all the way back, swung herself down, and handed over the pony to the groom.

“Is Miss Gumble back yet?” she asked.

“Ain’t seen hide nor hair of her, your ladyship,” the groom said.

“Oh.” The thought had just come to Phoebe that Miss Gumble would be the right person to tell. She would take Phoebe seriously and know the right thing to do. But as she walked up the steps into the house, another horrifying thought struck her. Ben Cresswell had been suspicious about Miss Gumble, hadn’t he? He’d asked about her telescope and her papers. And Ben was a level-headed sort of chap, and he and Pamela had gone off somewhere in a hurry. That meant something was going on. Phoebe revised her plan. Perhaps she should go down to the vicarage and see if he had come back. If not, she’d write a note for him. He and Pamma would have to be back before the garden party at the very least. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Ben.

No family member was in sight as she went into the dining room and grabbed a hasty slice of toast, spreading marmalade on it and gulping it down. She wanted to pour herself a cup of tea, but she knew that if Pah came in, she’d be in trouble for coming to breakfast in riding gear. She looked up when she heard footsteps, but it was only Pamma’s friend Trixie who had come to help with the party. She looked pretty and elegant in a summery dress, and she smiled when she saw Phoebe.

“Hello, young lady,” she said. “Going out riding? Lovely day for it. If I hadn’t signed up for hard labour today, I’d come and join you.”

“Actually, I just got back,” Phoebe said. “I’m going down to the village with Alfie. Would you tell the others when you see them?”

“Of course,” Trixie said. “Who is Alfie—your boyfriend?” She gave Phoebe a teasing smile.

Phoebe blushed. “Of course not. He’s the gamekeeper’s boy. But we are friends. And we’ve an important job to do. Something I overheard that needs to be reported.”

“Good for you.” Trixie nodded and smiled. “Only don’t stay away too long, or your mother will not be pleased. It’s all hands on deck today, as you very well know.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon,” Phoebe said and hurried out.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


On the way back from Somerset



Ben pushed the underpowered bike to its limits as he rode back to Kent. He gripped the handlebars, staring straight ahead with a look of grim determination on his face. What if they chose to ignore him? How could he possibly make it to Biggin Hill before the prime minister arrived? And if he was there in time, what on earth could he do?

At least it promised to be a beautiful day, sparkling clear. Lady Westerham would be happy for her garden party, he thought. Of course, he had to get Pamma home for that. Another thing to worry about. Pamma would undoubtedly be chastised for not being there to help her mother prepare, but surely they’d all see that this was more important.

They passed Stonehenge, left Hampshire behind, then through the genteel gardens of Surrey, arriving at Biggin Hill around noon. The gate was closed, and a guard walked out to them as Ben removed his goggles.

“Sorry, the ceremony is already over,” he said.

“Is the prime minister here?” Ben snapped out the words.

“Already left, mate,” the guard said.

Ben heaved a sigh of relief.

“Is he going back to London?”

The guard grinned. “He don’t tell me his plans, son. But I heard he wanted to pop in and see his house, seeing it’s so close by.”

Chartwell, of course. A stone’s throw away, Ben thought. Should he go after the PM?

“What was this ceremony?” Pamela asked, climbing out of the sidecar and stretching as she spoke.

“Remembering our chaps who went down at the Battle of Britain last year. And presenting a few gongs, that’s all. Keeping up morale. There’s one of our chaps just made it back to Blighty after escaping from a German prison camp. What a tale he had to tell. He was the only one who survived an attempted breakout. He was shot and played dead, but managed to get all the way across Germany and France. The prime minister made a big fuss of him.”

“We know him,” Pamela exclaimed. “He’s a good friend. Is he still here?”