Boy, 16, Young Hero of Dunkirk.
Timothy Partridge, 16, of Holland Park, London, took to the high seas last week in a motor boat belonging to his best friend’s father. Tragically . . .
She rolled up the newspaper and slid it into her bag. She could not bring herself to read another word, but would clip the column later, in case Tim wanted to keep it. But perhaps not yet. That morning she had left the Dower House before breakfast, agreeing with Brenda that it would be best not to disturb Priscilla and Douglas. The pressures of the past week had weighed heavily on the family—and they were all becoming more and more anxious about Tom, who had not been heard from for some days.
At the office, Maisie went straight to her desk, where she removed her coat and gloves and placed her briefcase and shoulder bag on the table. Yet again she had left her gas mask hanging on a hook behind the door when she last departed the office, and upon seeing it made a promise to take it with her today. She would also make more of an effort to keep the gas mask to hand at all times. Maisie took out her notebook and began reading through notes she had made on Sunday afternoon, devising her plan for the coming several days, when she would—she hoped—track down the evidence to support her belief that Joe Coombes’ death was no accident.
A noise outside distracted her, so she stepped across to the window, where she saw Walter Miles on a stepladder, weaving fresh clematis shoots up across new trellising. It appeared the plant had sprouted up a few inches almost overnight, and was reaching toward the gutter downspout. She watched for some moments as the man worked in the color-filled courtyard.
“And why don’t my clematis bloom like that?” she whispered to herself.
“Miss—something you should know,” Billy called out to her as he entered the office, throwing down his newspaper and wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
“And what’s that, Billy?” she replied, frowning as she drew away from the window.
“Been talking to Phil—he was outside when I came past the pub. Smoking enough to put a chimney to shame, he was. I asked him what was troubling him, and he said it was his Archie. You should see Phil—he’s got a temper on him when he likes, and right now he’s like a madman.”
“What did Archie do?” asked Maisie.
“He’s thrown in his job at the engineering firm in Sydenham, and he came round this morning to tell his mum and dad he’s enlisted and is going in the army. He’s not even waiting for his call-up papers to arrive.”
Maisie grabbed her bag and jacket. “Just when I need the Alvis, she’s in the garage at Chelstone!” She did not stop as she ran toward the door. “Come on, Billy.”
As they reached Tottenham Court Road, a taxicab screeched to a halt as soon as Maisie raised her hand, and they clambered into the back of the vehicle.
“Faraday House, please,” said Maisie.
“Faraday House? What are we going there for?”
“Just a guess, but I think Archie has planned the imparting of his news down to the last minute. Vivian will leave the building for lunch in about fifteen minutes, and I would bet that Archie is waiting there for her.”
“Why? I mean, I know she’s his sister, but—”
“I believe she’s also an informant for Jimmy Robertson. Consider this—the Coombes family are a good family, and you can tell that Phil and Sally have done their best to bring their children up to know right from wrong. But just because you know right from wrong, it doesn’t mean you stay away from the wrong part. The family is still connected to the Robertsons—they’ve grown up in the shadow of Uncle Jimmy. I would say they’ve kept it quiet, but a man like Robertson keeps his hooks in.”
“Blimey,” said Billy.
“I can’t explain now,” said Maisie, as the taxicab drew up alongside Faraday House. “But what would you do if your uncle was Jimmy Robertson, and you’ve reason to be scared of him, perhaps because you’re in deeper than you thought you would ever be?”
“Blimmin’ ’eck, I’d run away.”
“That’s what Archie is doing, and the war is giving him a good opportunity to make his bid for freedom from those hooks.”
The taxicab began to slow down as they reached their destination. Billy leapt out as it came to a halt alongside the curb, and held the door open for Maisie. She paid the driver and looked up and down the street. “Now we wait, but not for long. If Vivian comes out to go for a sandwich and a cuppa, and Archie isn’t here to say good-bye to his sister, then we’ve missed him. It means I’ve guessed wrong.”
They stood for a few minutes, Maisie fixing her attention in one direction, while Billy kept his eyes on the other.
“I think that’s him, miss—see? Coming toward us, along the pavement.”
Maisie cast her gaze in the direction indicated by Billy. “Yes, that’s him. Let’s go toward him—if he meets Vivian, there will be strength of denial in numbers, and I want him on his own.”
“Right you are, miss.”
Maisie and Billy walked toward Archie Coombes, who seemed dressed for a cooler day, in a dark suit, a black overcoat and with a dark gray fedora on his head. He was smoking a cigarette, cupping the lighted end in his hand.
“Hello, Archie. How about that—what a coincidence, bumping into you. How are you?” Maisie smiled.
“Hello, Miss Dobbs. What’re you doing here?”
“Actually, Archie, I am so glad to see you—I’ve been meaning to have a chat. Can you spare a moment? I know where there’s a caff quite close by.”
“I can’t, miss—I’m meeting my sister, and she’s due out of work any minute, and she don’t get long for her break.”
“Oh, not to worry—Mr. Beale will wait for her.”
“Good as done, miss,” said Billy. “Meet you at that place you told me about? Where you went with Vivian before?”
Maisie nodded. “Yes—when I’ve had my chat with Archie, we’ll join you. Come on, Archie.”
“But, Miss Dobbs—”
“Archie—I want to talk to you about Joe. And about your cousin—Teddy Wickham. You can’t all enlist to get away from your uncle Jimmy—the next thing we know, Vivian will be in the ATS. Or even the Wrens—I hear all the girls enlisting want to get into the Wrens for the uniform, and your Viv is a stylish young woman.” She laid her hand upon his arm. “Help me, Archie—this is about your brother, not the supplies, or the Bank of England, though I think I know why that might interest you. Come on, Archie—take the brave way out. You can’t run forever.”
“You don’t know what he’s like—he’ll kill us. I told Joe. I told him—keep your mouth shut about those bloody headaches. I got him some aspirin powders, and told him to just knock a couple back every day and he’d be all right.” Tears welled in Archie Coombes’ eyes, and his hands were shaking. Rivulets of perspiration beaded his forehead, and began to stream along his temples, down to his jawline.
“I will do everything I can to protect you—but help me, Archie. Help me for Joe’s sake. Help me for your brother.”
Archie Coombes looked from side to side, then back to Maisie.
“I’m so scared, Miss Dobbs. I never thought I could be so scared. I thought it can’t be any worse, being in the army, being shot at, than looking over my shoulder at every motor car, wondering if my number’s up.” He began to weep.
“Come on, Archie—let’s go over the road. Let’s find a place to sit down and have a chat.”
Chapter 17
Some fifteen minutes later, Maisie and Archie reached the café where Billy was waiting with Vivian Coombes.
Billy stood up as Maisie approached. They exchanged an almost imperceptible nod, and Billy smiled at Archie and his sister.
“I’m leaving you two to talk to Miss Dobbs now—lovely to see you again, Viv. And thank you for asking after my Billy. Can I get anyone another cuppa before I go?”