Читать книгу Bloody Good - Georgia Evans - Страница 11

“Is Miss Waite badly hurt?”

Alice looked up from her toast. “Could have been worse, Gran. Broken leg and wrist and a collection of colorful bruises. She was lucky it happened the night her nephew arrived. Alone, she’d have lain there until the milkman arrived this morning.”

“Did you meet this nephew?”

Alice paused, toast halfway to her mouth. What exactly was Gran fishing for? “Of course. He was the one who called me after the accident and went with her in the ambulance.”

She raised a gray eyebrow and Alice knew it wasn’t over yet. “Arrived suddenly, didn’t he? She never mentioned he was coming until he got here. Never heard her talk about him, or any family for that matter, in all the years she’s been here. She sat at the same whist table as Howell and Maggie and me the other night and didn’t say a word about his visit until she was leaving. Odd if you ask me.”

Please! She had more to do than cope with village gossip. “Gran, is it really any of our business?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I can’t help wonder. Especially after what Mother Longhurst said.”

The long pause demanded a response. A stronger woman would have nodded and finished her toast. Alice caved. “What did the old witch say?”

“Don’t mock her, Alice. She knows what she knows and your father wasn’t too hidebound by science and qualifications to discount her lore.” Rebuke noted. No sense in pointing out medical science had progressed a long way since the turn of the century when her father had trained at Barts. In Alice’s silence, Gran went on. “She mentioned last night that Jane Waite’s aura had blackened and it had. It’s always been murky. Something sad in her past we always suspected but now it’s darkened. She’s been in contact with evil or bad trouble and odd it should so happen hours after her visitor arrives and just a short time before she has a serious fall.”

Only true love and caring for her grandmother’s feelings kept Alice’s laughter contained. Gran believed this nonsense and so, it seemed, did half the village. “And talking about Miss Waite, they’ll want her out of hospital as soon as possible. I’ll ask Gloria to drop by and see what they’ll need for her convalescence.”

“You’ve got a good backup in Gloria Prewitt,” Gran said, seeming to change the subject. “She’s overworked, though, just as you are.”

And would be even more so if she didn’t get a move on. Alice drank down the last of her tea. “We’ve asked for help, even a part-time first aid worker would be a godsend.” Especially with all the evacuees and now having to treat the workers up at the government plant on the heath.

Alice carried her dishes to the sink and kissed her grandmother. “I’ll be back for lunch, all being well. I need to see how things are at the Watsons on top of all my other house calls. Bye, love.”

Helen Burrows shook her head at Alice’s departing form. The girl had a good heart but oh, if only she’d admit the truth right under her nose. Pixie blood flowed in her skeptical veins. Maybe someday soon she’d acknowledge what was hers by right.

No time to sigh and wish for “if only.” Helen turned to the sink. She’d get the breakfast things done so when Doris came in, she could start on the floor. The young woman was a godsend. Evacuated to Brytewood with her infant, she soon tired of village gossip and the moans and complaints of the other evacuee mums and asked Alice if she knew anyone who needed a charlady. After Alice snagged her for once a week, Doris had no trouble finding other work in the village. She even confided to Helen one day that she was saving up all she could and planned on opening a “nice, little” tea shop after the war was over.

Meanwhile she “did” for the echelons of Brytewood who’d lost their housemaids and charladies to the war effort. Helen knew Doris wouldn’t last. In a few months her toddler son would be old enough for a day nursery and no doubt Doris would be off for a better paid job up at the munitions camp on the heath or in one of the factories in Dorking or Leatherhead. But meanwhile, she came in every Friday morning and “did” for them.

“You know, mum,” Doris said, as she paused for a morning cup of tea between vacuuming and starting on the bathroom. “Could you use me this afternoon? I could do out the office and surgery if you like.”

“Aren’t you going to Miss Waite’s?” It was Doris’s usual Friday afternoon.

“Should be, but I stopped there on my way up here this morning. Thought I’d ask if I could pick up anything for Miss Waite, seeing as she’s in a bad way, and that nephew or whatever he is, rum lot he is, too, he said no need to come. He didn’t need me and wasn’t sure they’d need me next week. In fact he told me not to come back again until they called.”

She paused to bite a corner off a chocolate digestive biscuit. “As good as fired me he did. Well, I told him I’d have a word with Miss Waite when she got home. Seeing as she’d hired me to do for her, it was her who’d tell me when I wasn’t needed. Proper shirty, he got. Nasty he was. I tell you, Mrs. Burrows, if I didn’t need the money, and didn’t care to let Miss Waite down, I’d never go back.”

“Don’t worry about it, Doris,” Helen replied. “Men can be abrupt. We can certainly use you here this afternoon. And once the word gets out around the village that you have a free afternoon, I don’t doubt you’ll be drowning under offers. I know Mrs. Roundhill would grab you in a flash. She’s up to her ears with all those evacuees.”

Doris finished her biscuit—one of the last of a prewar cache Helen always offered her as a little luxury to supplement her modest wage. “Well, best get finished, and thanks for mentioning Mrs. Roundhill. I’ll stop off at the vicarage on my way home. See what we can work out. Hope she won’t mind me bringing Joey.”

“What would one more child be in that big house?”

Doris nodded. “Bet he’d like the company, too. He really needs to be with other children. He spends all his days in a playpen in other people’s houses.”

Helen drank her own tea down. Here she was wanting to keep Doris as long as possible, when Doris had to think of Joey first. “He’s such a good boy.” No lie. He really was a most contented child, given he’d been whisked from his home. Seemed babies settled more readily than some school-age children. “How about I take him with me down to the village? I need to pick up a few things in the shops.”

“Fresh air would be good for him, wouldn’t it? Sure it’s no bother?”

“Not a bit.”

Sid Mosley’s slap on the shoulder was just hard enough not to be friendly. “Well then, boyo, sad times are upon us, seems we have to lose you!” Peter might have suspected a mere trace of sincerity if Sid Mosley hadn’t been grinning from ear to ear. After all, without him there, who’d clean the damn lavatories?

“Really?” He tried to sound bored. Wasn’t as if he had any say in where he got sent.

“Yes, sonny boy conscie, really.” Sid bent in so close Peter could have counted his nose hairs—if he’d cared to. “Got you a transfer we have. Don’t need you here anymore. You’re off on Monday morning to a new posting and they have the benefit of your yellow skin.”

Peter stood. Sooner or later he’d learn where. He was not giving bloody Sid Mosley the satisfaction of asking. “Fine with me. Want me to finish my shift on Saturday?”

“Bloody fucking hell we do, don’t we, Mike?”

Mike, the other driver sitting in the canteen, nodded. “Yeah, Sid.” Mike wasn’t too bad a sort, and if it weren’t for Sid Mosley’s constant baiting, he might just have left Peter alone.

“Fair enough then,” Peter replied as he picked up his empty mug and plate. “I’ll take my day off tomorrow.” He couldn’t but wonder if the next posting would be any better. Would be nice to actually use some of his training. He was probably being sent to dig potatoes somewhere.

Gerhardt Eiche swore slowly and thoroughly. No one, not a single person among his trainers and controllers, had ever mentioned the incessant traffic and activity in an English village. No fewer than six women of varying ages had trooped up the garden path and rung the bell to inquire after Jane Waite’s health and, he suspected, to get an eyeful of yours truly. It had started with the damn servant. He’d put her off fast enough, but the baskets of apples and bowls of nuts, to say nothing of a knitted bed jacket, were impossible to reject without causing unwelcome gossip and comment.

If these damn thoughtful bitches came around like this after Miss Waite got home he had no idea how he was going to cope.

Remote and rural were definitely not the same as quiet and undisturbed. He was just thankful the gardener had been called up or he’d be wanting access to the potting shed where Gerhardt had set up his radio until he found a safer place to hide it.

In the end, he left the house and decided to survey the village in daylight. It was going to be his little empire after the invasion. Might as well stake out his chosen abode and his possible servants: the favored few he would elect for transformation.

Did those foolish mortals tucked in their hideaway in the Black Forest really believe that vampires would work for them, whatever the threats and blusterings?

This was going to be an interesting few months.

He didn’t take long to select his future residence: The large, Georgian rectory across from the church. It was shabby, but he’d soon have his minions take care of that. After he’d disposed of the current inhabitants, of course. The old Saxon church with its tower and muffled bells he’d leave for the peasants if they desired. He had no use for it, and they’d need some consolation in their short lives.

Strolling down toward the center of the village he had to admit he’d been given a very pleasant center of operations. A narrow stream ran beside the lane, a tributary of the Mole, the river that formed a gap in the Downs, as if designed to facilitate the coming invasion. To the east, the Downs rolled toward Box Hill—a place he had every intention of exploring as soon as it suited him. Might as well report to his petty masters about the supposed, and no doubt pathetic, defenses. To the west, and out of sight beyond the woods where Schmidt claimed to have been injured, was a broad heath and woods and the establishment that supposedly merited his investigation.

All in good time.

For now, he stood a few meters from the crossroads in the village center and surveyed.

Until a car had the effrontery to hoot at him to get out of the road. His error, yes, standing astride the white line, but how in heaven did anyone run a motor car if petrol was rationed?

Black market, he assumed.

Something else he need to investigate.

After jumping out of the way, in a manner he hoped was a reasonable imitation of a scared mortal, Gerhard turned and all but tripped over a baby pushchair.

He just managed to rein in the snarl as he met the mother’s eyes. It was the servant who’d thumped on his door earlier.

She had short, curly dark hair, bright brown eyes, and skin that resembled rich cream. Just imagining the blood coursing through her veins had his gums tingling. He smiled, careful to keep his lips together. No point in terrifying mortals until it suited his purpose. “Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Good thing I was,” she replied.

Eiche reminded himself she was no doubt disgruntled at being sacked and probably saw him as a human equal. He was going to have to get used to this. At least for now. “Yes, excuse me.”

She had a child. He intended to keep all the children safe. They were his future servants after all. “The car coming so fast surprised me.”

“That was Dr. Doyle. She’s always in a hurry. She’s probably been up to the Watsons’ farm to check on the new twins.”

Of course. The woman who’d arrived last night to attend to Miss Waite. There couldn’t be two in a village this size. “You know the doctor well?”

“Of course! Everyone does. I clean for her.”

“As you do for my aunt. I was perhaps curt this morning.”

She gave a little shrug. “Never mind. I just wanted to check and see what Miss Waite needed.”

“We might need your services later.” Taking a little blood wouldn’t do her permanent harm and young blood was so much richer than old.

“I don’t know if I can now. I just promised the vicarage an extra day.” Without a word of apology or regret she marched on, pushing the carriage ahead of her.

Impudent peasant! If there were many more around like her, it was going to take some getting used to. He looked about him. A knot of women stood in front of the post office and an elderly but upright man walked out of the bank across the street. Between Miss Waite and the servant Doris, he’d had enough of mortal women for a while. He crossed the road toward the bank.

The man watched Eiche approach.

Eiche met his eyes and offered a slight smile.

“Afternoon,” the man said. “You’re new to Brytewood. Working up at the plant, are you?”

No, but any information about that establishment would keep his so-called masters happy. “Actually no. I’m visiting my aunt, Miss Waite.”

“On leave are you?”

Impudent but not unexpected. “I was badly injured after Dunkirk. Took them a while to put me back together. I need a few more weeks before I have to report back.” Long enough to serve his purposes anyway.

“Rotten luck.” The man nodded as he offered his hand. “I’m Sergeant Pendragon. With the Home Guard. Any time you want to get back in the traces, we’d be honored to have you drill with us.”

Might come in handy if he knew the exact extent of the local toy soldiers. “I’d be the one honored.” His hand closed around Pendragon’s and was met with almost equal strength. Odd. Impossible.

“What regiment were you with?”

Good thing he’d been well schooled. “The Hampshires.” Nice losses they’d taken, too.

The old man let go of his hand and was eyeing him keenly. “Welcome to Brytewood. Things here aren’t as they were before the war but we do our best for our visitors. You missed the whist drive yesterday afternoon. We have one every second Wednesday. But you might like to come along to the ARP planning meetings. We’re always looking for more volunteers.”

Any effort he put into Air Raid Precautions would be to direct the bombers to targets. “Let me think about it. I’d be delighted to help, but I’m afraid my aunt may need a lot of care when she gets back.”

“Of course, of course.” The old dodderer nodded and smiled. “I heard about her fall. Sad, but how fortunate you were there to give aid.”

Fortunate indeed, Eiche agreed, and wished the aged yokel good-bye.

Now, should he try the post office, the butcher, the general store, or the baker? He had his own fake ration book in his jacket pocket and already knew Miss Waite was registered at the village store. Might as well see if his masters were right about food shortages.