Hurst - Robin Crumby (bookreader TXT) 📗

after him, tutting.

They followed Sister Mel outside to a large vegetable patch where three women, with large wide-brimmed straw hats and white smocks, were planting potatoes and carrots in neat rows that stretched ahead of them in newly turned earth. A rusting metal wheelbarrow stood next to them, spilling over with cabbages and potatoes, still covered in earth.

It was still early morning, but a spring sun was already beating down. Riley rolled up her sleeves and started rubbing her hands together. She tapped the nearest worker on the shoulder, who finished her planting before removing her gloves and giving Riley her full attention. She had a kind, gentle face, her eyes glinting with the exertion of her activities.

“Sorry to disturb you. We were wondering if we can maybe help you.” She turned to Stella to explain. “Listen, if we’re going to stay here for a couple of days, they may as well give us something to do.”

“We wouldn’t say no. There are some Wellington boots and gardening gloves in that shed over there. You might want to get changed first,” said the woman, sitting back on her haunches.

“Good idea. Why don’t we go and grab the others?”

Riley and Stella hurried off to the orchard to find Mila and Adele, where they were talking with two teenage girls in the shade of a large apple tree. Mila was asking them a flurry of questions about life at Chewton Glen. The older of the pair called herself Gina, introducing her friend as Lexie. They were both local, from just up the road in Christchurch, and had known the sisters from their church group.

“Not like we’re particularly religious or anything, it was just something our mums made us do on Sundays. Course they’re not around to tell us anything these days.” Gina nudged Lexie in the ribs and they both giggled girlishly.

“So, come on,” said Mila. “Dish the dirt on the whole ‘no boys’ thing. Two young girls like you? Pull the other one.”

Gina and Lexie exchanged furtive looks. Lexie shook her head at Gina, imploring her to keep quiet, but Gina couldn’t help herself. There was something about Mila, a sense of mischief that made it all right to tell these strangers everything, even if it meant getting into trouble. Gina looked like she was dying to tell someone and why not these two outsiders?

“Right, we’ll tell you okay, but this goes no further.” She leaned in close. “These boys we know, right,” she gave a little laugh, “they live just round the back over there, in that big house. Sister would go mental if she found out. One day, we saw them through the fence and had a little chat with them, we did, didn’t we, Lexie?” Lexie nodded coyly, her fingers fiddling nervously with the acne on her chin. “And, we’ve met them for a drink a couple of times. They bring the booze and we let them have certain favours in return. Ain’t that right, Lex?” Lexie shook her head, but Gina was emboldened and wasn’t stopping now. Her eyes blazed with brazenness.

“What sort of favours?” asked Adele from a distance, hanging on their every word. They’d forgotten she was there.

“Never you mind, little one, this is grown-up talk. Lex gave both of them a little kiss last time, didn’t you, Lex, you little minx.”

Lexie was mortified, her face flushed with shame, but there was a defiance about her, as if she was relieved someone else knew what they’d been up to. The secret had clearly been burning inside her.

“But aren’t you worried about infection?” asked Mila in a moment of seriousness. “How do you know these boys haven’t got the sickness? Aren’t you putting your whole community at risk?”

“I ain’t thought of it like that. Suppose you’re right. Still, if we were going to get sick, we’d have got sick by now, wouldn’t we?”

“Back at Hurst we have to follow quarantine procedures,” added Mila. “It’s dull but necessary. All new arrivals have to be kept apart for forty-eight hours before they’re allowed in to the camp.”

“We’d be in so much trouble if the sisters found out,” said Gina, clearly worried.

“Found out about what, Gina?” said a disapproving voice. No one had noticed the silent approach of the Mother Superior, her hands thrust behind her back.

“Nothing, sister. We was only talking,” said Gina, blushing scarlet.

“I doubt that very much. You will both come and see me in my office after lunch. And you,” she said, pointing at Mila reproachfully, “may I remind you that you are a guest here. I would ask that you not lead our girls astray.”

Mila started to defend herself but the sister cut her short. “Stella, take our guests back to the house and give them something useful to do. The Devil makes work for idle hands.”

“We were just offering to help with the planting,” suggested Riley, by way of support.

“Indeed. Or you could try the kitchen. Anna could use your help peeling potatoes. Now off you go,” encouraged the sister.

“Thanks for nothing. Getting me into trouble like that.” Gina tutted, leaving Mila open-mouthed, protesting her innocence.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Four vehicles parked up outside the Ship Inn on the quayside in Lymington. Around a dozen men dismounted, unpacked their gear and headed inside. The mood was relaxed, but they moved with quiet efficiency and purpose.

Will was hauled out of the back seat, his hands still tied, and made to wait by the VW van while the guard finished his cigarette. He watched the man in black as he shooed at a nearby seagull. The seagull glided a few yards away and voiced its displeasure, its mocking call echoed back from the row of buildings that lined the quayside. Several other gulls swooped down and joined the first in a shrieking chorus. He kicked wildly at the nearest one almost losing his balance.

“Bloody seagulls. Go on, get lost.”

The quayside was much changed since the last time Will was there. He remembered visiting yachts moored three-deep at the jetty, fishing boats unloading their catch to waiting lorries, children’s faces daubed with ice cream and old ladies sitting on park benches, feeding scraps to pigeons. Gone were the days of easy meals for scavenging seagulls. Like many creatures grown dependent on humans, centuries of learned behaviours were hard to shift. Yet, old habits die hard and the seagulls blindly followed the men around, opportunistically waiting for something dropped, hoping for a scrap thrown their way.

The guard stubbed out his cigarette and pushed Will through the doorway into the semi-darkness of the pub. The windows were boarded up at the lower level, reinforced with wooden batons nailed in place. Behind the bar counter, the former landlord, an elderly man and his thirty-something daughter, handed out snacks and drinks to the group from the hospital.

Copper’s squad set up camp in the family restaurant area towards the back. They were already discussing this evening’s sortie, disassembling and cleaning their weapons, loading bullets into magazines, unpacking and repacking pouches in their webbing to ensure there was nothing loose that might rattle. Stealth and surprise were critical to their success. One man unpacked an ordnance survey map, marking up positions and approaches with a red marker pen.

The man in black joined them, greeting members of Copper’s group, slapping one on the back. The man twisted round, perhaps resenting the unwanted contact, before recognising who it was, and feigning a smile. Copper was over in the corner, smoking a Cuban cigar, a gift the publican had welcomed him with. It struck Will as a small token but an important mark of respect for his position as de facto leader of the group. Copper spun the empty cigar tube between his stubby fingers on the darkly stained varnished surface and laughed at one of the men's bawdy jokes. He never took his eyes off his leader, studying his movement and easy mannerisms like a vulture watching its prey, biding his time.

“Any sign of the Hurst team?” asked the man in black. He stood in front of Copper, legs wide apart, like a cowboy. Attached to his belt was a large bowie knife in a sheath with a black leather strap secured to his thigh. The strap looked uncomfortable to Will, poorly fitted and pulled too tight.

“No, nothing. Complete waste of time. We waited all night and came here at first light.”

“Where are they?”

“Perhaps they went via New Milton. Or we got there too late, who knows?”

“It doesn’t matter now. We’ll find them sooner or later. We know where they’re heading. Are the boats ready?”

“Yeah. We’re good. We’re set to leave at dusk.” He snatched the map from the other table and laid it out in front of them, smoothing out the creases. “Our pilot, Trevor, says it’s no more than half an hour from here.” He pointed to the fisherman’s quay on the chart. “Tide’s with us. We’ll head round in three groups. First group’s with me in the R.I.B. We’ll take a wide sweep past the salt marshes and out into the main channel before swinging up here and attacking from the south at what should be slack water. We’ve got all the gear you wanted, and Griff here has done some rock climbing in the past. He says that the castle wall shouldn’t be a problem. Then your group stays inshore and brings the main group via the sheltered Keyhaven side and wait for our signal by the main gate. According to our friend here,” he pointed at Will, “resistance should be minimal. Couple of guards at the main gate, two-man patrol on the wall. Once they’re taken care of, the castle is ours.”

“Good, good. Well done, Copper. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. Remember, we need the two girls alive. As for the rest of them, well, I’ll let you and the boys have some fun. Let off some steam. Save their leaders for me. They know what’s coming to them after their little jaunt last night.”

At the other end of the bar, next to a smashed-up cigarette machine, there was a dusty old piano. One of the men from the hospital wandered over and lifted the lid. He tried a couple of keys and found the piano was in relatively good working order. Flexing his fingers, he took a moment to get his bearings and launched into the introduction to Skyfall to the muted cheers of the rest of the assembled company. They stopped what they were doing to listen in awe. Music was such a rarity these days.

Copper took a long draw on his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring that glided across the table towards the man in black. A broad grin stretched across Copper’s face. He must be relishing the thought of flexing his muscles and getting some action, thought Will.

Will made himself comfortable on the bench seat under the window, wondering how on earth he could get a message to Hurst to warn them before it was too late.

Chapter Thirty

Tommy left the lighthouse and hurried after Jack. Terra and Sam were already on board the Nipper, stowing their luggage and topping off the fuel tanks from a five-gallon yellow jerrycan.

Since emerging from their meeting with Lieutenant Peterson, Jack and Terra had both been monosyllabic. Tommy watched them whispering. What were they keeping from him? He already had a hundred unanswered questions buzzing around his head.

“But I still don’t understand. Why is Peterson gathering together all the leaders from each camp? To discuss what exactly? Are they here to rescue us? Are they part of a relief mission? Please, Jack,” implored Tommy.

“The American told us it’s all classified, for our ears only,” said Jack. “He said it’s a matter of national importance. We’re not meant to talk about it, even to you. All you need to know is that we’ll be gone for a night. That there’s a ‘Summit’ being held on the Isle of Wight and that Terra and I are invited.”

Terra