A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel (23 page)

Stephen Sadler dragged his hands through his hair. ‘Bloody women. You, James Williams, had better bloody sort her out, because I'm not having this idiot
jeopardising our plans. Half an hour to settle her, and then we leave.'

Bridie saw the fury in James' face as he looked from Stephen to her, and couldn't believe he could be like this. She'd walked away from everything to be here, because it was so important. She only realised she had spoken aloud when James said, ‘For the last time, Bridie, shut up and bloody well grow up. This isn't a game. Easterleigh needs one of us. How could you bloody do it to them? Come on.' He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. It hurt. His face was white with rage.

Ian took James' rucksack. ‘You've lost two minutes with that little tantrum, Jamie, my lad. Get a bloody move on, then get back 'ere, or the boss'll go without you.'

Bridie pulled free, shouting, ‘Why do I have to go back? Why can you go off and fight, and not me? Well, I'll take myself over the mountains. Get on your damned bus.'

James grabbed her again, pulling her to him, whispering. ‘People are looking. I'm taking you, and making sure you actually book in, and if you don't do as Ian said, I will never, ever forgive you. I need to do this. You don't, and mustn't. You
have
to wait two days, then go back.'

She let him lead her down street after street, her mouth dry, her legs shaking, until finally they found a pension, where the owner, Madame Colbert, said she had a room free. He booked her in, took her to
her room, and made her promise to stay quiet. She looked into his face, which was closed and cold. She had done so many wrong things, and she said this to James, sobbing, and at this his fury faded, and he put his arms around her. ‘Dearest Bridie. What a mess. Why didn't you talk to me, as I talk to you? Then I could have explained why it's no place for you.'

She leaned on his chest. ‘That's why I didn't say anything. You would have said no.'

He hugged her tightly. ‘Bridie. You have to listen to people sometimes. Stop rushing into things, making irresponsible decisions. You're not a child, not any more.' He checked his watch. ‘I've got to go.' She felt him kiss her hair, and then he pulled free. ‘If I'm not back for university, I will get in touch by October, somehow.'

‘Be lucky, be safe,' she said, still sobbing. ‘The pitman's prayer. Come back to me, James.'

He checked his watch, and ran from the room.

The next day, the early morning sun sliced through the gaps in the old, weathered shutters as Bridie forced herself to leave her bed. She had not undressed or washed since James had left. She had just cried. Now, as she pushed open her shutters and opened the windows, she wondered how it was that the man with the cart containing something in large baskets, covered by a cloth, was trundling along, that the woman setting up her market stall near the boulangerie could smile, and talk to that other woman. Surely the world should have stopped?

The windowsill was split. She ran her finger along it. Was it age, or the heat of the sun? Would it be cold on the pass through the Pyrenees? Would James be laughing with Archie and Ian about the fool of a girl who had followed him? Would his blue eyes still be as angry? She'd never seen him like that, not even with Tim.

The man with the cart stopped, and was lifting off the cloth. He folded it carefully and put it beside the cart. The baskets contained tomatoes, and the square was becoming busy with customers. As she
looked, more stalls were set up, and the noise level grew. She heard laughter and thought that she would never even smile again. The heat rose over the square. She wept again. He had gone, and she had left the Institute and lied to everyone, and it was all for nothing. She was a fool.

Madame Colbert tapped on the door. Bridie called in French, ‘No thank you, Madame Colbert. I'm not hungry.' It was what she had said all day yesterday, and so it would be again today, because although she had money to pay for the room, she wasn't sure that it would be enough. Was it tomorrow she could go back? And what about Madame Beauchesne? Would she guess she had lied? What about the letter? How would she retrieve it from Marthe?

She walked about the room, thinking, thinking, but then heard a slight tap at the door, and a man's voice saying quietly, as though his mouth was pressed to the door, ‘I think we should leave, Miss Brampton. We have a journey ahead of us. We could eat on our journey.'

Bridie turned slowly, dragging her hand across her face, wiping her mouth. ‘Who? What?'

‘Ah, we have met, but a while ago, first at your uncle's wedding, and then at Sir Anthony's dinner. Perhaps you remember me. It is Herr Bauer.'

‘But . . .'

‘First, before any more “buts”, may I suggest that you pack, and we embark upon our train. I took the liberty of obtaining a ticket, as I think you might
have expected to only need a single journey. It is usual, if heading for Spain.'

Herr Bauer? He knew about Spain? The heat bombarded her through the window; the noise of the street was growing louder. Herr Bauer, who had been with the fascists at Sir Anthony's dinner. Herr Bauer knew she was here? Herr Bauer, who probably knew the Nazis who bombed Guernica and Bilbao, and killed Maria and Estrella's families. Had he followed her? Was he after James and the others? She peered down into the square, but it was too far to jump.

He said again, quietly, ‘I would prefer not to spend too long convincing you that I am not a villain as we have a train to catch, Miss Brampton. May I just say that Madame Beauchesne phoned your family, as Lady Lucinda Fortnum was concerned at your absence and so “exposed your cover” is what I believe you would say.'

Bridie stood stock-still.

He tapped again. ‘After this complicated journey of words, Miss Brampton, Colonel Potter suggested, as I was in the area, that I try and locate you in Arles, a common disembarkation point for those off to do Spain. If located, Colonel Potter requested that I accompany you to Calais, where I have further business. Your mother awaits you there. Colonel Potter asked me to convey the fact that your mother said that if you do not come, she will come to Arles and drag you back by the hair.'

These last few words convinced Bridie that Herr Bauer was indeed acting on behalf of Colonel Potter and she wept again, with relief, because she needed her mam, needed to go home. She opened the door. ‘I have a return ticket,' she said.

Herr Bauer took her rucksack as she left the room, having washed, and tried to straighten her skirt and blouse. She snatched it back. ‘I'm not helpless,' she muttered.

His smile said, Oh really? But he said nothing.

They hurried down the stairs to the lobby. Madame Colbert was behind her desk and merely smiled, waving them past. Bridie halted. ‘I need to pay.'

‘Monsieur Williams has already done so.' Herr Bauer moved her out into the heat of the morning. It was still only eight thirty. James had paid. Perhaps he wasn't as furious as he had seemed. Herr Bauer was striding ahead of her, carrying an attaché case, requesting that she keep up, or they would miss the train, which might further annoy her mother. She hurried alongside.

Once they were near the station, Herr Bauer checked his watch, bought a newspaper, and indicated a pavement café. He bought croissant and coffee for them both, then buried his head in the newspaper. Bridie hadn't realised just how hungry she was, and thirsty. There was a carafe of water and glasses on the table. She gulped down the water, then the coffee, then the croissant, while he merely
sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving the newspaper. The moment she had finished, though, he was up, tucking the newspaper into his attaché case, and hurrying into the station, then on to the platform, and then the train. He insisted they use the ticket he had purchased for her, as they could then sit together as their seats were reserved. At that point no-one sat near them. She said, as they settled next to one another, ‘You knew James wasn't with me.'

He nodded. ‘You had booked a single room.'

She persisted, ‘But you
knew
where he had gone.'

Herr Bauer hesitated for a moment, before smiling. It was then she realised that his smile seldom reached his silver-grey eyes, which were almost transparent, and never seemed to be still. They reminded her of someone, but who? She couldn't think.

He said, ‘I deduced. For where else do the romantic go to jeopardise their lives today, not realising that it is a cause that is surely already lost?'

She barely listened, so intent was she on remembering, and then it came to her. It wasn't someone, it was Uncle Charlie's springer spaniels, looking, scenting, alert, seeking, always seeking.

‘Why did you say you were you in Arles, Herr Bauer?'

He shrugged. ‘I wasn't
in
Arles. I diverted to Arles at the request of Colonel Potter, who wondered perhaps if I would be in time to collect a package of two young people. I only managed one, you.' He
nodded to his attaché case. ‘I have business to attend to, as grown-up people do, Miss Brampton.'

His tone was ironic.

Stung, she retorted, ‘He wouldn't let me go with him, when I've given up everything to
do
something, to stop the fascists. Franco is lucky, you Germans are helping him, and what are Britain and France doing? A big fat nothing to protect democracy. What else are you fascists and Nazis going to do, or should I say, to take, and that's not just me, but what Madame Beauchesne says, and a lot of people too?' She crossed her arms and slumped back as the train started.

He said nothing, merely began to read his newspaper again. She said, quietly, because another two people had found their way to seats near them, ‘Anyway, what is Uncle Potty going to do to get James back?' She was scared now. ‘He might get hurt.'

Herr Bauer continued to read the newspaper, or so she thought, but he said, still scanning the French news, ‘I presume he thought about that before he went. You clearly didn't, which is why he showed a glimmer of sense when he refused to let you join him. Your friend, Uncle Potty, can only do so much to protect foolish young people from playing dangerous games. He hoped I would find you both. I haven't.'

‘He's not a child, and neither am I. I'm nearly seventeen.'

He turned the page, the paper crackling. ‘Then, Miss Bridget Brampton, may I beg you to start behaving like an adult, and cease to cause others to break from important tasks. You would do well to sit quietly and think about that, and how you are to rescue your life, and repair the trust you have damaged.'

Evie paced the deck of the ferry she had taken to Calais. The last time she had done this alone there had been hospital tents visible along the coast, the pounding of audible guns, and a heart that was clasped by an iron hand of fear. She had come to collect Gracie, who had been hurt by shrapnel, and amongst other things, had lost her ear. Now another hand clasped her heart, one that seared; full of disappointment, rage and worry.

As they drew into harbour she waited at the site of the gangplank, barely able to hold herself still in the face of so many conflicting emotions. It seemed an eternity for the ship to edge towards the quay, by which time the passengers were gathering either side, and behind her. She thought of all those who had embarked on the return journey along with Gracie so many years ago, the mutilated, the distraught, the exhausted. Here she was, fetching home an idiotic daughter, who had lied so convincingly about how she longed to take Easterleigh Hall forward, who had let James go off on some escapade during which he would, in all likelihood, be killed.
Bridie had not only facilitated him, but had conspired to go with him. How could she?

Evie dug her clenched hands into her jacket pockets and made herself count the wheeling gulls, and listen to the specifics of the chatter around her, or she'd . . . Well, she didn't know what she'd do, but she had to somehow find some control before she put one step onto the quay. But even as she thought that, Ver's devastation, Richard's misery and Aub's shock and pain added to her own, and swept over her like a crashing wave.

There was a jolt as the ferry closed on the quay. Hawsers secured it, the gangplank was set up. She clenched her fists tighter still as the excitement of the passengers surrounding her grew. She breathed deeply, telling herself that she must calm down, but instead she remembered Mrs Moore's heartbreak, her disbelief that the young woman she adored could make such plans and lie to their faces. It was then she spied her daughter standing against the press of people streaming away from the ferry. She stood alongside Herr Bauer near several bales of rope.

Evie stared at the bales, not at Bridie. Were they for transportation or a permanent fixture on the quayside? Above, the gulls still called and whirled, and passengers still streamed past her and down the gangplank. At last, when she was in control of herself, she joined them, still fixing her gaze on the bales. Once on the quay she stopped, standing to one side of the passenger stream, unable to move
towards her daughter because love had caught and held her. Bridie looked so pale and exhausted, but still with her shoulders braced in defiance. She felt such pride, but such fury and disappointment, such enormous love, and pity. Dear God, where could they go from here when trust had been so badly damaged?

Herr Bauer strode towards her, a newspaper folded beneath his arm. She walked towards him. Bridie remained by the bales, as well she might. Herr Bauer lifted his hat, and stopped a mere two feet from Evie. He bowed slightly. ‘The package is contrite, angry and feeling inordinately foolish and guilty, or so I think, Evie, if I may call you that?'

‘Of course, Herr Bauer. I am so grateful to you, and to Colonel Potter, who has used his extraordinary contacts to pull the irons from the fire for us. And it is not the first time. He helped us in the war.'