Rule Britannia (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said, “there is nothing I can do. I was able to use what influence I have for Joe, but it goes no further than that. I can’t speak for anyone outside the immediate family. If Trembath has nothing to hide, his wife needn’t worry. I’ll have a word with her, if you wish, but I shall have to make the situation perfectly clear.”

He threw his napkin down on the table and left the room. No one spoke. Not even his mother.

The tempo of the day, temporarily halted on the brink of trouble, hastened towards dissension once again. Mad, aghast, argued with her son when he returned from the telephone, but he was obdurate. Influence, he insisted, could go so far before coming to a full stop, and by overstepping it he could well bring their own household under further scrutiny.

“If Jack Trembath can satisfy his interrogators that he never set eyes on the marine the afternoon he went missing, then they’ll let him go home again,” he declared. “It’s as simple as that. And the same goes for the boy, naturally.”

“Mick’s only two years older than Andy,” said Terry angrily. “Imagine if they had got hold of Andy, just as they did Joe, and thumped him around down in the cellar. What would you have said to them then?”

“The question is hypothetical, so it doesn’t arise.”

There were pink spots in Pa’s cheeks again, and, lunch being finished anyway, he stalked out of the dining room to the music room. The others followed.

“We’ve got to do something,” said Terry, “but what? Oh, hell… these bloody crutches.” He lunged out in his frustration and hit the leg of a chair.

“Look,” said Joe quietly, “I’ll go down to the farm at once and see what I can do to help. There’ll be the milking at four anyway, I don’t think Mrs. Trembath and Myrtle can manage on their own. If necessary I’ll stop the night.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Emma. “If you say she was in such a state, and she’s not easily upset…”

“Why not take the car?” interrupted Terry. “Then I can go too. Anyway, I want to find out what Myrtle’s been up to, and if she really did see Corporal Wagg that afternoon.”

Emma glanced at Mad. Their eyes met. “Terry darling,” said Mad, “I’d much rather you stayed here to keep an eye on the younger boys. You can send messages to Myrtle via Emma.”

“All right,” replied Terry, grudgingly, “but if the little ones play up they’ll get a taste of this.” He lifted his new weapon, the crutch, and it was evident from his mood that he intended to make good use of it should the need arise.

Pa sat himself down in one of the armchairs and began flipping through
Country Life.
Emma knew he wasn’t taking in one word or one illustration. She exchanged glances with her grandmother once again. Mad shrugged, and grimaced. She knew she was facing a difficult afternoon.

“The frightful thing is,” said Emma to Joe as they trudged across the fields down to the farm, “that Pa is within his rights by saying he can’t interfere when it doesn’t concern his family. And we can’t tell him the truth. That it’s a member of his family who’s to blame for the whole thing.”

“I wondered just now,” replied Joe, “whether or not we oughtn’t to come clean with Vic and tell him the whole story. After all, what could happen to a kid of Andy’s age? He’s barely twelve.”

Emma stopped and stared at her companion. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, “it would be disastrous. Pa would inform the marines, he’d feel he had to, and then they’d hand Andy over to the police, ours or theirs, and he’d be sent to one of those Borstal prisons. Oh, Joe…” she continued, walking by his side, “I love Pa, sometimes I adore him, like this morning when he was sitting up in bed under the umbrella like a spoiled schoolboy, but he’s got that hard streak in him, or blind spot, or whatever it is, that just stops one telling him the truth.”

The farm already looked forlorn. There was a gate open which shouldn’t have been, and which Joe promptly shut. The cows were beginning to stand already in the patient way that was their routine before milking, still two hours off. No Spry to come barking anymore. No Mr. Trembath crossing the yard, no Mick hullooing from the cowshed.

“Damn them, damn them,” said Emma savagely.

Mrs. Trembath was coming down the stairs as they entered the back kitchen. “Oh, it’s you, Emma dear,” she said. “Oh, I am glad to see you. Myrtle is so upset. I had to put her to bed.”

Stupid ass, thought Emma, why on earth couldn’t she rally round and help her mother? Instinctively she ran across to Mrs. Trembath and put her arms round her, but her sympathy brought back the tears. Mrs. Trembath collapsed crying at the kitchen table.

“I’ll go out,” murmured Joe. “Tell her not to worry. I’ll see to things.”

Emma had the story, little by little. It was all concerning the missing Corporal Wagg. Captain Cockran didn’t seem to believe that Jack and Mick had been milking at the time the corporal had turned up, and that they hadn’t even known he had come to speak to Myrtle.

“ ‘You gave the corporal the brush-off, that was it, wasn’t it?’ the captain kept saying to Jack,” Mrs. Trembath told Emma. “ ‘You gave him the brush-off because you suspected he was after your daughter here. What did you do to him? Come on, out with it.’ Oh, Emma, Jack’s never been spoken to that way in his life, you couldn’t blame him for getting angry. ‘You get off my land,’ he said. ‘You’ve no right. First you shoot my dog, then you trespass on my property and accuse me of something I’ve never done. Get out of it!’ Well, that did it, you see. They seized him and bundled him into their jeep, with some difficulty, mind you, and then they took Mick…” She broke off and looked imploringly at Emma. “Are you sure your father can’t do something for us? Terry’s always told us he knows so many people up in London, members of Parliament and others…”

This was the worst moment. To admit Pa’s negative attitude. To admit defeat.

“He did stop them questioning Joe,” she said, “but possibly they weren’t going to take him off anyway. Joe didn’t protest, you see. He kept pretty quiet. I suppose it was because Mr. Trembath got angry that they got angry too.”

“But it was natural, wasn’t it? Who wouldn’t be angry? And my poor Jack was telling the truth, he was milking when the corporal came.”

Not the whole truth, thought Emma, not the whole truth. That’s the terrible part about it. He knows Andy killed the corporal. He knows what happened to the body. And you don’t, dear Mrs. Trembath, nor does Myrtle…

“Pa says he is sure they will let Mr. Trembath and Mick come back very soon,” she told her, “so please try not to worry. Look, Joe will do anything outside you need doing. He’ll manage the milking, he’ll get the sheep into the home field. What can I do for you here? Have you had anything to eat?”

“You’re a dear,” said Mrs. Trembath, wiping her eyes, “I’m very grateful to you.”

Grateful… And what are we? Your husband being put against a wall down at the camp, and your son too, because of us, because of us…

Emma spent the rest of the afternoon helping Mrs. Trembath around the house. Myrtle recovered herself sufficiently to go outside and help Joe marshal the cows to the sheds for milking—because he’s male, thought Emma, she wouldn’t do it for her mother. While she and Mrs. Trembath were getting the tea, somebody knocked on the back door.

“I’ll go,” said Emma. She opened it, and there stood Mr. Willis, peaked hat held in his hand, white thatch of hair upright in the wind. “Oh,” she said, uncertain whether to be glad or sorry, “it’s you.”

The blue eyes glinted at her behind the spectacles. “We’re here on the same errand, I’m thinking,” he answered, “offering our services to neighbors in need. I was down in Poldrea and I heard Mr. Trembath and the boy had been taken to the camp for questioning. News travels fast, doesn’t it? I came to see if I could do the milking. I can turn my hand to anything, as I expect you’ve noticed.”

“Joe’s in the middle of milking now,” said Emma, then called over her shoulder to Mrs. Trembath. “It’s Mr. Willis, come to know if he can help.”

Mrs. Trembath came to the door and stood beside her. “It’s very good of you,” she said doubtfully. “I don’t know where’d we be without good neighbors. Joe’s nearly through with the milking, but we’ve still to round up the sheep and count them. There was one missing the other night. Jack found her, though, after he’d been round the field with the Land Rover.”

Emma moved aside. Everything Mrs. Trembath said seemed to implicate them further.

“You stay where you are, missus,” said Mr. Willis. “I’ll give Joe a hand with the milking, and with the sheep. It’s true, then, they took away your husband? I didn’t credit it when they told me in the street.”

The story had to be retold from start to finish. Emma couldn’t bear it, her guilt was so intense. At least Mr. Willis shared the secret, but in a way this made it even worse. “I knew we were in for trouble the moment they landed among us last week,” she heard him saying. “Never can let well alone, look what they did in southeast Asia that time. They beat a man up if he as much as speaks his mind.”

“They won’t beat up my Jack, surely?” asked Mrs. Trembath anxiously.

“Not if he answers them sweetly,” was the reply. “You have to know how to handle them. Plenty of lip service and they’ll swallow it. Then, when the right moment comes, strike and strike hard, and they’ll scatter like starlings at the sound of a rattle. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what I can do to help the lad with the cows.” He vanished into the gathering murk outside.

“He’s very kind,” said Mrs. Trembath, “but he’s such an odd sort of man.” She peered outside towards the sheds across the yard.

“I know,” said Emma, “but I think you can trust him.” What is more, you’ve got to trust him, because there’s no alternative, she thought. He’s got you and me, sister, in his hands, he’s got our whole world in his hands…

The gale that had been blowing throughout the day was easing now. You did not feel it so much here at the farm, which was partly sheltered by the brow of the hill, as you did on the high ground at home. Emma wondered what had been happening up at Trevanal all afternoon. Mrs. Trembath had laid the table for all of them, Emma, Joe and Mr. Willis, saying she and Myrtle would be glad of the company and there was plenty to eat with her husband and son absent, but Emma shook her head.

“I can’t speak for Joe,” she said, “but I ought to get back.”

The sound of a car in the yard brought hope to them both, but it was Nurse Bennett, Mrs. Trembath’s sister. She too had heard the ill news by the all-pervading grapevine.

“They’ve been to all the farms around,” she said, “and to the cottages beyond St. Fimbar. And it isn’t just the missing marine they’re after, it’s explosives. What would we want with explosives, that’s what I want to know? You know Jim Couch with the ulcerated leg I dress, whose boy works up at Whitemoor? Well, it seems they’ve taken quite a few of the younger chaps for questioning, and the mood of the men is getting quite ugly.”

“The uglier the better.” Mr. Willis had reappeared, and he bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to Nurse Bennett. “We don’t want it to be a walkover, do we? It takes more than a handful of fellows up at Whitehall to make a union between countries. You have to have the backing of a whole nation.”

“That’s all very well, Mr. Willis,” replied Mrs. Trembath, “but they didn’t ask us, at least not this time. We did have a referendum when there was all that fuss about entering Europe.”

“Entering Europe had nothing on this lot,” said Mr. Willis. “As easy as going to Lostwithiel market with that one, exchange your cattle for a sow and piglets and everyone happy. No Yankee troops walking over your land and killing your livestock.”

“That’s true,” Nurse Bennett nodded. “All the same, we don’t want trouble.”

“That’s what the French said when the Germans occupied their country in the Second World War. We don’t want trouble, they said. We’ll do as we’re told. Some of them didn’t, did they? They blew up railway lines and junctions and prepared the way for the second front.”

Emma caught his eye and looked away again. She thought of Terry’s gelignite hidden securely somewhere in the hut in the woods.

“Mrs. Trembath,” she said, “I really ought to go. Perhaps you’ll tell Joe when he comes in.”

“He’s ready to go back with you now,” said Mr. Willis. “If there is anything more that I can do here I’m ready to do it. And again in the morning, at milking time.” He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “The harder a man works the better he sleeps—that goes for everyone, doesn’t it?”

Mrs. Trembath looked uncertainly at her new farm helper as she poured out his tea. Emma felt that neither she nor Myrtle would have much sleep that night, not unless their menfolk returned safe and sound.

Joe was standing in the doorway waiting for her. “I’ll look in again tomorrow morning, Mrs. Trembath,” he said. “Mr. Willis tells me he will be here first thing. I do hope Mr. Trembath and Mick come home before that.”

“Please God,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Mr. Willis. “They like to make you as uncomfortable as they can, otherwise it’s wasting their time. Do you good to sweat it out, that’s what they say.” He nodded to Joe. “Weather’s easing already,” he said. “We’ll have clear skies tomorrow and a beach full of driftwood from below my place right round to Poldrea. A fine harvest for all of us, and for the Yankees too, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Emma and Joe went out into the night. The clouds had parted, the air was sharper than before.

“I don’t know what it is,” said Emma, “but he gives me the creeps.”

“Me too,” confessed Joe, “but I know we can trust him. He was talking to me back in the shed. He said they can’t put anything on Mr. Trembath or Mick, because they will be telling the truth. They didn’t see Corporal Wagg when he called on Myrtle, and they’ll stick to that. Mick knows nothing of what happened later, so he’s absolutely in the clear. He also said feeling is rising locally against the marines, especially since this. Mr. Trembath is very highly thought of locally, everyone respects him.”

“Perhaps,” said Emma, “perhaps… but that doesn’t get round the fact that we all know, and so does Mr. Trembath, that the corporal is dead.”

They arrived back at Trevanal hoping to find a household, if not entirely happy, at least comparatively serene. They were disappointed. As they entered the house they heard the sound of the telephone in the cloakroom and Pa rushed to answer it. For some reason he had changed out of his polo sweater and was in his suit.

“Crisis… crisis…” he said, “everything blowing up.” He dashed into the cloakroom and shut the door. Emma and Joe went into the music room. Mad was putting more logs on the fire. She turned, and raising her eyes to heaven sighed and sat down on the sofa.