Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) (15 page)

G
edge had
to wait until the next morning to take a train to the south coast. Polly insisted on accompanying him, pointing out that Martha was likely to be frightened of strangers, and the presence of another woman would be reassuring. Not that Gedge had any objections. Apart from being a fiercely independent woman, Polly was highly perceptive; a quality that was likely to be valuable.

They took an omnibus across London to Victoria Station, in time for the stopping train to Hastings, which departed just after 8 o’clock. They would have to change trains there. The nearest station for Dungeness was at Rye, and then they would need horse-drawn transport the rest of the way. They wouldn’t get to their destination until well into the afternoon.

A
fter alighting at Rye
, they looked around the station forecourt. There was little activity, and only one vehicle that looked as though it might provide transport further on. It was a wagonette; an open-topped four-wheeled carriage, propelled by two horses. This particular example appeared to have seen better days. Its paint was peeling, the horses were not in the first flush of youth, and the driver, raised up on a box-seat, did not seem keen to do any business. He grudgingly agreed to take them on to Dungeness, after Gedge paid what he considered to be over the odds. The driver assured them that he knew where Hope Cottage was, and that he would stop some distance short of it. They would walk the rest of the way, in order to draw less attention to themselves.

With no protection against the elements, the wagonette was hardly the ideal mode of transport. The wind whipped more keenly as they left the built-up part of Rye, but at least it wasn’t raining.

‘How far is it to Dungeness?’ Polly asked the driver.

He scoffed, not bothering to turn round in his seat. ‘It’d be ten miles as the crow flies, but there’s only one road in. We ’ave to go in the wrong direction for the first part of it, then turn back. So it ends up being fifteen or more miles. I’d settle back and enjoy the view of Romney Marsh, if I were you.’ He chuckled.

Gedge raised his eyes to the heavens. Evidently, there would be little jolly conversation to enliven the journey. Polly sniggered, and buried her face in the huge scarf she was wearing.

The scenery was notable for its lack of elevation. Grassland stretched far and wide, interrupted by an occasional windswept tree. The field boundaries were marked with wooden fencing and what seemed to be a network of ditches. In places, the road was lined with ragged leafless shrubs. Countless sheep grazed on the open grass meadows.

The two nags trudged on. Their master occasionally called out a reproach, maintaining his affronted air at being asked to make this journey.

A
fter an hour or so
, the road curved around and they finally headed south, towards the coast and their destination.

Polly, who had actually managed to fall asleep for a while, roused herself.

‘It’s amazing to think this land wasn’t even here in Roman times.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was reading about it. Back in those days, Rye was a port. It was on the coast, and where we are now would have been several miles offshore. This whole area has silted up since then. That’s why Romney Marsh is so flat. But also a lot of it’s below sea level. I wouldn’t fancy living down here during a winter storm.’

‘No. I suppose it has its own beauty, but I’d have to come back some time to appreciate that. I just wish we could get to where we’re going more quickly.’

They passed through the pretty town of Lydd, the tower of its medieval church dominating the local skyline, but saw virtually nobody on the streets. A couple of miles further on, the landscape started to change. While still mostly flat, great swathes of gravel began to replace the previously endless grassy meadows. Darkness was closing in.

‘This is what I’ve been expecting,’ said Polly. ‘We must be getting near our destination. Dungeness is known for all this shingle.’

They saw a few low houses scattered along the road, some sitting amid the shingle itself. Gedge thought he could finally see the sea: a vague sliver of mid-grey occupied the space between the darker grey of the sky and the pale brown of the flat gravel beach. As the road started to curve northwards, following the line of the coast up towards Dover and Deal, the driver brought the horses to a halt and turned round.

‘You want Hope Cottage? It’s that one with the red roof, over there.’

They looked in the direction of his pointing finger. The house was several hundred yards distant to the south, midway between the road and the shoreline.

‘Will you able to take us back tomorrow?’ said Polly.

‘Suppose so. I’ll be back along here at nine, prompt. You’d better be back here waitin’, or you’ll have to make your own arrangements. I’m off for a beer.’

They disembarked, and the wagonette trotted off, making better time now that the driver had something to look forward to.

‘I can hardly wait for the scintillating return journey,’ said Gedge.

They started making their way across the shingle, trying to favour the more solid ground. It was a landscape like no other: an undulating carpet of pebbles with the occasional foot-high clump of some evergreen plant that was managing to survive into winter.

Hope Cottage, like the others dotted about in the shingle, looked like some desperate attempt to carry on a traditional lifestyle in this alien setting. Gedge found it hard to believe that such a structure would survive many winters out here. It was single-storey, with small windows, dingy brown weatherboarded walls and a roof made of corrugated iron. A lean-to structure was attached at one end; perhaps a shed or storage space. For the final few yards, a narrow boardwalk allowed the front door to be approached with a firmer footing.

Gedge and Polly gratefully stepped onto the planks. There was little sign of life in the house, but a dim light was discernible beyond the gauzy curtains. A thin wisp of smoke issued from the skinny chimney stack, before being snatched away by the sea breeze.

On reaching the door, Gedge became aware of a strange feeling at the back of his neck, as if they were being observed from somewhere. He looked around. Nothing. Not a soul could be seen; not on the road, nor by any of the isolated houses, nor anywhere on the shingle. The only movement was that of washing lines and the odd piece of loose material disturbed by wind off the sea. Half a mile offshore a little fishing boat bobbed on the waves, heading south. He felt a stickiness on his skin from the salt in the air.

He motioned to Polly to stay behind, and knocked on the door.

No answer. He gave the potential occupant enough time to answer, and then tried the knob. It wouldn’t open. He stepped off the boardwalk, slowly crunched around to the nearest window and peered through. He couldn’t see anything inside; there wasn’t enough light.

Then, the muffled sound of a shout from inside. There was someone there, and that person had seen Gedge’s face at the window.

‘Lucas!’ said Polly. ‘Someone’s coming!’

The door opened a crack and a woman’s face peered out. Her hands gripped the edge, as if she expected to have to ram the door shut again at any moment. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flared.

‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

Polly moved in front of Gedge. ‘Don’t be scared, Martha. We mean you no harm.’

‘How the hell do you know my name? Oh my god!’

‘Please listen, Martha. Vic Musgrave told us why you’re down here. He told us about your experiences at the hands of Ackerman’s gang.’

Martha’s face contorted at the mention of Ackerman.

‘It was him, wasn’t it?’ said Polly. ‘In charge of things?’

‘He was one of them, yes. But why couldn’t bloody Vic keep his big mouth shut? What are you? A pair of busybodies? If you know anything about that business, you’ll know it’s best to keep out of it. That’s why I’m down here. I thought it was far enough away. Looks like even this godforsaken hut on the edge of the world isn’t remote enough to give me any peace!’

Gedge spoke up. ‘Martha, it’s because the same sort of things are happening again. That’s why Vic helped us find you. And I’m afraid we can’t just keep out of it. My own daughter’s been kidnapped by them and they’ve killed several times. So you see we do need to find out whatever we can. But nobody knows we’re here, and we won’t tell anyone about you. We’re not the police and we won’t get the authorities involved.’

Martha’s face dropped, and her hands released their grip on the edge of the door. She started to sob; quietly at first, then gradually rising in intensity until she was howling uncontrollably. Polly put her arms around Martha’s shoulders and eased her back in to the cottage. Martha clung on, her frame shaking as the tears welled up.

‘Come on, now,’ said Polly. ‘Let’s go inside to talk. This salty air’s doing nothing for my hair. I’ll get a kettle going and brew a pot of tea to warm us up.’

They moved inside, and Polly eased Martha down into an armchair.

I
t was a simple hovel
, with three rooms: a living area, a small bedroom and a utilitarian kitchen. Polly flung open the curtains at all the windows, letting some light in. Gedge added another log to the fire that was fizzing away in the grate, then lit a couple of oil lamps, placing one on a table, and the other in the kitchen.

Martha had settled down, and was sitting in the chair, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the floor. In the kitchen, Polly got the kettle going while Gedge found some mugs.

‘Well done for calming her down just now,’ Gedge said.

‘We both did well. But we’ve got to handle this just right, or we’ll tip her over the edge and she’ll be no good to anyone.’

‘Yes. We need to somehow find out what we need to know, and preserve Martha’s sanity while we’re doing it.’

‘She’s right. She’s in dire danger from the gang, especially if she knows as much as we hope. If they ever found out where she is—’

‘They won’t.’

They brought in the tea and settled into chairs in the living area. After a while, Martha started to drink, and the warming liquid seemed to calm her further. Gedge guessed that she was in her mid-twenties, but looked older. She was pretty, but her eyes were wary, and Gedge thought he could detect a few wisps of grey in her light brown hair. There were too many lines around her eyes for someone of her age.

‘Martha,’ said Gedge. ‘Can you please tell us what happened to you, starting from the beginning?’

T
he house was quiet
. It was afternoon. Their lunch plates had been collected a couple of hours earlier and it would be another two hours before a bowl of stodge was provided for tea.

Both girls were lying on their beds. Hannah saw that Esther was staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, with a vacant expression on her face. There seemed to be no fight in her. But Hannah needed to convince her to help with the escape plan, because it wouldn’t work without her. And they had to go now.

‘Esther, I’m going to do it. You should come with me.’

‘For pity’s sake, Hannah, I’m scared. It’s going to be claustrophobic up there. And I don’t see how getting into the loft is going to get us out of this house, either.’

‘All I know is we’ve got to do something soon. I don’t know what they’ve got planned for us, but I’m sure it won’t be good. Esther, I need you. It won’t work if only one of us goes, can’t you see that? I’ve got the catch almost free. A little bit more scratching and we should be able to get up there. Then, I’m not sure. But it’s a chance.’

‘But what about the other girls? What about Lizzie?’

‘I know I wanted everyone to get away, but I can’t see how we could do it. It’s now or never. Just you and me.’

I
t was
freezing cold in the loft, and almost pitch black. Esther was shaking, clinging to Hannah’s shift while stifling tears. With little to grip on, Hannah was holding the trapdoor shut, as she listened to what was going on below. For Esther’s sake, she had left it open as long as possible, but closed it when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She was risking everything on their captors not having the wit to look upwards.

She heard a high-pitched shriek. Vera.

‘Jesus Lord! Where are they? I don’t believe this! What are you looking there for? The window’s stuck shut and the bars across it are too much for a couple of teenagers. The only way they could have got out is if someone unlocked the door, then locked it back up when they’d gone.’

Then a man’s voice: ‘But who would have done that? Who has a key besides you?’

‘There’s a spare in my bedroom. And Mr Ackerman has one. Oh god, what’s going to happen when he finds out?’

‘We’ll worry about that later. First, check for that spare key.’

There were further mumbled exchanges, and then it grew quiet below them. Hannah could still hear fainter sounds indicating movement elsewhere in the house, so she kept the trapdoor shut, her arms aching and growing stiff with the strain. On top of that, Esther was starting to shake uncontrollably.

The sounds died away. Hannah left it a few minutes longer, and then gradually let the trapdoor down, so it hung vertically on its hinges. She could see a square of carpet and the edge of one of the beds.

She looked at Esther. ‘Come on! We’re going down. It’s now or never.’

Esther looked relieved that they were about to leave the gloom behind them. Her breathing eased a little. Hannah swung her legs down and, holding onto the edge of the doorway, dropped down onto the bed. She inched the bed over so it was more directly under the trapdoor.

‘Okay. Drop down now!’

Esther wriggled through the gap, and fell, almost out of control, onto the bed. Hannah re-closed the trap-door and then Esther helped her silently roll the bed back to its original position.

Hannah approached the door, which had been left ajar, and listened. She could hear distant murmurings; nothing too close. She whispered to Esther.

‘Let’s take our shoes off to make less noise.’

They removed their shoes and Hannah stepped out of the room and onto a landing. The staircase was to the left, a window to the right, and two more doors in the wall opposite.

She motioned for Esther to stay, while she padded to the window and looked out. Another wall faced her, only about five feet away. It was windowless. She looked down. There was a narrow yard at ground level, but there didn’t seem to be any way they could get down there.

She moved back to the stairwell, this time signalling for Esther to follow. She peered up and down the stairs. No movement or sound. Perhaps their captors had left the house, in their desperation to find out where the girls had gone.

Hannah started onto the stairs, looking back to see Esther following with faltering steps. They had to concentrate on moving quietly and trying to avoid drawing attention.

The sixth tread creaked. The sound seemed to boom through the quiet house. Both girls stopped dead, and Hannah shrank back against the bannisters. Esther copied. But no door opened, no face appeared on another floor. They carried on.

As they reached the first floor landing, a door opened on the ground floor just below them. Hannah grabbed Esther’s hand and pulled her towards the nearest door. It was narrower than the others, and it was unlocked. She opened it to find a storage cupboard, with brooms, buckets, cleaning materials and some spare linen. She thrust Esther ahead of her into the back of the cupboard and followed her inside, closing the door to a crack behind her. She peered out of the narrow gap.

Two raised voices could be heard. Man and woman. The woman sounded like Vera, and Hannah realised the male voice belonged to Ackerman, the man who claimed to know her father. He was obviously enraged.

‘This is not believable, Madam! How long since you sat in my office, telling me that the incident with the other girl would not be repeated? Scant days! And now you have somehow allowed not one, but two others to get free!’

‘I can’t believe it myself. It’s inexplicable. The room was locked. It can only have been done with the help of one of our own.’

‘Really? And where would you cast the blame this time? You killed your own brother after the last affair. I’m now wondering if he wasn’t the sole culprit! I’m going to look at their room. I’m not sure I trust your explanations.’

Two pairs of feet hurried up the stairs. Hannah drew the door further shut, straining to see out of the remaining tiny crack. She caught the briefest glimpse of Ackerman, wearing a forbidding expression, followed by the bird-like form of Vera in her housecoat and pinafore. They were silent as they climbed the stairs.

As soon as she was sure Vera and Ackerman had reached the floor above, Hannah opened the door wider. She led Esther out of the cupboard and down the final flight of stairs to the ground floor, still treading as lightly as possible.

They stepped off the final tread onto the carpeted hallway. She couldn’t believe their luck. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. The front door was just eight feet away. It might be locked, but if not, they would be out of this place in a few seconds.

A great roar came from two floors above. Hannah knew that Ackerman had discovered their escape method, and had realised they must still be somewhere in the house. Before she had time to make for the exit, another man appeared from a door to their right and lunged at them, grabbing both girls by their collars. Hannah struggled mightily, but he was too strong. She could smell his foetid breath as he hollered up the stairs.

‘Boss! I’ve got ’em! They’re down here!’

Two faces peered over the second floor balcony.

‘Good!’ said Ackerman. ‘Hold on to them.’

Hannah only had seconds to do something. But she couldn’t break free. Then she saw, just behind Esther, a small occasional table against the wall, and upon it a china vase, about eighteen inches high. She shouted to Esther, and nodded frantically in the direction of the vase.

To Hannah’s surprise, Esther seemed to see what was required immediately. To create a distraction, Hannah swung herself around in the man’s grip. As he struggled to keep her still, Esther leaned forward and pulled the vase off the table. The man realised what was happening a fraction of a second too late.

Esther swung the heavy object up to connect with the side of his jaw. With a crack, the vase smashed into many pieces and the man went down instantly, releasing his hold.

Yet, even as they were freed, another thug appeared from a room at the back of the house and charged towards them. Vera and Ackerman were now running down the stairs from the first floor landing.

Hannah pulled open the front door and pushed Esther outside.

‘Run! As fast as you can!’

She reached down and scooped up a long shard of broken china. The thug from the back of the house tried to push her out of the way to go after Esther, but he had underestimated Hannah’s strength and will. She plunged the sharp piece of pottery into his thigh, and a powerful jet of blood shot out of his leg. He gasped, collapsing in the doorway, trying to stem the flow by clamping his hands over the wound.

Ackerman arrived at the scene and tried to manhandle Hannah out of the way. She had dropped the makeshift dagger, but clung on to him as best she could, to stop him clambering over the man on the floor, whose blood was still oozing between his fingers.

Her grip was gradually broken, and she was pinned to the ground in the doorway beside the dying man.

She at least had the satisfaction of seeing Esther running at full pelt down the road away from the house, before a hand with a foul-smelling rag was forced across her mouth and nose, and her world collapsed into darkness.