Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 (29 page)

Billy eyed them both, torn between his loyalty to his duties and his early adolescent passion.

‘All right,' he muttered. ‘But I'll be listening.'

The two young women chatted about anything and everything until they guessed Billy had fallen fast asleep, before Marjorie closed their bedroom door so they could continue their gossip.

‘He's gorgeous,' Kate whispered. ‘I haven't spoken to him, I know nothing about him, but he is so handsome. And he rides beautifully.'

‘Maybe you ought to ask him for a game of tennis this weekend. If he plays as well as he rides his horse, you could be in for a drubbing.'

‘For once I wouldn't mind if I didn't win a single point.' Kate laughed her deep little laugh and seconds later was fast asleep.

‘I'll believe that when I see it,' Marjorie murmured.

Billy got to him first the following morning. After he had finished his stint on watch, he spied the stranger riding back down the hill on the north side of the lake, headed back for the stables. By the time Billy arrived red-faced and out of breath in the yard the man was taking the tack off his steaming horse.

‘Who are you?' Billy challenged. ‘What are you doing here anyway? This is government property.'

‘I know,' the man said with a sigh. ‘I know that, nipper.'

‘So who are you? Who are you anyway?'

‘I am Eugene anyway. I am Eugene the Brilliant, nipper – Eugene the Mighty, Eugene the
Fierce
.'

He suddenly bent towards Billy and bared his teeth.

‘You don't frighten me,' Billy told him staunchly.

‘I'm delighted to hear it,' Eugene replied. ‘I terrify the pants off meself. Who are
you
, come to that?'

‘The name's Billy. That's who I am.'

‘Billy. Billy the Kid perhaps? Or Billy the Goat? Or Billy the Bull?'

Eugene looked at him, staring hard and making his blue eyes go wide then immediately narrowing them.

‘Billy Hendry. And I have a right to be here. I have official tasks given me by the British Army.'

Eugene tucked his saddle over one arm and saluted Billy with his free hand.

‘I have a right to be here too, soldier. My uncle owns this place.'

Billy frowned at this piece of news, which caught him well on the hop. Eugene did the thing with his eyes once more, and then sauntered off into the tack room. Billy waited for a moment, wondering how to get the best of his new adversary, then decided to follow him into his den. He found the big Irishman striking a match on the sole of his riding boot to light a thin dark cheroot he had clamped between a set of strong white teeth.

‘What now, soldier?' Eugene teased. ‘Come to check me tack's all clean and orderly?'

‘You can't live here, even if your uncle does own it,' Billy informed him. ‘The only people allowed here are those with official permission.'

‘Jeeze.' Eugene laughed. ‘Will you listen to the nipper?' he asked the stable boy who was helping him put away his tack. ‘We'll have to get him a brown shirt all his own.'

‘Why should I need a brown shirt?' Billy wondered. ‘I don't like brown.'

‘And I don't like brownshirts,' Eugene said, over-seriously. Then he put two flattened forefingers under his nose to simulate a moustache and saluted the air. ‘Heil Hitler!' he said, clicking his heels.

Billy laughed. ‘Yes, I know, but really. You really shouldn't be here unless you're official. Major Folkestone wouldn't like it, really he wouldn't.'

‘I'm official all right, nipper,' Eugene said, ruffling Billy's hair. ‘I couldn't be more official. Ask
old Major Popesnose. He'll tell you. Tell him you have been speaking to Eugene. To Eugene the Garrulous.'

Eugene smiled, and hung up his horse's bridle on a shiny hook for the groom to clean.

‘What you think of me old nag?' he said. ‘Like a ride one day?'

‘I ain't never ridden a horse,' Billy replied.

‘Ain't you just?' Eugene laughed, mocking Billy's cockney very badly. ‘Well then, chief, thah's a first toime for everythink! Come on – I'll put you up on him now. I'll hold on, don't you worry.'

Next thing Billy knew he was lifted up in a pair of extremely strong arms, swung through the air, out of the tack room and up on to the horse's bare back. The horse took no notice whatsoever.

‘You're such a featherweight, nipper – he doesn't even know you're up. Come on, I'll walk you round the yard. Hang on to his mane – you'll be as safe as a house.'

Billy couldn't believe how high up he was, or the lazy power that the horse exuded as he walked around the stable yard, led only on a halter by his master.

‘Is this your horse, mister?'

‘This is my horse, nipper.'

‘But you don't live here.'

‘I live here now, nipper. And where I goes, me horse goes too. I brought him over from Ireland with me. Shipped him to Welsh Wales, then put him on a train here. He'll travel in anything. Goes to sleep on the train. Lies down in the van and sleeps like a tired hooligan.'

‘He's smashin',' Billy said, leaning forward to pat the horse's neck. ‘I never seen such a smashin' horse.'

‘Love my horse, love me.' Eugene sighed. ‘We are now friends for life, you and I. And that needs celebrating.'

He lifted Billy down, let him lead the great horse into his stable, took off the halter, bolted the heavy wood and iron door and nodded to Billy to follow him.

Billy did as he was told until after a tortuous journey through a labyrinth of underground corridors they emerged into a small wood-panelled room with a fire already alight in the iron grate, three comfortable old leather chairs, a table with a deck of cards scattered all over it and a large half-open cupboard Billy could see was stacked with bottles of drink.

‘I imagine what you'll be wanting, nipper, is a good strong lemonade with a thick head on it. Am I your man?'

‘Yeah,' Billy agreed gratefully. ‘You bet.'

Eugene unstopped the marble at the neck of a fresh bottle of lemonade, half cleaned a glass on the tail of his hunting shirt, and poured Billy a foaming drink. Then he pulled the cork from a bottle of Guinness with his perfect white teeth and raised the bottle in a toast.

‘To us,' he said solemnly. ‘And all those like us – who are few and very far between. So long live us both.'

‘Long live us both,' Billy echoed, already in awe of his new acquaintance. ‘What is this place? This where you lives, mister?'

‘Nope, nipper. This is not where I lives. This is where I drinks. And this is where I gambles.'

‘They don't really know you're 'ere, do they?'

‘Sure they don't. Not at all,' Eugene replied, his face very serious now as he tapped the side of his nose. ‘And that's our secret. Is it not?'

‘They must see you on your 'orse.'

‘Ah, they do see me on me 'orse. They do – you're absolutely right. But they think I'm someone else.'

‘Someone else? Who?'

‘Me uncle. But hush it. Sure you're the only soul in the world that knows that.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah,' Eugene replied. ‘Most definitely yeah. Now away with yous,' he went on, when they'd finished their drinks. ‘I have work to do and you must away. Go out that door there, across the yard, in the door opposite, along the corridor and you'll be back in the kitchen of the main house. And remember – you haven't seen me.'

Eugene gave Billy a final wink, one last ruffle of his hair and shooed him out, shutting the door tight behind him.

From the house Billy made his way to the cottage to catch up on his sleep. As he entered he met Kate and Marjorie just leaving to go back to work after lunch.

‘Where have you been, young man?' Marjorie asked him. ‘We were looking for you. We thought you might be here asleep – but you weren't.'

‘I was busy,' Billy said loftily. ‘On government business.'

‘What sort of government business exactly, Billy?'

‘A check-up, if you must know. Just checking on certain people,' Billy replied, assuming an appropriately mysterious air, and beginning to whistle silently.

As everyone else was learning their designated task and settling to their work, Marjorie learned what hers was to be.

Summoned to Major Folkestone's office, which had been set up in the library on the ground floor, she found the major seated at a desk working his way through a file of papers. Without looking up he asked her to come in and sit down. Marjorie took the chair that had been put at the near side of the desk.

‘You might be wondering what you're doing here,' Major Folkestone said finally, closing the file and taking off his spectacles. ‘Particularly since most of the rest of the girls are all qualified typists and stenographers and that sort of thing – while you, Miss Hendry, have no particular qualifications whatsoever. At least not pertaining to the sort of work in hand here. Correct?'

‘If you say so, Major Folkestone,' Marjorie agreed. ‘I was meaning to ask what I could do to help, but never got the chance. Least not so far.'

‘Good,' Major Folkestone replied, getting up to stretch his legs and walking towards one of the floor-length sash windows that afforded a wonderful view of the parkland and lake beyond. ‘Lucky to be here in a way, wouldn't you agree? Not a bad place to fight a war from. Anyway. Anyway the point is I have a position for you. I don't know how much you know or don't know
about this sort of work – or let me put it another way.' He turned from the window to look at her directly. ‘I don't know whether or not you were aware of what your late aunt did. The sort of work she did. That sort of thing?'

Marjorie shook her head.

‘Other than the fact she had some sort of a job that meant she had to go out at all sorts of odd times, no,' she replied. ‘I never asked because I thought it was none of my business, and Aunt Hester never told me.'

‘Good. Good. I see. Good.'

‘Billy thought she might be a spy.' Marjorie laughed. ‘But you know Billy.'

Major Folkestone's eyes opened so wide it was comical. Marjorie bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and looked down at her lap.

‘Did he?' the major spluttered. ‘Did he, by Jove. I see. Yes. I see. Good. Well, little Billy's got no flies on him, has he?'

Marjorie looked up now and saw that Major Folkestone was smiling as well.

‘That's exactly what auntie was, as a matter of fact,' he said. ‘In a manner of speaking. She worked for Intelligence, and dashed good she was too. She has been working for our side for some good long time – since the Twenties, as a matter of fact – and her colleagues thought very highly of her. Very highly indeed.'

‘Billy imagined that it wasn't an accident, that killed Aunt Hester I mean. Billy thought she could have been – well – killed on purpose, because of her work, perhaps.'

Marjorie knew that she was now pushing her
luck, but she felt careless of any repercussions that might come from her curiosity, in a way because she liked to think of Aunt Hester as a heroine, and in another way because she had always imagined that Billy's seemingly childish suspicions might have some truth.

‘Everyone has their theories,' Major Folkestone replied, clearing his throat. ‘It's a free country, anyone can have their theories, whatever they might be, but sometimes it is best to keep them to yourself.'

He stopped smiling and, picking up a wooden ruler from the desk, began to walk about the room, tapping the ruler on the palm of one hand.

‘Now listen up, because this is the point, you see,' he began. ‘Because of his connection with your late aunt, Mr Ward wanted to make sure you would have somewhere safe to live, since my understanding of the matter is that following the death of your aunt you would have been homeless. However. However, I do not believe in carrying passengers, not at a time like this, just as I am sure you want to make some sort of contribution to the war effort, and the work we are doing here in particular. So given then that you are the niece of one of Mr Ward's top people, and a highly trustworthy young woman – given all that and the fact that I am woefully short of a pair of quick hands, particularly a pair allied to a bright mind – I propose to take you on as my personal assistant, well, dogsbody, if you will. If you want to know what that involves. I have me a first class secretary, but I need an extra pair of reliable hands, so that together with Lily Ormerod, that's
my secretary, I dare say we'll make a first rate team. First rate. Any questions?'

‘No,' Marjorie said carefully, her mind turning over rapidly as she tried to understand what exactly being a personal assistant or dogsbody would involve, ‘I don't think so, sir. I just hope I won't let you down.'

‘You won't,' Major Folkestone told her, as he walked back behind his desk to resume his work. ‘I'll see to it that you don't. Dismissed.'

Marjorie left the major's office, a high-ceilinged room with beautifully painted walls, gold decoration and early eighteenth-century plasterwork, feeling elated. She turned back as she closed the door behind her and saw the major staring out of the window. He looked strangely small in the room, just as his filing cabinets and desk looked strangely incongruous in the elegant, old-fashioned room. It didn't seem quite possible that soon she would be in and out of that room, helping him with his work in whatever way she was able, helping him to drop agents into France and Belgium, behind enemy lines. She shivered, not because of the war so much, but because of the risks she knew those people would take, unimaginable risks; and when she walked out into the park from the main hall, through the large doors, past the sentries, and stood for a moment on the top step of the flight of shallow stone steps looking across to what were no longer lawns, but fields of long grass, some of which had been divided up into yet more allotments for villagers without gardens to grow their vegetables, she couldn't help wondering how many of the people she could see walking about
the grounds would soon be caught and shot – or worse.