Time to Say Goodbye (35 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ Rita said in a very small voice. ‘And I’m very grateful that you did catch me, because I was running away from that man – the one who went into the cottage – and goodness knows what might have happened if he’d caught me before I’d reached the farmhouse. I knew he was following me, because I could hear his feet in the dust . . . oh!’

Josh and Woody exchanged grins. ‘That was
us
, you stupid girl,’ Woody said. ‘And you were in far more danger from us than from anyone else. Honestly, Rita, do you never think what will happen as a result of your actions? Oh-ho, my fine lady, you’re going to have a great deal of explaining to do when we get you home.’

Although Woody might have seemed light-hearted, almost joky, in fact he was beginning to realise that Rita was indeed about to face the telling-off of her life, and for the first time he felt sorry for her. She had acted foolishly and not given a thought to the consequences, but he was pretty sure that on this occasion at least she was well and truly in for it. As they drank the cups of tea Mrs Thompson had poured Woody looked at Rita’s chalk-white face and wondered if there was anything else he could do to prepare her for what was to come. In some respects, he knew she deserved to suffer some of the anguish which she had doled out to others, but although she thought herself so grown up – and certainly she looked far older than her years – he did not think she had any idea of the storm which would burst around her head as soon as they got back to the Linnet, or the ability to accept that she had done wrong and apologise from the heart. This time, it would not be just Auntie handing out a dressing down, it was the authorities who oversaw the welfare of evacuated children. Auntie would be very cross and upset, but Rita would think that a fluent apology and a warm hug would be sufficient to melt Auntie’s wrath. She would remember how cross Auntie had been when Imogen had nearly died in the snow, and think that her own behaviour, though reprehensible, was no worse than Imogen’s.

Woody looked again at Rita and saw her give an enormous yawn, saw how the heavy lids drooped over her blue eyes; saw, too, the dark hollows beneath those eyes, and felt a rush of pity. When all was said and done she was only a kid, a kid proud of her ability to shin up the mighty beech to the lookout platform, or any other tree for that matter. He knew she had not been deliberately wicked and began to plan what he would say if his opinion was asked.

When the police car drew up in the farmyard he was not tremendously surprised to see a large, commanding-looking woman in the front seat. Doubtless the authorities had not wanted to put the police driver in the uncomfortable position of having all the responsibility for getting a young girl back to where she belonged.

And his guess was probably right, he thought, as the large woman got out of the car, straightened her hat, and marched towards the back door. Woody was watching through the small window to the right of the door, and realised that he was the only one who knew that retribution, if you could call it that, had arrived. He cleared his throat, but before he could speak the visitor rapped smartly on the door and, not waiting for her knock to be answered, walked into the room.

‘Mrs Thompson?’ Her keen gaze swept the assembled company sitting round the kitchen table with their mugs of tea, and settled unerringly upon the farmer’s wife. ‘I gather you’ve got our runaway. I’m Mrs Caldecott, Women’s Voluntary Service. Come to collect . . .’ she opened a dark green handbag hanging from her shoulder and produced a small notebook, which she flicked open, ‘to collect Miss Rita Jeffries.’

Rita, who had been sitting facing away from the door, pushed her chair back and got to her feet. ‘I’m Rita Jeffries,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Have you – have you come to take me home? I’m so sorry . . . Mrs Thompson has been awfully kind . . . and of course Woody and Josh found me, and explained . . .’

Mrs Caldecott swept on as though Rita had not spoken. ‘Are we all ready?’ She turned to Woody and Josh. ‘I gather you are the young men who found her. You’ve done very well; I’m sure all concerned are grateful.’ She looked back at the farmer’s wife. ‘Thank you very much for helping this foolish young person,’ she said perfunctorily, and Woody thought she sounded as though she did not mean a word of it. As soon as Rita had put on her coat, she grabbed the girl’s arm and began to pull her towards the back door, whilst Rita was still trying to thank the Thompsons for their kindness.

Once outside Mr Thompson carried the lamp which illumined the many cow pats they had to avoid. Woody and Josh followed, and Woody could not help giving a private grin when Rita wrenched her arm out of the older woman’s grip and dived into the long back seat of the police car. ‘There’s no need to behave as if I were your prisoner,’ she said irritably over her shoulder. ‘Or as if you thought I might cut and run. Well, you’d be wrong, because I know I’ve behaved badly, but all I want right now is my bed, and I assume that’s where you’re taking me. Back to the Canary and Linnet, I mean.’

Mrs Caldecott, a large woman with small brown eyes and grey-streaked dark hair worn in an uncompromising bob, flushed angrily, but before she could answer Woody had grabbed her arm and shaken his head slightly. ‘Rita’s dog-tired. She’s had a dreadful day,’ he murmured. ‘She’ll say things she doesn’t mean, because she’s worn out. She’s very grateful that you’ve come to take her home.’ He reached over and swung the passenger door wide. ‘And, you know, you did rather behave as though she were your prisoner.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me my business, young man,’ Mrs Caldecott said stiffly. ‘The idea!’ But when she caught Woody’s eye she gave a small but reluctant smile. ‘I dare say I did overreact,’ she admitted. ‘And now you lads get in beside Miss Hoity-toity and we’ll be on our way.’

The driver did a neat three-point turn, muttering, as the tyres slid on the cowpats, that he’d cleaned the car earlier that day and now he would have to clean it again. Then he swung into the lane and Woody and Josh settled back in their seats and prepared to enjoy the well sprung, comfortable ride back to the Canary and Linnet. Mrs Caldecott and the driver talked in low tones, and Woody thought Rita was asleep, but as they were driving through the village she rubbed her eyes vigorously and turned to him.

‘Gosh, I’m tired,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I’ve got no idea of the time; is it very late? Do you think Auntie and the others will still be up?’

Josh interrupted before Woody could speak. ‘I should think they jolly well will be,’ he said reprovingly. ‘And not only awake, Rita, but dying to give you what for. Even Debby, who Auntie calls the peacemaker, is cross with you, not for running away, though that was bad enough, but for upsetting Auntie. And Auntie’s upset because she imagines folk will think she ill-treated you . . .’

Woody dug his companion in the ribs. It was so unusual for Josh to be angry that he had kept quiet at first, but now, remembering Rita’s white, exhausted face, he thought it was time to intervene.

‘All right, all right, Josh old fellow; I think you’ve said enough,’ he murmured. ‘Let Auntie speak for herself. I reckon Rita realises there’s trouble just round the corner.’

A few minutes later the big car swung into the car park, and in its hooded beams Woody saw that there was another vehicle parked close to the front door. He had begun to say that they had clearly got a visitor when the dim blue headlights lit up the boxy shape and he gasped even as Rita, who had been leaning back, suddenly sat upright. But it was left to Josh to identify what they were seeing. ‘It’s an ambulance!’ he said, speaking so loudly that both passenger and driver turned in their seats. ‘Oh, what can have happened?’

The moment the police car stopped both back doors flew open and the youngsters tumbled out, ignoring Mrs Caldecott’s instructions that they should wait for her, and made for the door. Rita was ahead of the boys, but Woody pushed her aside and had his hand on the door knob when it was opened from within and they saw Imogen standing there.

She was tear-streaked and clutching a coat which Woody knew was not her own. She stared at him for a moment as though she couldn’t believe her eyes, and then she flung her arms around his neck and he felt her tears wet on his cheek. ‘Oh, Woody, Woody, it’s Auntie,’ she wailed. ‘We called the doctor, me and Debby. She started to talk funny – Auntie, I mean, not Debby – and she couldn’t use her left hand. She was frightened; her eyes went huge. Then she said, “Fetch Dr Vaughan,” and oh, Woody, before we could even move she fell off her chair and crashed on to the floor. Dr Vaughan told us she’d had a stroke and says she’ll be all right, but she has to go to hospital. She’s in the ambulance now, and I was just going to take her coat out to her, but the ambulance men had wrapped her in blankets and said not to bother with coats or shoes or hats, but to bring them to the hospital when the staff asked us to do so. Oh, Woody, I’m so glad to see you! Did you find Rita?’

‘She’s here,’ Woody said briefly, jerking his chin at Rita. ‘I think we’d better have a conference.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Can we talk privately? Only Mrs Caldecott, the woman who was sent to bring Rita back, mustn’t realise you’re here alone.’

‘Well, we aren’t, not exactly,’ Imogen said. She had let go of Woody and now they stood together in the doorway watching as the ambulance turned neatly in the confines of the car park, the driver hooting at the police car to get out of the way. ‘Jacky was here, the same as always, to open the pub. Me and Debby thought Auntie had just fainted – from all the stress, you know – and would come round and take over. Only I reckon Jacky knew better, because he came into the kitchen, took one look at Auntie – me and Debby were trying to pick her up off the floor – and dispatched people in every direction. He sent one of the customers to fetch Mrs Jacky, and sent me for the doctor. Jacky’s old, but he’s sensible.’

By this time they had moved through into the kitchen, followed by Rita and Mrs Caldecott, but at Woody’s instigation Imogen had kept her voice low, and Woody hoped that the WVS woman had not heard. Nevertheless, she reacted to the situation with the sort of prompt efficiency which Woody guessed she had learned from experience. She looked round the kitchen, then through the open door which led to the bar. ‘What on earth were the evacuation authorities doing, to allow you to be homed on licensed premises?’ she said. ‘I never heard of such a thing, but I suppose the landlord must be a person of good repute.’

‘There isn’t a landlord, only a landlady, and she’s a person of very good repute,’ Rita said angrily, and Woody had to bunch his fingers into fists to stop himself from hitting her. Trust Rita to put the cat among the pigeons, given half a chance.

He could see that Mrs Caldecott was puzzled, and feared the worst. Sure enough, she turned to the driver, who had followed her into the kitchen, saying briskly: ‘Well, there’s nothing else for it. If there’s no responsible adult here these three children – I take it there are only the three of you? – will have to go to a children’s home in Norwich until we can send them back to their parents. I don’t imagine that this Miss Marcy will be able to cope. Dear me, a spinster, in charge both of a public house and of three lively young girls; whatever were the authorities thinking of?’

The police driver raised an eyebrow, looking longingly into the brightly lit bar and then back at Mrs Caldecott. ‘Someone’s in charge all right,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s a man and a woman working behind the bar. Can’t we leave these kids in their charge, at least until tomorrow? Then, as soon as the office is open, you’ll be able to sort things out satisfactorily.’

Debby, who had not said a word until now, broke in at this point. ‘By tomorrow Auntie will be better and the hospital will send her home,’ she said firmly. ‘And we won’t go to a children’s home; we’re needed here. Who’s going to feed Pandora and the hens, to say nothing of the pig-which-mustn’t-be-named? Who’s going to go down to the end of the lane for the four-pint milk jug which they leave out for us? Who’s going to clean down the bar and wash and dry all the empty glasses? And what about Rufus?’

Mrs Caldecott began to say, grimly, that none of this was her concern; she was only responsible for the child who had run away and would thank everyone present to let her think. Seeing that she was having second thoughts, Woody pressed home the advantage.

He addressed himself to the police driver. ‘Would you run us all up to Pilgrim Farm? It’s where Josh and I are billeted and Mrs Pilgrim is a good sort. She’ll make up beds for the girls and take care of them rather than see them sent miles away. And Debby’s right about the work they do, you know. If they sleep at Pilgrim’s we can all come down first thing tomorrow and do the chores. The farmers are harvesting the wheat, so we can help with that, but of course the girls will want to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I’m sure Mrs P will see they can do so.’

By now Jacky had announced closing time and come through from the bar and there was a good deal of discussion between Mrs Caldecott, the police driver and the cellar man. Mrs Jacky had followed her husband through with a tray of empty glasses and offered to sleep in Auntie’s bed and give an eye to the children, but this Mrs Caldecott would not allow. ‘I should be obliged if you would stay here and supervise the children when they come back from the farm the young man mentioned,’ she said stiffly. ‘But you haven’t been authorised to take evacuees, I gather.’

Mrs Jacky was old, but she was game, and her thin wrinkled cheeks flushed angrily at the implied criticism. ‘No we in’t, do we take ’em like a shot,’ she said stiffly. ‘But we live in a tied cottage, two up two down, what means no room to swing a cat. Still ’n’ all, no harm in my man and myself stayin’ here overnight and seein’ the work gets done.’ She looked consideringly at the other woman. ‘I dare say you won’t want the girls in the bar cleanin’ down and collectin’ the dirties and that.’

Mrs Caldecott began to swell with disapproval, so Woody broke in, biting back a chuckle. ‘It’s all right. Auntie has never allowed the girls to so much as enter the bar,’ he said, crossing his fingers behind his back. He turned to the policeman. ‘And now that everything’s settled, perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking us to Pilgrim Farm. We’ll have to explain to Mrs Pilgrim, of course, but I’m sure this good lady . . .’ he indicated Mrs Caldecott with a jerk of the thumb, ‘can explain far better than we could.’ He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘Isn’t that so, Mrs C?’