Cobram
Sunday 25 September
Evie woke, a dull click rousing her from sleep. It must have been early; the glow of dawn was filtering through the thin curtains of the parlour room. Parched, she groped for the cup of water she knew was by her side, grabbed it and slurped down a mouthful. Her teeth felt woolly, her head ached, her stomach growled. She sat up. Her backside ached too, a legacy of sleeping on floorboards. Despite all, she’d slept well.
For a moment, as yesterday’s events rushed by in her mind, she held her face in her hands. Meryl. Fitz. She needed to see Fitz. And Raff. She began to stand when Jenny Robinson gripped her arm tight, a finger to her lips, eyes fierce. Tucked under her arm was a rifle.
Jenny pulled her back to the floor. ‘Lay down, lay still,’ she whispered furiously. She pressed herself against Evie’s back, hiding the rifle between them. One of her arms was steely as it wrapped around her.
Evie froze. Ears straining, she could hear soft, tentative footfalls on the boards in the hallway. She sucked in her breath, silent and shallow. The door creaked open, and after some moments, closed again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hoped her lungs would hold out. Her pulse pounded in her throat, thudding up through her jaw into her temple. More footfalls and then another door opened. Fitz’s room.
She breathed out slowly, turned, mouthed at Jenny, Raff? Jenny shook her head hard. They sat up awkwardly.
Jenny handed Evie the rifle and jiggled it a little in Evie’s hands. She pointed at the chamber. It was loaded. Evie lost her breath then, stared open-mouthed at Jenny, who shook her head again, wagging that finger as if saying, ‘don’t you dare’. Blinking, Evie nodded.
Dear God.
Silently, Jenny crawled over the tangled bedding of linens and blankets to take up the other rifle. Digging into her pocket to bring out a round, she quietly and gently loaded it in the gun, her fingers steady, but her face screwed up. The effort to silently push it into place was painstaking. She couldn’t do it.
‘Damn it,’ she breathed. ‘Here, take these,’ she said and shoved two more shells into Evie’s skirt pocket.
Evie swallowed the lump in her throat as Jenny slithered to the door, pressing her ear against the jamb. The footsteps were receding; whoever it was, they were heading outside. Jenny clicked in the round—the same sound that had woken Evie earlier—and breathed a sigh of relief.
Where on earth is Raff?
Jenny crawled back to her. ‘It’s two policemen,’ she croaked. ‘They came creeping around just on dawn.’
Evie knew who it must be. ‘They’re after Fitz.’ She’d heard his door open moments ago. Her heart bumped in her throat. ‘They didn’t come to this room.’
A hesitation. ‘No need, perhaps.’
A chill wound its way up Evie’s chest. They’d found who they were looking for and their method of … disposal … was silent. A knife, or strangling, or—
Where is Raff?
‘Come on. Pull on your boots, hitch your skirt,’ Jenny said in a harsh whisper. At Evie’s stricken face, she said, ‘They weren’t in his room long enough to do anything to Fitz. We’d have heard.’ She shook Evie’s arm. ‘But now they know where he is, they’ll come back later, so we’re not staying in here like simpering ninnies. We’re going to front them. We’re going out that window.’
Of course we are.
Jenny took Evie’s rifle. ‘You saw me load it?’ Evie nodded. ‘Good. Remember it.’ She bundled her to the window and helped her straddle the sill. Jenny whispered again. ‘Lower yourself, drop quietly, then I’ll hand you the two rifles. You’ll learn real fast how to use yours.’