Chapter Forty

“Have they gone?” Penny asked, standing up in the back of the Jeep.

Celia stood on top of the church wall and nodded, then jumped down and trotted across to join the other two. “I reckon they’ve got about two minutes lead on us now,” she told Jane and Penny as she made to hop back into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

Jane held out her arm to stop her.

“Hey! What’s the game?”

“I’m sorry, but Lawrence is right about one thing. You’re too young.”

Too young or not, Celia had her big sister’s stubborn streak and planted herself plum in front of the Jeep and crossed her arms. “Really? Well, he’s also right about something else. Neither of you two are fit enough to drive this thing.” As Jane opened her mouth to protest, Celia cut her off. “Oh, no, you don’t! We all saw you wince just now when you went to put it in gear, and that’s nothing compared to what you were like when you got back to Betty’s after driving back from the base. That’s five minutes, tops. No, there’s no way you’ll be able to follow them, and don’t even think of asking Penny to take the wheel!”

Jane exchanged glances with Penny before folding her arms across the steering wheel. “I wasn’t going to. In fact, so long as Penny doesn’t object, I was going to ask you to take the wheel.”

Celia’s head flicked toward her sister, who after a moment’s hesitation said, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t just stay at home and wait. I trust you, sis. Now, what do you say?”

Not needing a second asking, Celia came around to the driver’s side of the Jeep. “You’d better shift over, then.”

****

It seemed both Mr. Palmer and Big John had given up all pretense of stealth, as for the last ten minutes, Betty had heard both their voices yelling out her name. She hadn’t heard any shooting, so that was something, though from her position hunkered down in the shed she couldn’t see what was actually going on outside. Whichever way she looked at it, she was in a sticky situation.

“Betty! Where are you?”

There they were again, but were they nearer or farther away? Hiding in the shed under the tarpaulin didn’t make it easy to tell.

“Betty Palmer!”

That one could have been farther away, she thought. Moving her head out from under cover a little, she cocked an ear and waited. A few minutes later came another yell.

“Palmer!”

No doubt about it. That one was farther away. “Well, girl,” she muttered to herself, “let’s see how your luck holds out.”

Flinging the tarpaulin all the way off, she put her ear to the door of her shed, and when she was certain she couldn’t hear anything, she slowly lowered the latch and pushed the door open an inch, just enough to put an eye to. Slightly cursing herself for having picked a shed with no window to it, Betty pushed the door open just wide enough to allow her to leave. She pushed the door closed and, as quickly as she could, flattened herself against the cottage’s wall. Catching her breath and wincing in pain, she tentatively flexed her ankle and had to bite her lip to stop from yelping in pain. Glancing around, she spotted a broom leaning against the wall a few feet away, next to a door she hadn’t found last night.

Her fingers nearly frozen, she pulled herself along the wall, reached out for the broom, turned it upside down, and tucked the bristly head under her arm. Looking up and around to check neither of her kidnappers had seen her, she tested her weight. Fortunately, the broom held her weight, and she now had a makeshift crutch. Looking at the door, she reached out with her free hand and turned the handle. It stayed locked. Risking one knock, she listened closely but could hear no sound of any movement inside. Just her luck, she mused, to pick a place probably locked up for the war.

No rest for the wicked, she decided. Carefully, she began to move toward the road, trying to keep as much as possible to what little cover the eaves of the cottage provided. Coming to the end of the building, she looked to her right and couldn’t see any movement at all. Was the entire village deserted? Then she looked around the wall to her left and saw something that made her heart beat faster.

Coming down the road was a car she thought she recognized. As it got level to her hiding place, her heart stopped. In the front seat was none other than Lawrence, and she was certain his number two—Terry Banks—was driving. Unfortunately, neither was looking her way. Neither were the two uniformed men they had in the rear. She’d just made up her mind to hobble out as best she could when she heard a yell.

“Palmer! We’re coming for you!”

Her body acted before her mind, and she shrank back down onto her haunches, hoping they hadn’t actually seen her. As she dipped down, she was dismayed to see that Lawrence’s car didn’t stop—they hadn’t seen her. Was that yell closer than the last? She was cold, hungry, and in pain, and she could no longer tell. Betty never knew if her mind had been affected by the cold, as her body seemed to take control over her good sense. Before she knew it, she was hobbling out of the meager cover provided by the cottage.

Semi-stepping and hopping, she found herself in the middle of the lane and, balancing as best she could on one foot, she started to wave the broom in the air above her head, and her voice shouted out, “Lawrence! Lawrence, stop!”

The police car kept going, and that was when Betty realized the likely reason she’d not found any help was that she was next to a cottage in a cul-de-sac which contained only four cottages—including the one she’d been held in. Unfortunately, one person had seen and heard her and was making rapid tracks in her direction from across the road.

“Oh, hell,” Betty swore. Looking swiftly around, she could see no obvious place to hide, so setting her jaw, she took a firm grip on the broom handle and prepared to see how many swipes she could get in.

“There you are!” he spat out, fire dancing in his little piggy eyes as he advanced upon her.

If Betty had ever harbored any hope of some parental connection, then his expression dashed any last expectations. “Come on, then!” she yelled, with more bravado than she really felt, and raised her broom. “I’ll bash you on the head and then sweep your remains into the gutter!”

George Palmer stopped a little out of her reach. “Oh, really? Do you actually think I’d be stupid enough to allow you to try?” He reached a hand into his inside pocket and, much to Betty’s surprise, brought out a revolver. “Put your hands up and come over here.”

In spite of the cold sweat running down her back, Betty didn’t obey, though she did tuck the broom back under her arm, turning it back into a crutch. “Can we compromise?” she asked, hoping he’d be stupid enough to allow her to keep her only weapon.

Somewhat to her surprise, he didn’t object. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned her forward and, deliberately exaggerating her lack of mobility—not by much, though—she slowly moved toward him. What sounded like an engine being gunned and then a gearbox loudly crunching echoed and, keeping her head looking straight at her captor, she twitched her eyes around, trying to see the source. Could Lawrence be coming back?

As she stopped before him, she had to fight hard to keep the surprise she felt from showing on her face. Coming up the lane that led into the cul-de-sac was a Jeep. Even from her position, roughly a couple of hundred yards away, she could recognize its three occupants. Momentarily, she was caught between shouting for help and keeping quiet and protecting her brave but foolish friends. The Jeep was getting nearer and, despite the racket it made on the road, George Palmer still hadn’t looked around.

At a particularly loud crunch, he finally turned. Betty took her chance and, without second guessing herself, swung her crutch above her head and brought it down toward his head. Some sixth sense must have warned him, as at the last second, he began to move, though not quite in time. The broom head dealt him a glancing blow. Not troubling to check if he was knocked out or merely stunned, she tucked her makeshift crutch back under her armpit and hobbled toward the lane and the approaching Jeep.

A beep of its horn told her the Jeep’s occupants had seen her, and the driver, she was very relieved to see, was altering its course toward her. It seemed to be using a fuel based on kangaroos, judging by the way it appeared to jump down the lane. Mind you, as it came to a halt, the reason was perhaps obvious—young Celia was driving!

“Betty!” all three occupants shouted at the same time, with Celia hopping out of the driving seat and only just stopping herself from throwing her arms around her. Instead, she put her shoulder under Betty’s other arm and helped her toward the Jeep, while Jane got out to give her a helping hand.

All of a sudden, Penny yelled, “Hurry!”

Glancing behind, she saw George Palmer helped to his feet by his henchman. When both straightened up, everyone froze—both men had revolvers out.

“Are you in?” Celia asked, as Betty swung her legs into the Jeep.

Throwing the gears into reverse, Celia stalled it. Before them, the two kidnappers were breaking into a run.

“Hurry!” Penny urged Celia to restart the Jeep.

“Stop yelling at me!” Celia yelled.

“I’m not yelling!” Penny yelled back.

The two villains were now only a few paces away, and as Celia couldn’t seem to get the Jeep started, Betty could see no other alternative but to surrender. Things would be infinitely worse now they had other hostages. However, as she was about to open her mouth to tell them so, she could quite clearly see the two men stop dead in their tracks.

From behind the Jeep came the sound of someone slamming a bolt home on a rifle. Turning, Betty went wide-eyed in disbelief. Surely these situations happened only in movies! Standing no more than ten feet behind the Jeep were two men in full Home Guard battle dress, and both had rifles aimed at her two would-be kidnappers.

“Put down the guns!” Sergeant Matthew Green shouted. Next to him, Walter held a steady aim as well. “Now!”

Lawrence’s car pulled up behind the two in a squeal of tires, and both the Inspector himself and Terry Banks got out. “I’d do as he says, if I were you, Palmer,” Lawrence calmly and clearly said.

Both Walter and Matthew moved a step toward them, still keeping their rifles menacingly pointed at their quarry.

“Put the guns down,” Walter said and added, “You won’t get another warning.”

George Palmer’s shoulders dropped, and as ordered, he stooped and laid his revolver on the ground, Big John following suit a moment later.

Within a few hectic minutes, both were knelt on the road, their hands cuffed behind their backs, with the Home Guard standing over them. Lawrence came up to the Jeep, his face a mixture of relief and annoyance.

“Betty!” He leant in and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so pleased to find you safe. Are you hurt at all?”

“Just my ankle,” Betty informed him, pointing to the appendage. “Probably a sprain.”

“Get it looked at, please.” He turned his attention to Jane, Celia, and Penny. “Now, I’m going to find a phone to get these two miscreants taken into Portsmouth. As for you lot, get Betty to the hospital and then yourselves back home. I’ll be around later to have words with you.”

****

“What’s the time?” Betty managed to ask as Celia kangarooed down the road toward Hamble.

“Coming up on four o’clock,” Penny informed her, making a grab for the side of the Jeep as Celia managed to find yet another pothole.

“Remind me to get another watch,” Betty muttered. “I could have sworn it wasn’t much past one. Suppose I must have slept more than I thought last night. Look…” She turned to Celia. “To hell with the hospital. Take me home. I’ll ask Grace to take a look at my ankle when she comes to look at Penny’s shoulder and Jane’s arm. I’ll say this,” Betty announced as she nearly flew out of her seat. “I wouldn’t want to be in either of your shoes when our nurse gets hold of you two.”