Chapter Twenty-Six

Taxiing her Spitfire toward the dispersal at RAF Church Fenton, Mary spotted a curious sight. An RAF Bedford truck had just pulled up a few yards from where she was being waved in to a halt. By itself, this wasn’t anything out of the normal. However, what had just jumped down from the back was. Tapping the brakes, Mary brought the Spitfire to a stop, waited for the ground crewman to place chocks under her main wheels, and went through the shutdown procedure.

Sliding the cockpit hood back, she shucked off her harness and stood up on the seat. Glancing across, she was pleased to see that the man and his escort were both standing still, having watched the fighter roll up, and were waiting to see what would happen next. What she did next caused one to drop his flying helmet to the ground. Assessing the situation to be safe, she took off her own flying helmet and shook out her hair. Unhinging the door, she clambered onto the port wing before hopping off and walking over toward the two.

“I wouldn’t go over there, miss,” urged the same man who’d placed the chocks under her wheels.

Mary stopped and treated the man to a beaming smile, resting a hand upon his shoulder. “I’ll be okay. Could you refuel her, please? I’ve got to be on my way in thirty minutes.”

After initially scratching his head, the man shrugged his shoulders and turned to the task, obviously feeling she must know what she was doing.

For her part, Mary left her Sidcot suit zipped up as she came to a stop before an RAF regiment corporal and his German officer prisoner. “Hello, Corporal, busy day?” she asked, nodding at the German.

Like many forces men, the corporal wasn’t totally sure where he stood. He could see the wings on her suit which were not unlike Royal Air Force ones—you’d have to know what you were looking for to tell the difference from any distance. He decided to play safe and threw her a pretty good salute. “Pretty busy, ma’am. Just picked this bugger up.”

“Spitfire…pilot?”

Turning her head a little so only the airman could see the right side of her face, Mary gave him a quick wink, then nodded at the German and said, “That’s right, Fritz.” She mimed machine guns, together with a “Dacka-dacka” noise. “Busy day.” She finished by pointing up in the sky and then at the German airman.

As his prisoner promptly went white with shock, the airman caught on to what Mary was doing and added, “Many female fighter pilots”—and the German went even paler.

“That’s enough of that.”

Unseen by either of them, the corporal’s sergeant had appeared behind them and, judging by the way he was struggling to keep a straight face, had heard every word.

“March our guest over to the guardroom, Ballcock, and lock him up.”

The sergeant waited until the two, with much glancing back and scratching of his head on the part of the German, were out of earshot before turning his attention to Mary. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

Mary watched his right arm twitch, as if he was also unsure whether to salute or not, before quickly telling him, “Third Officer Mary Whitworth-Baines, Air Transport Auxiliary,” and holding out her hand.

Shaking both it and his head, the sergeant replied, “Barry Nicols. Mind telling me what all that was about?” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Mary mulled over her answer for a few seconds before saying, “Call it a little psychological warfare.” At his still bemused expression, Mary elaborated, “When he gets to a POW camp, he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He’ll have half of them wondering if they were shot down by a woman. Can you imagine how that’ll affect the superior Nazi mind?”

She’d no sooner finished than Sergeant Nicols burst out laughing. “You cheeky bugger!” he told her. “I’ll have to tell the bods who come to take him off our hands, make sure they use that to get some good intelligence out of him.”

Pleased to see he’d seen the funny side, Mary relaxed a little.

The sergeant noticed the refueling operation going on. “I won’t ask where you’re off to, but do you have time for a cup of tea?”

Mary glanced both at her watch and then at the work going on behind her before turning back to the now friendly sergeant. “There’s always time for a tea. Could you point me in the direction of the nearest toilet first, though?”

Smiling, Nicols offered her his arm. “Follow me.”

****

Once again, though this time on her own, Mary settled into the back seat of the car which had picked her up from Turnhouse and squirmed around, willing some feeling to come back to her bottom. At least she wasn’t frozen like she would be if she’d had to take a Magister as originally planned. Luckily, Jane had conjured out of nowhere the delivery of a Spitfire up to Scotland. One thing about the Spitfire—and most aircraft, if she thought about it—were the uncomfortable pilot’s seats, which she’d never get used to. True, the last thing you need is to be so comfortable you’ll fall asleep. Crashes tended to happen that way, but would it really be asking too much for someone to create something which met the two extremes half way?

The next thing she knew, the car was pulling up to the manor. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Mary looked at her watch. Two-ish in the afternoon. Not bad. Mind you, she was very aware she wouldn’t be able to stay long, not if she was going to catch a train back home and still get any sleep that night.

Her door being opened snapped her back to the world. Hastily grabbing her bags and acutely aware she was still in her flying suit, Mary heaved herself out of the car, accepting the hand the driver gave her. “Thanks. Do you mind my asking? Will I be able to get a lift back to the train station?”

Before answering, the driver rummaged around in his top pocket, pulling out a note pad. Flipping it over, he came to a stop and read out, “I’m to be available to drive you into Aberdeen as soon as you’re ready. That’s what it says here, miss.”

Suspecting she knew the answer, nevertheless Mary asked, “Who do your orders come from?”

“From my CO,” he replied and, as Mary went past him, added, “though he did mutter something about cursing the day he met someone called Jane Howell. Does that name mean anything to you, miss?”

Stopping, Mary quickly decided she didn’t want to know. Perhaps she and Doris were onto something after all? “Sorry, never heard of her. Meet me back here in an hour, please,” she told him, before going up the steps and into the reception hall.

With only thoughts of seeing what had really happened to her room in the forefront of her mind, Mary was halfway up the stairs before she heard the voice of Captain Wood calling her name.

“Second Officer Baines! Is that you?”

Mary turned and waited until the army officer had reached the step below her. “It’s Whitworth-Baines, to be exact. Good to see you, Captain Wood.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked without preamble, staring up at her.

She couldn’t help it. Something about this man set her senses on edge. It wasn’t that he was particularly bad-looking—more ordinary, if anything. He had something to hide! The thought struck her out of nowhere and took her breath away. Exactly where or why it had come, she couldn’t think. Maybe because she’d been hanging around her fellow mystery girls for what seemed like an age, she didn’t dismiss the thought out of hand.

However, all this didn’t mean she had any reason to be rude to him. Surmising, quite correctly as it turned out, that she should have seen him as soon as she came in, she put on a small smile. “Sorry about that, Captain. I suppose I should have…what, signed in first?”

This small sentence seemed to placate the man, and with a sweeping gesture, he motioned her to follow him back to his office. Once she’d signed in, he asked, “Would you be, if you brought anything, of course, more comfortable if you changed?”

Mary looked down at her rather disheveled state and shrugged. “That’d be a good idea.”

“In that case,” he said, getting to his feet, “I’ll go out of my office, and you can get changed. Don’t worry, I’ll stand guard outside.” Matching words to actions, he left the office, pulling the door shut behind him.

As Mary was pulling on her ATA jacket, she heard him say through the door, “Can I ask what brings you back up? I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I had a telephone call from a Lieutenant Oxford. He told me my old room had been ransacked, that someone had tried to set fire to it.”

Only silence came from the other side of the door, and when still she heard nothing by the time she’d finished dressing, Mary flung the door open to find the man had gone.

“That’s very rude,” she muttered to herself, before shouldering her bag and making for the stairs once more.

As if she were once more a child, on her way to the one place in the building she’d felt safe in, she allowed her feet to take her up the stairs and through doors, until she stood before her bedroom door. Reaching out, she turned the handle, and her eyebrows rose in surprise to find it unlocked. Frowning, she took the key out of her pocket, pulled the door closed and tried the key. It gave her no problems, it locked, and the door wouldn’t open until she unlocked it. With nothing else for it at that moment, she pushed the door open and went in.

Looking around, her eyes were immediately drawn to some scorch marks under one of the window panes. Well, if that was all the damage the supposed fire had done, she could live with it. Then she looked around more closely and found there were the same marks under each window. Why would someone try to set light to the windows? Surely there were easier things, much more inflammable things, which they could have chosen. Her eyes were drawn to her collection. Any of her teddy bears, for example. Or her books? Mary narrowed her eyes and scrutinized the shelves. Moving closer, she did another count, though it made no difference. Not only her favorite but another was also missing.

Pausing, she listened. At first all she could hear were the sounds of the hospital at work downstairs, nothing out of the unexpected. Closing her eyes, she turned slowly around on the spot, reaching out with her arms. That same feeling which had come to her before, just as Wood interrupted them, was back, and stronger than before. Something about her room felt…wrong, and it wasn’t the minor fires, either.

Opening her eyes, she took in a deep breath. The closing eyes bit hadn’t helped, not that she had any idea why she thought it would. From what she could see, if someone had ransacked the room, she couldn’t see any sign of it now. Perhaps some of the books, toys and teddies were in the wrong place, but she could put those back easily enough. As her eyes passed the back wall, she stopped and canted her head to the side. Not really knowing why, she walked toward it, her fist raised, but before she could knock, the door opened.

Without looking, she asked, “Can I help you, Captain Wood?”

As she turned around, she saw she was right, and the man had stopped half in and half out of the room, his hand still on the door handle. “Sorry. I…I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

Mary shot him a quizzical look. “Strange thing to say, given what we talked about downstairs.”

The officer appeared nonplussed and still hadn’t let go of the door handle. “Yes. Sorry. Um, other things on my mind, you know. Is there anything I can do? To help?”

As he was there, Mary decided to ask, “I suppose you could tell me if you know who did this?” She went over to one of the windows, to make certain he could see what she was referring to. “Not to mention why. Plus, how come the door was unlocked? I’ve got the only key, but you obviously knew it was unlocked when you came in just now.”

When Wood didn’t say anything straight away, Mary decided she may as well go and investigate the wall, as she’d been about to before she’d been interrupted. Raising her fist, she brought it back and was about to hammer on the wall when there came a cry of, “No!”