Chapter Thirty-Five

“Are you running off again, Alsop?” Doris shouted after Penny as her friend ran past the guardroom at the end of Saturday’s shift.

“Can’t stop! Got to get ready for my date!” she yelled back over her shoulder.

“Date?” Doris asked Betty as they waved to the guard as they left the station.

“Tom’s coming over, and he’s taking her for a walk around Lyndhurst and then a drink,” Betty supplied.

“Aww,” Mary said, “I’m so pleased they’re getting back together.”

Betty nodded with a smile. “Very true. It’s a while since I’ve seen her so happy.”

They were halfway toward the bend in the road which would take them toward home when they heard a shout from behind them. “Watch out!” Jane was running their way and waving her arms like a madwoman.

Looking around, nobody could see anything they should be worried about until Doris let out a cry of, “Duck!” whereupon everyone else turned their eyes upon the American and followed where she was looking. A loud and angry-sounding “Quack!” assaulted their ears, and amid a flurry of flapping wings and foaming water, everyone’s feathery nemesis launched itself out of the river and flew into Doris’s arms.

Only when they were certain Duck was securely locked in place did her friends creep back, though everyone kept a good few paces between themselves and the pair, just in case.

At last, Jane felt brave enough to walk next to Doris whilst everyone else contented themselves with trailing a few paces in their wake. “That’s a new trick. When did Duck learn that?”

Doris shrugged her shoulders as she continued to stroke Duck’s head, whilst Duck contentedly quacked in happiness. “Don’t ask me. He just flew into my arms one evening, and he’s been doing it ever since.”

“Do you think he’d be interested in guarding the cottage?” Mary asked. “Perhaps Terry could use him as a kind of guard duck.”

“Why’ve the tips of your ears gone red?” Penny asked, and when Doris brushed her fingers over said ears, Penny assured her, “Well, they have.”

After Doris didn’t answer after a few minutes, Mary clicked her fingers. “I’ve got it! You’ve already asked, haven’t you?”

Jane turned her head. “I heard her and warned Terry against trying. For a second, after she’d told him about Duck, I thought he was seriously considering her suggestion, so I felt I had to jump in and tell him what a bad idea that would be.”

“Honestly!” Doris shook her head, whilst everyone else rolled their eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. “If you lot would only try and make friends with Duck, I’m sure he wouldn’t attack…or not so much, anyway.”

“Whose turn is it?” Betty asked.

Penny put up her hand. “Mine! Doris, that’s never going to happen. You know Duck hates us, and we’re not very keen on him either.”

Doris covered the duck’s ears with a hand. “Don’t listen to them, sweety!”

Unseen by the girls, Ruth, Walter, and Bobby were waiting for the group at the turn.

“Is Doris trying to convince you lot to be friends with Duck again?” Walter asked, when they were spotted. Walking tentatively up to his fiancée, he leant in to kiss her on the cheek and had to hastily jump back when Duck made a lunge for his nose. Things didn’t go better for him when he tried to hold her hand. Visibly exasperated, he settled for standing by her side just out of range of Duck.

Jane put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder before leaning down and gently patting Bobby on the back. “How’s the wounded warrior?”

Ruth smiled down at Bobby, who was now enjoying everyone making a fuss of him. “As you can see, he’s been trying to scratch his stitches, so I’ve had to tie a bandage around him. I know it makes him look a little silly…”

“Nonsense,” Jane objected, standing straight again. “I think it makes him look the part of the wounded warrior! I’ll tell you this—if he came onto station looking like that, he’d get fed so many tidbits he’d need to go on another diet!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ruth objected. “I’ve only just got him back to a decent weight, and that’s during a blinking war.”

“Steady, steady!”

“Doris? Have you got that thing under control?” Mary asked, backing off as Doris did a little duck juggling.

Said fowl was presently struggling against Doris’s grip, managing to get one wing free, which was currently flicking around her left ear. “Oww! Yes, all under control here.”

Mary edged past Doris, who did her best not to get in everyone else’s way by moving toward the river. Once her friends were safely out of range, she thrust her hands into the air, whereupon Duck took flight in a flurry of aquatic protests before alighting on the water, fluffing up his breast, and paddling away.

“I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Doris mused, watching her feathered friend disappear from sight.

Honestly puzzled, Penny had to ask. Her eyes too had followed Duck until he’d disappeared. “How can you tell?”

****

“Take one duck…” Betty pretended to read from the newspaper cutting.

“Say that again?” Doris asked, sticking her head around the door to the kitchen. “Did I hear you right?”

Betty looked up. “You did,” and went back to her reading.

“When you said you were going to make something special for tea tonight…” Doris said, craning her neck to look over Betty’s shoulder. The landlady moved the mixing bowl over the recipe.

Doris had gone a little white. “But…duck?”

In the middle of tying an apron around her waist, Jane looked up. “We decided we could all do with something special, what with the wonderful time we’ve all been having lately.”

“And, let me get this straight, you both decided duck would be a good idea?”

“Mock duck,” Betty repeated, and as Doris had moved toward Jane, she moved the bowl. “Take one duck. First, wring its neck, then chop off the head and throw away, or give to your dog, if you have one.”

“No!” Doris yelled, spinning around wide-eyed before running out the front door without checking the coast was clear.

“I think we took it too far,” Betty said, as she took to her heels and darted out the front door, closely followed by Jane.

“What the hell?” Mary declared, sticking her head out of the lounge as Jane sped by. In no time she also was taking after her friends.

Appearing at the top of the stairs, Terry, who had heard and then witnessed the mass exodus, slapped his forehead and rushed down the stairs. “Bloody madhouse,” he muttered, pulling the door shut behind him. “Hey, you lot!” he shouted, though this proved unnecessary, as only Doris was the other side of the gate. Making his way to where Doris stood, her eyes dancing around and darting all over the place, he stood between her and the direction of the village and raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Have you lot forgot what we agreed? We’d agreed not to use the front door after dark, at least not without checking first. We certainly don’t all rush out without bothering to look!”

Everyone except Doris was now paying full attention to the words of the policeman. The American was now shouting, “Duck!” at the top of her voice.

Terry looked carefully around, satisfying himself nobody was around who shouldn’t be. Then, his face as stern as any of them had ever seen it, he said, “Ladies, do you know what I found after you lot went to work this morning? I took a look around and found where Bobby was hurt and also where the person who threw the stone likely stood. So now do you understand why I’m angry?” Everyone looked sufficiently contrite except for Doris, who was still shouting. Turning his full attention to the American once more, he shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Not looking at her friends, Doris wildly pointed behind at her friends. “Ask them! They’re going to cook Duck for tea!”

“Duck?” Terry appeared confused. “Just who’s Duck?”

Clearly struggling to keep a straight face, Mary supplied him the required information. “Duck’s her name for her psychotic duck.”

“Duck’s a…duck?” he asked, clearly not believing his ears.

“That’s right,” Mary agreed, “and he’s the most evil fowl fiend on the river.”

Terry glanced around the group of friends. “Is this for real?”

Finally, Doris paid attention. “He’s not evil. It’s just that I’m the only one he likes.”

“The rest of us he chases up trees,” Betty helpfully supplied.

Terry’s eyebrows shot up. “I think I’m with you, though I’m not certain I want to be. Okay, let’s assume that’s all true. Were you going to cook her duck?”

“Duck. His name is Duck,” Doris insisted, still looking extremely agitated.

“And it’s Mock Duck we’re making,” Betty said.

“Mock Duck?” Doris asked. “As in not real duck?”

“Exactly,” agreed Jane. “But you hared out before we could make you hear that part.”

These words got through to Doris as she slowly turned her head toward her friends, her eyes narrow and clearly as angry as any of them had ever seen. “Let me get this right. You’re not cooking duck? You’re not cooking Duck?”

Both Betty and Jane hung their heads as Betty answered for them both, “No. We…er…we were playing a joke…a nasty joke on you.”

“And we’re so very, very sorry,” added Jane, holding out her hands to Doris.

“We really are,” Betty said, looking close to tears. “Please, forgive us?”

Doris, though her eyes were still narrowed, at least softened her stance, though she did ask, “Is this because of how Duck behaves around you lot?”

Jane and Betty shared very contrite looks. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And were you in on this?” Doris asked of Mary, who vigorously shook her head. Accepting this, Doris said, “Well, I suppose it’s the kind of thing I’d do, and now I stop to think about it, I can’t believe you’d ever cause anything harm, at least not deliberately.”

“We wouldn’t!” Jane implored. She then repeated what Betty had said, “Please, forgive us?”

Doris crossed her arms. “No more open cockpit flights for a month?”

“Two weeks,” Jane offered.

“Three weeks, “Doris countered, then shook the hand Jane offered.

Terry opened his arms wide and did his best to herd the girls. “All very good. Now we’re all friends again, can we please get back inside?”

“What is Mock Duck, anyway?” Doris asked as she allowed Terry to show them back into the cottage.

“It’s mainly sausage meat, onions, and apples,” Betty supplied.

“So we could make a kind of topless pie instead?” Doris suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jane agreed. “We’ve got some carrots left.”

“Great!” Doris clapped her hands together. “I’ll get us a couple of Guinnesses from out back, and then come and watch you two make me a delicious tea!”

****

“Bread and bloody gooseberry jam? Is that all? This is what you’ve served me for tea for the last three nights!” Verdon spat out at Croft. “When I sit down to tea, I expect something much better.”

Counting to ten in his head, Croft looked up, already halfway through his first sandwich. “You’re the one who told me to turn the gas off. If you want something hot, turn it back on.”

Croft finished his sandwich whilst he watched Verdon hold an internal argument. He knew exactly what he was thinking, the man was such a miser, he was too cheap to put a coin in the meter so he could have a hot meal. As for himself, he’d some cash he could spare, but he wasn’t going to put himself out in any way for Verdon now. Having to wash the mud-ridden clothes the man had come back in that morning had been the straw to break the camel’s back. Whilst Croft scrubbed away, the odious Verdon had boasted how he’d been able to sneak up, in daylight, no less, and listen at the kitchen window of the Betty woman’s cottage. It had been so easy, he’d boasted, wondering aloud all the while why Croft had refused to perform any work against them in daylight. Croft hadn’t bothered to say he’d got lucky, as the man was so arrogant he wouldn’t have believed him.

When he asked if Verdon had learned anything which could get him his money, he received a reluctant shake of the head.

“Notes and tactics designed to frighten them don’t seem to be working.”

No kidding, Croft had thought, but not said out loud.

“I don’t think she’s even trying to get any money together, you know,” Verdon rambled on, glancing over Croft’s shoulder and pointing out a spot of mud he’d missed. “I think more direct action will be required.”

Croft’s hands spasmed, tearing in half the shirt he was scrubbing.