Sixty Days to Live (21 page)

Rounding the corner of the grounds he proceeded south, down Grosvenor Place, which formed the longest side of the triangle. A shabby woman shambled past him, then the broad pavement stretched away empty as far as he could see, except for two small figures in the far distance.

As he walked on he saw that they were two policemen who were advancing towards him. A long line of lorries, coming up from the direction of Victoria, rumbled past just as he came level with the officers. They took no notice of him and he covered another hundred yards which brought him about half-way down the western base of the triangle with the Palace almost opposite to him at its apex.

Pausing, he looked round and saw that the policemen were walking slowly on. He guessed that when they reached Hyde Park Corner they would turn and come south again; so he had no time to lose. The road was now empty of traffic and he could not see any casual pedestrians on its far side. The street lamps were burning only at half-pressure and every twenty yards the trees growing out of the pavement, being in full leaf threw a good patch of shadow.

Halting beneath one of them, he rapidly unwound his length of clothes-line, with the wooden struts knotted across it, from beneath his coat. At one end he formed a loop; then he ran softly forward to the wall.

If it had been designed for the special purpose of helping unauthorised persons to get over it easily it could not have been better planned. True, it was some twelve feet in height but, instead of having broken-glass on its top, it had a long, iron rail running a foot above it from which spikes protruded in all directions. Originally, perhaps, the spikes had been intended to revolve so that no weight could be attached to them, but many years of rust and coats of paint had now made them immovable.

At the second cast the loop at the end of Hemmingway’s line caught over one of the strong, iron spikes. Blessing himself for his forethought in having brought this rough scaling ladder he grabbed at the pieces of firewood nearest above his head and swarmed up to it.

Just as he gained the top of the wall and was negotiating the iron rail to which the spikes were attached the policemen reached the end of their beat, turned, and saw him.

‘Hi, there!’ they shouted in unison. The shrill blast of whistles shattered the silence of the night and they both began to run; but Hemmingway, now perched on the iron rail, unhurriedly drew up his rope-ladder.

Panting and flushed, the policemen arrived below him. ‘Come down off there,’ bellowed one.

Hemmingway laughed in gentle mockery.

‘Come up and get me,’ he replied, knowing perfectly well that he had them on toast. They could not reach him except by one of them clambering on the other’s shoulder and, if they attempted that, he could slip down on the far side of the wall; while, as there was no gate into the garden for at least five hundred yards in either direction, by the time they got inside he could easily have lost himself among the trees.

‘Come down at once!’ shouted one of the policemen angrily.

Hemmingway shook his head. ‘Please don’t excite yourselves. I’ve no intention of trying to assassinate the King or rob the Palace. I’m just looking for a young woman who’s been brought into the encampment. I think, for your own sakes, your wisest plan would be not even to report that you’ve seen me.’

Having let his rope down on the garden side of the wall, he waved the police a cheerful good night and lowered himself to the ground. A flick of the wrist detached the rope from the spike by which it hung and he re-coiled it round his body in case it might come in useful again later on. He then buttoned his double-breasted jacket about him and set off at a brisk pace through the night-enshrouded garden.

On the west side of the grounds there were many trees, so he had to flash his torch here and there to see where he was going, but he found a path and soon afterwards came upon two of the women prisoners.

They were lying side by side under a tree, each wrapped up in
a blanket and with their heads upon small, hard pillows such as those which are issued to troops in barracks.

A beam of the torch showed that neither of them was Lavina, so Hemmingway passed on; encountering more and more of these sleeping figures as he advanced.

Here and there couples or groups, still wakeful, sat talking together in low voices and, as his torch picked them out, a few of them called to him; asking the time or just cursing him for flashing his light in their eyes. But, assuming that he was one of the detectives in charge of them, they took no further notice when he did not reply.

Owing to the darkness it was impossible for him to estimate how many women were being kept captive behind the high walls of the huge, rambling garden which covered an area as big as St. James’s Park; but the farther he penetrated, the more numerous the women became. As he flashed his light from side to side on each group in turn his progress was slow, but he gradually made his way round the north side of the lake and came out on to the open slope which runs down to it from the terrace at the back of the Palace. Many of the windows at the back of the Palace were still lit and the light they gave was sufficient to disclose a sight that made his heart sink with dismay. The whole great lawn was covered for as far as he could see with figures rolled in blankets.

In the distance, towards its southern end, he saw that there was considerable movement and, picking his way forward among the sleeping forms, he advanced up the slope; still flashing his torch from side to side in the hope of spotting Lavina as he went.

He found that the movement was concentrated round two large marquees where tea and food were being served to any of the women who wanted it in the groups that were being quietly rounded-up for evacuation by a number of Tommies.

Batches of about a hundred prisoners were being roused at a time, passed through the marquees and thence into the southeastern courtyard of the Palace where Hemmingway could just discern some vans.

No one took any notice of him as, in the constantly shifting throng, there were a number of plain-clothes men among the uniformed police, troops and herds of women. Pocketing his torch, he slipped inside one of the marquees, knowing that the
light in it would enable him to see more women at one time than he could by flashing his torch about on the people outside.

Behind a long trestle-table a number of well-dressed but tired-looking women were handing out cups of tea, bread and butter and buns to the dejected-looking captives before them. Some of them were bandaged for wounds they had received; the faces of others were tear-stained and drawn with anxiety. All of them were dirty and dishevelled.

In vain Hemmingway searched for Lavina’s golden head. She was not among them. Leaving that marquee, he crossed the intervening space and entered the other. The scene was the same; a low murmur of voices, tear-stained and dejected faces. But Lavina was not there either.

It was just as he was going out that the face of one of the ladies behind a tea-urn struck him as familiar, and a second later he realised that it was the Queen. Of course, he thought, since she and the King are remaining in London, she would be here. How tired she’s looking, but how splendid.

As he left the tent the batch of captives in it were quietly moved on towards the courtyard. He turned in the other direction and began to flash his torch again among the new groups of women who were being roused for their journey. Nobody questioned him, as many of the officers and police were also using flash-lamps. Now and again his light flickered on golden hair, raising his hopes only to disappoint him, as haggard face after haggard face came for a second into the torch’s beam.

He had realised from the beginning that it was useless to ask if anyone had seen her. The only thing he could say was that he was searching for Lady Curry, a slim, good-looking girl of twenty-three, with golden hair and aquiline features. To inquire for her as Lavina Leigh would have been little better as, after her thirty hours as a prisoner, she could hardly now be recognisable as the beautifully-groomed film star.

Again and again Hemmingway ran his eye over fresh batches of women as they were brought into the marquees. In between whiles he returned to the crowded lawn or penetrated as far as the courtyard where the women were being shepherded into the vans. Hundreds of the prisoners had been removed during the time he had been searching, yet only the eastern end of the lawn showed signs that the evacuation was making any progress.
Glancing at his watch, he realised that he had been in the grounds for three hours already and it would take hours yet before the whole great garden could be cleared of the thousands of prisoners.

His main hope now was that Lavina might be sleeping in a far part of the garden so that daylight would have come before she was collected into one of the batches. He knew that in the semi-darkness by the marquees he must be missing scores of women as they were led away, however frantically he looked to right and left; whereas, once dawn came, he would be able to scan each batch as it was shepherded into the courtyard. Tired and disspirited by this constant searching, which necessitated his turning his head first one way and then another without intermission, he began to fear that his task was completely hopeless.

At a quarter past four he visited the courtyard again. Another line of closed vans had been drawn up. The women were being helped into them by the soldiers and as each van was filled its door was locked behind them so that they could not jump out when the vans had left the Palace yard.

Suddenly, as the last van in the line of six was being loaded, he caught sight of a slim, golden-haired girl being helped up into it. Although he only glimpsed her for a moment, he felt certain it was Lavina and, all his depression gone in a second, he rushed forward. As he reached the van the last woman scrambled into it; a Guardsman slammed-to the door, an Officer locked it and handed the key to a Sergeant.

‘Stop!’ panted Hemmingway. ‘Lady Curry’s in that van. I’ve been searching for her all night.’

The Officer gave him a surprised glance. ‘Who’re you? What are you doing here?’ he asked quickly.

‘I’ve just told you. I’ve been searching for Lady Curry and I’ve only just spotted her. Please unlock that door again.’

‘Sorry.’ The Officer shook his head and signed to the Sergeant, who saluted and turned away. ‘It’s too late now. My orders are to get these women out of here with the least possible delay.’

‘But please,’ Hemmingway pleaded, as the right-hand van in the line began to move. ‘It won’t take you a minute to get the key back and unlock that door. She’s ill from shock and I’ve got to get her down to the country.’

‘Sorry,’ the Officer repeated. ‘I couldn’t release her, in any case, without an order.’

‘Then at least let me speak to her.’

The second and third vans were now moving towards the outer courtyard. The fourth was just about to follow.

‘No time now,’ the Officer said firmly. ‘You can see for yourself the convoy’s moving off.’

‘Then, for God’s sake, let me go with her.’

As Hemmingway spoke the fifth van ran forward and the sixth followed. The Officer shrugged helplessly but, now he had sighted it, Hemmingway was determined not to lose his quarry. Darting past the Officer, he raced the moving van and leapt up on to the box beside the driver.

‘What the hell?’ exclaimed the soldier as Hemmingway subsided, panting, beside him.

‘It’s all right,’ he gasped. ‘A friend of mine’s inside your van. There was no time to get her out so the Officer said I could come along with you.’

‘Oh, in that case—’ the driver shrugged. ‘Got a cigarette on you?’

Hemmingway produced his case and, as his van followed the convoy out of the front courtyard of the Palace into the Mall, the man took one.

From Trafalgar Square they turned into Northumberland Avenue and headed for the Embankment. As they ran smoothly through the almost deserted streets Hemmingway was considering his next move. Everybody seemed to have a definite order that none of the prisoners were to be released without a written sanction. If he waited until the van got to its destination the probability was that another Officer there would refuse Lavina her freedom. Was it possible to bribe the driver to halt the van on the way down and get her out before they arrived at the place they were bound for?’

‘D’you want to earn a fiver?’ he asked the man quietly.

‘Does a monkey like his nuts?’ replied the driver, with a grin.

‘Then, it’s easy money for you,’ Hemmingway went on. ‘My girl-friend is inside and yours is the last van in the convoy. Pull up when they turn the corner under the Bridge into Queen Victoria Street as though you’d had engine trouble. Unlock the van so that I can get my girl out, and the fiver’s yours with my eternal blessing.’

‘No go, Guv’nor,’ said the soldier regretfully. ‘I don’t suppose
they’d miss her. What’s one piece of skirt in all these truck-loads? And I’d be happy to oblige you, but I haven’t got the key.’

‘Who has, then?’

‘The Sergeant, who’s riding on the leading van.’

‘Well,’ said Hemmingway, thinking of the steel case opener under his coat, which was digging into his ribs now that he was sitting down, ‘I shouldn’t imagine the lock’s very strong. We could break it open.’

‘Maybe we could, but we’re not going to. Think I’m going to be crimed for busting His Majesty’s property and helping prisoners to escape? Not likely!’

‘I’ll make it a tenner,’ Hemmingway offered.

The driver shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate, but it can’t be done; not if you made it fifty. In ordinary times I might have chanced it for ten or twenty quid—staged a little plot about you knocking me out or something—but in these days it just isn’t worth it. They court-martial people for as little as blinkin’ an eyelid; though, mind you, with all the trouble they’re having and no sleep or anything, I don’t blame ’em. But I’m not taking any chances of being pooped in a cell because I want to be free to run for it when the old comet arrives.’

Where he proposed to run to he did not specify, but, seeing that further attempts to bribe him were quite useless, Hemmingway had to contain his impatience as well as he could for the rest of the journey.