War Orphans (31 page)

The sound of her stepmother's footsteps thudding down the stairs in smart court shoes counted down the seconds until the moment of reckoning.

Joanna turned round, her back pressed flat against the sink, her knees shaking.

Her stepmother had reapplied her makeup and changed her clothes. She was wearing a tight-fitting twinset in royal blue, a checked skirt and her black suede court shoes. Pearls glistened from her earlobes and around her neck. She looked a lot less cheap than usual, almost as though age was making her more refined.

All the same her eyes shone with cruel intent, her red lips set in a tight smile proclaiming she had considered Joanna's misdemeanour and intended inflicting her favourite punishment.

Her voice was low and threatening. ‘I'll teach you to make a fool of me, Joanna Ryan.'

The slap across her cheek stung, but Joanna knew worse was to come.

Grabbing Joanna's arm, Elspeth dragged her to the coalhouse. ‘It's into the darkness for you. In with the dirt, the dark and the spiders!'

Fingers viciously biting into Joanna's arm, her stepmother pulled open the door and threw her in. The iron bolt rattled as Joanna fell back onto the heaped coal.

‘And not a sound from you or I'll keep you in there all week!' Elspeth shouted from the other side of the door. ‘That'll teach you!' The hard voice broke into raucous laughter. ‘I bet you hate the dark. I hated it too but it did teach me to do as I was told. And you will do as you are told, Miss Joanna Elizabeth Ryan. And if you don't you'll spend more time in there because quite frankly, my dear, I prefer you out of my sight. Out of sight, out of mind, and out of my bloody way!'

Surrounded by darkness, Joanna raised herself onto her elbows. It was the first time her stepmother had mentioned anything about enduring the same punishment when she was young. What Joanna couldn't understand was if she'd been so cruelly treated herself, why inflict the same on others?

The darkness was total, just like the mines deep in the earth where the coal came from. Head resting on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs and closed her eyes.

Normally she would be counting by now, on and on until she was finally released from her prison. This time she couldn't concentrate. All she could think of was Harry and whether he was already dead.

Exactly one hour after her stepmother collected Joanna, Seb Hadley stepped over the threshold of the police station.

The news that Joanna and Harry had been found came to him via Joanna's friends Paul and Susan. They had told Sally after she'd found them chattering excitedly together after school.

‘They've found Joanna,' they'd chimed excitedly, admiration for Joanna's adventure shining in their faces.

On arriving home, Sally had immediately told her father, who was busily washing vegetables he'd brought from the allotment. He was so taken by surprise that the parsnip he'd been scraping fell back into the water.

‘I take it Mrs Ryan has fetched her home,' he said, his mouth set in a tight line.

Sally sighed. ‘I suppose so.'

Her father reached for the hand towel, wiped his hands and reached for his coat. ‘Where are you going?'

‘I'm betting that bloody woman has left orders for the dog to be put down,' he said. ‘Are you coming?'

Sally flung her briefcase into a chair, kept her coat on and swung out behind him.

November had brought its usual fog, not helped by the smoke billowing from thousands of coal fires, factory chimneys and steam driven locomotives and other machinery. They headed for the local police station hoping against hope that they would be on time. Both Sally and her father were under no illusion about what Mrs Ryan might have done. The woman seemed to enjoy maltreating the child physically and mentally.

Deranged, thought Sally, and shivered at the kind of life the little girl had endured.

There were lots of other children who lived with poverty and a certain amount of neglect and abuse, but Joanna's case was the worst she'd come across.

A dark-coloured van stood at the kerb outside with no driver in it.

The pair of them pushed past it without giving it a second glance, racing up the steps, hoping and wishing that they'd arrived in time.

PC Crow, the police constable who had interviewed Mrs Ryan and overseen the handing over of Joanna, was just going off duty when they arrived.

Seb rushed up to the arched aperture behind which sat the duty sergeant. PC Crow stood just behind him, buttoning his mud-coloured trench coat in preparation for going home.

Seb being breathless, Sally outlined the reason they were there. ‘It's about the dog the child Joanna Ryan was with. We wondered what was going to happen to it.'

The sergeant smiled at the pretty face looking through the aperture, noting her breathlessness and the concern pinching her brow.

‘Name?'

‘Her name was Joanna Ryan. The dog's name was Harry.'

‘Ah yes. I know the case.' The sergeant shook his head. ‘The owner instructed the dog be put down and the deed is about to be done.'

Seb blanched. ‘Done? What do you mean?'

Sally felt as though somebody had landed a punch in her chest.

The desk sergeant looked a little embarrassed. He couldn't help get the feeling that something here was not quite right. Besides that, he didn't relish the thought of telling this lovely young lady that the dog concerned was about to receive a bullet to his head.

Seb immediately put two and two together. ‘Somebody from that van outside?'

They'd all heard of the van that came round collecting pets for disposal. The one outside matched the descriptions passed from one neighbour to another.

‘Yes. Mr Wheeler. He's just gone to the men's room before—'

Seb slammed his fist down on the counter. ‘You cannot do this!'

The desk sergeant winced, grateful it was the counter being hit and not him. ‘I'm afraid we can, sir,' he responded, his manner now stiffly official. ‘It's up to the owner, sir.'

‘It's my dog!' Seb's voice rang around the dull little room that served as the public reception area for the police station. ‘That woman's nothing to do with him!'

‘Sir! That cannot be!' Exasperated at what he perceived was a lie, the sergeant threw down the stubby pencil he used to write down details in his big thick incident book.

‘Excuse me.' PC Crow stopped buttoning up his trench coat, took off his trilby and stepped forward. ‘You say it's your dog?'

Seb nodded. ‘Yes. It is my dog. He lives in my shed down the allotment. I feed and water him. It was young Joanna Ryan's job to take him for a walk. Harry, the dog, helps me keep the rabbits down. As for her stepmother, well, she never even met the animal let alone lived with it!'

PC Crow's first impression of Mrs Ryan was that she was supremely selfish and a liar. She had seemed surprised when the dog was mentioned. In his opinion that meant the gentleman who had just arrived was telling the truth.

‘I'll need your names,' declared the sergeant.

Names and addresses were taken, Seb and Sally fidgeting all the while, worrying if they were in time to rescue Harry who was definitely more than man's best friend. He was best friend to a lonely little girl who had nobody else in all the world.

Concerned that justice would be done, PC Crow patted the sergeant's shoulder. ‘Fred, I'll deal with this if you like.' He
turned to Seb. ‘Let's go and have a word with Mr Wheeler, shall we?'

He turned and left through a door in the small general office. He was halfway through when they all heard the crack of a pistol.

Seb leapt for the door marked private on their side of the general office cubbyhole. After a moment, Sally followed him.

‘Oi!' shouted the sergeant as they disappeared into the restricted area.

Seb had fought in the Great War and knew what a pistol shot smelled like. It was just a case of following his nose. The prickling sensation of the familiar smell filled him with fear and he prayed they were not too late.

They almost collided with PC Crow, who beckoned them on. Through one door then another and they were out in the backyard, a place walled in on all sides, screened from the outside world.

A man in a dark coat and hat stood in the middle of the yard. He was muttering something under his breath while fiddling with the pistol he held in his left hand.

Seb's gaze darted to Harry. He was muzzled, his front legs tied with rope to a drainpipe, his back legs to a railing. The poor creature saw him and whined recognition.

‘What's up here then?' PC Crow asked.

George Wheeler, his surly look directed at his pistol looked less than pleased.

Seb ran over to where Harry was tied, relieved not to find him lying flat out with a bullet in his head.

‘Harry! Harry, my boy. What are you trussed up like this for? For God's sake . . .'

The moment he took off the muzzle, Harry's whine turned into excited barks as Seb began to untie him.

PC Peter Crow frowned at the man with the gun. ‘What's been going on? I heard a gunshot.'

Small eyes shaded by the broad rim of a trilby hat settled on Sally before the thin-lipped man faced the policeman.

‘Bloody dog leapt at me and I misfired. Had to tie him up after that. I couldn't waste a second missed shot. Every bullet has to be accounted for. Now I've got to report to headquarters that I used two bullets. It won't go down too well at all, that won't. Not too well at all. Still, it's a job that has to be done. Now if everybody will just get out of my way . . .'

‘Over my dead body!'

Seb stood between the shooter and Harry, the dog's lead clenched tightly in his fist, the timbre of his voice loud enough to shake the windows.

PC Crow placed a restraining hand over that of the gunman.

‘I think you're finished here, Wheeler. There's been a mistake. It turns out the woman who gave the order for it to be put down had no claim on the dog. He belongs to this gentleman.'

The man named George Wheeler looked very put out as he lowered the gun. ‘Are you saying I've wasted my precious time coming here?'

‘That's about the size of it.'

‘And what about my fee? The authorities won't be best pleased you know.'

‘George, it's Sunday. A day of rest. Now unload that gun before somebody gets hurt and get home. Give us all a bit of rest!'

Sally smiled to herself as she walked alongside her father, who was strutting triumphantly on the walk home. Harry walked in a similar manner at his side, his nose in the air and his stumpy tail wagging.

Walking into the warmth of their kitchen helped dissipate the awful feelings she'd had that they might not have got to Harry in time. They had, and both she and her father were greatly relieved.

The smell of brisket and potatoes roasting in the oven enveloped them.

Sally sighed. ‘It's so good to be home.'

Before taking off her coat she made up for lost time by putting the greens on to boil.

Harry licked his lips in anticipation of what was in the oven. After a few exploratory sniffs around the furniture, Harry chose the spot he preferred, lying stretched out in front of the fire.

‘For you,' Sally said, as she placed the dog's dish in front of Harry's nose.

‘I thought you had to save that fat for baking?' said her father, on noticing the plateful of fat, gristle and bone she'd given to Harry.

‘Your teeth wouldn't get through gristle, Dad, and you dislike soup, so making stock from the bone is not an issue. Anyway, Harry was hungry.'

She paused, unable to think of a believable reason for giving Harry the gravy. ‘He deserves a treat. He's been through a lot,' she said at last.

Sally made herself comfortable in the armchair her mother used to sit in on the left-hand side of the fireplace. Her father was sitting in the one opposite. When she looked at him she noticed that he too was staring into the fire.

‘You're worried about Joanna.'

He nodded, his unlit pipe twirling between his fingers.

‘When Joanna told me about being locked in the coalhouse, I had a great urge to go round there and give that stepmother of hers a good talking to. But Joanna is not my child. I shouldn't interfere.'

He glanced at his daughter, as lovely as her mother and just as patient. She'd been supportive all the time he'd grieved for his darling Grace.

He waited a moment before asking the question that was on his mind. ‘Should I interfere?'

Sally leaned forward, her chin resting on her hands. ‘Perhaps after you told me how she was treated I should have contacted the children's welfare officer. Perhaps I was wrong not to.'

‘There was Harry to consider – or rather her feelings for Harry. She'd have been heartbroken being parted from that dog. At least she had some respite from her home life down in my shed with her dog. You ought to have seen her running along the embankment with him! So happy. Poor little thing.'

‘Her stepmother will insist on her being evacuated as soon as possible. This time she'll be locked in before being sent away. I dare say she might enjoy being evacuated when compared with living with her stepmother.'

‘It's her being separated from the dog that concerns me. The child's mental state is so fragile. Some kids clam up altogether after going through all that she's been through.'

Elspeth Ryan made faces in the mirror that hung over the fireplace. Her lipstick needed retouching. If she had had the money she would have bought a better brand.

Her grimace turned to a smile. Well, the time was coming when she would have more money. Arnold wasn't short of a bob or two. Just the thought of it made her smile at her reflection.

There was something about the way he knocked at the door that was different to anyone else's knock. First two hesitant, then three separate knocks one after the other.