The Haunting of Toby Jugg (28 page)

The money is the final settlement—exclusive of pension—on my being invalided out. Most of it was due to me months ago, but as I could not account for some of the items of flying-kit with which I had been issued, the usual generous procedure was followed. They hung on to the whole lot, while numerous dreary little men made quite certain that the total could not be further reduced by docking me for some other article of war-equipment graciously lent to me by the nation as an aid to fighting our enemies.

However, in this case, praises be for the dilatoriness of those chairborne warriors whose lot is cast among ledgers. If the bulk of this cash had been paid to me last March it would long since have joined the rest of my private money in the bank, where I can’t get at it without Helmuth knowing; whereas it has now arrived like manna from Heaven, providing me with the means for an attempt to bribe Taffy.

It is still a toss-up whether he will be prepared to risk Helmuth’s wrath, but I think he will for close on £150. That is a lot to a young Welsh country bumpkin who, but for my arrival here, would still be doing odd jobs in the garden at about £2 a week. Besides, there is this laudable ambition of his to become an engineer, like his brother Davey in Cardiff. A wad like this would easily cover his fees at a technical school for the elementary course, which is all he is capable of mastering to begin with, and keep him while he is on it into the bargain.

The thing that I fear is most likely to put him off is the idea of taking a cheque—particularly one made out to someone else and crossed account payee. But I hope to get over that by also giving him a letter to my bank, instructing them to credit the cheque to my account and to pay the bearer out its value in cash. That would amount to giving him an open cheque in exchange for paying in the other, really; although he won’t realise it. Still, it should help to allay any apprehensions he may have that when he presents the cheque the cashier will think he has stolen it and send for the police.

Of course, if only I can get to London I’ll be able to see to it myself that he gets his money; but my bank being there presents another snag. Naturally, if he does his stuff and gets me out, his instinct would be to grab the cheque and make a bolt for Cardiff. But I can think of no way of enabling him to cash the cheque except by taking it to my London bank.

In one way that is an advantage, as although I could have myself put in the guard’s van in my wheel-chair and make the journey on my own, it would make everything much easier, particularly at the other end, if I had him with me. But it means that I’ll have the additional fence to cross of persuading him that, instead of disappearing into the blue, he must accompany me to London.

Lastly there is the question of our fares. As I have no ready he will have to ante-up for both of us. I don’t doubt that he has a bit tucked away somewhere, but it may be in the Post Office; and for me it is tonight or never. If it is there he will have no time to draw it out, and God forbid that he should attempt to borrow from the other servants. Still, if the worst comes to the worst we can use whatever cash he has on tickets to carry us part of the way, and I can offer my gold cigarette-case to the collector as security for later paying the surplus on the remainder of the journey.

Taffy always gets back in time to give me my bath, and there could be no better opportunity for tackling him. He can’t make any excuse to get away and leave me there, so he will have to listen to all I have to say. I shall offer him the full amount of the cheque in any case, as an assurance against failure and the loss of his job; and double the amount in addition, payable at the end of next month, in the event of his getting me safely to London.

To offer him more might make him suspicious that I mean to rat on him; but a round £500—and that’s what I’ll make it—won’t sound to him too high a price for the successor of his family’s feudal Lords to pay for freedom. On the other hand, he’ll know without telling that it is only once in a lifetime that a poor gardener’s son has the chance to earn such a sum for a single night’s work.

If he agrees, I mean to get him to come back as soon as Nurse Cardew has gone to her room, dress me, get me into my chair and wheel me along to the bathroom. It was the old flower-room, and was specially fitted up with a bath for me so that I wouldn’t have to be carried upstairs; but it has no window, only a blacked-out skylight, so I’ll be safe there from the Horror while the household is settling down for the night.

I daren’t leave my get-away later than midnight, in case Taffy should drop off to sleep; but by twelve o’clock everyone should be in bed, and he can come and get me.

On second thoughts, though, I think I’ll keep him with me; that will eliminate the risk of his giving the game away inadvertently to any of the other servants, or anyone thinking it strange if he is seen loitering about instead of going to bed.

That is certainly an improvement in my plan, as it means that
we won’t have to leave the house till it is a safe bet that everyone is sound asleep.

It is four miles to the station, but downhill most of the way; so, making due allowance for Taffy’s deformed foot, which has saved him from being called up, he ought to be able to push me that far in well under three hours. So if we leave at two o’clock we should reach the station by five, easily; and I doubt if the earliest train leaves much before six.

So that is what is cooking. I pray God that it comes to the boil.

Later

Taffy fell for it; and tonight’s the night. I fancy my grandfather must be turning in his grave, though, as the avaricious little bounder stuck out for £1,000 and a job in the Juggernaut factory, if he succeeds in getting me to London. But who cares! I would give him the Castle and make him the Lord of Llanferdrack just for getting me out of this room until tomorrow morning.

Tuesday, 2nd June

I am still here. I could not bring myself to write anything yesterday. I was too utterly depressed and mentally exhausted. My only remaining hope is that I may manage to hang out somehow till Uncle Paul arrives on Thursday.

On Sunday night everything went according to plan; but my luck was too good to last. Taffy came for me, dressed me, took me along to the bathroom, waited there with me for nearly three hours, then got me out of the house with no more noise than a first-class burglar would have made getting in. The moon was still up and for the first time in many weeks I was glad to see it, as it lit the way for us through the grounds and for the first mile or more down the road. We reached the station by a quarter to five, and had to wait outside it for three-quarters of an hour, as it was not open; but soon after 5.30 the staff of three made their appearance and began the day’s routine. Taffy is a bit suspicious of the Post Office, and he keeps his savings in an old cigarette tin
concealed somewhere in his room, so we were able to buy two tickets to London, and went on to the platform.

At 5.55 a milk train came through. Why, oh why, didn’t we take it? I must have been crazy not to. But everything was going so perfectly that it seemed much more sensible to wait for the 6.20, that does not dither round the loop line but goes direct to the junction.

We were the only people on the platform, and the whistling of the solitary porter was the only sound that broke the stillness of the post-dawn hour. Suddenly I caught the hum of a car engine driven all out. Next moment it roared up to the station entrance. There was a brief commotion and the noise of running footsteps, then Helmuth and Nurse Cardew shot out of the booking office and came dashing towards us.

At the sight of them I knew the game was up. The train was nearly due, but even if it had come in at that moment I could not have got Taffy to heave me into it. From fear of Helmuth, he had already taken to his heels.

All the same I meant to make a fight for it; and, anyway, it seemed a bit hard that his panic should cost him the compensation I had promised him for the loss of his job; so I shouted after him:

‘Come back, Taffy! Come back, you fool! Don’t go without your cheque!’

That halted him, and he came ambling back with a hang-dog look on his face, just as Helmuth and Nurse Cardew reached me.

She was in her nurse’s uniform but had evidently dressed in a hurry, as her fluffy brown hair was sticking out untidily from under her cap and she had odd stockings on her long legs. Probably it was knowing about that which made her young face so flushed and angry. Without a word she grasped the back-rail of my chair, and swivelling it round made to wheel me off the station. But I was too quick for her. Stretching out a hand, I grabbed the iron railing at the back of the platform and brought her up with a jerk.

‘Now, Toby!’ said Helmuth a bit breathlessly. ‘Please don’t make a scene. You’ve already given us an awful fright. Don’t add to our distress by making an exhibition of yourself.’

‘If there is any scene it will be your fault,’ I retorted. ‘I am
about to take the train to London; and you have no right to stop me.’

Although the platform had been empty a few minutes earlier, a little crowd began to gather with mysterious suddenness. The porter, two soldiers, a land-girl, a leading aircraftsman and a little group of children had all appeared from nowhere and were eyeing us with speculative interest.

‘You are in no fit state to travel,’ Helmuth said sharply.

Striving to keep as calm as I could, I denied that, and a wordy battle ensued in which both of us rapidly became more heated. We were still arguing when the train came clanking in.

The little crowd had increased to over a dozen people and it was now further swollen by others getting out of the train. Seeing it there actually in the station made me desperate. If I could have only covered those few yards and heaved myself into a carriage it meant safety, freedom and sanity; whereas to let Helmuth take me back to Llanferdrack threatened imprisonment, terror and madness. He caught the gleam in my eye and endeavoured to bring matters to a swift conclusion. Grabbing my wrist, he strove to break my grasp of the railing, while Nurse Cardew pushed on my chair from behind with all her weight.

‘Help! Help!’ I shouted to the crowd. ‘I want to get on the train to London, and these people have no right to stop me.’

An elderly Major, who had arrived on the train, stepped forward and said rather hesitantly to Helmuth: ‘Look here! This is none of my business, but I really don’t think you ought to use violence towards a cripple.’

Helmuth let go my wrist and turned to him; but I got in first, ‘I appeal to you, sir,’ I cried. ‘I am an ex-officer wounded in the war; but I am perfectly fit to travel, and these people are endeavouring to detain me against my will.’

‘That is only partially true!’ Helmuth said quickly. ‘This poor young man was shot down nearly a year ago. But the injury to his spine has affected his brain. I am a doctor and——’

‘A Doctor of Philosophy!’ I cut in, but he ignored the sneer and went on:

‘He is in my care, and escaped from Llanferdrack Castle last night. I assure you that he is not fit to travel, and that I am only
doing my duty in restraining him from doing so. It would be dangerous both for himself and others, as he is subject to fits of insanity.’

‘That’s a lie!’ I declared, and Taffy came unexpectedly to my assistance by adding:

‘Right you. The young gentleman’s as sane as myself, is it. And it is a good master he is, too.’

As the Major looked from one to another of us doubtfully, Helmuth brought up his reserves. With a gesture towards Nurse Cardew he said:

‘This lady is a professional nurse. Since you appear to doubt me, she will tell you that she has seen the patient in such a violent state that she had to threaten to have him put into a straitjacket.’

She confirmed his statement at once, and added: ‘Two nights ago he was screaming obscenities and attacked the Doctor.’

All these exchanges had taken place in less than a couple of minutes; but the train was overdue to leave, and the guard, who was standing on the fringe of the crowd, blew his whistle.

The Major gave me a pitying look and said: ‘I’m very sorry, but I really don’t think I can interfere.’ Then he saluted politely and turned away.

I thrust my hand in my pocket, pulled out the cheque and the letter for my bank manager, held them out to Taffy and cried: ‘Here you are! Quick, man! Jump on the train!’

As Taffy snatched them Helmuth grasped him by the arm and snapped: ‘Give that to me!’

I don’t know if he realised that it was a cheque or thought that it was a letter that I was trying to get off to somebody without his knowing its contents, but his act was the last straw that made me lose my temper completely.

‘Damn you!’ I yelled. ‘Let him go. That’s my money to do as I like with. He’s earned it by doing his best to get me out of your filthy clutches. If you take that cheque from him I’ll call the police in and have you arrested for theft.’

But Taffy had already wrenched himself away and jumped on the moving train.

To give him the papers I had had to let go the railing and Nurse Cardew seized the opportunity to start pushing me along the
platform. Further resistance now that the train had gone was pointless; but, having finally lost my temper, I continued to shout abuse at Helmuth all the way to the car.

Only when they had got me into it, and were tying my wheelchair on to the grid behind, did it suddenly dawn upon me that by my outburst, I had provided Helmuth with invaluable fresh evidence that he could use in seeking to prove me insane, as a score of people must have heard me raving at him.

That thought, coming on top of my bitter disappointment, was more than I could bear. I broke down and wept.

Later

I had to stop writing a quarter of an hour ago, as the memory of the ignominious manner in which I was brought back here, after my attempted flight, made me start crying again.

Really it is too absurd that a grown man like myself should give way to tears, but I suppose it is because my nerves have been reduced to shreds, and the appalling strain of knowing that my situation is going from bad to worse.