The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (34 page)

‘Call it intuition, if you like,’ said Burrowes. ‘But I feel sure that Hart’s abductors are waiting, as we say in the tra
de, for ‘the heat to die down’.’

‘This gentlemen, is where we come in,’ said Major Kingston-Hawke. The muttering in the room died to nothing and the next time Gloria’s father spoke, his voice carried through the small window, crisp and clear. ‘Chax Forest covers several hundred acres and there are untold places where a man, or men, could remain hidden for any length of time. Between us, we are going to search every barn, outhouse, shed, warehouse, sheep shack and piggery within that area.’

‘As I said, we very much appreciate your time,’ said the Major, importantly. ‘The First Lord of the Admiralty himself, has spoken to me personally regarding our efforts – he is considerably worried about Mr Hart – and he’ll be watching developments closely.’

‘We’ve heard enough,’ said Ralf. ‘Let’s get away from here before we’re arrested.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Hunt for Hart

They made their way back to the Arbuckles and were removing their outer layers when Michael hobbled into the room on two padded crutches.

‘What have you lot been up to?’ he asked.

But no one had chance to answer because at that moment the latch rattled and the rest of the Arbuckles arrived back from the meeting.

‘You’re itching to know, aren’t you?’ said Tom, grinning.

Leo grinned back. ‘We know already.’

Ron laughed. ‘You crept round the back and listened at the window didn’t you?’

Old Bill settled himself by the fire and looked at Ralf eyes twinkling. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it matters much now. We’d have to tell ‘em when we go off out anyways.’

‘I’ve been wondering what happened to him,’ said Leo. ‘It’s about time they did
something
.’

‘For all the good it’ll do him,’ said Michael, when they’d told him about the search plans. He scratched underneath his leg plaster with a net needle as he looked out of the window. ‘That’s a lot o’ miles to cover. And it’s snowing again.’

‘You never know,’ said Bill. ‘We might be lucky. And there are a fair few of us.’

‘Is everyone helping, then?’ asked Valen.

‘Them’s as can,’ said Bill. ‘We’ve a soft spot for Mr Hart hereabouts and the Lord of the Admiralty, himself, is keepin’ an eye so we must be up to the task.’

‘Isn’t it strange that such an important person should take an interest in a missing actor Mr Arbuckle?’ Val asked.

‘Ah, but Churchill and Hart are old friends!’ said Ron.

‘You’re talking about Winston Churchill?’ Valen spluttered.

‘Aye, that’s what I said, Val,’ said Old Bill, surprised at having to explain himself. ‘You need to read the papers a bit more, girl.’

‘But how do they know each other then?’ asked Leo.

Ron looked up from where he was feeding more fuel into the fire. ‘Oh, it’s practically a King’s Hadow legend,’ he said. ‘Hart was Major Kingston-Hawke’s batman during the Great War.’

‘
Batman
?’ sniggered Alfie. ‘Like, the Caped Crusader?’

Ralf shook his head.
‘Like a kind of personal servant.’

‘He and Churchill served in the same regiment. I t
hink the Major was Churchill’s Subaltern, wasn’t he Dad?’ asked Ron.

‘That’s right,’ said Old Bill. ‘Churchill was a right daredevil, leading forays in to no-man’s-land and one night he and the Major got into trouble. Churchill got caught out on the wire and Kingston-Hawke couldn’t get to him, so young Hart crawled out on his belly with wire cutters. Rescued him under enemy fire, he did. He was a real hero.’

‘Wow,’ said Alfie. ‘Serious.’

Old Bill further wrinkled his already craggy brow at Alfie’s peculiar way of talking and his two boys laughed.

‘It was very serious,’ said Old Bill. ‘But I wonder if what he’s been doing lately isn’t more important.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ said Alfie.

Ron tried to explain. ‘Hart’s very well known in America. Very respected. Friends in high places. Burrowes reckons those last months before he disappeared he was over there trying to convince the American higher-ups to come in on it.’

‘In on what?’ asked Val

‘The war, of course!’ said Tom.

‘It was more to do with supply lines, I’m thinking,’ said Old Bill.

‘How d’you mean, Mr Arbuckle?’ asked Valen.

‘We’re an island, Val. We need supplies. Food, materials, weapons – and all manner o’ things we don’t produce ourselves. Only the Americans have the resources to help us and get the convoys moving. I just hope Hart did enough to persuade them before he was taken.’

Leo was staring off into space again. His eyes were on the fire, Ralf noticed, but he could tell his brain was somewhere else entirely.

‘What’s the matter, Leo?’ he asked.

‘What? Oh, I was just wondering about that thing in the paper. Hart saying he was preparing for his most ‘challenging role.’ I wonder if that was what he meant.’

‘No one knows,’ said Tom. ‘All the more reason to find him.’

‘God help him, wherever he is, poor devil!’

‘And on that note, we better get cracking,’ said Ron, draining his cup. The Arbuckles headed out of the door and in to the driving snow.

Over the next few days, an extensive search of the woods and fields found no sign of the missing actor. The mood in the village became darker with each passing day. At the end of the week there was another brief meeting at the Village Hall. Ralf and the others didn’t need to listen in on this one, the message stuck on the village notice board afterwards told them everything they needed to know.

Kent and Sussex Constabulary would like to thank all volunteers for their help. Regretfully, however, due to continuing adverse weather conditions and what must now be considered a very slim possibility of finding anything, the decision has been taken to abandon the search with immediate effect.

‘I told you it was pointless,’ said Seth when they read it.

‘Yeah
, you’re very smart,’ said Valen. ‘I feel sorry for Hart, though. It doesn’t seem right that they’ve just given up on him.’

‘No,’ frowned Leo. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

Ralf was sympathetic but was actually quite glad the search had been called off. It’s sad for the poor bloke and everything, he thought, but he felt better when the Echoes were all in the village.

January came and the snow melted as quickly as it had come. Ralf woke one morning to find the white fields patched with green and the cobbled streets made bubbling streams by the volume of melt water that sped down to the sea. The dramatic rise in temperature ought to have raised everyone’s spirits, but the blood bath at the Village party was still on everyone’s lips and the Kemps, who seemed to attract ‘ghosts’ like bees to honey, had seen Marcus Junius, the Roman cavalry officer three times since Christmas.

A second dead fox appeared in the Church basement and twice the Church bells rang at midnight despite it being empty and locked. Villagers looked to the treetops, which were heavy with birds once more and stepped gingerly through sheltered paths where fat rats now ran freely. No one spoke about the animals that disappeared but for the first time ever dogs were walked on lea
ds and cats kept in at night.

The Police and ARP decided that all manner of disturbances should be kept under wraps but despite their secrecy the whole village seemed to know about the increasing number of night-time wailings and cr
ashes at Urk’s farm, the Sedleys’ and Hawke’s Manor. War news was bad with the joy at the British capture of the German ship
Altmark
being quickly overshadowed by news of Finland’s capitulation to the Russians.

On top of everything else, the rivalry between village and Crispin’s boys had returned with a vengeance.  Ralf had thought that things would be better after the truce at the Christmas Party but the holiday, it seemed, had merely provided both groups with ample time to strategize. On the first morning of the new term a gang from the school ambushed two of the Hoad’s Farm lads and gave them such appalling bog-washes in the train loo that they were left drenched and heaving. The following day, an entire compartment full of Crispin’s boys was spit-balled in revenge.

As the term progressed normal school boy pranks took a more sinister and malicious turn. One morning Will Tomkins had to run the gauntlet of Crispin’s boys at the station as they darted up to boot his backside. No one laughed as they did this though and the kicks were well aimed and far too hard. Leo had, to much jeering, removed the ‘
Kick Here
↓
’ sign that had been taped to Will’s back. Dozens of adults had seen what was happening but they breezed by or smiled faintly. Shouldn’t someone in authority be doing something, thought Ralf. Did they not realise how bad things were or was it just that they didn’t care?

To make matters even worse Ralf was exhausted. Money was still very tight and trying to compensate for December’s poor fishing he was now out on
The Sara Luz
five or six nights a week. The hard labour on the boat and mental weariness of agonising over Gloria’s El Cub Rat Rah message started to take their toll in February. By March, he was getting through the school day on automatic, hardly speaking in any of his lessons and paying only minimal attention.

It was coming up to Easter and he was in a kind of sleepwalk, oblivious to the driving rain outside, when he was jerked awake by Will Tomkins who shouted and pointed at the school’s main notice board.

‘Ralf! Ralf you’ve got to look at this!’

KING’S HADOW AND DARK FERRY DISTRICT RUN

Six Mile Cross Country Event,

Saturday 27th April - 10 am.

Sponsor Forms available from the Bursar’s Office.

There was a sign-up sheet below. Ralf’s fingers were drifting towards the attached pencil when he woke up and remembered who and what he was and the enormous task ahead of him. As his hand dropped back to his side King drifted past with his usual gang.

‘Oh look, everyone!’ King cried. ‘Osborne’s going to sign up for the cross-country. Are you sure you’re up to it, old chap? You’re looking terribly peaky. Six miles is a long way to run on an empty stomach, you know.’

Ralf seethed. ‘I’m not running,’ he said.

King paused and swung the cricket bat he was carrying up onto his shoulder. He did an exaggerated double take. ‘You know something, Osborne?’ he said. ‘You’re pathetic.’

‘And how do you work that out, Julian?’ Ralf asked. He should be walking away from this, but his pride just wouldn’t let him.

‘You were supposed to be this amazing person! The highest entrance exam score in the history of the school. An intellectual giant! And your sporting achievements! The running! First place in the Village Mile wasn’t it? Your sister’s full of it – when she’s not scrubbing floors!’

Ralf’s fists clenched.

‘You were supposed to be this boy prince!’ King sniggered derisively. ‘But you’re just a coward.’

A crowd had gathered by this time as boys were drawn to listen to King’s tirade. The taller boy glanced round at his audience and then back at Ralf whose cheeks were burning horribly.

‘Excuses won’t wash!’ He reached out with the cricket bat and nudged Ralf’s shoulder hard enough to make him take a step, then looked round again at the assembled boys, shaking his head. ‘It’s just not cricket!’

Ralf chuntered to himself all the way to his next lesson – History with an over excited Winters. Great!

Winters, with an impish grin, gestured towards a long table covered in a lumpy white sheet, which stood at the front of the classroom.

‘Behold!’ the m
aster cried. With deliberate melodrama he whipped the white covering from the table to reveal a dozen or so items from the Tarzy Wood Barrow site. Ralf groaned inwardly, he just wanted to lose himself in a book.

‘Th
ere’s someone from the British Museum coming to collect it all in the next couple of weeks,’ said Winters, ‘so I thought we’d have a final nose around before they got here. It’s been so interesting documenting it all, hasn’t it Seth?’

Seth gave an embarrassed cough. ‘Awfully,’ he said.

A couple of the boys sniggered taking this for sarcasm, but King, Tank and Aston threw contemptuous stares.

‘Right, gather round, everyone!’ said Winters enthusiastically.

‘The thing is, boys, this whole site is a bit of a mystery. The more we find out, the more of a puzzler it seems.’

‘Why’s that, sir?’ Aston asked with a yawn.

‘I’m glad you asked me that, Aston,’ Winters replied, ignoring his tone. ‘You see, here we’ve got the usual Celtic broaches you’d expect from a site such as this, but over here there’s a knife that has an Ottoman feel to it, see the curved blade? And here we have metalwork that could easily be early Viking.  Most interesting of all, though, is this item.’

‘The bow, sir?’

‘Yes. The first thing to note is that it’s in exceptionally good condition, no rot at all that I can see, but that’s not the only remarkable thing about it. See here?’ He pointed to faint carved lines in the wood. ‘That pattern looks very like some photographs I’ve seen of Red Indian workmanship – Sioux or possibly Cherokee. Extraordinary isn’t it?’

Sioux. Had he just said Sioux? When they’d first seen the tapestry they thought
the Hidden looked like Sioux! Ralf’s eyes met Seth’s in an, ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ kind of way. Seth gave the tiniest of nods. Had one of the Hidden placed his bow in the Barrow? Who? Why? Questions bounced around in Ralf’s head like the balls in the lottery draw machine. He leaned forward to have a closer look.

‘But, how can that be possible, sir?’ King asked.

‘I don’t think it is, Julian.’ King winced at the use of his first name. ‘It’s almost as if the contents of several different archaeological sites have been muddled together. But of course, that can’t have happened. The Barrow has definitely not been disturbed – previous to poor Captain Keen stumbling across it. The bow, and the knife too actually, simply don’t belong here. This must be something entirely new.’