The UnTied Kingdom (20 page)

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am.’ Her eyes locked on his. ‘Or I’m dreaming this, or it’s a parallel universe. In which case I ought to be trying to get home but you know what? There’s not even anything for me there. I’ve got nothing.’

She was right up against him now, toe to toe, touching him only at his wrist but nearly pressed against him everywhere else. Nearly.

‘I don’t care,’ she said, honesty making her voice soft. ‘I don’t.’

In her eyes he saw the reckless light of desperation, and remembered that the most dangerous people in the world were the ones with nothing to lose.

She doesn’t have anything. You’re treating her like a prisoner.

Damn, she’s pretty
.

‘I’m not going to shoot you,’ he said, relaxing his hold on the gun. ‘Let go of my wrist.’

A second passed but it lasted for eternity, and then the pressure of her fingers lessened. Harker kept his eyes on hers, and she eventually dropped her hand.

He exhaled.

‘Sir,’ said someone, Charlie he thought, and suddenly the room was full of people again.

Eve twisted from him, bright eyes turning away, and stumbled towards the door.

‘Eve,’ he said, and she flinched.

‘I violently dislike you,’ she said, and then she was gone, slamming through the door and leaving a sort of shocked silence behind.

Right. Excellent
.

‘Still worried?’ he said to Charlie, but she didn’t seem to find that very funny. If anything, she looked more concerned than ever. He lit up a cigarette, daring the cook to say a word. Wisely, she didn’t.

Chapter Fifteen

I violently dislike you.

Wind whipped rain against him, hard and stinging, freezing his face and his fingers. Harker could have sheltered inside the car while he waited for Banks, but he needed the cold to numb some of the hot anger inside him.

And guilt. And shame.

Mad. Or a spy.

She could get in the way of everything, everything he and the army were fighting for, and yet instead of worrying about the mission he was worrying about Eve. Even now, Banks was inside the city, purloining papers for the squad, and Harker stood in the cold rain and wind, thinking about Eve. How hurt she looked. How lost.

A parallel universe. She was crazy! She ought to be in an asylum. Either that, or back with the Coalitionists, where she belonged. Because all that could have been a masterful performance to convince him she was harmless, so he wouldn’t suspect her of being a traitor …

Harker wiped his hand across his eyes. He couldn’t even convince himself he even half-believed that any more. Not Eve. Mad, perhaps, infuriating definitely, but not a traitor.

A familiar shape ambled along the road towards him, and Harker shook himself, getting back inside the car.

‘Got them?’ he asked Banks, who grinned as he climbed inside the car’s shelter.

‘Candy from a baby,’ he said, displaying a sheaf of papers. ‘Shouldn’t be hard to alter. Oi, sir, you want to be a Mister Shipley? Teacher at a school in a village. Farnley, it says.’

Harker nodded. Farnley. They’d driven past a turning to it, and he set off back that way. No harm in doing his research.

Farnley was a depressing place, a sorry collection of cottages servicing the local colliery. The buildings were black with soot, and so were the people. The only building of any size was the school, which he guessed probably served a lot of the surrounding villages.

He parked the car outside the village and walked in. Depressed-looking kids huddled in the gloomy school playground. It was mid-afternoon, and by Harker’s guess the kids were probably waiting for their parents to pick them up.

He frowned. One of the kids had a shock of bright red hair, and something about her was familiar–

‘Hell of a place,’ said Banks, shivering in his thin coat.

‘Yeah,’ said Harker, watching the little girl. She was a skinny thing, maybe eleven or twelve. Maybe a little older. Hard to tell. But she had oddly dark eyes, and Harker had only ever known one other person with that strange combination.

‘I want to thank you, Sarge–’

And she had a very slight limp. It couldn’t be anyone else.

The girl was playing a skipping game with her friends, who patiently made allowances for her lack of co-ordination. She wore a pinafore and thick tights, but Harker was almost sure that had it been summer, he’d have been able to see the faded scars on her legs.

He nearly called out to her, but before he could even remember her name, the little girl scampered away from her friends towards a group of women approaching the school gates.

One of them was Mary. She had a scarf tied over her pale hair, but she could have shaved herself bald and Harker would still recognise her.

She smiled when she saw her daughter, leaned down and hugged her tight. But he saw her flinch when one of the other kids brushed her accidentally.

‘Sir?’ said Banks quietly. Harker had completely forgotten him. ‘Who is she?’

He watched Mary talking to her red-haired daughter, smiling, animation erasing some of the tiredness in her face. It was good to see her smile. He hadn’t seen it in … hell, twelve years.

Not since Sholt.

‘Mary White,’ he said, and Mary glanced towards his voice.

And went still.

‘Sarge,’ she whispered, and he nodded, and she rushed over, dragging her daughter behind her. ‘Is it you? Sergeant Harker!’

Harker put his finger to his lips, and she nodded. ‘Perhaps we can have a chat, Mary?’

She nodded again, glancing briefly at Banks, who gave her a smile full of curiosity.

‘You stop here,’ Harker told him, ‘keep an eye on things. Mister Banks.’

Banks’s eyes narrowed at the Mister, but he nodded and stayed where he was. Harker looked back at Mary, gripping her daughter’s hand tight, and said, ‘Maybe a walk, Mary? In full sight, where everyone can see us?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Around the square?’

They set off, Mary still holding her daughter’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Harker said to the little girl, ‘I just can’t remember your name.’

‘Emily,’ Mary said. ‘Emmy, most of the time.’

‘Emmy. Of course. She’s so like her father.’

Mary gave a tight nod. Harker waited to see if anything else was forthcoming, then said, ‘I didn’t know you’d come north. Last I heard you were down in the west.’

She gave a brief smile. ‘Oh, we’ve been here a few years. When Sal and Smiggy – do you remember Smiggy, Private Miggles? And his wife Sal, she was always very kind to me. He was born here, you see.’

‘Is that why you came up here? Because Smiggy and Sal came?’

‘Yes. All the others had left or … or been transferred–’ most likely killed, thought Harker, who’d kept track of some of his men – ‘and Sal always said they were going to come back north when Smiggy’s time was up, and it was quiet and … well, I didn’t have anywhere else. And there was work in Leeds, Smiggy’s family said. I do work for a tailor there.’

Harker closed his eyes guiltily. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, I should have kept in touch–’ he began, but she shook her head fiercely.

‘No, Sergeant Harker. Don’t you ever be sorry. You did more than you ever needed to, for me and for Emmy. Smiggy told me how you sent money for us back when – when Emmy was a baby. And I never thanked you for it.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Harker, who still felt bad that he’d stopped sending the money when Mary had become too hard to track down.

‘You fought for us, Sergeant, and I’ll never forget it,’ Mary said.

Harker didn’t say anything. Yes, he’d fought for them, but not hard enough. If he’d fought hard enough, James might still be alive and Sholt, with any justice, would have faced a firing squad.

‘Oh!’ said Mary, apropos nothing. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘For what, Mary?’

‘I’ve been calling you Sergeant, only Smiggy told me how you’d been promoted, got your commission, sir.’

‘You don’t have to call me sir,’ Harker said gently. ‘James never did.’

‘No. He called you Sarge.’ She smiled distantly. ‘I remember that, he said Sarge was a great man.’

No,
Harker
thought,
a great man would never have let it all happen in the first place
.

He hesitated, then figured if he could trust anybody, it’d be Mary. After all, she trusted him, which in itself was a miracle. ‘Mary, you might be able to help me with something …’

By the time he went back to Private Banks, who was sharing a cigarette with a couple of miners, he’d got what he wanted. Banks, somewhat reluctantly, gave up his cigarette, and walked with Harker back to the car.

‘Sir?’ he said, after a minute or two.

‘The wife of one of my men,’ Harker said, because he knew what Banks was going to ask.

‘Ah. I didn’t recognise her,’ Banks fished.

‘No. He served under me when I was still a sergeant in the 17th. You wouldn’t’ve known him.’

‘Wouldn’t’ve?’ Banks said. ‘Is he … not serving any more?’

‘No,’ Harker said, and when he blinked, just for that split second he saw James White’s flayed and broken body. ‘No, he isn’t.’

Eve had intended to spend the day lurking in the chilly and unused sunroom at the back of the house, judging correctly that no one would be using it at this time of year, but even in that she was thwarted.

Charlie sniffed her out, and like the good guard dog she was, warned Eve off her beloved Major.

‘He’s a senior officer, promoted from the ranks in an army where promotion is purchased,’ she said calmly. ‘If he were to get involved with a spy he would lose his commission.’

It took a short while for this to sink in to Eve’s brain. Firstly, that Charlie thought she was a spy, which she knew was one of the squad’s theories about her. But then she realised why she was being warned. Charlie didn’t want Harker to get involved with a spy – with her.

She opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure what to protest about first.

‘I know there’s no proof against you,’ Charlie said. ‘But there’s not much to prove your innocence, either. I’m sorry, Eve. My first duty is to the army. My second is to my friends. Harker falls into both categories. He is the closest thing I have to family, and I won’t see him hurt. Not professionally and not personally.’

Eve gaped.

‘I’m asking you, please, for the sake of everyone’s sanity, to just stop winding him up. We’d all appreciate it. And stop–’ she broke off, as if she couldn’t find the appropriate words.

‘I am not interested in Major Harker,’ Eve said flatly.

Charlie gave her a brief smile. ‘Good.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

With that she was gone, and Eve stared at the space she’d vacated. Quite apart from the fact that she’d just been warned off by Harker’s personal Rottweiler – did they really think she was attracted to him?
We’d all appreciate it. Everyone’s sanity.
Did they all think–?

‘He’s not even that good-looking,’ she said out loud. His lips were too thin and his nose was too big, and he was always scowling or mocking, and would it seriously kill him to shave, or wash his hair? All right, so he was tall and he was undoubtedly in great shape, but so what? He was also rude, unpleasant, angry and sarcastic. He was bitter, he was brooding, and what was that thing he had about pretending not to be the major? ‘I think I can bring him to mind’, yes, hilarious.

Angry now, she reached for her guitar. She’d prefer the piano – better for pounding notes – but that would involve going out into the house, where she might meet Harker, and she really didn’t want to do that.

What the hell was wrong with these people? All right, so there was that one time when she’d tried to kiss him, but he’d promised not to tell anyone about that, and for some reason Eve didn’t believe he was the type to break his promises. He might be arrogant, rude, bitter, angry, brutal and the most annoying man she’d ever had the misfortune to have her life saved by, but she didn’t think he was a liar.

Although he did seem to enjoy bending the truth enormously.

The guitar was altogether too soothing for Eve, who was far too angry to even want to calm down. She picked it up and stalked through the house, preparing herself to meet Harker and do battle with him –
no, bad idea Eve, what did you just promise Charlie?
– but she didn’t see any of the squad.

Eventually stomping into the drawing room, she found the piano seat open and sheets of music loose inside.

Beethoven. Chopin. Schubert.

Eve stared, then pulled out the top sheaf. Ludwig von Beethoven:
Sonata No. 14 in C# Minor op.27 no.2 3rd movement.
The end of the
Moonlight Sonata
. The fast, fiddly, tricky but incredibly wonderful third movement.

Eve stared for a long time at the notes dancing over the page.
I remember that arpeggio, and that fortissimo mark, I could never get my electric keyboard to sound fortissimo
.She bashed the keys, and it sounded the same as it had in Mrs Mason’s front room. The piano needed tuning and Eve’s fingers were too sluggish for the fast, intricate notes, exactly as they had been fifteen years ago.

The music was the same.

They don’t know
Brothers in Arms
and they’ve never heard of the Beatles, but they have Beethoven.

Eve pinched the bridge of her nose. All right, so none of these composers were English – a quick ruffle through the remaining music told her that the majority was French – but they did exist. She had heard of them.

It ought to have been comforting, but Eve felt less sure than ever.

Mist rolled in over the Wolds, swirling around the house at Hatfield Chase like a thick cloak. Like, Harker thought, remembering a distant cocktail party with Saskia, a lady in a fur coat.

Well, now he was getting poetical. It was surely time for a drink.

He drove the car around the back of the house to its garage in the stables, ignoring Banks’s chatter and heading through the dark courtyard to the golden square of light oozing from the kitchen window.
Hot food,
he thought longingly,
no more damn stew or stale bread
.

But as they passed one of the wings, music spilled, flowed and trilled from a window just above their heads.

‘’Cos I ain’t sure–’ Banks went on, and Harker said, ‘Shut up.’

‘Shutting up, sir.’

They both stood still, listening to the intricate piano notes. The music tripped and flowed like fast water, lyrical and complex, sometimes light and sometimes heavy, but one of the most incredible things Harker had ever heard.