“I heard them talking.” Sadie stretched her spine against the back of the hard chair. “He was telling her he goes riding on horses there. Miles and miles of open land, he told her. You can ride all day there and not see another soul.”
Polly turned her back on the window and gazed dreamily at Sadie. “Ooh, how romantic. Can’t you just imagine her ladyship riding on the back of his horse, hanging on to his waist?” She sighed, slapped a hand over her heart, and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
Sadie burst out laughing. “She’s more likely to be riding on her motorcycle chasing after him.”
Polly’s romantic visions vanished. “Well, I think she’s madly in love with him, and I think he loves her, as well, so there.”
“I hope not.” Sadie’s face sobered. “If you’re right, I can see trouble ahead for them. What’s going to happen when he goes back to America?”
“She’ll go with him, of course.”
“Oh? Then what’s going to happen to all of us, might I ask? What about Violet and Martin, and you and me? What about the Manor House? Who’s going to take care of that?”
Polly stuck out her bottom lip. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. Thinking of her ladyship and Major Monroe together made her feel warm inside, and she didn’t want anything to spoil that. Why did things always have to be so blinking complicated?
With her mood dampened, she turned back to the window. The sun shone directly in her face, momentarily blinding her. She blinked… and blinked again. No, she wasn’t seeing things. She let out a yell that echoed all the way up the stairs. “Sadie! The knickers! They’re gorn!”
Sadie got up so fast she knocked over the chair. She swore, then picked it up, muttering, “You’d better be joking.” Thrusting Polly aside, she stared out of the window.
There was the sound of a door opening and Polly’s mother’s voice floated down the stairs. “Polly? Is that you? Why aren’t you at work? What are you doing down there?”
Polly grabbed Sadie’s arm. “Come on,” she whispered hoarsely. “He can’t have got far. Let’s go after him.”
“You were supposed to be watching for him,” Sadie began, then yelped as Polly dragged her across the kitchen. Footsteps started down the stairs, and Edna, Polly’s mother, called out, “Polly? What are you doing?”
Polly didn’t wait to answer her. She shoved Sadie through the back door and out into the garden. Side by side they raced for the gate and threw it open. They were just in time to see a bicycle disappear around the bend.
“Come on!” Sadie yelled. “After the bugger!”
Polly threw herself on her bicycle and pedaled like mad down the road after Sadie, who was already speeding away from her. They rounded the bend and there in the distance was a very short man huddled over the handlebars of his bicycle as he raced along the coast road.
Sadie waved a frantic arm at Polly and yelled, “Get a move on, Polly! We can’t lose him now!”
Polly put her head down. She didn’t know where they were going, or what they would do if they caught up with the thief. They had reached the top of the hill and were gathering breakneck speed, and all she cared about now was staying on her bicycle.
CHAPTER 11
Marge thought she was going to die by the time she and Clara stumbled down the High Street, both of them limping and sobbing for breath. Clara hadn’t said one word to her since they left the windmill, and Marge was thankful for that. She wouldn’t have been able to answer her anyway.
At long last the police station came into view, which was just as well, since she and Clara were attracting a good deal of attention as they lurched down the street. Marge shot a glance at her friend. Clara’s hair was all over her face, which was as red as a beetroot and covered in sweat. Daft thing still hadn’t taken her cardigan off. No wonder she was dripping.
The steps were almost too much for Marge, and by the time she actually got to the door she had to lean on it to push it open. Clara stood at the bottom of the steps, holding her sides and making horrible noises like a cow in heat.
Marge left her there and staggered into the office, where she thankfully fell onto the chair. She’d sat on that chair a few times in the past, but it had never felt as comfortable as it did right then.
George, she noticed, sat behind his desk, one hand holding a half-eaten Banbury cake halfway to his mouth, which was stuck wide open. She waved a hand at him to go on eating, while she fought to get enough air back in her lungs to speak.
George looked from her to his hand, hesitated, then shrugged and thrust the cake in his mouth.
“Germans!” Marge managed to gasp when she finally found her voice.
George dropped the remaining piece of cake onto his desk. Making a tsking noise with his tongue, he picked up the cake, dusted it off on his jacket, and shoved it in his mouth.
Momentarily distracted, Marge gazed at the smear of sugared crumbs on George’s uniform and wondered what the inspector would say if he saw that.
“I beg your pardon?” George said, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth.
Marge pulled in some more air, then coughed. There was always a faint odor of horse manure in the police station. She’d forgotten not to breathe through her nose. She opened her mouth, pulled in more air, then shouted, “Germans!”
George raised his eyebrows. “Where?”
Marge waved a hand at the door. “At the windmill! Dozens of ’em!”
George swallowed, and immediately choked. Coughing and spluttering, he pulled a huge white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.
The respite had given Marge time to get her own breath back. “Clara and I went up to look and they’re there, all right.”
George started to speak, coughed again, then said hoarsely, “You saw them? Did you see their uniforms? Did they have tanks? Guns?”
Marge’s stomach turned over in fright. Until that moment it hadn’t seemed real, more like a film she was acting in, but now it all seemed dreadfully, frightfully real. “We heard them,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They were hiding up on the second floor but we heard them. Clara and me bolted out of there. We didn’t see no tanks, but-”
At that moment the door burst open. Marge screamed, while George leapt to his feet, his eyes looking ready to bulge right out of his head.
Clara fell through the doorway and landed on her knees. “I don’t feel well,” she moaned.
Marge patted her chest as her heart resumed beating. “Gawd, Clara. You gave us such a fright.”
George cleared his throat and sat down again. “Now then,” he said, in his pompous policeman’s voice, “let’s have the story from the beginning.”
“We don’t have time to tell the story!” Marge shouted, heaving herself to her feet. “You’ve got to ring the army, haven’t you. If we don’t get them first they’ll be all over the village. Heaven knows how many of them are hiding in the woods.” She caught her breath. “That’s probably where they’ve hidden the tanks!”
Looking startled, George dragged his gaze from Marge to Clara. “Did you see these Germans, too?”
Clara opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Marge yelled impatiently, “Of course she did!
Ring the blinking army before we all get captured and sent to them dreadful prison camps.”
Clara started crying. “I don’t want to go to prison! I want to go ho-o-ome!”
“Now look what you’ve done!” Marge rushed over to Clara and helped her up. “If you don’t ring the army right this minute I’m going to tell everyone it’s your fault Sitting Marsh is in the hands of the Germans. I wouldn’t be surprised if Adolf hisself walks down the High Street before too long.”
George reached for the telephone. “All right, all right. Just pipe down while I ring the army.”
“Ring the Yanks!” Clara said, apparently having recovered from her fright. “They’ll be here quicker.”