A Step Too Far (14 page)

Read A Step Too Far Online

Authors: Meg Hutchinson

Tags: #WWII, #Black Country (England), #Revenge

     Isaac Eldon had been relieved of his post!

     ‘I haven’t said anything until now, Isaac had always been . . .’ The explanation ended abruptly, Arthur Whitman’s look indicating regret. ‘Katrin,’ he cleared his throat, ‘the workload here in the office will, as a result of what has happened, increase substantially and it will probably be a week or two before I can bring in trained help.’

     Katrin’s mind cleared. Help of any kind was the last thing she wanted.

     ‘We have had this conversation before,’ she said quietly. ‘The answer I gave then was “let me try”, my answer is the same now.’

     His deep brown eyes reflected relief. ‘I was hoping you would say that . . . selfish, I know, but I was hoping. But I’ll take in Isaac’s paperwork,’ he paused. ‘Oh yes, he told me who it was saw to that . . . you have my gratitude, Katrin.’

     Isaac Eldon had admitted she kept the wheels of his department running smoothly. Was she surprised? Katrin looked down at the pad on her knee. Strangely she was not.

     ‘The man who came to see me, the one who asked I send for Isaac, he was from the Ministry.’

     The Ministry! She had expected the police to come for Eldon, but this . . . this was so much better.

     ‘
. . . is it Robert . . . is it my son?

     She had so wanted to throw her reply back at him, to answer no, Isaac Eldon, it is not your son, but you will feel pain, pain of a sort you never expected, it is your turn to suffer! But she had kept her words for a time when the pleasure of speaking them would be even more intense.

     She asked, with a show of concern, ‘Is Mr Eldon in some kind of trouble?’

     ‘You know as much as I do, Katrin. The fellow just asked Isaac to accompany him and they left together. No doubt there is speculation, I can’t prevent that, but I prefer not to be a part of it.’

     ‘
You know as much as I do, Katrin.

     Katrin gave herself fully to the jubilation in her soul.

     But he didn’t know as much as she did. Arthur Whitman did not know the arrest of Isaac Eldon could only be the result of her phone call.

     Providence had truly smiled the evening she had collided with that figure coming from the library. He had been so apologetic, blaming himself for not looking where he was going. She had wanted to hug him. On seeing what was strewn across the narrow pavement, she had realised this was her chance.

     ‘
This looks interesting
.’

     She had made it sound no more than politeness, seeming to give only a cursory glance to the sheet she had picked up. But interest had been very real indeed.

     ‘
What is it for . . . ? Oh sorry, I’m being too inquisitive.

     Had it been innocence or had he simply been too involved in gathering his belongings to recognise the ploy? Whichever, he had replied with a smile that the papers and books he juggled into the crook of an arm were to do with a project he was working on.

     ‘
It must be very complicated judging by those maps.

     ‘
I get a lot of help,’ he had said taking the last sheet of paper from her, ‘My grandfather helps me
.’

     His grandfather. Katrin smiled contentedly. His grandfather, Isaac Eldon.

 

‘I ain’t never going to do that again. It scared the you-know-what out of me. Next time we are on night shift I’m off to the canteen at the first flicker of them lights. You want to play hide an’ seek with the foreman then you play on your own.’

     ‘Oh c’mon,’ Alice laughed. ‘You know you enjoyed it.’

     ‘Enjoyed!’ Becky exclaimed. ‘I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoys being caught in an air raid. I tell you, Alice, seein’ that foreman standing no more than a yard away  . . .’

     ‘Two feet.’ Alice laughed again. ‘You seen his two feet.’

     ‘It weren’t funny.’ Becky giggled in spite of herself. ‘I thought he had to hear the way my heart was pounding.’

     ‘He couldn’t hear anything over the racket that crane makes. Has me wonder why they take out them shells only at night; I mean where’s the benefit of waiting for the cover of darkness when that crane makes so much racket it’s probably heard by any Gerry plane that happens to be around.’

     ‘Shush! You never know who could be listening. Let Isaac Eldon catch you and you’ll be for it.’

     ‘Speaking of Eldon,’ Alice changed the subject glibly, ‘it were not to be given word of Robert that he was called into Whitman’s office. But why is he not workin’ at Prodor any more? I asked Kate but seems her knows no more than we do.’

     ‘Do you think his going has somethin’ to do with what Nora says her heard Kate say, y’know callin’ her
Miss
Hawley?’

     Sandwiches eaten, Alice folded the sheet of newspaper and slipped it into her bag, mindful of the edict that every scrap must be saved toward the war effort. Though quite how it was used evaded her.

     ‘I think now what I thought then.’ She picked up the mug of tea purchased from the canteen counter. ‘Kate Hawley wouldn’t say no such thing, her wouldn’t hurt anybody’s feelings.’

     ‘Still, I can’t help but wonder . . . Nora was so positive.’

     ‘Huh! You know about folk on a soapbox, if they goes on long enough and loud enough then there’s them who’ll believe what they say no matter how crackpotical, and nobody has a soapbox bigger than Nora’s.’

     ‘Then you don’t believe what her said.’

     ‘O’ course I don’t and neither will you if you have any sense!’ Alice retorted. ‘Kate Hawley couldn’t be unkind if her tried; look how upset her was over Freda Evans being sent down, and what about the way her helped me with applying for the Forces, her took it that bad when it turned out I couldn’t get in you would have thought it were all her fault.’

     ‘You’re right.’ Becky nodded. ‘Whatever it is has Isaac Eldon sacked it won’t have anything to do with Kate.’

 

This was the second time he had come to the house. Miriam Carson looked at the man on the couch. He had already spoken with Reuben, her son had answered every question, so why was he here again?

     ‘We have to check everything very carefully.’

     Almost as though her questions had been spoken aloud! Miriam set down her tea. Did the official-looking card he showed enable him to read people’s minds along with the rest of the privileges it seemed to hold?

     ‘Reuben wouldn’t keep anything back.’

     The man met Miriam’s glance. Defence, attack, all the characteristics of the female defending her young . . . well, good for her.

     ‘I am sure he wouldn’t.’ He gave a brief a placatory smile and stirred milk into his cup. ‘He has been most helpful.’

     ‘So why do you have to talk to him again?’

     The man she had come to know as Philip Conroy paused, then, as though coming to a difficult decision, said quietly, ‘Mrs Carson, the information we were given regarding Reuben was . . .’ he paused again, ‘
is . . .
a matter of national security.’

     National security! He thought her son was some sort of spy? But, how could he be? Reuben was just a boy, what would he know of spies and national security?

     ‘Try to understand, we have to investigate wherever and whenever suspicions are voiced even though the suspect is quite young.’

     Suspect! Then he did think Reuben was a spy!

     ‘Is,’ she forced a reply, ‘you said
is
, does that mean  . . .?’

     ‘Mrs Carson,’ Philip Conroy interrupted quickly, ‘it means only that information is being acted upon.’

     ‘And who is it supplied you with that information? Who can dislike Reuben so much they accuse him of spying?’

     ‘I’m sorry, I cannot answer that.’

     ‘You can’t tell who it is doing the accusing?’ Miriam snapped. ‘You can protect them yet subject a young lad to all kinds of questions? That’s what you call security? Well I call it downright sly. You bring your informant here, let whoever it is tell his mother Reuben Carson be a threat to national security!’

     He wouldn’t give tuppence for the informant leaving the house in one piece!

     ‘That is something else I cannot do.’ Philip Conroy hid his appreciation of the woman stating her challenge. ‘But this I will tell you, the information was given by telephone.’

     ‘Telephone . . . ! But who? I doubt you’ll find any man in Cross Street knows how to use one.’

     It had been no man, a female had made that call; that too he could not reveal to this woman.

     ‘Mrs Carson,’ he began again, ‘the material found in your son’s room, what can you tell me about it?’

     ‘You know what it is, Reuben told you.’

     ‘Yes.’ Philip Conroy’s fair hair caught light from the one electric bulb allowed to illuminate the living room.

     ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Now I am asking you.’

     She had gone over it again, trying to recall everything Reuben had told her, but only now did she realise her son had told her virtually nothing apart from the papers he was writing and sketching were his homework project. She had not looked closely at them! Why would she?

     Had the sharpness of that reply been due more to her feeling of guilt at not showing deeper interest in Reuben’s school work than irritation at questions repeated over and again? Miriam knew it was. But where could she find time? How often she had wanted to sit and talk with Reuben, to share his interests as she had once done . . . as Tom had done. But her wants had to take second place to those of the factory. And her son’s needs? They also must play second fiddle in the orchestra of war.

     ‘Miriam . . . Miriam, you be all right?’

     Absorbed in thought, Miriam had not heard the tread behind her.

     ‘Dad!’

     Seeing the worry leap into his daughter’s eyes, Isaac Eldon took her into his arms. ‘Nothing be wrong.’

     But there was something wrong. Why else would her father be home so soon? He worked longer hours now than he had at Prodor.

     ‘Reuben?’

     Miriam stepped free. ‘Yes, he went straight upstairs on coming from school and hasn’t come down since.’

     ‘Conroy?’ Isaac glanced toward the living room then at Miriam’s further nod led the way there.

     ‘Mrs Carson, Mr Eldon,’ Philip Conroy began as father and daughter were seated, ‘I apologise for calling at this hour but  . . .’

     ‘But darkness be a better cover than camouflage.’

     ‘It does help not to be seen.’ Philip Conroy smiled. ‘Loose tongues and all that.’

     ‘Ar, there’s been one o’ them waggin’, spreadin’ muck. Be that why you’re here again, been a few more shovelsful throwed your way, has there?’

     ‘No, Mr Eldon.’

     ‘Then why do you be in my ’ouse, and why bring me away from my work?’

     ‘We have our reasons.’

     ‘Reasons!’ Isaac’s tone hardened. ‘Then you’d better tell ’em to me afore I throw you out.’

     ‘That is my intention.’ Philip Conroy’s smile faded. ‘But first Mrs Carson, will you call your son.’

     ‘Reuben, where did you get the information you have recorded on these maps, who did you ask to help you?’ Philip Conroy watched the face of the boy, watched for any flicker in the clear eyes, any nuance of uncertainty across the features.

     ‘I told you, I had no need to ask ’cos I knew all of that already.’

     ‘When we spoke before, didn’t you say your grandfather had helped you?’

     A quick smile at the man sitting beside him. Philip Conroy mentally listed the observation.

     ‘He did, but not with drawing maps. Granddad’s no hand at drawing.’

     ‘And with the descriptions . . . the names of various premises, the products they make, maybe he helped with that?’

     ‘Wasn’t no need, I’ve known those places since I was little.’

     ‘That do be my doin’.’ Isaac intervened. ‘You see, I don’t ’ave a deal o’ book learnin’, no sooner I turned twelve than I was put to earnin’ a livin’, workin’ to help rear them younger than meself. That bein’ so I had little to pass on to my son ’cept what I’d learned out of the classroom. I could only teach him what I had taught myself, to have an interest in all around him, it became the same with my grandson.’

     ‘That’s right.’ Reuben beamed. ‘Granddad and me often went for walks on Sunday, or sometimes he took me fishing, that is how I know names and places, Granddad pointed them out, I’m sure I got them right.’

     Philip Conroy glanced at the briefcase he lifted to his lap, then looked again at the boy. ‘Reuben . . . have you discussed this with anyone?’

     The smile was wiped instantly by a frown and the answer was no longer that of a boy.

     ‘Mr Conroy, my dad said I was never to break a promise if it were in my power to keep it and my mum says always to tell the truth. Well, I am doing both. I am telling the truth in saying I kept the promise I gave you, I haven’t spoken a word of your coming here, not to anybody.’

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