Shute, Nevil (18 page)

Once he said: ‘I’ll offer up to five shillings a tin. But then, if I have to threaten them, you must be ready to go in and take it.’

‘All right,’ she said.

Twenty minutes later they came to the shop. It was a small general shop at a cross-roads; behind it was the dwelling-house. There was nobody about. Corbett went up to the door and rattled it; it was locked.

Joan said:’ ‘We’ll have to go round to the back.’ He turned, and walked round the building to a littered and untidy yard; Joan followed him. They came to a back door.

‘This’ll be it,’ he said.

He knocked on the door. Inside there was a sound of movements, but nobody came. He waited in the rain for a minute, and then knocked again. There was no answer. ‘There’s somebody inside all right,’ said Joan. He put his hand to the door and tried it. It opened a few inches, and then stopped on a chain. He called out: ‘Is anyone at home?’

What happened then was unexpected. A little girl of ten or twelve years old, a child in a dirty print frock and long black stockings, came to the crack of the door. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

Corbett said: ‘Good morning. I came to see if we could buy some milk.’

She said: ‘The shop isn’t open. We haven’t got any milk to sell.’

‘Look,’ said Corbett, ‘I see the shop’s not open. But I’ve come a long way, and I need milk for my baby. If you’ll sell me some. I’ll pay you much more than you usually get for each tin.’

There was a pause. The child said in a frightened tone: ‘We haven’t got any to sell.’

She tried to shut the door. The solicitor was before her, and put his foot into the crack. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘we need milk really badly. Ask your mother if she’ll speak to me.’

The child said through the crack: ‘She’s not here.’

‘Let me speak to your father.’

‘He’s not here, either.’

‘Where have they gone to?’

‘Swanwick.’

‘When will they be back?’

‘I don’t know.’

There was a short pause. The rain dripped from the roof with little liquid noises. Joan said: ‘Is there anyone else in the house besides you?’

The child did not answer, but tried again to shut the door. Joan turned helplessly to Corbett. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Get some milk,’ he said grimly.

He turned back to the door. ‘Open the door and let us in,’ he said. ‘Then we can talk this over.’

For answer, the child tried to kick his foot out of the door. Corbett turned to Joan. ‘We’ll have to break our way in, or give it up. But there’s nothing on the boat for the baby if we give it up.’

She hesitated. ‘This is hateful.’

‘I know. Still, we’ll have to do it.’

He turned back to the crack. ‘If you won’t open I shall have to break the door down,’ he said. ‘Be a good girl, and open up.’

He heard her sobbing, struggling to close the door. ‘You’re not to come in.’

Corbett said: ‘I’m coming in. Keep away from the door-I’m going to break it open. Keep right back, or you may get hurt.’

Joan got a piece of wood and wedged the crack open while he withdrew his foot. He took a short run and stamped violently against the door. At the third shot the staple of the chain tore from the woodwork; the door flew open and the child was thrown heavily against a sink at the far side of the scullery. With incredible agility she picked herself up and flew at them.

‘You’re not to come in,’ she cried. ‘You’re not to! You’re not to!’

She landed a well-directed kick on Corbett’s shin, and a deep scratch on his cheek. He struggled with her for a minute, then overpowered her and held her with her arms pinned behind her back, kicking the air, tears streaming down her cheeks in impotent rage.

‘You hold her if you can,’ he said to Joan. ‘Let’s get this over.’

Joan took her from him and he went forward through the sitting-room into the shop, mopping his bleeding cheek. She followed him in a minute; the child had ceased to struggle and was sobbing bitterly, refusing all comfort. She found him stooping down behind the counter.

‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘There’s a crate nearly full. Over fifty tins.’

Joan released the child, but kept between her and the door; the little girl collapsed on to a sack of potatoes and crouched there, crying her heart out. Joan leaned across the counter to look at the milk. ‘One of those will last the baby for a day,’ she said. ‘Take about fifteen-then we’ll feel safe.’

Corbett nodded. ‘May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’

He put fifteen tins out on to the counter. ‘How much do these things cost?’

She said: ‘Sevenpence.’

He calculated quickly. ‘I make that eight and nine-pence. I’ll leave a pound-that’s more than double price.’

Joan said: ‘Make it thirty bob. I mean, we don’t do this every day.’

‘All right.’

Behind them the little girl was sobbing hopelessly and bitterly upon the sack, in utter misery.’ I can’t stand this,’ said Joan.

She crouched down beside the child, and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t cry like that,’ she said gently. ‘You put up a grand show. Nobody could have done more than you did. It’s not your fault we were too strong for you. And we had to have the milk for our baby.’

The sobbing continued unabated. Joan fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped the child’s eyes. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, even if you had been a man. We had to get milk.’

The child lifted a tear-streaked face. ‘You wouldn’t have got it if my daddy had been here.’

‘Yes, we would. This was a hold up, dear-a real one, like you see on the pictures.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Peter, show her your gun.’

He pulled it from his pocket, a little awkwardly. The little girl stopped crying and looked at it, awe-struck. ‘Are you two gangsters?’ she said at last.

Joan nodded. ‘Yes, we’re gangsters,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell your daddy from us that you put up a splendid fight. And look, here’s the money. We’ve taken fifteen tins of milk, and here’s one pound ten shillings to pay for it. Now, don’t cry any more.’ She held her handkerchief to the child’s nose. ‘Come on and blow.’

The little girl obeyed. Her eyes were still fixed upon the automatic pistol. She asked: ‘Could I hold it for a minute?’

Joan nodded to Peter. He slipped out the magazine and gave the pistol to the little girl; she held it in her hands and turned it over. ‘My!’ she said. ‘Isn’t it heavy!’

They took it back from her and went towards the door, carrying their tins of milk. ‘Lock the door behind us when we’ve gone,’ said Joan. “Then nobody else will be able to get in.’

She hesitated. ‘Don’t think too badly of us,’ she said. ‘One day you’ll have a baby of your own, and then you’ll know …’

The child stood at the door and watched them as they went. ‘Goodbye,’ she said shyly.

They waved to her and went down the road towards

Warsash, their arms full of tins. They went silently,

immersed in their own thoughts^ At last Corbett said:

‘Well, anyway, we’ve got the milk.’

Joan said: ‘ I do hope she’ll be able to make her people understand.’

They went on down the hill with heavy hearts. They found the children at the inn and went on board the yacht again. They stowed their precious tins of milk away carefully and made a survey of their other stores. ‘I think I’ll make a loaf of bread before we start,’ said Joan. ‘We’ve got time, haven’t we?’

Corbett nodded. ‘I’m going to go on shore and see if I can get some brandy at the pub,’ he said. ‘We’ve only got a little whisky here.’

He took the dinghy and rowed over to the Hamble side. The barman sold him two bottles of old brandy at a fantastic price. Coming out of the inn he met Lammermoor, who had helped him on the first afternoon at Hamble. The young man’s features were a sort of ashen grey. ‘I say, old man,’ he said urgently. ‘Where does the district nurse live-do you know?’

Corbett shook his head. ‘I haven’t an idea. I’m sorry.’ The young man shook his head despairingly. ‘There must be a doctor or a nurse, or someone here. I can’t get any help.’

‘What’s the trouble?’

‘It’s Sissie. She’s been ill all night, and she’s looking simply awful now. I must get somebody.

He ran off up the village street. Corbett went back on board.

‘I’d like to get away as soon as we can,’ he said to Joan ‘Let’s make it snappy.’

They had a quick lunch, started up the engine, slipped the mooring, and stood away down river.

A brief shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds as they got under way. Joan sat at the tiller, taking the vessel down the river that she knew so well; the children played around her in the cockpit. Corbett was forward in the bows, ranging cable ready for anchoring. The vessel chugged forwards towards Southampton Water under the power of her old engine.

‘Mummy,’ asked Phyllis, ‘are we going to Seaview to have a bathe?’

‘Not to-day.’

‘Are we going to have a paddle?’

‘No. We’re just going to have a lovely sail.’

‘We can have a bathe one day, can’t we, Mummy?’

‘One day,’ said Joan.

Corbett came aft to the cockpit. ‘Peter,’ she said. ‘Where are we going, anyway?’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought we decided on Wootton. We shan’t do any better anywhere else. Unless you’d rather go to Cowes. But there’s that fresh-water lake at Wootton, which would do for washing, anyway.’ She nodded. ‘That’s all right. I only wanted to know.’ They stood down the Hamble river and out into the middle of Southampton Water. Here Joan headed the vessel up into the wind while Corbett got the mainsail up; they had worked a boat together for so many years that they had little need to talk about the jobs. He swung upon the halliard to tighten the luff; then she laid the boat off on her course towards the Solent, slacked sheet and runner, and settled down at the helm. Corbett set the jib and foresail, came aft and stopped the engine. The vessel slipped forward under sail alone, the dinghy towing behind.

Joan sighed. ‘It’s good to get away from Hamble,’ she said. ‘It was beginning to get on my nerves.’

He nodded. ‘I know. Still, I’ll feel better when we’re settled down in some new place.’

She glanced up at him in surprise. ‘But Wootton will be all right. There won’t be any bombing there, or cholera. And there ought to be plenty of milk in the island.’

He nodded. ‘It ought to be all right. I only hope there isn’t any catch in it.’

She laid her hand upon his arm. ‘Don’t worry-we’ll come out all right. If it comes to the worst we can always go back to Hamble.’ He nodded.

Presently she said: ‘Did you do anything about the car?’

‘No-I just left it parked where it was. Nobody will pinch it, because there isn’t any petrol. And anyway, it’s not worth pinching.’

She sighed. ‘We’re leaving a good bit of our property around the countryside. First the house and all our things, and then the car.’

He smiled. ‘We’ll be back home again before very long, and then we’ll have a fine time picking up the bits.’ She said quietly: ‘I wonder.’

Wootton Creek lies towards the east end of the island, not very far from Ryde; a car ferry runs to it from Portsmouth. They had a fair wind but a foul tide; it was about four o’clock in the afternoon before they reached the booms marking the entrance to the channel. Here they started up the engine again and brought the vessel head into the wind to lower the mainsail before going in.

A speed-boat of the type used from beaches in the summer for joy-riding came from the creek to meet them, throwing the waves magnificently aside. There was a policeman in her and two special constables; Corbett noticed with uneasiness that there was a service rifle beside one of them.

‘Here’s trouble,’ he said to Joan.

The boat ranged up to them, lost way, and lay rocking on the water half a dozen yards away. The constable stood up and hailed them. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Hamble.’

‘Have you got a Bill of Health?’

‘No,’ said Corbett. ‘We’ve not been abroad. We’ve come from Hamble-Hamble, near Southampton.’

‘You want a Bill of Health, coming from Hamble. That’s in the infected area.’

‘How long has this been in force?’

‘Thursday last. Nobody can land in the Isle of Wight without the vessel has a Bill of Health. I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to go back.’

‘Can I lie in Wootton for the night if I don’t go on shore?’

‘No, sir, you cannot. If you want to anchor you must go to quarantine.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Southampton Water, just below Hythe. You’ll see it marked with a big yellow flag. When you get there, report to the Port Sanitary Office-the launch will come out to you. Then when you’ve lain there for the statutory time, they’ll give you a clean Bill of Health, and you can come on here.’

‘How long will I have to stay there?’ ‘I couldn’t rightly say-they’ll tell you when you get there. I did hear it was seventeen days.’

Corbett expostulated: ‘But that’s absurd! ‘I’ll get bombed to hell each night I anchor there.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but them’s my orders.’

‘Isn’t there anywhere else that I can go to go into quarantine?’

‘Not in the Solent, sir. Of course, you could go back to Hamble. You won’t be able to go into Portsmouth. I should go back to Hamble, if I were you.’

There was a short silence. At last Corbett said: ‘All right-I’ll go back.’

‘One more thing,’ said the constable. ‘I know you’re a responsible gentleman, sir, and you wouldn’t go doing anything silly. But I have to warn you that no landing whatsoever, under any pretext, is permitted on the island except at Wootton, Ryde, Cowes and Yarmouth, and then only on a Bill of Health. Any attempt to effect an unauthorised landing after receipt of this warning will be treated as an offence under the Defence of the Realm Act.’

The solicitor pricked up his ears. ‘When did that Act come to life again?’

‘Tuesday of last week, sir.’

‘And what does all that mean, if I try to land?’

‘You might get shot at, sir. In any case, you would be liable to a maximum penalty of imprisonment for five years.’

‘I see,’ said Corbett. ‘I don’t think I’ll try it on.’ The man smiled. ‘I’m sorry for your sake, sir, and the lady. But if I was you, I should go back to Hamble for the night.’