The Toff and the Kidnapped Child (2 page)

 

“Caroline!” the house-matron called.

Caroline Kane jumped up from her chair in a corner of the tiny, hopelessly untidy study.

“I'm just going to the dorm, matron,” she said.

“I didn't come about that, it's barely half-past nine,” the matron said. “Miss Abbott wants you.”

Caroline exclaimed: “Oh, lor'!” with such crestfallen vehemence that the matron laughed.

“I don't think you've done anything very terrible,” she said. “But hurry along. You'd better go straight up to the dormitory afterwards. I'll put your light out.”

“Thank you very much,” Caroline said.

She hurried along the narrow passage, lit dimly with small-powered lamps, past a dozen study doors, most of them closed and dark, one here and there with a light on and one of the senior girls reading or working, possibly two or three gossiping. At Hapley, a girl was senior at sixteen. Caroline reached the stone landing, out of the matron's sight, and immediately put her hands on the shiny rail at either side of the narrow, stone staircase, lifted her feet, and slid down; she reached the foot with a sharp click of toes and heels, straightened up and turned into a wider passage which had polished linoleum on the floor, and walked sedately towards Miss Abbott's rooms. Bright light came from the top of a door. Caroline slowed down a little, wondering why the housemistress could possibly want her as late as this, and whether matron was wrong. Abby had a lot of faults, but she was a fair devil, and it wouldn't be ‘fair' to carpet anyone at half-past nine; so she really need not worry. Lightly, thoughts of the minor misdemeanours which might have counted against her passed through her mind, but these faded as she tapped at the door and Miss Abbott called: “Come in.”

Caroline opened the door cautiously, saw the housemistress sitting in her armchair, with some sewing by her side, and realised that no one else was in the room; that was a good sign. She smiled; and she did not yet know how compelling that smile could be, and how even the most jaundiced and sceptical member of the staff was affected by it. She had a quality of naturalness, inherited from her mother, which made her popular with everyone. She had other qualities, only just beginning to make themselves apparent, which meant that before long men would be eyeing her. At sixteen, she was as mature in figure as many women five years older, and she walked with a long-legged grace which no one could fail to notice.

“Oh, it's you, Caroline. Come in and shut the door.” Miss Abbott, grey-haired, severe looking, very slightly faded, and dressed now, as she usually was, in a pale grey suit, always looked cool. There was no censoriousness in her voice, nothing to suggest trouble. “A rather unexpected thing has happened,” she went on, “and I want you to keep it to yourself no matter how tempting it may be to tell the other girls. May I have your promise, please?”

“Yes, Miss Abbott,” Caroline answered; and she did not realise that the housemistress felt a warmth of affection for a child who would undoubtedly keep her word. She herself was more puzzled than ever.

“Very well. You know that we make it a strict rule that none of the girls may be out of the school grounds after half-past nine, in any circumstances, but the Head has agreed that you are going to be the exception.” Abby seemed to be taking pleasure in being mysterious, and Caroline fought back her impatience with excitement. “Your father is passing through Hapley Station on the train which arrives from London at ten minutes to ten, and stays for ten minutes. He is very anxious to have a word with you, and I told him that you could be at the platform to talk with him.”

Caroline's eyes glowed. “Oh, wiz—” she began, and corrected herself almost unthinkingly: “Wonderful! Thank you ever so much, Miss Abbott.”

“That's perfectly all right, provided you keep your promise, and you come straight back,” Miss Abbott said. “I shall expect you at a quarter past ten. Tap when you're in.”

“Oh, I will!”

“And put a coat on, there's a chillier wind than there was this afternoon,” said Miss Abbott.

Five minutes later, raincoat over her arm for it was warmer than Miss Abbott had thought, Caroline hurried across the front garden, then through a side gate and out of the school grounds. There was a certain excitement in being here so late; even on a dull evening although it was still daylight, and should be still quite light when she came back. It was twenty minutes to ten, and she had just time to get to the station. Now and again she broke into a run, she was so anxious not to miss a moment of this unexpected meeting. A little breathless, she hardly believed that she was going to see her father, and did not ask herself why he was travelling by train and not by car, as he usually did. She heard a train whistle, a long way off, as she turned towards the station. She knew that it was coming from London, and was almost certainly the one she was going to meet.

She could go along the road, the long way round, or could take a narrow alley, flanked by the wall of a house on one side, and the wall of the station yard on the other. When the school exodus at holiday times was on, the alley was forbidden and the girls had to traipse round by the road, but nothing had been said tonight, and the shortcut saved several minutes. Caroline believed that she could hear the chug-chug-chug of the train, but was not quite sure that she would reach the station first. She needed some coppers for a platform ticket, and fumbled in a small purse in the pocket of her dark blue uniform dress. At the end of the alley was the station approach, with its cobbled yard, two or three old taxis almost certainly waiting, the grimy brick walls plastered with coloured posters advertising the glories of seaside resorts. She could even see the cobbles, but a car or taxi pulled up at the end of the passage, and a man jumped out. He stood for a moment looking along the alley towards her, and she hoped that he would not come along it; if he did, she would have to squeeze past him, and she hated pressing against men.

A young woman got out of the car and stood beside him. She was rather short, with a big bust and a very small waist; that showed clearly, because in a way she was in silhouette. She stood peering, like the man. Her hair, dropping almost to her shoulders like Diana Dors', was very fair; it seemed to shimmer.

They didn't come down there.

As Caroline drew nearer, she heard the man say in a tone of deep satisfaction: “That's her.”

Caroline thought: ‘I've never seen them before.' The train whistled, further off than she had realised, so she had plenty of time; but these two made her feel uneasy, for some reason she could not understand. Why should they have said ‘that's her'? She drew almost level with them, and unless they stood aside she would not be able to get out of the alley.

The woman smiled. She had a very pale face, and no lipstick or rouge; it made her look rather like one or two of the senior girls at school who had worn make-up for the weekend, and cleaned it off for the school week.

“Aren't you Caroline Kane?”

“Yes, that's right,” said Caroline. The woman did not trouble her, but she did not like the man at all. He was the type against which Miss Abbott had often warned her; short, rather dark, with heavily greased hair, very dark eyes, like black olives, a jacket with very wide shoulders and trousers that were very narrow, so that the big brown shoes at the bottom of them looked absurd. He was staring at her intently.

“He's ever so sorry, but your father couldn't catch the train,” the woman said. “He's very anxious to see you, though, because he has to fly to America first thing in the morning. He's sent us to take you to see him.”

Disappointment at the first words faded into doubt and surprise. Her father often travelled unexpectedly, and usually the first intimation Caroline had that he was overseas was a postcard from a foreign country, with just a few bright, casual words, which she had grown used to from him; he seemed to be able to say as much in a sentence as some people could say in a long letter. There was another cause for doubt: these were not the kind of people he associated with, not the kind she would have expected him to use as messengers.

“It's an emergency trip,” the man put in.

He had an unexpectedly soft voice, and a surprisingly pleasant smile.

“And he won't be back for six months,” the girl urged.

That decided Caroline; if this were such an emergency, and if he were going to be away during the school hols, she had to see him. She had vague thoughts that she ought to send a message to the school, and ought to ask how far away her father was. But the man was opening the door of the car and the girl helped her towards it. It did not occur to her that they were very anxious to make sure that she got in.

“Just a minute,” she said, and held back. “I must tell Miss Abbott – that's my housemistress – that I'll be late. I can telephone over there.”

“Your father's sent another message to the school,” the man reassured her, and gripped her elbow and seemed to thrust her forward; she felt herself climbing into the car almost against her will, although the answer had come pat, and if it were true there was no need to worry.

She sank down on a cushiony seat, and the blonde got in beside her. The man went to the wheel, moving very quickly, as if this were really a matter of urgency. Almost before she had accepted the situation, Caroline was being driven off, through the familiar streets which soon gave way to the wide country roads. A mile or so away there were crossroads where one could turn for London or for the north. She need not ask where her father was, for she would soon be able to tell which way they were going. Now disappointment because of the holidays was uppermost in her mind.

The car swayed as it turned a corner, and she was thrown against the side; the man was driving very fast, but her father often did, and speed did not worry her at all. As she recovered, she felt a sharp prick of pain in her right forearm, making her gasp. She glanced swiftly at the blonde, and saw that she was concealing something in her right hand; something which glistened.

In sudden panic, Caroline cried: “What's that? What did you do to me?”

“Do? I didn't do anything.”

“Yes, you did.” Caroline raised her arm quickly, and on the sun-browned skin just below the elbow there was a tiny globule of blood. “You pricked me! What was it?”

“Don't be silly,” the other said, rather sharply. “I've a pin in my sleeve, that's all.” Whatever she was concealing was hidden by the folds of her full dress now. “Sit back and relax.”

Caroline sat back, but could not relax. She wiped the blood off, and it smeared a little. She thought that there was a numb sensation around the spot, but told herself that it might be imagination. She pretended to look out of the window, and after a few moments she felt much more drowsy than she had. Suddenly, she darted her hand towards the folds of the blonde's dress, took her by surprise, touched something hard, and pulled out a hypodermic syringe; she recognised it on the instant.

“No!” she cried. “You've injected something into me. What are you doing to me? What—”

“
Keep her quiet
,” said the driver roughly, and he swung the wheel again, pressing her against the door so that she was quite helpless. That awful feeling of drowsiness was worse than ever; she felt as if she were losing consciousness, and panic swept over her.

“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me go!” She struck at the blonde, who was thrusting her hands towards her, and slapped her sharply across the face. The car swung in the other direction, and for a moment Caroline was pressed close against the woman, who was helpless. “
Let me go!
”
she screamed, and then snatched at the handle of the door, heedless of the fact that they were travelling at great speed.

The handle clicked, and the door sagged open. But before it swung wide, the driver turned round and struck her violently on the side of the head, while the blonde recovered and pushed her away, slammed the door, and said: “If you don't keep quiet, you'll really get hurt.”

Caroline opened her mouth to scream, although screaming would be useless on these nearly deserted country roads. She did not scream, but then, with awful suddenness, she felt unconsciousness sweeping over her, felt numbness in her limbs, and sank back.

The car hurtled on.

 

Miss Abbott glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and thought: ‘She's later than I expected,' but did not let that worry her. It was not yet half-past ten, and although the train was usually punctual on its way from London to the north, it had been known to be late, even in the summer. She got up, pushing her sewing to one side, yawned, went into the little kitchen where she could make herself a cup of tea, and put on the kettle. Caroline Kane still hadn't returned when she went into the living-room, and for the first time she began to feel a twinge of alarm. At a quarter past ten she put down a half finished cup of tea, and went to the telephone. As she lifted it and began to dial the station, she told herself that there was no need at all to worry; the train was still at the station, of course.

“British Railways,” a man said, perkily.

“I'm sorry to worry you, but can you tell me if the nine-fifty train from London is in yet?”

“Been and gone long ago,” the perky man said. “Bang on time tonight, it was. That all?”

“No!” exclaimed Miss Abbott, and felt suddenly breathless with the onrush of a kind of panic which was really born out of the fact that Caroline Kane was always so dependable. “I'm sorry, but I wonder if I could speak to someone who was on duty when the train came in.”

“I was, lady.”

“I wonder—I wonder if you saw one of the College girls go on the platform,” Miss Abbott asked, and immediately blamed herself for having put the question: it might start the man talking, might spread gossip through Hapley for no reason at all. The late return and the fact that the train had been punctual had combined to make her behave foolishly.