Christmas on the Home Front. Roland Moore

hadn’t been right about what had happened to Connie. She was hoping that something would leap out at her.

      ‘There’s nothing here, is there?’

      ‘There might be something.’ Joyce wasn’t going to be rushed. She was determined not to give up before she’d started. A scuffed area of ground gave a possible place where Connie had fallen, but Joyce couldn’t be certain. But then she saw something that piqued her interest. A section of branch, sturdy and broken, lay on the ground near the disturbed area. Joyce picked it up and examined it.

      ‘Look.’

      ‘It’s a branch.’ Finch smiled, pleased with himself.

      ‘I know it’s a branch. It might be what knocked Connie off her bicycle. She might have hit it with enough force to break it off the tree.’

      Along one edge was a section where the bark was missing, revealing the young beige wood beneath. Could it have been damaged when Connie whacked her head on it? The section looked slightly red. Could it be blood?

      ‘We need to show this to a policeman.’ Joyce decided that this is what Miss Marple would do. The police would know if it was blood.

      ‘You’ll have to go a long way.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘PC Thorne has been moved to Birmingham.’

      ‘So who is running Helmstead Police Station?’

      Even before Finch offered a shrug, Joyce knew that the answer was probably no one. Since conscription had taken most of the policemen, they had been left with one bobby to service three villages and two towns. And now it looked like he had gone to an area of greater need.

      ‘Besides, even if he was here, he wouldn’t have time to look at that. We know what happened. The poor girl was riding along and walloped her head on this.’

      ‘But I think we should tell someone. It might be useful in treating her or something.’

      ‘Tell Doctor Channing about it. Can we go now, then?’ Finch shifted his weight from leg to leg like an impatient toddler.

      ‘You go. I can walk back to the farm.’

      ‘Are you sure? I mean, I thought you wanted to see this porker with me?’

      ‘No, it’s all right.’ Joyce tucked the club-like section of branch under her arm and watched Finch return to the van. He got in, shaking his head to himself as if he didn’t understand women. Who wouldn’t want to come to see a pig? Humming to himself, he started the engine and reversed the vehicle back onto the lane.

      Joyce was about to set off when she saw the abandoned car under the canopy of trees. She walked towards it and peered in the window. There was no one inside, but she noticed a blanket on the back seat. Had someone been sleeping here? Behind her, she saw a patch of charred ground. Someone had been here, but she had no way of knowing how long ago. Joyce clasped the stick and moved back to the lane and set off for Hoxley Manor.

      ‘They have chickens and a lot of land. And it’s out of the way. I didn’t see many people there.’

      Siegfried outlined the results to Emory of his reconnaissance mission to the outskirts of Pasture Farm. The older man didn’t look as pleased as the young man hoped he would. But in his head, he excused the reaction as being down to Emory’s exhaustion and the pain he was feeling from his arm.

      ‘Good work.’ Emory chewed his lip as he considered what the younger man had said. The two men returned to the abandoned car, missing Joyce by less than ten minutes. They knew they had to move and find somewhere else. Siegfried checked that he had the water bottle and the matches safely stowed in his knapsack. Emory checked that the blanket on the back seat was pushed into the footwell. Siegfried used his boot to cover the evidence of the fire, scraping leaf mulch over the charred ground. And after checking that there was little evidence of them having been here, Emory pushed the luger gun back into his belt.

      They would head to Pasture Farm.

      At Hoxley Manor, Doctor Richard Channing winced at the cacophonous clatter as the trolley of fresh bedpans made its way around the ward near his office. He reached across his desk and pushed the door shut with his fingertips before returning to his paperwork. A small but insistent headache was forming in his sinuses and he pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose as he worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of the door slowly opening. He assumed he hadn’t shut it properly and idly reached across to give it a firmer push.

      He was surprised to see Ellen Hoxley standing in the doorway. She was wearing a light blue woollen dress with a dark blue knitted shrug over her shoulders. A wry smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

      ‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ Her tone was playful and light.

      ‘Forgot what?’ Richard matched her tone.

      ‘The breakfast meeting.’

      ‘You mean, breakfast?’

      With a glance of her eyes, Ellen checked that no one was nearby in the corridor outside before replying. ‘Yes, but if we bring paperwork to it, it looks like we’re discussing hospital business and not merely enjoying ourselves.’

      ‘Heaven forbid people think that.’

      ‘Quite.’ A slight coldness had crept into her voice and the wry smile was replaced with questioning eyes. ‘It’s important that we set the right example. And even though people know that we are …’ She chose her next word carefully to Richard’s amusement, ‘friends. We shouldn’t flaunt that fact as if we were some lovestruck pair from the village.’

      ‘No, of course, you’re right. And I’m sorry to have missed our meeting.’

      He’d hoped that the apology would return the playfulness to Ellen’s eyes, but she looked concerned. Richard realised that he wasn’t responsible and that her attention had been drawn by an open folder of case notes on the desk.

      Connie Carter’s file.

      ‘That poor girl.’ Ellen looked genuinely upset for her.

      ‘Yes, we still don’t know what happened. I think she probably hit a branch. Knocked her off her bicycle.’

      ‘She didn’t say anything?’

      ‘No. She woke up briefly, but she seemed disorientated. Made no real sense, I’m afraid.’

      Now it was Richard’s turn to control the look in his eyes, conscious not to give anything away; conscious of not revealing that he knew more. Ellen didn’t need to worry about what Connie had said. He was protecting Ellen. Yes, that was what he was doing. After a long moment, Ellen nodded sadly. Richard relaxed, knowing he’d got away with it. Lying just took conviction. If you had the confidence to carry it off, you could get away with anything.

      She moved towards the door.

      ‘I’ll make some tea if you want some.’

      ‘That would be nice, thank you.’

      As Ellen left, Richard thought about Connie Carter. She hadn’t regained consciousness, hadn’t woken since that one time. The Reverend was still with her, praying and holding her hand, for all the good that would do. Richard knew that he had to be alert. Had he done the right thing in concealing what Connie had told him? Yes, it was for the best. He had to be ready. He looked at the telephone on his desk and wondered when it would ring. After a while, he decided that worrying about it wasn’t going to help him, so he busied himself with writing up some case notes.

      There was a soft knock on his door.

      Ah, the tea.

      ‘There’s no need to knock …’ Richard trailed off, before realising that it wasn’t Ellen in the doorway but Joyce Fisher. She was dressed in her land girl uniform. Her hair was slightly askew, and the sheen of perspiration was shining on her forehead. She caught her breath as she started to speak.