Chapter 13

The front door of the vicarage creaked open. Iain held it back with his foot as Foyle walked through. After donning his hat, Foyle turned to face the doorway again, his back to the wind – Sam can't have been that far behind.

Judging by Danny's glowing cheeks and the renewed bounce in his step, Sam must have told her husband the news. Foyle was of course happy for them – the impending arrival of a new baby ought to be celebrated, especially during these austere and somewhat depressing times – but he did worry about his friend and one-time driver. Motherhood, he knew, was a demanding job with little to no respite and the pressures on parents and marriages was immense but he also knew that Sam was one of the strongest and most determined women that he had ever met. If anyone could cope, it was she and he was determined to help her – the whole little family – as much as he could.

"Here," Danny said, his voice soft behind an almost constant smile. "Your coat, sweetheart."

He slipped each sleeve up and over her shoulders and adjusted the collar.

"Just be grateful that you're not in the car, too" Andrew theatrically whispered to the baby in his arms. "It would be mighty bumpy" he added, jiggling the little girl up and down, her smile growing wide at the attention. He followed Sam out through the door although he stayed in the small protected space at the top step. The wind was getting sharp and the crispness of winter was behind every blow.

"Don't be a rotter" Sam retorted and swatted Andrew's arm playfully.

"And if I were you" Danny said, his eyes wide, "I wouldn't be giggling her up and down too much straight after a feed."

Both Sam and Danny laughed at Andrew's wide eyes.

"It would serve him right," Sam said, linking her arm with Danny's, "to be sicked up on."

Sam adjusted the pin on her hat and turned back to Andrew with a smile.

"You wouldn't do that to your Uncle Andrew, would you?" he asked, his words getting lost in Katie's auburn hair.

Isobelle reached behind Andrew and gripped the handle on the door.

"Let's keep what little warmth we have in this house on the inside" she said. Katie gave a shrill squeal and all three of them disappeared behind the large door.


The afternoon sun, it's strength quickly fading, touched the top of the mountains to their left as the old car took Sam, Foyle, Danny and Iain north towards Arundell.

Suddenly the car jerked forward as the engine spluttered. "Sorry" Sam muttered, hastily changing gears. "That gear's a bit tricky."

Danny moaned as his knees pushed uncomfortably into the leather behind Sam's seat.

"Sorry, darling" she said, her brow furrowed.

"Quite alright, love" he replied, rubbing his knee as he turned to give his legs as much room as possible. "It's fine."

"The two lads from the, um ..." Foyle began, breaking the awkward silence. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the neatly folded note written in the Captain's script. " ….Home Guard."

"Croxton and Darlington" Danny moaned, although this time it had nothing to do with his joints.

"Mmmm" Foyle hummed and took in a deep breath before saying "any idea why Captain Southerby-Jones would give me Sir Alfred's address for them?"

Danny and Iain turned their heads towards Foyle.

"No, I ..." Iain replied over the back of his seat although, by his blank expression, he was either processing some deeply recalled piece of information or he was completely flummoxed.

"Can't say I know too much about them" Danny interjected, his body turned so much that he was almost reclining. "we don't talk much."

"Many families around these parts are providing accommodation for evacuees" Iain said, finding his voice. "Sir Alfred certainly has the room".

"That he does" Danny added, his eyes wide.

Sam gripped the wheel tightly as they manoeuvred around some stray cattle on the road. Their speed dropped and the two right side wheels went off the road and into a dip.

"What about that fire?" Sam asked, pushing down on the accelerator as they left the beasts behind. "It must have affected the available space."

"Fire?" Foyle asked, turning to study the back of Sam's head. It wasn't the view of her that he was used to while driving and for a moment he felt a little off kilter.

"A terrible business" Iain answered, a finger pressing on the bridge of his spectacles. "Fortunately, it was just the summer house that was affected. Not the main house." Ian placed a hand on the back of his seat. "Quite the blessing that the fire didn't pass to the house. The two buildings are quite close."

Foyle nodded and touched the knot on his tie.

"Sir Alfred was able to, uh, put out the fire? All on his own?" Foyle asked.

"Oh no" Iain replied, shaking his head slowly. "The fire brigade were called."

"To a remote house ..." he asked and flipped his wrist to check the time, "more than forty minutes from the village?"

Danny drew his lips in, trapping them behind his teeth. It appeared that he was stifling a comment, unsure of how his words would be received.

Iain and Danny exchanged silent remarks – facial expressions taking the place of words.

Danny nodded slowly then, after drawing in a deep breath, said "Sir Alfred knows many people in the village, Christopher. It's rare for his needs to be … ignored." The last word was chosen carefully and Iain tapped the edge of his seat.

"His needs ahead of …..the needs of others?" Foyle pondered out loud. "Right."

Sam coughed in an exaggerated way, drawing her hand to her mouth.

"Okay, love?" Danny asked, turning toward her.

"Yes" she replied, angling her head slightly. "We're almost there. Just beyond this cross road." She nodded towards an immaculately kept hedge, the edge of which lined a short driveway.

The monstrous house, it's white washed facade reflecting the low sun, appeared as Sam turned the first bend of the driveway. The gardener, Comino, looked up from his work, one hand on the wooden wheel barrow, as they drove past. Iain gave the middle-aged man a courteous wave, acknowledging their previous meeting, but Comino merely nodded and went back to his work.

"Poor man" Iain lamented. "How he must be suffering."

"Can we do anything for him?" Sam asked quietly as the car came to a halt.

"He's Roman Catholic, my dear" Ian said and turned to his daughter. "I don't think that there's much that I can offer at this time that would be welcomed."

Sam frowned and pursed her lips. "Hmmm" she grumbled.

Foyle touched the back of Iain's seat. "I um, might just have a look over at the summer house" he said, pointing with his finger to the charred remains of a miniature replica of the house. A stone staircase in front of the car pointed the way.

"Oh" Iain replied, turning his body so that he, too, could see the remains. "Yes."

Danny leapt out of his seat and gave each of his legs a quick stretch as he stood. As Sam's door opened, he took a step to the side and helped her out. "Alright, love?" he quietly asked. Sam nodded, smiled and brushed her fingertips across his cheek.

At each step, the gravel under Foyle's feet crunched. His movements were hardly silent, much to his lament. He'd have preferred to have entered the scene unannounced, to have had a moment to survey what remained without being noticed – perhaps not this time.

An overwhelming smell of fuel, the fumes unmistakable, suddenly hit his senses. Foyle stopped in his tracks, a good seven yards away from the small summer house, and took in the scene. Blackened marks, the evidence of flames, coloured the outside and the two windows on the far side were cracked.

Foyle stepped closer, this time moving himself off the gravel and onto the neatly cropped grass, masking his movements. The wind unexpectedly blew, whipping up the acrid smell. Foyle's windpipe started to burn and he coughed heavily into his fist. With his left hand he reached into his pocket and drew out his handkerchief. Unable to draw in enough breath, his legs started to shake and he dropped onto one knee. His right hand on the grass on front of him, he drew the handkerchief up to his mouth, filtering what little breath he could draw in.

"What are you doing here, old man?" a threatening voice called from behind.