Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 1) Page 10

  Suddenly, Alex recognized her. “You’re the WVS lady!”

  Hannah jabbed him with an elbow, saying, “She’s not Miss Tatchell.”

  “I know that!” Alex said. “She’s the other one…with the food.”

  Now Hannah recognized her. She was the tall, bossy old lady who had made her take that disgusting sausage roll.

  “That’s right!” said the woman. “I’m Mrs. Devenish.” She pronounced it “Deh-ven-ish”, with equal emphasis on each syllable.

  “What’s the WVS?” asked Alex. Hannah turned to shush him, but Mrs. Devenish didn’t seem surprised to be asked.

  “Women’s Voluntary Service, my dear. We’re in charge of assisting the evacuees. That’s why you met us when you arrived in Balesworth, and I expect you saw some of us on the journey from London.” This woman is totally boring, Hannah thought with annoyance.

  “Um, we don’t want to keep you,” said Hannah, putting on the polite fake face she found was most effective with adults, “We’ve been for a long walk, and we finished up our picnic, but there wasn’t much food, and we’re starving.” Alex looked at her with shock at this total fib, but she continued, undaunted. “We don’t want to hurt our host family’s feelings by asking for more to eat. Do you know when the café in the main street is open today?”

  “The Tudor Tearoom? Well, it’s not open at all, not on a Sunday. In any event, it’s a pretty dreadful place, too many flies for my liking. Look, why don’t the two of you come inside, and you can meet Eric? He’s my evacuee. I shall make all of us a nice cup of tea and something to eat. I’m a little peckish myself.”

  Hannah was horrified. More sausage rolls? Something else disgusting? But Mrs. Devenish was already halfway back down the garden path to her front door, with an enthusiastic Alex happily trotting beside her.

  Eric was a short, chatty kid of about ten, with large teeth, a thick London accent, and a keen interest in stamp collecting, which he was happy to explain to Alex. Mrs. Devenish frequently interrupted Eric to tell him to take his elbows off the enormous oak kitchen table, sit up straight, and remember to pronounce the “H”s at the beginning of words. He took her running commentary on his manners and accent good-naturedly, and rolled his eyes at Hannah and Alex as soon as her back was turned. Soon, Mrs. Devenish produced thick slices of bread, smothered in a delicious butter unlike anything Hannah or Alex had ever tasted, and a jar of home-made jam.

  “Damson,” she announced loudly as she plunked the glass jar on the table.

  “Excuse me?” said Hannah, smirking.

  “The jam,” said Mrs. Devenish. “It’s damson, from the garden.” Seeing the kids’ blank looks, she gave a small smile, and said “They’re rather like plums. I don’t expect they’re commonly found in London.”

  Next came glasses of milk for Alex and Eric, followed by a round-bellied brown teapot, steam streaming from its spout, a jug of milk covered in a tiny cloth to keep out flies, and a jar of honey.

  “I have tried jolly hard to wean myself off sugar in my tea,” Mrs. Devenish said, “But it is hopeless. However, my daughter, the younger one who works at the Ministry of Defence in London, suggested I might try honey, since I keep bees. She was quite right, of course. It’s certainly better than nothing.”

  She pulled off her apron, flopped into a chair, and to Hannah’s horror, lit up a cigarette, with a match from the large box that sat on the table. Seeing Hannah’s face, she said, “I took up cigarettes while I was a nurse, during the last war. My younger daughter says I’m very fashionable, now that all the girls working in London are smoking.”

  “That’s so awful!”

  “I don’t see why,” Mrs. Devenish said indignantly. “As my daughter says, you need something to calm your nerves when old Adolf is trying to kill you on a daily basis. Oh…let me pick this up before someone trips over it.” She leaned down, and before Hannah could stop her, lifted the basket that was sitting at their feet.

  “That’s just trash,” said Hannah quickly. “Tell me where you keep your garbage, and I’ll toss it.”

  But it was already too late. Mrs. Devenish, feeling the basket’s weight, paused with a puzzled look, pulled it onto her lap, and yanked back the cover. She pulled out a sandwich and an egg, then another, and another, and in silence, piled the uneaten food on the table.

  She looked severely at Hannah and Alex. “You told me that you two had eaten your picnic. Would you care to explain yourselves?”

  “Don’t blame Alex, it’s my fault,” admitted Hannah. “The food, it’s not what we’re used to. Alex is okay with it, but I didn’t want to eat it. I told Alex we should go to the café instead. We didn’t plan on you inviting us in.”

  Her temper rising, Mrs. Devenish spoke sharply to her. “In case it has escaped your attention, this is a war. Hitler is bombarding London with everything he’s got, and we are expecting the Nazis to try to invade us any day now. German submarines are sinking the ships that bring us food, drowning the sailors who risk their lives every day to keep us fed. And I would bet a pound to a penny that you are looking at your foster parents’ egg ration for the week. But you, Hannah, you, a spoilt, silly little girl, don’t care for this food or that food, and so into the bin it must go.” She glared at Hannah.

  Hannah felt her own anger rapidly welling up during the speech. As soon as Mrs. Devenish had had her say, Hannah jumped to her feet. “Hey, lady, you know what? Here’s a newsflash: Hitler’s not coming. You’re gonna win the war, whether or not I eat the stinky sandwiches. So why don’t you mind your own stupid business?” With that, she ran through the kitchen door, and into the back garden.

  “Hormones,” said Alex knowingly, to Mrs. Devenish’s even greater astonishment, and Eric’s total confusion.

  For five very long minutes, Hannah sat all alone on the high-backed wooden bench on the lawn, her knees hunched up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her face pink with anger and shame. She was feeling a bit sick, and very stupid. She really wished she hadn’t said all that, especially that part about Hitler not coming. Oh, duhhhh…

  Suppose this Mrs. Devenish lady thought she was a German spy? Or that she was totally nuts? She certainly wouldn’t believe the truth. Anyway, was it honestly such a big deal to toss that gross food that Mrs. Archer had given them? It wouldn’t really make a difference to those sailors. And why did this woman care what she did? Just the same, Hannah had a queasy feeling in her stomach, one that felt suspiciously like guilt. She fought it down, and focused on getting angrier instead. Who does this woman think she is, she thought furiously, talking to me like I’m a little kid?

  She raised her head at the sound of footsteps marching briskly up the path, and, with a stab of uneasiness, saw the imposing figure of Mrs. Devenish headed straight toward her. Looking sternly at Hannah, she sat down next to her on the bench.

  “Now listen to me, Hannah Day,” she said ominously, “I have a good mind to put you across my knee and tan your backside.”

  Hannah sat up straight in horrified amazement, gawping at her. “But…What? No… No, you can’t! You’ve got no right…I just met you!”

  “You are a child, and I am your elder,” Mrs. Devenish said, fixing Hannah with the steely glare that her grown daughters knew all too well. “You lied to me about wasting food, and abused my generosity. That was wicked. Then, when I took you to task, as it was my right and duty to do, you had the impudence to shout at me, and in my own house. So, contrary to what you suppose, I believe I have every right.”

  She paused to let the threat sink in.

  Hannah certainly was taking it in: Her stomach had done a triple axel and dropped through her knees.

  There was a long and tense pause, during which Hannah did her best to look cool and unfazed, as she desperately planned an escape route across the lawn and through the bushes to the road. Mrs. Devenish, meanwhile, seemed to gaze thoughtfully into the middle distance. In fact, she was shrewdly watching Hannah from the corner of her eye.r />
  Finally, after what seemed to Hannah like the longest moment of her life, Mrs. Devenish broke the silence. She said gently, “However…Although I am very cross with you, I do understand that this is a difficult time for you children. I imagine that you have endured a great deal in the last few days.”

  Right at that moment, Hannah was so incredibly relieved that she would not have to choose between a frantic escape attempt and hideous humiliation, she almost began to tell this woman everything. But she realized immediately that this would be a mistake. And, anyway, her gratitude rapidly turned to resentment. Mrs. Devenish had put her through the wringer. What a total hag.

  She mulled over for a moment about what she really needed to get out of the woman.

  She said: “Our friend who came with us from…from London. He’s missing, and we’re scared he’s dead. Please, can you help us?”

  For a talker, Mrs. Devenish turned out to be a very good listener.

  When Hannah had finished her edited version of Brandon’s disappearance, Mrs. Devenish began to think aloud. “This man you saw in the Tudor Tea Room, the chap with the moustache? You’re not talking about the billeting officer, Mr. Simmons, are you? He is the gentleman with a pipe and spectacles who was registering everyone as they arrived.” Hannah shook her head.

  “Then it must be the older man from London.”

  “That’s him. His name started with an “S” too, but I can’t remember what it was.”

  “Didn’t he come with you?” asked Mrs. Devenish. “I thought I saw him bring you in.”

  “He caught us having tea in the café,” Hannah said, “and told us we had to go to the church hall. Then Miss Tatchell said she would take us, and she was the one who brought us. We saw the man in the hall after Brandon disappeared, so he couldn’t have gone with him.”

  “It seems to me,” said Mrs, Devenish decisively, “that I must make some enquiries. You have come to the right person, Hannah. I am one of the few lady magistrates in the county.”

  “What does that mean?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m a J.P., Hannah, a Justice of the Peace, otherwise known as a magistrate. It means, in a small way, that I’m a judge. I have the power to try minor cases in court, and to make enquiries that serve the good of the community. I shall pay a call on Mr. Simmons, and that will almost certainly resolve the matter. He has the list of where all the children are billeted.”

  “But before we left the hall with the Archers, he told us that Br…George had run off,” said Hannah.

  “Nonetheless, he would have whatever information may be available on George’s whereabouts. Now, what is George’s surname?”

  Hannah guessed that she meant last name. “Braithwaite,” she said.

  Mrs. Devenish looked surprised. “That name is familiar… I wonder…What an odd coincidence that would be,” she said to herself.

  “What?” asked Hannah. “What coincidence?”

  “That’s none of your business, Hannah,” said Mrs. Devenish shortly. “Now, in the very unlikely event that your friend truly is missing, I promise I shall contact the WVS in London.”

  Seeing Hannah look downcast, Mrs. Devenish tried to cheer her up. “I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about. The evacuation was bound to be a bit of a muddle, but I’m sure we’ll find your friend is as right as rain. Now, why don’t we fetch Alex and Eric before they make themselves sick gorging on bread and jam, and I’ll show you both my greenhouse?”

  “Okay,” said Hannah. She added grudgingly, “Sorry about, you know, what happened.”

  She waited for Mrs. Devenish to reply with reassurance and an apology of her own. It didn’t happen.

  Mrs. Devenish merely gave a curt nod, stood up, and said, “Are your foster family on the telephone?”

  “Yeah, they have a phone,” she said reluctantly.

  “Splendid. Then I shall call them to let them know where you are, and to tell them that I shall send both you and Alexander home later on. This afternoon, I have decided, you shall have your picnic for tea. I put it in the larder to keep while you were out here sulking.”

  “But…” said Hannah, appalled. She had said she was sorry. What more did this woman want?

  “No buts, young woman,” Mrs. Devenish said firmly. “Did you really think that I would let you go scot-free after that dreadful exhibition? My word, you are quite the optimist. Perhaps you would prefer that I return you to your foster mother with a smacked bottom and the tale of what almost became of the picnic she packed for you. No? I thought not. Now, if you will tell the boys that we are going out to the greenhouse, I shall ring up your foster family. What is their name?”

  Stepping into Mrs. Devenish’s large greenhouse was to step into a green sea of plants. There were plants standing in large pots in corners, and plants hanging from baskets hooked to the ceiling. There were plants in small pots arranged like soldiers in rows on wooden benches, and empty pots, awaiting occupants, stacked haphazardly underneath. The children splashed across the wet floors, breathing in a heady smell of moist garden soil. Mrs. Devenish paused in front of a bench. “Now, Hannah, you are probably wondering what an old widow like me needs with such an enormous greenhouse.”

  Peevishly, Hannah thought, Not really, you witch, I mean, who cares? Whatever. She said nothing.

  “Well,” Mrs. Devenish continued regardless, in a hushed voice and with a twinkle in her eye, “I need this for my top secret research.”

  Alex remembered one of the posters he had seen hanging in the church hall. “Careless talk costs lives,” he said solemnly. Eric laughed.

  “Quite right, too, Alexander,” Mrs. Devenish said, with a wink to a sour-faced Hannah. “However, I must confess that perhaps I exaggerate just a little. I am a researcher, but it’s hardly top secret, since I will soon broadcast my findings on the wireless.”

  “You have your own radio show?” Hannah said in surprise.

  “Good Lord, no!” laughed Mrs. Devenish. “But I’ve been asked by a friend at the Ministry of Food to contribute something for the BBC about how people can add more vegetables and herbs to their diets. It is a bit of a challenge, frankly. So many people don’t like to change how they eat, do they?” She looked at Hannah knowingly. Hannah turned away from her, and took out her annoyance on a stray leaf she had just decided should be named “Devenish,” grinding it to pulp underfoot.

  Oblivious to the female drama playing out in front of him, Alex was very impressed. “You’re gonna be famous! Can I have your autograph?” Mrs. Devenish told him not to be so silly, but Hannah could tell she was flattered, which made her hate the woman even more. She picked up another leaf, which she silently dubbed “Devenish Two,” and shredded it into tiny pieces in her fingers.

  Alex was overjoyed when Mrs. Devenish nudged him, handed him an enamel bowl, and rattled off a list of plants she wanted him to pick, then began helping him to find them. She sent Hannah and Eric to walk back to the house ahead of them.

  “Mrs. D. threaten you with a good ‘iding, then, did she?” asked Eric cheerfully, as they crossed the lawn.

  “Get lost, creep,” said Hannah stonily, not looking at him.

  “Thought so, ‘cos you been po-faced ever since you come in the green’ouse. If it makes you feel better, she threatens me all the time, but she’s not laid an ‘and on me yet. It’s just her way of putting the fear of God into us. I reckon her bark is a lot worse than her bite. Mrs. D’s not such a nasty old bag as she wants us to think...”

  He held open the kitchen door for Hannah, and added, with a grin,

  “Mind you, that was a right little performance you gave, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t be so daft as to push her as far as you did, ‘cos there’s always a first time for everything, i’n’t there?”

  “Yeah, I guess there is,” said Hannah. “Hey, you don’t mind if I tell her you called her an old bag, right? I’m sure she’ll get the joke.”

  Eric’s grin vanished. “Don’t you dare,” he squealed.
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  “Thought so,” said Hannah smugly.

  Later that afternoon in the large kitchen, Hannah and Alex sat at the table near a glowing coal fire, helping Mrs. Devenish to recycle the remains of the picnic. Eric had already set off for a friend’s house, having been invited to tea.

  Mrs. Devenish whisked together a home-made mayonnaise using eggs from her hens, and Hannah, after peeling and mashing the hard-boiled picnic eggs with a fork, stirred in some of the mayo and a sprinkling of fresh chives. Alex then spread the mixture onto freshly buttered bread for sandwiches.

  Then Mrs. Devenish carefully opened the salmon paste sandwiches, and Alex artfully arranged upon them crisp fresh slices of cucumber, which she had first showed him how to salt and dry on a kitchen towel to draw out the excess water.

  She had even found a way to improve and extend the cake: She broke up the slices, placed them in a bowl, and, to the children’s surprise and Hannah’s delight, she sprinkled the cake pieces with sherry wine. She added a thin layer of damson jam and some canned peaches, and then, using some of her precious sugar ration, she made a custard sauce on the old stove, pouring it onto the cake when it had cooled a little.

  “Not my best trifle,” she sighed, “but it will certainly do. There is a war on, after all.”

  The table was completed with a thin slice of ham on each of their plates, accompanied by a solitary lettuce leaf and a slice of tomato. Mrs. Devenish declared that this was a ham salad, to Hannah’s silent amusement. In fact, when they sat down to eat, the meal, although simple, was delicious, especially the trifle. Hannah even drank the last bottle of picnic soda without complaining. By the end of the afternoon, she was beginning to think that, as well as being useful, the Devenish woman had her good points. Well, one or two, maybe.