Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 1) Read online

The Professor’s face grew very serious. “Come with me. The rest of you, get on with your work.”

  As Hannah walked from the classroom, nobody could understand why she didn’t look afraid. They were impressed: They certainly would have been, if they had been her.

  Hannah followed the Professor down the hall, and into an empty classroom nearby.

  “Hannah, please drop the attitude,” the Professor said despairingly, as she closed the door behind them. “You almost blew my cover. It’s hard enough to pretend I know anything at all about math. It was always my worst subject at school. I used to hide in the back of the classroom and pray for the bell to ring.”

  Hannah gazed coldly at her. “Whatever. Why should I care? I don’t even care if these people find out you kidnapped us from twenty-first century America.”

  “Well, actually,” said the Professor, perching on the edge of the teacher’s desk, “I didn’t. But that’s beside the point.”

  “Not to me,” said Hannah, sitting down on one of the student desks. “I think you must be totally crazy. Maybe you’re some kind of evil genius. It’s so not fair to get us involved in this stuff that has nothing to do with us.”

  “Hold it,” the Professor said, holding up her hand. “How do you know it has nothing to do with you?”

  Hannah looked at her with loathing. “I’m not from England, get it? I don’t know any of these people, and they’re all probably dead by the time I was born. What difference does it make if I’m here? And now it looks like poor Brandon isn’t even in the same time period.”

  “Well,” said the Professor, lifting the lid on one of the desks, and abruptly dropping it closed with a bang. “That’s what I have come to tell you. Brandon and George Braithwaite are not one and the same, but you can’t find one without finding the other.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means what it says. The only thing I can tell you is not to worry about Brandon, because there’s nothing you can do right now, and he’s fine. But George needs your help. Let Mrs. Devenish help you, because she can and she will, so long as you keep in touch. And please understand that whatever it is that you need to do, and whatever might happen to you, no matter how unpleasant, you are doing a good thing.”

  “Suppose I don’t care?” said Hannah. It wasn’t really a question.

  “You would,” said the Professor firmly. “You would care if you really knew what was happening. And you must care, because finding George is your ticket home.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Hannah cried.

  “I’m not,” said the Professor. “Now let’s go back to class. The other girls think I have been scolding you, so try to look upset and angry. Oh, I see you already do. That’s helpful.”

  A letter arrived from Eric in the afternoon mail that day, inviting Hannah and Alex to Mrs. Devenish’s house on Sunday, and instructing them to arrive no earlier than half past ten, after church. Mrs. Archer wasn’t pleased, but she reluctantly allowed them to go.

  “It’s not as though I can say no to the likes of that Devenish woman, is it?” she grumbled. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us, just because she’s a magistrate and goes to church every Sunday.”

  “The invite is from Eric, not her, so I wouldn’t worry about it, yeah?”

  And with that, Hannah walked away, as Mrs. Archer gave an outraged “Well!” behind her. Hannah realized then what a relief it would be to get out of the Archers’ house, if only for an afternoon, and if only in the company of Eric and Mrs. Devenish.

  Alex complained of a sore throat and sniffles on Sunday morning, but he insisted on coming along, because he really wanted to hang out with Eric. When they arrived, Eric met them at the gate. He was equally excited to see Alex, and he told Hannah that she could join Verity in the garden.

  “She’s here? Cool. But can’t we go inside?” Hannah asked, “It’s kind of cold out here.”

  He snorted. “You must be joking. Mrs. D. doesn’t let us inside in anyfing less than gale-force wind.”

  Hannah found Verity, who was muffled in scarf, gloves and hat, and sitting huddled on the garden bench.

  “Hi, Verity, good to see you,” said Hannah. “Eric didn’t say you were coming.”

  Verity dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief before she answered. “Oh, didn’t he mention it? I’m living here. Mummy has gone to work with my aunt in London,” she explained. “So I’m boarding at school during the week, and I live with Granny at the weekends.”

  “Where’s your dad, anyway?” asked Hannah.

  “Daddy’s with the Army, somewhere in Scotland.”

  Hannah looked over to where Alex and Eric were playing at gangsters, shooting each other with their fingers.

  “So how, exactly, did Eric become your grandma’s evacuee?”

  Verity shrugged. “No great mystery. He arrived with the first lot when the war started last year, and she took him in. Most of those kids went home during the phoney war, you know, when there weren’t any bombs, but not Eric.

  “Actually, come to think of it, there is a bit of a mystery about Eric. He has never had any visits from his parents, although, of course, that’s hardly unusual. So at first, nobody suspected anything, because all the grown-ups have their noses to the grindstone, haven’t they, and what with the restrictions on travel…. But the thing is, Eric never gets any letters, or postcards, or anything. He never complains, but Granny noticed. And most working-class evacuees get terribly homesick, but Eric just doesn’t seem that bothered, even with the bombings going on. Well, Granny made enquiries, and she’s discovered that his parents have moved, with no forwarding address.”

  “Did their house get bombed, or something?” Hannah asked.

  “No, that’s what’s so odd. Granny says the WVS told her it’s happening everywhere: Parents are losing their children in the evacuation, and, what’s worse, some of them want to.”

  “But that’s horrible!” gasped Hannah.

  “I should say so,” Verity agreed. “Don’t say anything, though. Eric doesn’t know. I’m not supposed to know either: I just overheard Mummy and Granny talking about it. Granny doesn’t want to tell him until she’s quite sure they can’t be found. Honestly, though, I doubt he’ll be that upset. From what he’s said to me, he isn’t surprised not to hear from them. And he would hate me for saying this, but he absolutely adores Granny, you know. My guess is that he’s hoping she’ll let him stay with her after the war is over. I’m sure she will.”

  Hannah watched as Alex walked across the garden and into the house. Must be going to the bathroom, she thought.

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Devenish called Eric, Verity, and Hannah to the kitchen door. She had changed into her WVS uniform and hat, and was pulling on her gloves. “A large group of evacuee families have arrived. Those poor people have been bombed out of their houses in London, and somehow managed to get themselves here. We’re getting them settled and fed in the church hall until it’s decided what to do with them, so I may be gone for some time. I shall be taking Maisy, because I’m also going to run Alexander home.”

  “Why?” Hannah asked in surprise.

  “He’s feeling poorly. I told him it’s only a cold, and the fresh air will do him good, but he insists that he’s not well. And he’s running a temperature. Will the Archers be at home?”

  “Probably Mrs. Archer,” Hannah said.

  “Well, if not, have you a key in case the door is locked?”

  “Alex has ours. But isn’t he too young to be home by himself?”

  “Nonsense, of course he isn’t,” Mrs. Devenish said briskly.

  “Verity, Eric, look after Hannah. I want all of you to stay outside until at least one o’clock, and then you may have the soup and bread for lunch. We shall have Sunday lunch for supper. If for some reason I’m not back by six o’clock, I want you to make a start on preparing the meal. There is a joint of beef in the larder--you can put it in the oven, Verity-- and some potatoes and carro
ts that you can take turns peeling. And all of you, behave yourselves.”

  A few minutes later, the kids watched with relief as Maisy accelerated up the lane. Then they snuck back into the house through the kitchen door.

  “Thank goodness,” said Verity, taking off her hat and shaking out her hair. “Granny’s a great believer in children having fresh air, but it’s perishing out there.”

  “I know,” Eric said, “but I don’t much fancy just sitting round the ‘ouse with you two gossiping. I’ve got an idea. Girls, have you ever seen where they say the Ghost Evacuee lives?”

  “Get real, Eric,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t care what you fink. I fink it’s true.” He made ghostly noises and waved his fingers in Hannah’s face.

  “Get out of my face, weirdo,” she said huffily, pushing him away.

  But Verity said, “Come on, Hannah, what harm would it do to have a look? Except, of course, that I’d have to go outside again.”

  “Yeah, but fink of this,” said Eric, “When’s the next time we’ll ‘ave a chance to go ‘ave a butcher’s together?”

  “A butcher’s?” asked Hannah, frowning.

  “Oh, that’s just Eric’s colorful Cockney rhyming slang,” Verity said, as Eric stuck his tongue out at her. “It means to have a look. Butcher’s hook, rhymes with look, you see?”

  “Thrill city,” said Hannah in a bored voice.

  Verity turned to Eric, “All right, cleverclogs, where is it?”

  “Not too far,” Eric said, “Should only take us about quarter of an hour.”

  They arrived in front of a run-down small house some way outside of Balesworth. Its only neighbor was another larger and smarter house some distance from it.

  “This is it,” said Eric.

  Verity said, “It looks creepy, like something from…I don’t know…Dracula or Frankenstein.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, the kids tried to look like they were playing, while they watched the house. “I don’t think anyone’s in,” said Hannah.

  But just then, the door opened. Startled, the kids quickly tried to pretend they were not interested in the house at all. A woman in an apron and turban, like so many of the women Hannah had seen, stepped outside and stood on the front step, her hands on her hips.

  “You lot! I seen you watching this house, and I don’t like it. Now be off with you!” She glared at them, and closed the door. A few seconds later, they saw her again, shaking her fist at them through a small downstairs window. The kids walked quickly down the lane, but as they left, Hannah caught sight of the woman sitting down in the front room with what looked like a magazine.

  “Well, that’s that, then,” said Verity.

  Eric said, “I dunno ‘bout you, but I think that’s suspicious behavior. C’mon.”

  “Where are we going?” demanded Hannah.

  Eric was already on his way. “You saw her! She sat down in the front room. That means there’s a good chance she won’t see us going round the back.”

  Hannah stopped. “No. No way.”

  “Oh, come on, Hannah,” said Verity. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Don’t you guys worry that she will tell the police we’re stalking her, or something?”

  “You mean that we’re casing the joint?” asked Eric.

  “Eric watches too many American gangster films,” Verity explained. “Don’t be silly, Hannah. And I do hate to say it, but I think Eric’s right. Why does that woman seem so nervous about us?”

  “Look, we could tell an adult.”

  “Honestly, Hannah, what grown-up would listen to us?” said Verity, exasperated. “We haven’t any proof.”

  “Just follow me,” Eric yelled back, as he led them through the fields in a large arc to the back of the house. Hannah had a very bad feeling about this, but she followed him anyway, caught up in the excitement. The kids stood on the edge of the yard, and began to keep watch on the back of the house.

  For the next ten minutes or so, they saw absolutely nothing happen. Then the rain started. It was a light drizzle, but enough for Verity to suggest to the others that it was time to go.

  “I still say someone’s in there,” Eric said. He leaned down, grabbed a handful of gravel from the dirt, and moved closer to the house.

  “What are you doing, you moron?” hissed Hannah.

  “Watch this,” Eric mouthed at her, and started tossing individual pieces of gravel at the upper windows. Hannah was growing very anxious.

  “C’mon, Eric, get on with it,” she hissed at him. “Use something a bit bigger.”

  The girls watched as, again, Eric looked around on the ground. Before either girl could warn him against it, he had picked up a small rock, and hurled it a little harder.

  The window broke, with a resounding crash.

  For a second, all three kids stood transfixed by the sight of the smashed glass. Hannah turned to say something to Verity, and realized she was talking to air: Verity was already tearing off across the fields. Hannah turned back to look at Eric, and he was hurtling toward her. He suddenly tripped and fell, skidding on his knees. Without hesitation, he jumped up again, and started to run, his knees streaming blood, and raced past Hannah. She was soon sprinting behind him. As they turned the corner, they heard the woman screaming and swearing, and the sound of her dog barking loudly as it ran after them.

  Only when the barking receded into the distance did the kids slow down and turn to look back. “It’s only a Jack Russell,” laughed Verity, as she tried to catch her breath, pointing to the tiny dog that was trotting back to the woman’s house. “I thought it was a great big fierce Alsatian.”

  All three kids were clutching their sides and stomachs.

  “I saw…” Eric wheezed, stopping and spitting. “I saw…someone.”

  “What?” puffed Hannah.

  “I saw someone…Come to the window. A kid. I think. I’m not sure. I think he was colored. Maybe. Look, I dunno. But I saw someone.”

  It began to rain during the walk home. When the kids arrived back at Mrs. Devenish’s house shortly before four, they took off their wet coats, and Verity warmed some milk and made cocoa. She also offered bread and dripping, which Eric eagerly accepted.

  “What’s that?” asked Hannah.

  “You’re joking!” said Verity. “Bread and dripping? You know, the fat from the Sunday roast?”

  “Oh, bread and dripping. I thought you said something else. No, thanks.” Hannah shuddered, thinking to herself, Gross.

  Eric lit the fire, after watching Hannah’s foundering attempts with great amusement, and Hannah fetched blankets for everyone from the hall closet. The kids settled into the cushioned chairs next to the fireplace, wrapped in blankets, with their hands clasped around mugs of cocoa, sweetened with honey, and their feet warming by the fireside. Conversation gradually shifted from what Eric might have seen, to worried discussion of whether they had been seen.

  Hannah, to Verity and Eric’s surprise, was by far the least concerned of the three of them.

  “Who would have seen us out there? I mean, there was only the one other house, and I bet nobody was home.”

  But Verity was growing fretful. “I didn’t recognize the big house next door at first, because I’ve only been there once, after dark. Granny sometimes visits the old lady who lives there, and she took me with her last year. The old woman is a bit of a busybody. I know she’s on the telephone, so if she saw us, she might well have called the police.”

  Eric also looked increasingly unhappy, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as he stared into the fireplace. “Your gran will ‘ave my guts for garters if she finds out. And I don’t want to wind up shipped off to some new billet.”

  “Eric, I really don’t think Granny would get rid of you,” Verity said kindly. “But, yes, you might very well be right about the first bit, even if you did use that rather vulgar expression. Of course, she would be absolutely furious with me, too. Oh, gosh.” She now looke
d very worried.

  Hannah was fed up with their wallowing in angst. “Look, worst case, alright, guys? So Mrs. D. finds out, right? Well, whatever. If Eric saw something, she’ll know we had a right to be concerned, yeah? People need to know, yeah? Anyway, it’s no big. It’s just a window.”

  “That’s hardly the point, Hannah,” Verity snapped. “Granny’s a magistrate. She’s got her position to think of.”

  Hannah bridled at the rebuff. “That’s kind of shallow, isn’t it? I mean, worrying about what people think about her? And it’s nothing to do with her if we accidentally broke a window.”

  “Don’t you know anything, Hannah?” said Verity, frustrated. “It’s not just about what other people think. Granny says middle-class people like us—and that goes for you, too, Eric, because you live with us--have no right to enjoy privilege unless we deserve it. She won’t approve of us acting like common hooligans. Even Eric.”

  “Fanks a lot, I don’t fink,” said Eric, taking a swig of his cocoa.

  “Eric, there is a ‘T’ and an ‘H’ at the beginning of both “thanks” and “think.” Not an ‘F’,” said Verity, superciliously.

  “Oh, belt up. I get enough of the flippin’ elocution lessons from your gran, thank you.”

  “Anyway,” Verity said with forced jollity, “With a bit of luck, Hannah’s right. Nobody recognized us, and nothing will come of this. Granny will be none the wiser, and we’ll just have to think of some way to interest her in that house.”