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20. Confrontation
A WEEK HAD passed since my meeting with Murphy, and the discussion about the Eros with Peggy, and nothing had changed. Or rather, some things had changed but not in a good way. I had caught quick glimpses of Roy in the corridor. He disappeared into Murphy’s office every day and never came out. Peggy and I had searched the dispensary and the hospital rooms she’d visited, but hadn’t found anything. Not surprising. The medics and nurses kept a tidy environment. Everything was scrubbed to star brightness. If they’d found a scrap piece of paper, they would have thrown it away. Even though no one was reported to be sick because of a bad batch of Eros, Peggy didn’t stop worrying and blaming herself for the disaster. There was not much left to do but wait.
The only good thing about the horrible week was that news of the bomb hadn’t left Raven Park, for which I was grateful. I didn’t want Aunt Mabel to worry about me or ask me questions I couldn’t answer. The investigation didn’t seem to shed any light on the situation though. At least not officially. Roy hadn’t kept me updated. Also, the Nazis didn’t seem to be ready to occupy any more territories. For now.
I sat at a table in The Pavilion, Raven Park’s public house, with Peggy, Sam, Michael, Bruce, and Nathan. For a Friday night, spirits were low. Each of us had our own reasons to stay quiet. We nursed our drinks without talking much, grunting at each other. The cosy atmosphere of the pub with its dark cherry-wood tables and polished counter couldn’t lift my mood. The Oldie Bell, back in Crawley Farm, smelled of tobacco and cider and its floor was marked by the boots of the farmers. But The Pavilion smelled of citrus and the same beeswax the cleaners used on the floors throughout the manor. Too pristine for a public house, but it had the bonus of letting women in.
Doris and Gladys would go crazy here. A pub where women were allowed in and where they could drink real beer and even whiskey? They wouldn’t believe me.
On the other side of the pub, Murphy and his black-clothed royal military men kept to themselves in a quiet corner, ignoring the glances from cadets and officers. Roy sat next to him, throwing glances at me every now and then. Every time our gazes locked my beast reared her head.
Murphy and his men attracted whispers and dirty looks not only in The Pavilion, but in the mansion as well. Their rude attitude and complete secrecy didn’t inspire any kindness among the beasts. Not that Murphy and his men seemed to mind. They did their job—which was to harass the cadets and interrogate them whenever they wanted—as they strutted around. Yes, maybe the fact that Roy was working with them while I’d been rejected made me a tad bitter towards them.
“What are they doing aside from prowling around and asking stupid questions?” Nathan asked, nodding towards Roy, Murphy, and his men.
“They grilled me for hours,” Bruce muttered. “Bloody sods.”
“Why you?” I asked. No one had interrogated me. How rude. Murphy had rejected me even as a potential person to interrogate.
A scoff left him. “Someone saw a man with blond hair prowling around the mill the day of the explosion, or some nonsense like that.”
Peggy remained quiet, likely because she’d been interrogated as well, since her name was on the list of people having visited the mill.
“Have they found anything at all?” Nathan asked, sipping his frothy ale and throwing another glance at Murphy.
Michael leaned closer. He was sitting next to Peggy, who seemed to have swallowed a mug of vinegar every time his elbow brushed hers. If she felt for him the same attraction I felt towards Roy, I could relate. She was also carrying a heavy burden on her narrow shoulders.
“I heard they have found absolutely nothing,” Michael said. “Days of investigation, and they have nothing. Aside from one thing.” He paused dramatically. Peggy angled towards him. “There was the button of a guard uniform on a path around the mill.”
“And?” Frowning, Bruce arched a brow. “What’s so important about this button?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You never listen to me, do you? The buttons of the uniforms of our guards have an incision underneath, a number that matches the identification code of the guard wearing the uniform.”
“Blimey.” A chuckle rumbled out of Bruce. “Why the hell would they do that?”
“To keep track of everything. Every gun, rifle, hat, and sock the guards use can be traced to its owner. And that’s the interesting thing.” A gleam flashed in Michael’s gaze as he lowered his voice. “The button they found belonged to a dead guard. The bomber dressed like a guard, stealing a dead chap’s uniform, and sneaked inside the mill undetected.”
Clever. “At least they know the bomber’s size then.”
“Yes, but that’s a bloody waste of time in my opinion.” Bruce scoffed. “They’ll never find the culprit.”
“I hope they will,” Nathan said. “The sooner they find him, the sooner the royal military is out of here.”
That wasn’t a bad point.
~ * ~
AFTER THE RATHER depressing evening at The Pavilion, Peggy and I were dragging our feet towards our room when Clare strode towards us, nostrils flaring and carrying a basket of dirty clothes. It was amazing how she could show her vulnerability one moment and be a complete hag the next. I bet she had headaches from how fast she switched from one to the other.
“You.” She stopped in front of Peggy and shoved the basket into her arms. “I’ve had enough of you leaving dirty uniforms around in the bathroom. You aren’t the only one using it.”
Peggy scowled. “They weren’t around. I put them in the laundry basket.”
“You have to carry the basket to the laundry.” Clare stretched out an arm in the general direction of the basement where the laundry was. “Or are you waiting for the basket to develop a pair of legs and to carry itself to a washing machine?”
She had a point. The cleaners took care of the dirty clothes and towels, but with three people exercising three times a day and using the same bathroom, we could produce a fair amount of stinky clothes that overflowed the basket. We were supposed to take it to the laundry. Peggy was a bit messy and—Hades. An idea struck me.
I grabbed the basket. “Thank you, Clare. We’ll take the clothes to the laundry.”
