nearly seventy years before anyone realises there’s a problem and comes looking for us.’
***
The sound of the doorbell reached Ben and Rupam in the large library of Gibbet Manor.
They were working their way through a heap of reference books and a pile of papers and documents that Mrs Bailey had provided – with no explanation of where they had come from. There were electoral lists, copies of the letter sent to every resident of Templeton and the posters that had been put up, even minutes of a Cabinet meeting at which the evacuation had been agreed …
‘Wonder who that is at the door?’ Ben said.
He was making notes on a large pad of lined paper, though he wasn’t sure how useful they would be to Growl or anyone else.
Rupam was at the window. ‘It’s a police car.’
Moments later, the door opened and Mrs Bailey led in a man in a crumpled dark suit. He was carrying a metal briefcase.
‘Ben Foundling?’ the man asked.
Was this it? Had they come to take him back to the Home, or to some new set of foster parents? He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
The man put the briefcase carefully on the table. ‘I’ve waited a long time to deliver this.’ He undid theclasps and opened the lid. ‘It’s been kept safe in our vaults at New Scotland Yard for a very long time.’
Inside, the case was padded with dark foam to keep the contents safe and secure. The man lifted out a rectangle of foam to reveal a recess below. Resting in it was a plain white envelope, yellowed with age and addressed in faded black ink. It said simply, ‘Ben Foundling – c/o Gibbet Manor’. The man had taken white cotton gloves from his jacket pocket. He slipped them on, then very carefully lifted the letter out of the case. Ben could see that on the back it was sealed with a blob of red wax.
‘I have strict instructions to deliver this only to Ben Foundling at this address on this exact date.’
He handed Ben the letter.
‘What do I do with it?’
The man took off his gloves and closed the briefcase. ‘That’s up to you. I’ve done my job.’
‘But who’s it from?’ Rupam asked.
‘I don’t know. All I can tell you,’ the man said, ‘is that it’s a Priority One Instruction I deliver the letter and that it’s been in the secure police vaults since 1943.’
Chapter 7
T HE SUN WAS LOW IN THE SKY AND THE SPOTS of rain had turned to a persistent drizzle. Maria and Knight stood in the doorway of the pub, sheltering from the weather and considering their options. The church tower was again a ruined stump jutting above the treeline.
‘We’re sort of flickering in and out of reality. Or rather, the village is. We should tell the others what’s happening,’ Knight decided.
‘Don’t frighten Gemma,’ Maria warned him. ‘She only needs to know we’re stuck here for a bit.’
‘That’s all we really know,’ Knight pointed out.
They had tried the other road out of the village but never even got as far as the army checkpoint. A mass of greenery blocked the road, the hedges seeming to grow across the lane. Maria was scratched all over from trying to push through. But the vegetation formed an impenetrable barrier.
It was the same whichever way they tried – sooner or later, and usually sooner, they reached a wall of shrubs and trees, creepers and leaves …
‘It’s like we’re trapped inside Sleeping Beauty’s castle a hundred years on,’ Maria said. ‘We should have brought my sword.’
‘It isn’t actually yours,’ Knight reminded her. ‘Though I admit you’re more accomplished with it than any of the rest of us. But you’re right. There are a lot of things we should have brought. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.’
‘Can we burn our way through?’
‘Everything’s too damp.’ Knight checked his phone again. ‘And even if we could send for a helicopter, I wouldn’t risk an airlift. Assuming there’s still room to land a helicopter, who knows what’s really up there,
***
The sound of the doorbell reached Ben and Rupam in the large library of Gibbet Manor.
They were working their way through a heap of reference books and a pile of papers and documents that Mrs Bailey had provided – with no explanation of where they had come from. There were electoral lists, copies of the letter sent to every resident of Templeton and the posters that had been put up, even minutes of a Cabinet meeting at which the evacuation had been agreed …
‘Wonder who that is at the door?’ Ben said.
He was making notes on a large pad of lined paper, though he wasn’t sure how useful they would be to Growl or anyone else.
Rupam was at the window. ‘It’s a police car.’
Moments later, the door opened and Mrs Bailey led in a man in a crumpled dark suit. He was carrying a metal briefcase.
‘Ben Foundling?’ the man asked.
Was this it? Had they come to take him back to the Home, or to some new set of foster parents? He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
The man put the briefcase carefully on the table. ‘I’ve waited a long time to deliver this.’ He undid theclasps and opened the lid. ‘It’s been kept safe in our vaults at New Scotland Yard for a very long time.’
Inside, the case was padded with dark foam to keep the contents safe and secure. The man lifted out a rectangle of foam to reveal a recess below. Resting in it was a plain white envelope, yellowed with age and addressed in faded black ink. It said simply, ‘Ben Foundling – c/o Gibbet Manor’. The man had taken white cotton gloves from his jacket pocket. He slipped them on, then very carefully lifted the letter out of the case. Ben could see that on the back it was sealed with a blob of red wax.
‘I have strict instructions to deliver this only to Ben Foundling at this address on this exact date.’
He handed Ben the letter.
‘What do I do with it?’
The man took off his gloves and closed the briefcase. ‘That’s up to you. I’ve done my job.’
‘But who’s it from?’ Rupam asked.
‘I don’t know. All I can tell you,’ the man said, ‘is that it’s a Priority One Instruction I deliver the letter and that it’s been in the secure police vaults since 1943.’
Chapter 7
T HE SUN WAS LOW IN THE SKY AND THE SPOTS of rain had turned to a persistent drizzle. Maria and Knight stood in the doorway of the pub, sheltering from the weather and considering their options. The church tower was again a ruined stump jutting above the treeline.
‘We’re sort of flickering in and out of reality. Or rather, the village is. We should tell the others what’s happening,’ Knight decided.
‘Don’t frighten Gemma,’ Maria warned him. ‘She only needs to know we’re stuck here for a bit.’
‘That’s all we really know,’ Knight pointed out.
They had tried the other road out of the village but never even got as far as the army checkpoint. A mass of greenery blocked the road, the hedges seeming to grow across the lane. Maria was scratched all over from trying to push through. But the vegetation formed an impenetrable barrier.
It was the same whichever way they tried – sooner or later, and usually sooner, they reached a wall of shrubs and trees, creepers and leaves …
‘It’s like we’re trapped inside Sleeping Beauty’s castle a hundred years on,’ Maria said. ‘We should have brought my sword.’
‘It isn’t actually yours,’ Knight reminded her. ‘Though I admit you’re more accomplished with it than any of the rest of us. But you’re right. There are a lot of things we should have brought. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.’
‘Can we burn our way through?’
‘Everything’s too damp.’ Knight checked his phone again. ‘And even if we could send for a helicopter, I wouldn’t risk an airlift. Assuming there’s still room to land a helicopter, who knows what’s really up there,
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