The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,70

his teeth caught the moonlight as his mouth dropped open. ‘Henderson, is that you?’

Another sob sent a chill down Henderson’s back. ‘Are the Germans here or something?’ Henderson asked. ‘Tell me, what’s the matter?’

*

Half an hour later Marc and Henderson were inside the house, sitting around the dining table drinking mugs of hot milk. Yvette had scrubbed the blood from where Hugo died, but Rosie had picked a bundle of wild flowers and laid them against the dresser.

‘We’ll head south to Bordeaux,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ve heard there are still regular sailings for the Cornish coast – although that was a few days back, so we’ll have to see.’

Marc was half listening and half watching Rosie. Girls fascinated him and she looked sad, with her long hair mussed and the soles of her feet dirty where she’d been outside feeding the chickens.

‘What did you do with Herr Potente’s body?’ Henderson asked the adults.

‘We spoke to the police. They made a report and took both bodies away,’ Yvette explained.

‘Dammit,’ Henderson said. Then he seemed to change the subject. ‘Have you lived on this farm for long?’

‘It’s a family farm,’ Father Doran explained. ‘It belonged to our parents and our grandparents before them.’

‘You’ll have to leave before the Germans get here,’ Henderson said. ‘The Gestapo know where Herr Potente was sent and they’ll most likely uncover the police report. They’ll interrogate you about the plans and about my whereabouts.’

‘But we know very little, and by then, hopefully, you’ll be long gone,’ Yvette said.

‘I know that,’ Henderson said. ‘But the Gestapo will want to be sure and they’ll make sure by torturing you.’

Marc bared his teeth. ‘Look what those animals did to my tooth,’ he said. ‘I heard the Oberst’s orders: Potente was to interrogate Paul and Rosie and then kill them.’

‘I’ll not leave my home,’ Father Doran said resolutely, as he noisily set his mug on the table. ‘I’m too old to hide under staircases. The sooner I die in this world, the sooner I’ll join with God.’

Henderson looked frustrated. ‘I’m sure your faith is a comfort, Father, but what about your sister?’

Yvette shook her head. ‘Mr Henderson, why don’t you worry about the plans and getting the children home safely? My brother and I can worry for ourselves.’

*

Henderson shared the double bed with Paul, while Marc made the best of Hugo’s cushions and Rosie bunked in with Yvette. Marc came downstairs at what seemed an early hour, only to find that Yvette had been up for long enough to pluck and roast a chicken for their journey south and prepare a decent spread for breakfast.

Father Doran had already been out to milk his two cows; Henderson was studying a road map; whilst Paul and Rosie sat at the table, picking at food and looking sad.

‘Hello, Marc.’ Rosie smiled at him. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Not so bad,’ he answered. ‘But Henderson snores like hell.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Paul moaned. ‘I was in the same bed as him and my pillow was vibrating.’

Henderson looked up and smiled slightly, but went back to his map without speaking.

‘Do you need any help, Yvette?’ Rosie asked, as the old lady packed sliced bread and a pot of homemade jam into a wicker basket.

‘I’m almost done,’ Yvette said. ‘There’s plenty of food for the journey. I’ve left the chicken on top because it’s still warm and underneath there’s bread, cheese, yogurt, some of my paté and bottles of fresh milk.’

‘There’s enough there to feed an army,’ Henderson said, smiling. ‘You’re really too kind.’

‘The way these two eat it won’t last long, and I’d bet young Marc is just the same.’

‘Eats like a horse,’ Henderson agreed. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘I reckon we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. So now’s the time to say your goodbyes, go to the loo and make sure you’ve packed everything.’

The Clarkes both went and got their cases from upstairs. Rosie went straight out to throw hers in the back of the truck, but Paul approached Yvette and handed her a drawing. It showed himself, Rosie and Hugo standing in front of the cottage. Yvette stood at the window inside and Father Doran was depicted running after an escaped chicken.

‘Oh,’ Yvette gasped, ‘it’s beautiful.’

Marc caught a quick glance of it before immediately standing up to see the drawing properly. ‘That’s awesome,’ he said. ‘You’re like a proper artist or something.’

Paul was modest and tried not to smile too much. ‘I did it yesterday, after Hugo …’

Yvette put her hand on the