Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,5

through the windscreen of her small Austin: Hay-on-Wye Approved School. She would have arrived much earlier, but for accidents blocking an icy road and the fact that every signpost in Britain had been taken down to prevent German invaders from knowing where they were.

McAfferty turned the black car through a brick arch and gravel plinked against the underside as she cruised towards the main entrance. The red Victorian brick was reminiscent of her own Glasgow school, except that out here it didn’t get blackened with soot. The gardens seemed well looked after, while the blanket of snow over the playing fields and parade ground gave the place an air of serenity.

It was less pleasant inside. The main door creaked, revealing a high corridor lit with bare bulbs. The smell was a mix of boys and overcooked greens.

‘Is anybody here?’ McAfferty asked, as she rubbed hands that had stiffened around her steering wheel. ‘Hello, hello!’

As her Scottish accent ricocheted off the walls a petite secretary came out of a doorway. ‘No visiting our boys today,’ she said brusquely.

But she tailed off when she saw McAfferty’s navy uniform. ‘I tried to telephone,’ McAfferty explained. ‘I’m looking for two boys with the surname LeConte.’

‘Are you a relative?’ the woman asked. ‘Because only relatives can visit. You must write a letter and come during authorised visiting times.’

‘I’m on military business,’ McAfferty explained. ‘I’ve been trying to track these boys down for some time.’

‘The French boys,’ the woman nodded, adopting a warmer tone. ‘They live in Mr Williams’ dorm, I believe. I expect they’ll be out on their run, but I can fetch Mr Williams. He’ll be at afternoon tea in the lounge.’

‘I see,’ McAfferty said. ‘So this is a correctional facility? A young person’s prison if you like?’

‘That’s right,’ the woman nodded. ‘We don’t lock them up in cells, but boys are sent here by the courts.’

‘So how did the LeConte boys end up here? I’m not aware that they did anything criminal.’

‘Special circumstances,’ the woman explained. ‘We’re a facility for delinquents, but we had beds to spare and with the war and all the children being evacuated from London, we’ve taken some ordinary evacuees.’

McAfferty clearly didn’t approve. ‘The younger boy is only eight, I believe.’

‘Mason,’ the woman nodded. ‘He’s one of our youngest. It was thirteen to seventeen during peacetime.’

Williams took his time emerging from a staff lounge less than ten metres from the entrance. He was shorter than McAfferty, but instantly adopted a bullying tone.

‘It’s quite impossible for you to see the LeConte boys today,’ he explained curtly. ‘They’re out on exercises with the sports master. Then we have dinner and evening work. You can’t just turn up here. We have rules.’

McAfferty’s lips thinned. ‘I can wait for them to come back from their run, but I’ve driven a considerable distance and have no intention of leaving before I’ve seen them.’

Williams seemed sly, but McAfferty had no idea what he was trying to hide.

‘What exactly is your business here?’ Williams asked. ‘Why the great interest in these boys?’

‘They speak French,’ McAfferty explained. ‘Which makes them useful to us for war work. You should have received a letter, and I tried to call ahead but your telephone appears to be out of order.’

‘We’ve received no such letter,’ Williams said abruptly, but the receptionist stole his thunder.

‘Our phone line came down under the weight of snow and hasn’t been repaired,’ she explained. ‘But we did receive a letter, I believe. I remember passing it on to the warden.’

McAfferty’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Then I’ll see the warden.’

‘He’s away,’ Williams said triumphantly, as the receptionist disappeared back into the office. ‘The warden is a local councilman and he’s attending a meeting in Newport. You’ll have to come back when he returns on Friday.’

‘Mr Williams,’ McAfferty said firmly, ‘why do I get the impression that you’re doing everything in your power to stop me speaking with these boys?’

‘We have procedures, madam,’ Williams said importantly. ‘This is a correctional facility, there are rules and security regulations.’

‘For inmates sent here by court order,’ McAfferty said. ‘But these boys are evacuees. They’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘We treat them all the same,’ Williams said.

McAfferty looked astonished. ‘You mean to say that you mix ordinary evacuated children in with hardened thugs and ruffians?’

Before Williams could answer, the receptionist had emerged from the office holding a typed letter.

‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘The warden made a note to say that you’re welcome to meet with the boys and that he has no issue with