Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) by Madalyn Morgan (ebook reader ink txt) 📕

any known ones for that matter. Anyone connected to Sutherland and Hawksley is of interest.’

‘And?’

‘No one there who shouldn’t have been, unfortunately. There were a couple of women in the church who didn’t go to the graveside, but there was nothing suspicious about them.’

‘I can’t think what possessed me to go to his funeral. I expect you know I didn’t go to the church service.’

‘But you went into the church afterwards.’ Bess gave Henry a look of astonishment, closed her eyes and hung her head. ‘Did Hawksley or his daughter recognise you?’

‘No! I’m certain they didn’t. I’m not sure they were aware that anyone else was in the church. I had my head down the entire time I was in there. I would have looked like someone who had come into the building to get out of the rain, and had stayed to pray. That is, if they’d noticed me at all which, as I said, I’m sure they didn’t.’

Bess got up and poured herself a single shot of the warming spirit. ‘Would you like another?’ Henry lifted his glass to show that he still had some left and shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell Frank I was going to Kirby Marlow and I haven’t seen him since I got back, but I will tell him, eventually. He’s been so worried about me lately that I think it best not to say anything today.’

Henry took a sip of his drink. ‘He won’t hear about it from me, as long as you promise you won’t do anything that stupid again.’ Bess sat up and frowned, pretending to be hurt by her old friend’s rebuke. ‘I’m serious, Bess. Gerald Hawksley is not the kind of man you want to mess with. He is dangerous.’

‘I promise.’

Before Bess had time to ask Henry more about Hawksley the office door flew open and Frank came in. ‘Maeve said you were here, Henry.’ He took off his hat and coat, hung them on the back of the door, and strode across the room with his hand outstretched. ‘It’s good to see you. It’s been too long,’ he said, shaking Henry’s hand. He turned and looked around the room. ‘Ena not with you?’

Bess laughed. ‘That’s the first thing I asked.’

Frank turned and kissed Bess. Noticing her glass, he said, ‘I don’t suppose there’s a drop of brandy left for me, darling? As if today wasn’t cold enough, I’ve been standing around in the abattoir at Lowarth for the last hour waiting to see the butcher. I’m frozen.’

Bess grimaced at the thought of the local slaughterhouse and poured her husband a drink.

With one arm draped loosely across Bess’s shoulders, Frank lifted his glass to Henry. ‘Good health my friend,’ Frank took a drink and licked his lips appreciatively. ‘Now! Why have you come all this way to see us without your wife? And I want the truth,’ he said, walking back to the door and closing it.

‘I don’t have to remind you that anything I tell you stays within these walls?’

‘Of course,’ Bess said.

‘Understood,’ Frank added.

‘Military Intelligence has had Sir Gerald Hawksley under the microscope for some years.’ Bess gave Frank a knowing look that said, I thought as much. ‘When he moved out of London and came up here to live, they weren’t too worried. For the first couple of years he played the part of a local landowner and loving father - buying the stables in Kirby Marlow for his daughter Katherine. Except that no one knows exactly how he makes his money, Hawksley appears to be an ordinary but very successful businessman. So while he was minding his own business and leading a quiet life, the security services let him get on with it.’

‘I don’t think he is an ordinary business man. And having had David Sutherland as a house guest is not leading a quiet life,’ Bess said. ‘When Constable Peg was here, after the ruckus Sutherland caused on New Year’s Eve, he said there were people coming and going from Hawksley’s house in Kirby Marlow at all hours of the day and night.’

‘McGann shut him up,’ Frank put in, ‘saying it was only rumour and speculation. Tittle-tattle, he called it, and said the police only deal with facts.’

‘But it was obvious that the constable thought something untoward was going on,’ Bess said.

‘And there is. The men your constable was referring to are fascists, ex-BUF, like Sutherland. Since the end of the war, when the fascists were released from jail, they’ve been coming to Kirby Marlow on a regular basis. MI5 think - or rather they know - that Gerald Hawksley puts them up for the amount of time it takes him to get them suited-and-booted and procure each of them a new birth certificate and passport. He then gives them enough money to get them started elsewhere, before sending them on their way.’

‘If you know all this, why hasn’t he been stopped?’ Bess asked.

‘He will be, eventually. The problem is, Gerald Hawksley is only one person in a network of hundreds of people.’

‘Fascists!’ Bess spat.

Henry nodded. ‘As far as we can tell the network covers the Midlands, the North, parts of Scotland and Northern Ireland. God knows how many people there are living in places like Hawksley’s, off the beaten track in the British countryside, or in country houses tucked away in quaint villages. In the early days, when the fascists were first released from prison, there were dozens of wealthy men and women like Hawksley who helped them get set up with new identities and new lives. There aren’t as many now, but there are enough. And we think Hawksley is the head of the organisation.’

‘If Gerald Hawksley was setting Dave Sutherland up with a new identity, does that mean he’s only recently been released from prison?’

‘No. Some fascists were released as early as 1943