The Consequences of Fear by Jacqueline Winspear (speed reading book txt) 📕

Billy called out to a soldier who was working on the lorry. “Oi, mate—over here.” The soldier looked up from the engine. “Doyou know if everyone at the school has gone home now?”

“The kids ran out of here a while ago—but there might be a teacher or two in there working late.”

“Much obliged,” shouted Billy, waving to the soldier.

The doors for the girls’ and boys’ separate entrances were already locked, but they were able to flag down the caretaker infront of the main double doors.

“Hold up, mate—anyone in there?” asked Billy.

The caretaker shook his head. “Nah, the bell went at a quarter to four, and you can’t keep them in there once they’ve heard it. Miss Rice sometimes stays for a bit—she’s the headmistress—and so does Miss Arnold, who teaches art. She has a lot to clear up after her last class, but she left not five minutes ago.” He turned the key and then looked around at Billy and Maisie. “You looking for anyone in particular? Not many kids here anyway, only the ones brought back from evacuation or who never went in the first place—I know most of them by name.”

“We were looking for a boy named Freddie Hackett,” said Maisie.

“Oh, young Freddie. Nice boy, that one. Works hard. No, he’s gone. Saw him tearing out of here—quick on his pins, is Freddie.Can’t think where he got that from because his old man’s a right one—he moves from the house to the pub and back again, andonly one way at any speed. We know which way that is!”

“Thank you,” said Maisie, turning back toward the waiting taxicab.

“Funny, everyone seems to be looking for Freddie—popular lad today.”

“What do you mean?” said Maisie, bringing her attention back to the caretaker.

“A bloke came round not twenty-five minutes ago, asking for him.”

“Had you seen the man before?” asked Maisie.

The caretaker shook his head. “Never laid eyes on him. I thought it might be someone Freddie worked for, or the lad had gothimself into a bit of trouble. Even the good ones get up to something every now and again—specially now.”

“What was the man like?” asked Billy.

“Big fella, dark, sort of Spanish looking. Nice dresser. Good suit on him.”

“Did he have an accent?” asked Maisie.

“He never said enough for me to notice. Asked if he’d missed Freddie Hackett, and that was it. Sounded all right, but thenI’m a bit hard of hearing anyway—and it was noisy, what with lorries coming and going over there on the army side. It’s quieternow—though give it a chance and the bombers will start flying in for another go at us soon. We won’t be able to hear ourselvesthink.”

Returning to the taxicab, Maisie instructed the driver to go to the Hacketts’ address.

“Wait here, please,” said Maisie as they stepped from the cab.

“What, again?” said the driver.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be paid,” Billy called out over his shoulder as he followed Maisie through the courtyard, past the linesof washing.

She knocked on the Hacketts’ door. There was no answer, so she knocked again, then both Maisie and Billy stepped back andlooked up to the first-floor window.

“Freddie! Freddie, if you’re there, it’s Miss Dobbs and Mr. Beale here,” shouted Maisie.

“If you’re up there, come down and let us in, son,” Billy called out even louder. “There’s only us here, Freddie.”

Maisie thought she saw the ragged curtains twitch, then she heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Mr. Beale.” The voice was strained. “Is that really you?”

“I’m here, Freddie—are you alone?”

“No, I’m with Iris. Mum’s not here.”

“Where is she, love?” asked Maisie.

“I don’t know—she’s usually home by now.”

“Fred—open the door for us. There’s no one else here,” said Billy.

Hearing a bolt being drawn back, Maisie reached into her purse and pressed a few coins into Billy’s hand. “Better give thecabbie something to keep him here.”

Freddie opened the door just wide enough for him to check that only Maisie and Billy were on the other side.

Maisie heard Billy talking to the cabbie and then his footfall behind her.

“Come on, son,” said Billy. “Open the door properly and let us through, then we can lock up again so no one else can get in.”

“All right,” said Freddie. He pulled back the door just wide enough for the visitors to enter, then slammed it shut, let thelatch down and pulled a bolt across.

“Will your mum be able to get in when she returns?” asked Maisie.

“She’ll call up to the window for me to go down and open the door.”

“Let’s go upstairs and you can tell us what’s going on,” said Maisie. “I’ll make us a cup of tea. Is Iris all right?”

Freddie nodded. His eyes were bloodshot and his left cheek bruised. There was a cut across the bridge of his nose.

A younger child’s voice squealed from the top of the landing. “Freddeeee. Freddee!”

“Coming, Iris. I’m coming, darlin’— I’m here, and I’ve got a couple of friends with me.”

Freddie ran up the stairs and picked up a girl who looked to be about five years of age and too big to be carried by her brother.Maisie showed no surprise when she registered the child’s clear blue almond-shaped eyes and pale skin, with freckles pepperedacross her flat nose. Instead she smiled and made sure her eye contact was true. “Hello—you must be Iris! I’ve heard all aboutyou from Freddie.”

The girl began to suck her thumb before hiding her face in the curve of her brother’s neck.

“Come on, Rissy, let me put you down—you’re a heavy girl now.” Freddie looked up at Maisie. “There’s two chairs in the kitchen.”

A kettle was boiling hard on the gas ring. As Freddie grabbed a cloth from the line above the stove, folded it around hishand, and removed the kettle, Maisie fought the urge to move Iris clear of her brother—she was clinging onto the frayed edgeof his pullover.

“Iris was crying because she’s hungry, so I was making her some toast and a cup of tea. She has it