Wondering how much she should reveal, she glanced at Kincaid, but he merely gave her a minute shrug. Turning back to Hammond, she said carefully, “Sir, Annabelle seems to have been well-acquainted with both Lewis and Gordon Finch. In fact, she had been having an affair with Gordon for some months—and he may have been the last person to see her alive.”
William Hammond stared at her, then drew himself up in his chair until his spine was ramrod straight. “There must be some mistake,” he said crisply. “Annabelle would never have associated with Lewis Finch or his son. Nor would she have betrayed Reginald’s trust.” He turned to Kincaid. “I find it distressing, Superintendent, that you are wasting valuable time pursuing such lines of inquiry while my daughter’s killer goes free.”
AS THE AUTUMN WORE ON, THE threat of bombings receded, and very little disturbed the golden, waning days in the countryside.
The war seemed very far away in Europe, and Lewis soon grew comfortably familiar with the household, for although he kept his room above the stable, Edwina gave him free run of the house. He and William both bathed in the large second-floor bathroom, and when Edwina did not have guests from London, the boys ate with her in the dining room.
Lewis still suffered the occasional pang of homesickness, but a Green coach was organized to bring the evacuees’ parents down to visit every few weeks. In the meantime, there were apples to be picked, jams and pies to be made, woods and quarries and the old Roman forts on the Downs to be explored, and most exciting of all, preparations for Guy Fawkes, for their village had the biggest bonfire in the county.
Lewis did not see William Hammond at school, however, because while the children from the Island had been integrated as well as possible into the village school, William’s parents had arranged a tutor to live at the Hall. This privilege Lewis did not envy in the least.
On a bright Saturday morning in late October, William appeared in the barn as Lewis was finishing up with the horses. He wore a heavy, cable-knit cardigan and shorts with multiple pockets and carried a rucksack, plus a large, carved staff.
Peering round Zeus’s head, Lewis (who had long since lost his shyness with William) snickered. “What is that getup?”
“It’s proper walking gear,” answered William. “My mum and dad sent it for my birthday. I’m going to climb Leith Hill. They say from the Tower you can see thirteen counties.”
“You look like you mean to climb bloody Everest,” said Lewis, but he was intrigued nonetheless.
“You can come if you want,” William offered in an offhand manner, then sweetened the invitation with a bribe. “I’ve got sandwiches from Cook. Ham and cheese.”
Lewis finished spreading fresh straw into Zeus’s stall and hung the fork from its bracket on the stable wall. “I haven’t any gear like that.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can use this stick if you want. I’ll get another from the gun room.”
Brushing his palm against his trousers, Lewis accepted the stick, and hefting it in his hand, he suddenly saw himself striding over tall peaks. “All right, then, I’ll come.”
They were soon ambling down the road towards the village, sandwiches and thermos of tea secured in William’s rucksack. From one of the large pockets in his shorts, William extricated a folded paper. “It’s Aunt Edwina’s Ordnance Survey map,” he said as he smoothed out the creases. “Look. We can go by way of Coldharbour and come back through Holmbury, or vice versa. The climb is steeper the Holmbury way.”
Lewis studied the map, not liking to admit he’d never seen one before and didn’t understand the markings. “Coldharbour, I’d say. I want to see the Danes’ Fort.” He’d heard about the old earthworks from some of the boys at school. “There were smugglers round these parts, too,” he added, glancing at William to judge the effect of this tidbit.
“I never heard that,” William said with some skepticism.
“Even John says so.” Lewis knew that would settle the matter, for they’d discovered that John Pebbles had an intimate and apparently infallible knowledge of the area. They walked on, pointing out spots they thought would have made good smugglers’ hides.
They followed the course of the Tillingbourne for some way, then began a steady ascent that took them into a dark and dense woodland. Lewis, who had not quite got over his claustrophobia under trees, began to fear they were lost, but would’ve died rather than said so.
As if reassuring himself, William said, “I’m sure this is the right way. I can read the map, and Aunt Edwina said it would seem a long way through the woods.” He moved a bit closer to Lewis on the soft, leaf-covered path.
Suddenly, with a rustle and a crackling of brush, a deer erupted across the trail a foot in front of them. Lewis saw a flash of dark, startled eyes and white rump as he felt himself falling backwards, then he hit the ground, buttocks first, with a thump that knocked the wind from him.
William had staggered into the nearest tree and now hung on for dear life. They gaped at each other, wide-eyed, and started to laugh.
“Crikey, that nearly scared the piss out of me,” said Lewis between gasps as William helped him up. That only made them laugh harder, and they stumbled along, the woods ringing with their whoops, until they had to wipe tears from their eyes.
As they neared Coldharbour the trees thinned, and they walked in companionable silence broken by the occasional episode of giggles. They spent an hour exploring the banks and ditches of the Iron Age fort, imagining battles that seemed more real to them than the rumors from Europe, and by the time they’d finished the climb to the summit of Leith Hill, they had worked up quite an appetite.
Having voted to eat their picnic before climbing the Tower, they settled on a stone bench in the sun, facing the distant haze they surmised must be the Channel. His mouth full of ham and cheese, Lewis pointed into the distance. “If the Germans came, you could see them from here.”
“If they come. My dad says they’re calling it the Phoney War now.” William glanced at Lewis. “Do
