CHAPTER 7

“Come on, ladies. Get a bloody move on!” Rita stood in the middle of the coast road and waved her arms at the straggly bunch of women trudging far behind her. “It’ll be dark soon and we have to be positioned on the cliffs by then.”

“I know where I’d like to bloomin’ position her,” Marge muttered.

Tramping alongside her, Nellie giggled. “Leave her alone. She’s in her glory when she can boss us around like this.”

Marge grunted. “It’s all a waste of time, if you ask me. We’ve been waiting five years for the Germans to invade. They’re not going to come now, are they. We’re winning the war. Mr. Churchill said so, and he should know.”

“We haven’t won it yet,” Nellie said, puffing a little with the exertion of marching uphill. “We’ve got to invade the Nazis now and turn the tables on them.”

“Well, they’ve been talking about that for weeks, too. Makes you wonder if this war is ever going to end.”

“Shut up talking down there!” Rita yelled, still prancing about in the middle of the road. “You want the enemy to hear you? This is supposed to be a secret mission!”

Nellie giggled again. “What makes her think they wouldn’t hear her? Not much secret about that yell, is there.”

“I’d like to see what she’d do if the Germans did invade,” Marge mumbled. “One glimpse of a U-boat and she’d wet her knickers. She’d be off faster than a scalded cat, leaving us all to face the buggers by ourselves.”

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about it. Like you said, the Nazis are not coming anywhere near this beach. Even if they did, they wouldn’t get past the mines without everyone knowing about it.”

“Try telling her that.” Marge nodded at Rita, who was now marching toward them.

A faint buzz in the distance heralded a vehicle coming along the coast road at a fast pace. Rita seemed to pay no attention to it, her focus squarely on the unruly members of the Housewives League. If there was one thing Rita couldn’t stand, it was being ignored.

Marge braced herself for one of Rita’s explosive tirades, which more often than not were directed at her. She couldn’t help it if she liked to talk. It wasn’t her fault if someone talked back with her. Yet she always got the blame for what Rita liked to call a “disruption.”

The roar of the engine grew louder, and Marge could tell it was a Jeep. Rita must have heard it, too. Although her back was toward the oncoming vehicle, she’d moved over to the right side of the road.

Knowing the Yanks’ tendency to drive on the wrong side of the road, the group of women made sure to stand well clear of the grass verge, crowding up to the railings that lined the cliffs. They all watched with gleeful expectation as Rita stood in the road, her hands dug into her hips, and cast a baleful eye on her wayward members.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” she began, “that when we’re on a mission…”

The Jeep roared into view, plunged past Rita with room to spare and continued on its way, rocketing from side to side as it careened around the bend.

“Lucky they weren’t driving on the wrong side,” Marge commented. “You’d be flat as a pancake by now.”

She nudged Nellie in the side as Rita glared at her, but Nellie was staring after the Jeep, her face creased in a frown. “They weren’t Yanks,” she said. “What were civvies doing in an American Jeep?”

“How’d you know they weren’t Yanks?” Marge demanded. “They could’ve just been dressed up in ordinary clothes.”

“Nah.” Nellie looked smug. “I can tell a Yank a mile off.”

“I don’t know how you could tell that. I couldn’t even see their faces. They had them covered with scarves.”

Florrie let out a shriek that startled them all. “Oh, my God! It was the three musketeers!”

A chorus of horrified exclamations greeted this alarming statement.

Rita bellowed above the din. “For heaven’s sake, shut up that bloody noise!”

The chatter died away, with one last echo of a whimper from Florrie.

“What are we going to do?” Nellie demanded. “They stole a flipping Jeep.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rita said, assuming command once more. “We only surmise that. We can’t go around accusing innocent people without being sure.”

“Well, it weren’t no Yanks in there, that’s for sure,” Nellie insisted.

“Perhaps not, but in any case, they are too far away for us to do anything about it now. I’ll have a word with P.C. Dalrymple tomorrow. But for now, can we please maintain silence while we assume our position on the cliffs.”

Marge sighed. For a moment there it looked as if they might get out of the invasion watch for once. She might have known Rita wouldn’t give up on it. It made her feel important. Rita liked to feel important. If it were up to her, she’d have the whole blinking village turn out for her missions, as she called them. Luckily for them, most of the villagers had more sense than to listen to her.

Marge joined the others as they resumed their march to the high point of the cliffs. She often wondered why she bothered to go along with it. All the plodding around trailing after Rita, watching for Germans and looking for spies. Not once had they ever caught anyone. Not once. Not even when they had a German pilot cornered in the windmill. There was always someone else there to seize the glory.

She could almost feel sorry for Rita, if she didn’t know the woman enjoyed every minute of it. Pity her when the war was over. Rita Crumm would have to find another way to throw her weight around. Wonder what she’d do. Probably get rid of Lady Elizabeth and take over the Manor House if she had her way.

Marge pulled a face, imagining what life would be like in Sitting Marsh with Rita Crumm as lady of the manor. She’d blinking move, she would. Go and live in North Horsham.

“You got a blister or something?”

Marge jumped as Nellie hissed in her ear. “No, why?”

“You had a sour look on your face.” Nellie grinned. “You need to piddle?”

Marge scowled at her. “No, I don’t. I don’t know-” She broke off, her breath catching in her throat. They had just rounded the bend, and Rita stood transfixed in front of them, looking at something straight ahead. The way she stood there, all still and quiet, gave Marge the chills.

“What’s she looking at?” Nellie whispered loudly.

The rest of the group had halted, all apparently struck by Rita’s odd posture. They huddled together, afraid to speak, and Marge was quite certain that the dreaded invasion had begun after all.

Then Rita turned and came back to them at a run. “You were right, Florrie,” she said, sounding breathless. “Three men, all with scarves tied over their faces.”

“Oh, my,” Florrie moaned.

The other women started muttering, until Rita silenced them with a sharp raise of her hand. “This is our chance,” she said, her voice low and hoarse with excitement. “We’re going to capture the three musketeers.”

“How the bloody hell do you think we’re going to do that?” Nellie demanded.

“Shhh!” Rita put a finger over her lips. “We want to take them by surprise.”

“And they’re going to come along quietly? I don’t think so.” Nellie crossed her arms. “The best thing we can do is get George and Sid up here. They’ve got the authority.”

“I’ve got authority, too,” Rita said stiffly. “As General of the Housewives League, I have the authority to apprehend anyone endangering the lives of the villagers.”

Nellie smirked. “Says who?”

“Says everyone. That’s who. It’s understood.”

“So how are they endangering us?”

“They could shove the Jeep over the cliffs and it could hit a mine and blow all our heads off.”

Shocked cries arose among the group. “Ere, I’m orf,” someone said.

“Me, too.” There was a general movement of the crowd to turn tail.

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