She sank down on the bench behind her, her legs shaking so hard she could barely stand up. She took another deep breath and forced herself to think logically. Who else had she seen on the platform since she first arrived?
“Len Snigson,” she whispered. The last time she’d noticed him, he was unloading the big black pram from the 11.53. She couldn’t remember seeing him on the station at all since then. Surely he should have been there to help with the 12.04? Edie clutched her tummy. Could Len have taken Greta? It didn’t seem possible. He might be a bit of a crook, happy to sell black-market goods and profit from the war. But would he steal a child? Would he hurt her? Surely not.
Then Edie remembered how she’d goaded the porter this morning, saying she would get to the bottom of the Snigson’s secret activities. His warning rang in her ears: “Keep your nose out of our business, or I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? What if the Snigsons were up to something truly awful – something they would do anything to keep secret?
Edie struggled to her feet.
Had Greta paid a terrible price, all because Edie had been snooping?
She gathered Mr Churchill into her arms and ran. She had to find Greta before it was too late.
Chapter Eleven
The Pig Club
Edie grabbed Mr Churchill by the trunk and ran out on to the station forecourt. The row of little cottages above the railway line showed no sign of life. Edie’s legs were still shaking as she tried to think what to do next. The nearest police station was all the way in Maidbridge, so that was no good. But if she ran up hill towards the village shops there would surely be someone who could help her. She might even see PC Bevan on his bicycle.
Edie had only taken two steps when she changed her mind. Perky had told her once that PC Bevan was married to the Snigsons’ older sister, Enid. Perhaps he couldn’t be trusted to help.
“England’s Corner!” she gasped. She skidded round and pelted downhill, in the opposite direction. She should have thought of it at once. The pretty white house was just around the bend in the lane. Colonel Crowther was head of the Home Guard. He could probably have his troops out searching for Greta within minutes. He might even have the authority to radio the signal boxes further up the line and have the trains heading north stopped and searched.
“Colonel Crowther!” she bellowed, banging the brass lion’s head knocker as loudly as she could. “Colonel Crowther, are you home?” She thought she saw a flicker of movement behind the downstairs curtains and pressed her nose against the window to peer through the glass. She was surprised to see how drab and bare it looked inside. There were only a few sticks of battered-looking furniture and an old iron trunk for a table – not at all what she would have expected from the grand brass knocker outside and the pretty roses growing up the walls. “Hello?” she called. But there was still no answer. It must just have been a shadow from the sun she had seen moving. She pounded the knocker again and stood stock-still, listening with her head on one side, praying for the sound of footsteps coming to the door. But there was nothing.
Edie was furious with herself. She had wasted more time than ever now. “What an idiot!” She should just have gone straight to the village high street in the first place. There would have been plenty of people there.
As she thundered back up the hill, she saw the church straight ahead of her. For a wild moment Edie thought about running in and ringing the bells. That was only supposed to happen if there was an enemy invasion. The bells didn’t even ring on Sundays any more. They had been silenced until the war was over except in the case of dire emergency. But this was an emergency – a real one. If Edie rang them, everyone would know she needed help. She had no idea how to ring a bell, of course. But they’d surely make some sort of clanging noise if she pulled on the long dangly ropes at the bottom of the spire.
Then she remembered Reverend Greaves. Of course, she had spoken to him at the station earlier too. Perhaps he’d seen Greta. He might even have taken her back to the vicarage for some orange squash. Mrs Greaves, the vicar’s wife, ran the village playgroup. Greta had gone with Maisie Gills last week.
Edie was about to cut across the churchyard when she heard the sound of crunching gravel on the lane behind her. A bicycle! She spun round, thinking it might be PC Bevan on his rounds. But as the cyclist came into view, she saw that it wasn’t the policeman riding up the lane.
“Aunt Roberta!” She’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her whole life. The feeling of relief made her knees go weak. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she cried, leaping out into the middle of the lane so that Aunt Roberta nearly skidded into the ditch. Edie was so glad to see her, and so frightened about what might have happened, she didn’t even worry about getting in trouble for losing Greta in the first place.
“I was at the station with Belinda Barton-Withers. And when I went back to the waiting room, it was only Mr Churchill there,” she gabbled. Edie was still clutching the elephant and she waved him under Aunt Roberta’s nose. “I think Len Snigson’s kidnapped her!”
“Slow down, Edie,” said Aunt Roberta, laying a hand on her arm. “What
