‘What be the matter?’ Christopher whispered, jolting her back to the present.
Harriet glanced at her mother, not wishing to add to her worries, but she was quite oblivious, nibbling perfunctorily on her bread. ‘There don’t be anything wrong, Christopher,’ she answered quietly. She smiled weakly but could see that he had not believed her.
A knock at the door reverberated noisily around the room and seemed to shake the life back into Eliza.
Harriet stood and opened the door.
‘One day! One day!’ came Mrs Woods’s shrill voice, as she stepped inside the house. She too was attired in full mourning clothes.
‘What be one day?’ Eliza questioned her friend.
‘One day were all it took for those chuckle-headed jurymen and those bettermost commissioners to be deciding. One day!’
The half-eaten bread in Eliza’s shaky fingers fell to her plate, as she rose up from her chair. ‘And what be the verdict?’ she asked.
Mrs Woods’s eyes fell to the floor. ‘The Crown. Everything under our feet—it all be belonging to King George. We’ve no right to live here.’
‘But what about this place, and the Black Horse?’ Harriet demanded.
Mrs Woods shrugged. ‘It be the king’s. And do you know, they be issuing leases for us to rent for seven years then the whole America Ground will be cleared. What use do seven-year leases be? Where do us Americans be going?’
‘Can we be appealing it?’ Christopher asked, glancing between Eliza and Mrs Woods.
Mrs Woods shook her head. ‘No appeals. It be done. Us Americans are done. Hardly seems any point in me moving in here,’ she muttered.
‘You don’t be having to,’ Eliza said.
Mrs Woods softened and offered a half-smile. ‘I be staying—it’s kind of you to give up your home. Thank you.’
Eliza smiled, sank into her chair and reverted back into her trance as Mrs Woods stepped from the house.
‘What about that Richard from the corporation—can he be a-helping?’ Harriet said to her mother, already knowing the answer.
‘Richard?’ her mother spat. ‘What do you be a-knowing about him?’ she suddenly reached across the table and grabbed at Harriet’s chin. ‘Be telling me, Hattie—what do you know about Richard?’
‘Nothing—just that he be working for the corporation is all,’ Harriet sobbed.
Eliza released her grip. ‘That man be evil and you need to keep well clear of him—do you hear?’
Harriet nodded. She recalled the physical violence that had terrified her at his office and the brutal, demonic look that had burned in his eyes.
Worse, though, had been his words.
Harriet walked calmly along the beach, clutching the American flag. Her previous immaturity and naivety had fallen away like a discarded shell and she saw her misguided infatuation with Richard as though it were someone else—some inane foolish friend.
She breathed deeply, hoping that what she was about to do would help the America Ground to heal and offer some hope to the Americans.
She took only a cursory glance at the shattered remains of the cottages destroyed by the storms. What little hadn’t been wrecked and consumed by the wind and sea had been gradually purloined and reused by the America Ground carpenters, bricklayers and stonemasons.
Harriet had reached her destination: William Vine’s workshop. It was a small stone cottage, the top floor serving as his home and the ground floor, along with the large yard at the rear, as his business. The door was open and she found William, sweating profusely in dirty brown clothes, sawing through a fat tree trunk.
‘Mr Vine,’ Harriet greeted.
William stopped cutting and nodded warily. ‘What is it?’
Harriet smiled and unfurled the America Ground flag. ‘I found this, among the ruins from the storms and be wondering if you could-’
‘No, I can’t be doing nothing,’ William interrupted. ‘Now be letting me work.’ With his back turned to her, he walked back inside the workshop.
‘But, Mr Vine—I be thinking it’s what the America Ground be needing,’ Harriet persisted, following him inside.
William faced her angrily. ‘What we all be a-needing is a decent horse and cart to get out of here. Look around you, Miss Lovekin: everyone be packing up and leaving. The America Ground be finished.’
Harriet hurriedly backed out of the workshop.
‘Burn your stupid bloody flag!’ William shouted after her.
She hurried from the place, determined not to cry, running as fast as she could up Cuckoo Hill. It was the one place that offered her peace and solitude. She sank down into the long grass and looked at the flag. Was it really all over?
Then she turned and the entirety of the America Ground drew into focus. People—dozens of people were loading up carts preparing to leave.
Some were even taking their homes apart.
Chapter Seventeen
Morton was fixed to the spot in the lounge doorway, not understanding why Kevin had made a sudden return. This wasn’t the agreement. From his twitchy body language and incensed eyes, Morton could tell that something had changed. Was it just that he’d slipped the white Range Rover earlier in the day? Surely not.
Without warning, Kevin smashed the photograph of Juliette at the wall, sending glass splinters all around the room. He stood up and practically ran towards Morton, giving him no time to think. His fat hands crushed into Morton’s throat and slammed him backwards into the door.
Morton yelped, but no noise came out owing to the pressure on his larynx.
Kevin maintained his grip and Morton’s face reddened until it was an unnatural shade of purple.
Morton was running out of oxygen. His weak acquiescence had to end now. He began to thrash about and managed a sharp kick into Kevin’s left
