her out of bed to do it.’
There were no blackout curtains drawn, or shutters at the windows of the house, Will noted, but it didn’t matter because the room was in darkness. Perched at the top of the ladder, he rapped on the glass quite loudly and saw an indistinct grey shape move slightly in the room. It came no closer, though, and Will couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself by shouting. After a minute or two he rapped again, thinking it would be a tragic irony if the plan failed because the girl was too afraid to come to the window.
The point was, really he couldn’t blame her. Why should she trust a strange man on a ladder outside her bedroom window rapping at the glass? Who would? Yet it was desperately important that she did trust him, came nearer and then maybe he could convince her that he meant her no harm.
Molly had woken in a lather of sweat and she had had the shakes ever since. She thought something was seriously wrong, that she was dying, and she felt so wretched that she wouldn’t have cared. She had no idea it was her body reacting to the absence of drugs it had become so used to over the weeks.
When she heard the rapping on the glass, she turned her head to the sound but did nothing further. She wasn’t totally sure she hadn’t imagined it, because strange things had been happening to her mind of late and she felt too ill, in too much pain to move. But the rapping came again and she decided to see what it was. She struggled from the bed and then had to hold on to it as her head swam and the room tilted and swayed in front of her. When she felt able to move again it was with the shambling gait of a very old and sick woman.
When she saw the man’s face the other side of the glass, she recoiled in horror. To her, men meant pain and suffering, and she had had enough of that to last her a lifetime, so when the man beckoned to her to open the window she shook her head wildly. Did he think her mad altogether?
Then she heard his voice. It was gentle, soothing, and it said, ‘Open the window. I swear I mean you no harm. I am here to try and help you.’
Oh, how Molly wanted help, someone to tell her what to do, because she hadn’t a clue. What have you got to lose? her mind screamed. Ray might be back any minute and he might start on you again. At the thought of that, she stepped forward and threw open the window, wondering if she was going from the frying pan into the fire, but too dispirited to care much.
Will was inside her room in seconds, pushing the haversack he carried through first. Though he couldn’t see the full extent of the injuries to Molly’s face, what he could make out made him feel physically sick. He could never raise his hand to a woman and couldn’t understand how any man could. And yet he told himself if he didn’t get this girl away from here, a battered face would be the least of her worries. He must make her see that.
‘Listen,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, ‘your life is in grave danger.’ And when she didn’t answer he tried again, ‘Do you understand what I said?’
Molly nodded, and then was sorry because her head began thumping again. She said through thick lips, ‘You said my life was in danger.’
‘It is,’ Will insisted. ‘It is because of what you did to Collingsworth.’
He felt the shudder run all down her body and he added, ‘Believe me, I am his chauffeur and heard him talking to Ray. He wants you killed.’
Abject and absolute terror took hold of Molly then. ‘But … but what am I to do?’
‘I have come to get you out.’
‘But that won’t help. I have nowhere to go.’
‘Let me worry about that,’ Will said. ‘Will you trust me?’
Molly looked at Will’s open face and what she could see of it was full of concern for her. For that reason she knew that this man was an honest one. She said, ‘I don’t know why, but I believe you.’
Will sighed in relief. ‘Now, listen,’ he said. ‘You can escape from this room via the ladder, but it has to seem as if you got out on your own. If they were to think otherwise, my life, as well as yours, will be in danger. Do you understand that?’
Again there was that nod, as if it was too much effort for Molly to speak.
‘So,’ Will said, ‘we must tear the sheets up until we have enough to reach the ground, or near enough anyway, and as quickly as possible because time is against us.’
Molly needed no second bidding to do that. She took pleasure in tearing those black sheets into sizeable strips, which Will tied together, fastening one end of the rope to the leg of the bed.
‘That’s about it,’ he said at last, tipping the tied sheets from the window where they dangled just about a foot from the ground.
Then Will unpacked the haversack and inside was a woman’s coat, a scarf, hat and gloves and a pair of boots. He smiled at Molly’s puzzled expression.
‘They are from my wife,’ he said. ‘She thought you may have need of them and I’d say she was right.’
‘You’re married,’ Molly said, because to be married seemed a very safe and ordinary thing to be.
‘Well married,’ Will said. ‘My wife is seven months pregnant and that was her favourite coat, but it won’t go near her now. Mind you, it would fit you three times over. There isn’t much of you, is there, and the boots will probably be like boats, but they will be better than those fancy slippers. Mind you, we must take everything with us, because you wouldn’t leave without clothes. In fact, it might pay us to take some things from the drawers, as well, just to allay any suspicions they may have.’
Eventually they were ready and Will went onto the ladder first and guided Molly down gently. She was glad of it, for everything ached and the wind blew with such intensity it threatened to pluck her off it.
‘Won’t the ladder sort of give it away?’ she said to Will when she reached the ground, and she heard him give a throaty chuckle.
‘You leave the ladder to me,’ he said, as he lifted it and dropped it the other side of the factory wall. ‘It can bide there until it is safe to come and fetch it. Now we must be away from here, and as fast as we can.’
It wasn’t very fast, because Molly was in pain with every step and Will was soon aware of it. He knew it was a tidy walk to Aston, where Betty’s mother lived, and they daren’t risk a tram. They hadn’t set out far when it began to rain, icy, sleety rain with the gusty wind behind it. Will was glad of it, for it meant the streets were virtually empty, though the sky had begun to lighten and those that were out had little inclination to linger.
Molly had the hat pulled well down and the scarf pulled up, so it was when they arrived at 8 Albert Road, the little terrace house of Ruby Mitchell, Betty’s mother, and Molly took off her sopping things, that they saw the full extent of the injuries to her face. For a while they were all struck dumb, and then Will almost ground out, ‘God Almighty!’ He had seldom seen such savagery and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had done the right thing. So did the two women.
‘I’ll make us all a drop of tea,’ Ruby said, knowing that it was the panacea for every ailment known to man.
‘Not for me, Ma,’ Will said. ‘I had better head back.’
‘Take a drop of tea at least.’
‘I
