Page 4 of The Book That Held Her Heart

Another first?Anne frowned as she watched the two men go. How did that make any sense? She watched them until the edge of the last window blocked her vision. One white as a ghost, the other tall as a beanstalk. They both had targets on their backs. There were plenty of brownshirts in town. Even out of uniform they’d spoil for a fight with a pair as clearly foreign. If Kerrol and Mr. Yute happened to pass by any of the factory yards they would draw trouble, sure as rain falls down. Any place where workmen would be coming and going, hanging out under the eaves of the machine sheds for a smoke, or standing in the shelter of a wall, any place like that could see them chased, beaten, driven out of town. Or worse, they might be arrested and taken to one of the new camps where all the communists were ending up these days. She should have sent them down that alley by the slaughterhouse, made them go the long way rather than past the lorry factory.

“Damn it!” Anne grabbed her coat and the key and ran to the door. She turned the sign to “closed,” slipped out into the rain, locked up, and hurried after her customers, still struggling into her coat. “Wait!”

She caught them at the corner. “Mr. Yute, wait!”

“Just Yute,” he said, turning with a surprised smile despite the rain which he very clearly wasn’t enjoying.

“Yute.” Anne felt uncomfortable calling an adult stranger by their first name. Kerrol wasn’t much older than she was. Early twenties at most. But Yute…she couldn’t tell how old he was. He had a face that made it hard to judge. He had to be at least forty, surely? But well-preserved. But equally he could be a youthful sixty. “Sir. I really should have just said I’d take you there. So, I will!”

“But your grandfather told you to remain in the shop,” Yute observed. “I doubt he’d forgive me for inciting you to ignore his rules and to leave his livelihood unguarded.”

“Oh, it’s not much of a livelihood,” Anne protested. “And the rule of hospitality trumps the other rule. You’re strangers in town. Grandfather wouldn’t forgive me if I left you to wander in such weather.”

Kerrol smiled down at her, shaking water from his hands. “It might be nice to get somewhere dry. I never liked swimming in the pool, and I’m finding it just as unpleasant when the stuff falls from the sky.”

Anne nodded uncomprehendingly. “This way.” She crossed the street, aiming for Tanner Lane. Like her grandfather’s shop, Weber’s bookshop was tucked behind a high street where shops crowded elbow to elbow. Rather than keep other stores’ company, the bookshop numbered lawyer’s offices, accountancies, and suppliers of inks or stationery among its neighbours. Thunder rumbled in the east, like the sound of distant guns, and Anne picked up her pace.

She led them the long way, all the time praying that her grandfather’s business kept him a little longer so that her dereliction of duty not be discovered. She took all her usual precautions, listening out for shouts or singing or raucous laughter, the hallmarks of the drunk, pausing at corners and peering around. It should have worked. Especially in the rain. But three streets shy of their target, and as the rain slackened to a scattered drizzle, a voice hailed them.

“Oi!” Hardly a threat but the lack of respect in the overfamiliar address was warning in itself. The confidence was another source of concern. You don’t shout at two grown men in the street unless you have something to back it up. Particularly if one of those grown men has grown much further than probably any man within twenty miles ever had.

“Say nothing to offend them,” Anne cautioned in a low voice, turning to face the speaker.

Four men in overalls had just emerged from one of the terraced houses they’d passed, men in their middle years, heavy bellies used to beer and sausage, sour expressions, a fifth emerging, closing the door behind him. Shift workers at the foundry, Anne thought, the four perhaps calling to pick up the fifth on their way in.

The largest of them, the oldest by the look of him, sported a handlebar moustache and the ruddy complexion of a drunk, though surely he wasn’t currently inebriated at an hour that for him must be just after breakfast.

“Gypsies aren’t allowed round here.” The big man led his friends towards them with a swagger.

Anne would have run if she were on her own—the men didn’t look fast, and they’d probably be satisfied with seeing her run. But it seemed unlikely that Yute in his smart business attire or the towering Kerrol would scatter like schoolboys, even though it would be very much in their best interests to do so.

“We are not gypsies,” Yute said. “But since we are leaving, the point is moot.” He turned to go.

“Don’t turn your back on me!” the man barked.

Yute turned slowly back to face him. Kerrol said nothing, studying the men with a careful frown. He was far taller than any of them, but he didn’t seem particularly powerfully built, and despite his height he didn’t seem the fighting sort.

Looking pleased with himself, the man waved a hand at the three of them and glanced conspiratorially at his friends. “What have we here? A gypsy circus freak, a useless eater, and a Jew-rat.”

The man behind him, bald and heavy browed, had fished a wrench from the pocket of his overalls.

“We should go.” Anne tugged at Yute’s arm.

“No.” Kerrol’s rumble was free of anger or fear. “They won’t be satisfied without injuring us.”

The leader’s complexion darkened, flushing with more blood. With balled fists and a sense of impending purpose he closed the gap between them in swift strides.

“I—” Anne started to speak, but Kerrol moved so fast that the words were stolen from her tongue.

In one heartbeat he was towering beside her. In the next he had snatched up the biggest man in just one hand, carried him back to his fellows, seized another man in the other hand, and used the pair as clubs to knock the remaining three to the ground.

“My apologies.” Kerrol threw the two men in his hands down onto the three struggling to rise. “With more study I’m sure I could have reasoned with you.” He kicked the man closest to gaining his feet, knocking him flat. “Sadly, time is short, and I will have to employ fear.” He glanced back at Yute. “If you could take our friend away. This will work better without an audience.”

Yute reached for Anne’s hand, encircling it with white fingers and leading her around the next corner. The blood-curdling growl that reached after them made Anne want to add her own scream and tear off at a flat sprint. Yute squeezed her palm and released her. “His bark is worse than his bite. His sister though…she is another proposition.”

Kerrol emerged from the lane at a stroll a short while later, though wearing a frown once more. “I did my best. I don’t think they will come after us or report us to any authority. Shame and fear are powerful motivators, but not ones I like to employ. They’re unsubtle and apt to come back to bite you. And it seems that they have already been overused in this town for many years. Fascinating…” He brightened and looked expectantly at Anne. “Shall we go?”

“Y-yes sir.”

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