Hurst by Robin Crumby (the reading list book TXT) 📖

during the war. They were responsible for guarding the Solent against attacks by German U-boats or motor torpedo boats.”

Toby listened, enthralled as Liz told him more about the history of the castle.

“Come on, I’ll show you the old theatre,” said Tommy.

Liz called out after them: “Thanks for the Thai goodies. I’ll have a think what I can make with chestnuts. Perhaps we’ll have a curry then tonight, Connie.”

Tommy gave them a walking tour of the castle, pointing out the dining hall, library, and the small shared dormitory where they could sleep tonight. He introduced them to various people as they went.

They stopped at the theatre and Tommy explained all about their busy schedule of upcoming shows. Scottie’s performances ranged from recitals of Shakespearean soliloquies, sonnets and longer passages he performed from memory. He was somewhat of a Hurst treasure, greeted with a mixture of mild amusement from the young, and muted rapture from the more senior members of the group.

Standing next to the stage, Tommy passed Toby an inflatable parrot they were using as a prop. “They’re just auditioning for parts in Treasure Island, if you’re interested in having a go. You’d make a great Jim Hawkins. I wanted to be a pirate but they won’t let me have a speaking part.”

Simon ruffled Toby’s hair. The boy looked suitably embarrassed at the unwanted attention.

“Scottie adapted the script from the original book. Riley found him a copy. You should have seen the look in his eyes when he was presented with this dusty old copy. Clutched it to his chest like it was treasure itself. To think a book could have that kind of effect on a grown man,” mocked Tommy, shaking his head. “He’s something of an acquired taste, I suppose. He never fails to draw a crowd.”

In truth, Scottie revelled in his role as Hurst’s resident entertainer. Most evenings he organised public readings from well-known works. A genius with voices, accents and bringing the words on the page to life in a way that captivated young and old. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for the youngest children before bedtime, Harry Potter for the teens, and even the adults would sit enthralled by readings from Dickens, Hardy or Hemmingway. He was forever nagging the scavenging parties to find them more books. Books, books, books, as if that was more important than food. Riley dutifully obliged and usually brought home a paperback or two. Occasionally she found a first edition or rare tome that had Scottie stroking its cover, enthralled by dedications or author signatures. He was something of a collector.

Everything just sounded a little bit better when Scottie read it. He added a vocal range and dramatic delivery to even the most boring of roll calls and memos. He had a knack of making anything sound more interesting. It reminded Tommy of how TV commercials used to get well-known Hollywood actors like Michael Douglas or Harvey Keitel to do voice-overs.

Tommy walked them back outside to the courtyard, pointing to a large whitewashed section of the castle wall where he told them they projected feature films for “Movie Night” every third Friday in the month. It made for one of the more popular and social evenings at Hurst. He remembered one of the scavenging teams bringing back an old-fashioned reel projector and two boxes of 8mm films they’d found while searching the attic of a house owned by a movie fanatic or someone working in the business. They told how the house had been cluttered with film props and memorabilia, photos of movie stars, past and present.

It was the same with the Hurst museum. Scottie made a habit of collecting similar trophies recovered from the local area. From paintings and books to statues and even larger antiques, he considered it their duty to salvage art and preserve it for future generations. The walls of the museum were now adorned with old masters, a Constable together with several impressionist works from Cezanne, Monet and a Pissarro. They even had a piece by Damien Hirst, which divided opinion, but Scottie loved it all the same.

The movies they showed on those special evenings were mostly classic war films and Westerns. There was nothing more modern in the collection, but it didn’t seem to matter. They would sit outside on milder spring or summer evenings under the stars. Lying on picnic blankets or deckchairs late into the night, Scottie would operate the projector, changing reels to the groans of audiences. The changes always seemed to come at a particularly gripping cliffhanger moment, scrambling around to locate and mount the next reel. His regulars would never tire of the Magnificent Seven or The Guns of Navarone. Tommy knew every scene, every line, every word. He annoyed the hell out of whoever he sat next to by mouthing the words and telling people his favourite bit was just coming up.

“Right here we are.” Tommy gestured towards two mattresses that lay in the corner on the floor. The beds looked a bit tired, the covers moth-eaten and torn, but they would be dry and safe. They would sleep well tonight, Tommy was sure of it, patting Toby on the shoulder. He clapped his hands and made to leave before remembering something.

“Jack asked me to ask you if you wouldn’t mind putting Lady Lucy on the river mooring for tonight. Looks like there’s a storm coming in.” He grimaced, peering out of the window at dark clouds heading their way.

“Thanks, Tommy. Really appreciate it. We’re going to be very happy here, aren’t we, Toby?”

Toby smiled weakly at Tommy, but didn’t look too convinced.

Chapter Seventeen

Terra rested her hand on Nathan’s shoulder, standing behind him as he finished up the notes from the meeting. When the last of the other council members had left she sat down opposite, with a sigh loud enough that he looked up, eyebrows raised.

The room was silent other than the sound of the ink pen scratching on the yellow pad and Nathan’s shallow, efficient breaths. Terra noticed his tongue peeping out furtively between his lips as he concentrated on the task at hand. She was still troubled by the question of the missing food and curious about the council’s response. She didn’t trust Liz, but it seemed unlikely that she was implicated in any way. Sloppy and careless perhaps, but she wasn’t dishonest. It took a liar to spot another. Liz didn’t have the brains or the imagination for it. Certainly no match for Terra. Riley on the other hand… She didn’t trust her or Zed as far as she could throw them, which was why she had one of her people watching them and reporting back.

Outside, the early evening rain had eased and grey clouds were being chased away, replaced by clearer skies and the faint streak of a rainbow in the dying light of the setting sun.

Nathan collected the papers, pulling the heavy oak door closed behind them with a metallic clank as the locking mechanism engaged. They slowly descended the uneven stone steps, treading carefully to avoid grooves dug over hundreds of years, where heavy crates had been dragged to the courtyard below.

Two children raced up the stairs past them. The first nearly barged into Nathan. The second one feinted left then right before squirming past, head down. Nathan grabbed the lopsided pile of papers before they could slip from his grasp. Terra stopped and watched the children go with a wry smile, shaking her head.

She froze mid-step, and they both looked up at the sky. Echoing off the walls came a familiar rhythmic hum that made them stare at each other. It was a sound they had not heard for many months. A helicopter. But that seemed totally incongruous, implausible even after all this time.

They hurried down to the courtyard, looking in every direction, trying to place the sound that echoed off the old brick and stone. The metallic throbbing grew louder and louder as the black shape of a helicopter hove into view. Terra got a fleeting glimpse only as it swept over the castle and banked round, making several passes, perhaps scanning for movement and a place to land below.

Dozens of people dropped whatever they were doing and headed out of the main gate, some still holding tools. In a few short seconds, the whole of Hurst had emptied out on to the flat grassy area outside the main walls and stood staring up into the dying light. A young girl was pointing up to the evening sky, following the movement of the helicopter with her finger. Its red navigation lights started blinking on and off as it circled the castle.

Terra didn’t recognise the make of helicopter at first. It was long and angular, stealthy and graceful at the same time. Bit like a Lynx. But definitely not like the more portly Sea Kings she had grown used to seeing on rare occasions shuttling in and out of the Royal Navy base at Portsmouth. It was shark-like, powerful and menacing. She had never seen one like this in real life, but had watched enough war movies and the like to know that this must be a Blackhawk or something very similar, which meant only one thing: it had to be American.

Nathan shouted something she didn’t catch. He paced over and shouted again, directly into her ear: “We shouldn’t take any chances. We should break out the weapons, just in case.”

Terra nodded and Nathan ran off to tell the guards to be ready for anything.

Chapter Eighteen

The Seahawk, the navy variant of the Blackhawk, banked over Hurst one more time, its engines flaring as the pitch and direction of the sound changed again, noise funnelling through the gate and reverberating off the walls of the passageway. The helicopter’s searchlight slung under the nose powered up, illuminating the landing zone behind the gathering horde. It came into a hover over the flat grassy area, sending dust and loose debris swirling in all directions.

The crowd that had assembled, tightly packed together, retreated a few yards, shielding their eyes from the glare and dust storm that swept over them. A young girl pointed in disbelief. She wore a loose hand-me-down dress embroidered with faded violets. Turning her back to the helicopter, she held the hem of her skirt as it fluttered against her skinny legs.

The Seahawk landed, its twin engines powering down. Its rotor blades began to slow, and the high pitch whine abated rapidly. There was a pause before the cabin door slid open and two soldiers in battle gear jumped down, boots landing heavily on the shingle, automatic weapons held tightly at the ready. Their faces were obscured by what looked like gasmasks. They were clearly taking no chances with infection.

A well-groomed officer in military fatigues appeared behind them. He strode confidently towards the group, pulling up around ten metres short, keeping his distance. He cupped one hand to the side of his mouth and shouted over the dying engine noise to make himself heard. “Who’s in charge here?”

His voice was a little muffled by the surgical mask covering his nose and mouth. There was a slight pause as eyes turned towards Nathan and Terra. The crowd parted to reveal its leaders.

Terra stepped forward, holding one arm half-raised in acknowledgement.

“Ma’am. My name is Lieutenant Peterson from the warship USS Chester. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

Terra gestured towards the lighthouse. “Yes, of course. Follow me.” Nathan put a hand on her shoulder and motioned as if to go with her, but Terra shook her head.

The American turned his back on the crowd, relaying commands to the two soldiers through the microphone in his sleeve. He pressed the earpiece more tightly into his ear, listening for their response. They took up position by the helicopter, alert to any danger.

Nathan and the rest of the Hurst group watched Terra and the officer leave in silence. Once they reached the lighthouse door and went inside whispers from the crowd erupted into a