Jenny's War by Dickinson Margaret

Author:Dickinson, Margaret [Dickinson, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447213475
Publisher: Macmillan Publishers UK
Published: 2012-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Five

It seemed an age that Jenny stood on the edge of the quarry, shivering with cold and fear, not knowing what to do. The trees rustled in the darkness and an owl hooted somewhere close by, making her jump. She was just about to turn away and try to find her way home when she heard a low moan from far below her.

‘Uncle Arthur,’ she said in a loud whisper, but doubted he could hear her. Should she fetch her mum? Or Mr Fenton? He’d be sure to help, but he’d then ask awkward questions about what they were doing out this late at night.

‘Jen – are you there?’

‘Yes, Uncle Arthur. Are you hurt?’

‘I’ve twisted my ankle, but – ouch! Bloody nettles.’

‘What shall I do? Shall I fetch someone?’

‘’Course not, you silly mare. Want the whole neighbourhood to know we’re up to no good.’

Jenny shivered again.

‘Can you climb down here and give me a hand?’

‘I can’t see you.’

‘I can bloody well see you waving that torch all over the place.’

Now Jenny shone the torch at her own feet and began to climb down. There was a little path, twisting and turning down the steep sides of the quarry. If she was careful, maybe she could— her feet slipped on the grass and she felt herself falling. She flung her arm out and clawed at the ground. Her fingers felt the branch of a small tree and she hung on to it.

‘I can’t, Uncle Arthur. I’ll fall.’

‘No, you won’t. Just take it steadily.’

Jenny bit her lip and pointed the torch downwards again. It seemed an awful long way down. If she were to lose her footing and roll all the way down, then they’d both be trapped at the bottom.

And, like Mr Fenton had said, there’d be no one to hear their cries for help. Certainly not at this time of night when all law-abiding citizens were in their beds. Grimly, knowing that they couldn’t stay there all night and nor could she go and find help, Jenny dug her heels into the ground and eased herself down, little by little. Every so often she stopped, hung on to a nearby bush and shone the torch down.

‘I can see you now, Uncle Arthur. Hang on.’

‘I’m hardly going anywhere, am I?’ he retorted, but now he knew she was really trying to help him and not scooting off and leaving him there, he tempered his tone. He knew she hated coming out with him and that it was only the threat of her mother’s punishments that kept her in line – for now. But one day he was sure she’d rebel. And, really, he wouldn’t blame her – just so long as she didn’t decide to do it right now and leave him here.

At last she reached the bottom and knelt beside him.

‘Don’t shine that in my face. Here, help me up.’

‘Can you stand?’

‘Give us yer hand.’ He grasped her outstretched hand and hauled himself up, almost pulling her over. He stood beside her and tested the ankle he’d twisted in his fall.

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