Hope - Lesley Pearse [189]
Hope laughed. She thought Queenie looked very pretty with her short-cropped hair. ‘There’s times when I’d gladly cut mine off too,’ she said. ‘It’s far too much trouble in this heat.’
‘Your hair’s beautiful,’ Queenie said admiringly. She often brushed and checked Hope’s hair for lice. ‘But then, every-fing about you is beautiful, the way you talk, your face, and the way you are. Everyone goes on about that Mrs Duberly what’s come on the campaign, but you are much prettier than her.’
Hope smiled. Mrs Duberly was the wife of a paymaster with the cavalry, a dainty blonde woman who could ride as well as a man. She was much admired by everyone, except Bennett who pronounced her empty-headed and suspected she was in fact Lord Cardigan’s mistress as they always seemed to be together. So it was good to know Queenie liked her better.
Queenie asked her again how she’d met Bennett, and Hope told her an abbreviated version of the truth; that she’d met him while working as a nurse. ‘Don’t know ’ow you can stick sick people.’ Queenie shuddered. ‘You wouldn’t catch me cleaning ’em up and that.’
They fell asleep after eating their picnic, and Hope was woken suddenly by the sound of a male voice.
She was disoriented for a moment, thinking the voice was Bennett’s, and she didn’t bother to move. But on hearing a second voice and a twig snapping close by, she opened her eyes and saw two men looking down at them.
They were clearly Turks, judging by their olive skins, drooping moustaches and baggy red breeches, though they weren’t wearing the standard fez. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the excited tone of voice and the lust in their dark eyes were enough.
‘Wake up, Queenie,’ she said, prodding her companion and sitting up. ‘English,’ she said. ‘My husband officer in army.’ She pointed in the direction of the camp.
Queenie woke, caught on immediately to what was happening, and jumped to her feet.
‘Sod off,’ she yelled. ‘Go on, get out.’
One of the men said something, and leered at Hope. She got on to her knees as if to pack up their picnic basket, and deftly slid the sharp fruit knife up her sleeve before rising to her feet.
Queenie, meanwhile, was shouting abuse at the men. They backed off slightly, but maybe they understood some of the riper insults, for suddenly their faces darkened and they leapt forward, one catching hold of Queenie, pinning her arms to her sides, while the other, slower man caught Hope’s left arm in a vicelike grip, pushing her back against a tree.
All at once Queenie was down on the ground, her captor on top of her. There was no doubt what he was intending to do to her, and it seemed to Hope that the man holding on to her intended to watch that first, then do the same to her.
Queenie screamed at the top of her lungs, fighting like a hellcat to get from under the man. But although not very tall, he was powerfully built, and she was making no impression on him at all except to make him more excited.
Hope screamed too, but she didn’t lash out with her free hand because she was trying to get the knife down from her sleeve. But as the man lunged at her skirt to pull it up, at the same time pushing her back against the tree, she had the knife safely in her hand. She waited only long enough for him to straighten up, then thrust it into his side.
His shocked expression was almost laughable. He staggered back, eyes rolling, trying to pull out the knife with his hand.
For a second or two it was as if everything happened in slow motion. The man with Queenie was trying to force her knees apart, her attacker was trying to get the knife out, and any moment he might succeed and use it on her, while Queenie would be raped.
Until that second Hope had been very afraid, but now her fear turned to fury. She hadn’t come all this way from England to be killed or raped by one of the Turks they were supposed to be defending. Letting out a bellow of rage, she rushed at the man, yanked the knife out of his side and kicked him to