There were scuffling screams on the steps. Then a familiar voice: ‘She got past me – I’m going after her.’ It was Pinstripe! So I had heard his dry little cough. ‘Sergeant! Get up there and help the girls,’ he shouted. Within seconds, a young policeman appeared, wearing a muddy uniform and holding a torch. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he said, bending over me.

‘No,’ I said, ‘help Mags – help my sister.’

The beam of his torch picked out the lump that lay on the floor – perfectly still.

‘Is she all right?’

‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Unconscious, though. I’ll take her down to the kitchen, then I’ll come back for you.’

He was down the stairs with Mags in his arms and back again for me within a minute.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘There’s something I need to do first.’ I had been listening to the soft whirring of the optic. It was growing fainter and fainter . . . and then it stopped. Mrs Baron hadn’t turned the handle for long enough.

I strained up from the floor one last time. I reached for the lever, and pulled it down hard.

Blinding light pierced the darkness, blasting out towards the sea in one fixed, steady beam.

‘Miss!’ the policeman exclaimed. ‘You can’t do that! The blackout! There are planes . . .’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But right now this is more important. There’s a German U-boat out there in the Channel, and this is the signal for them to abandon the landing.’

‘There’s a what?!’

‘You need to use the telephone in the service room downstairs, Sergeant – contact the Admiralty straight away.’

Chapter 45

45

Down in the kitchen, the sergeant placed me carefully in the wheelchair I use when I’m in the cottage. I looked at the mud and chalk stains all over his uniform and wondered what on earth had happened to him on his way to the lighthouse. He got me a glass of water and put a blanket around me. ‘For the shock,’ he said. Mags was lying on the window seat, unconscious beneath another blanket.

‘Is she all right – my sister?’

‘She’ll be just fine. Pulse like a lion’s. She’ll come round any minute, I’m sure.’

Then Pinstripe came into the kitchen with Mrs Baron, her wrists handcuffed together. ‘Found her out on the cliff,’ he said. ‘Flashing her little torch at the sea.’

‘I wasn’t!’ she shouted. ‘I was trying to get away from these girls. They’re insane! They had turned the lighthouse lamp on when there were planes about – German planes!’ she panted. ‘They must be mad – I was trying to stop them, but they attacked me! I’m the ARP warden, you know – I’m a magistrate!’