Molly gazed down at the writing:
The Honorable Charles Elias Matters, Flat 4a, 13 Dapleton Terrace, Bethnal Green, London E2
“I understand that Bethnal Green has been badly damaged by the bombings.”
“Yes. The whole of the East End was heavily targeted during the Blitz,” noted Oliver.
“At least the bombing is not so bad as it was. I heard that on the wireless.”
“But the planes do still come. And people still lose loved ones. And along with them, perhaps they lose hope as well.”
“Charlie seems to have hope,” said Molly.
“I think Charlie has more hope than anyone.”
“Do you know him well, then?”
“Some people you can read more easily than others. But you also said just now that you heard of the bombings lessening on the wireless?”
Molly explained, “I was residing in a small village in Suffolk very near the water. I was sent there during the evacuation scheme. I’m just back.” When he looked puzzled, she added, “I know most have long since returned, but... but my circumstances were a bit... different.”
“As you say,” he replied graciously.
She gazed around at the wealth of books once more.
He said, “Please, set forth and discover. Imogen always said that there can never be too much reading of books. It’s like saying that too much bracing air to breathe is a problem.”
“I will take a look around, thank you.”
“And now, would you like a cup of tea and a piece of toast with Golden Shred? I had just put the kettle on. I know tea in the morning is not condoned by the Ministry of Food, but I have quite a lot of it. We purchased it before rationing,” he quickly added. “So I don’t believe I am breaking any laws, at least in spirit.”
“No, you needn’t—” Molly paused as her belly rumbled. “Well, toast and a cup of tea would be wonderful. Thank you. And how do you know Charlie again?”
“Well, he dropped by one night.”
“One night?”
“Yes, you may have noticed that he quite likes the nighttime.”
“I have noticed that.”
He disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Molly to browse.
She slowly made her way around the place, turning books over, flipping through pages, reading snatches here and there, and twice reciting out loud a particular passage.
She eyed a stout wooden door down a short flight of steps. She went to it and turned the knob, but it was locked. She ventured back to the main floor of the shop and recommenced her wanderings. A book finally seized her attention.
When Oliver came back in with the tea and toast she said, “I’ll take this one.” She held it up. “How much is it?”
“My gift to you, Miss Wakefield.”
“No, really, that isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, but you came here with good intentions for another. So please, it would make me quite happy.”
“Well, thank you.” She pointed to the locked door. “What’s in there?”
“A special room,” he said. “For special moments in time.”
“So, you have books in there, and such?”
“And such.”
“It’s a Jane Austen,” she said, holding up the book once more.
He handed her the tea and plate of toast, then squinted at the cover. “Ah, Mansfield Park.”
She nodded. “I’ve read several of her others. I think she’s quite good.”
As Molly drank her tea and munched on the toast and marmalade, she said, “While I believe I understand Austen’s intended irony, I do not care to endlessly speculate about whom I shall marry one day.”
“I think as you grow older the sharpness of her wit, the refreshing satiric quality of her barbs, and the sophistication of her underlying meanings will impress you far more. And I think you will find some commonality with this particular story, since, as you are just back in London, it deals with a young lady in unfamiliar territory.”
“So, you’ve read it?” said Molly.
“Imogen read it to me. She had of course already read them all herself.”
“What, all these books?” Molly said in amazement.
“As she said, what else does one do with books besides read them and then wonder about what one has just read? And, even more pleasurably, what one will read next?”
“Well, she was the proprietress of a bookshop, so she could sell them.”
“Ah, and Imogen was very keen on this. She said, ‘Without reading them first how shall I decide what is worthy to sell and what is not?’”
Molly thought about this. “She makes a fair point.”
“I always thought so,” said Oliver — a bit sadly, concluded Molly, who also thought it a little disturbing that the man seemed only to echo his wife’s philosophy of life rather than espouse his own. Perhaps Charlie had been correct that Mr. Oliver was a strange bloke.
“Then I shall visit Charlie and make the required payment.”
“Is that the only reason you seek him out? To pay him his wage?” asked Oliver.
“Well, no, not the only reason. I think... we could be friends.”
“I believe you may well be right about that.”
“He looks like he might need a friend, actually,” noted Molly, glancing at Oliver hopefully.
“And if you permit me to say so, I think you may as well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Oliver. I hope that we shall meet again.”
“I am almost always here.”
She turned to the door but then looked back at him and held up the paper with Charlie’s name and address. “Why do you refer to Charlie as ‘Honorable’?”
“Because he has the potential to be,” replied Oliver. “As do we all.”
A Small Knifepoint in Time
After a filling supper at the church hall where Charlie devoured a custard tart and had a spoonful of Gran’s pudding, they walked back to their flat. Gran had been strangely reserved during the special meal, so Charlie knew that something was amiss.
Gran led Charlie into the front room and asked him to sit down. She would not meet his eye, which made Charlie fear what she was about to tell him.
She placed an aged hand on one of his bony knees. “There’s no easy way to say this, Charlie.”
“Are you s-sick, G-Gran?” he stammered.
“What? No, Charlie, no. I’m fine, luv. But there is some... bad news. The thing is, the bake shop hasn’t been doing a’tall well. Can’t get enough to sell and when we do, folks don’t have the money to pay for it. And while I wasn’t made redundant or anything, my wages, well, my wages have been cut in half.”
“What does that mean?” said Charlie, though he knew it could mean nothing good.
“Well, for one thing it means we can’t stay here. We’re going to have to move.”
“Move where?” asked Charlie with dread in his tone.
“Well, I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I only learned of all this today. But people will help us, Charlie, I’m sure of it. And I think there is a ministry to assist folks with housing and the like. Now, we might have to go to a place where we’ll have to share with others, but there’ll be a roof over our heads. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“How much would it cost to stay here?”
She blanched. “Charlie, this is my problem to figure out and I will. Now, you just go off to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
Gran rose and lumbered to her room while he hurried to his cupboard and lay in his box thinking all of this through and settling on a plan.