A Second Reveal
Later, when she heard the door open, Molly rushed downstairs and saw Oliver walking in.
“I was worried about you,” she said tersely and with a trace of annoyance.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I was out looking for Charlie, as I said.”
Molly’s frown vanished. “Oh, what an idiot I’ve been. Of course you were, I forgot.”
He waved a letter. “I did receive an answer from my friend at the War Office, though.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“I thought we could read it together.”
Molly looked quite frightened at the prospect.
Noting this, he said, “Are you all right?”
“What?” she said distractedly. “Yes, yes, I’m... fine. Um, but before we read the letter you, um, you must let me attend to your injuries. I brought supplies from the clinic.”
“But I’m not injured.”
“Mr. Oliver, I am a trained nurse auxiliary. Yet even if I weren’t it would be only too obvious.”
“But the letter?” he said, waving it enticingly.
“Will still be there when I am done.”
Molly cleaned, applied ointment to, and bandaged the wounds to Oliver’s arms and legs.
“I feel quite embarrassed having you do this, Molly,” he said.
“I do it for strangers every day.”
She then tested his calf and ankle, probing and fingering certain spots and eliciting grunts of pain and tensed features from the man.
She pulled out a splint and tape from her bag. “You have a mild sprain. This will help keep the joint immobile while it heals. But you should keep off it for a few days.”
“Molly, that is quite impossible. After the last bombing all air wardens have been ordered to work every night until further notice.”
“Well, do the best you can, then.”
“I have a stick I can use. And now, you have waited long enough.” He pulled out the letter and unfolded it.
She looked resignedly at the missive as she slowly put her medical supplies away.
He caught her expression and said, “Do you not want to hear what they have to say?”
“Of course I do.”
“But?” said Oliver.
“But up until this moment I had hopes that my father would come back. Yet I suppose it’s better to know than to remain ignorant.”
“Now that I think of it, I believe you should read this alone.”
“No, I will need your advice for additional steps. So let’s read it together.”
They sat side by side and went through the letter. Molly was a bit faster than Oliver and tears welled up in her eyes as she got to the end. As Oliver finished, he glanced at her in surprise.
He said, “I’m sure there must be a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t see how there can be, seeing as how the War Office says that my father is a criminal who is now in hiding from the authorities.”
Hermes
“Eh, how old are you again, boy?” asked the snowy-haired man with the sharp white collar, the stiff black jacket, and the name Arthur Benedict.
The not-yet-fourteen-year-old Charlie looked up at him and said with authority, “Sixteen.”
Charlie was in a postal office because he had seen that they were hiring telegram messengers.
“You’re a bit small for sixteen.”
“Haven’t hit my growth bit yet, guv.”
“If you’re sixteen why haven’t you sat your Civil Service exam then?”
“Who said I ain’t?”
“Well then?”
“With the war, not many jobs even with that. I need to earn money.”
Benedict’s expression softened. “What’s your name?”
“Ignatius Oliver.”
“That’s quite a name.”
“Named after a saint. Bunch of wild beasts ate him.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard about him from my vicar. Well, it’s true we need the help. Lost four lads to the army just last month and another to one of them unexploded bombs that decided to go off when the poor fellow was riding by. Do you have your own bicycle?”
“Do I need one?”
“No. We have a couple you can use. But it’s just you get paid for mileage if you have your own. Otherwise, you get a weekly wage.”
“How much?”
“Sixteen shillings and four pence,” said Benedict.
“And if I got me my own bike?”
“Four pennies a mile on top.”
“I got me my own bike,” said Charlie promptly.
“Good lad. Now, it does help if you know the lay of the land hereabouts. Our customers expect swiftness. You ever heard the ancient tale of Hermes?”
“Was he a saint that got et, too?”
“Oh, never mind, boy.”
Benedict asked Charlie questions about various locations and the fastest way to them. Charlie answered all of them quickly and correctly and clearly impressed Benedict with the cleverness of several of his shortcuts.
“You’ve clearly been out and about,” noted Benedict. “Almost like you’ve learned ‘the knowledge’ that the cabbies have to. And that takes several years.”
Charlie looked around the postal office. Most homes in England did not have phones. And with the war and the bombings, even those that had phones found they did not always work. Thus, telegrams had become quite popular once more, particularly in London.
“So, do I get the job?”
Benedict peered at him from behind black square glasses that magnified his pupils into fearsome things. “When can you start?”
Charlie had seen a bike lying abandoned in a pile of rubble around the corner. “I just got to... run an errand. Be back in a jiff. I can start after that.”
“All right. We’ll get your uniform and you can work with one of my other boys today, so he can show you the way we do things. Then tomorrow you’re on your own. Hey now, are your parents okay with this?”
“My dad died at Dunkirk. My mum needs all the help she can get. There’s five mouths to feed.”
“Good lord, lad. Your poor mum. Well, go run your errand and I’ll get things organized.”
Charlie was back in less than two minutes with “his” bike. He had to use a postal pump to put air in the tires, and he and Benedict had to straighten the handlebars, but it was otherwise fine.
“Now, your equipment and your uniform get inspected daily. I’ll give you a pass today on the bike, but clean and shine it up good like. Same for your shoes, belt buckle, and everything else. We have a public image to keep up,” he added proudly.
“Yes, guv.”
“Good lad.”
Charlie’s uniform consisted of a navy blue suit with red piping on the jacket cuffs, down the pant seams, and around the collar and edging. The pillbox hat had similar piping and a red button in the crown’s center.
Benedict said, “Now, we provide boots and a coat for winter and proper shoes for summer, along with a cape and leggings for the rain, which this country has more than its share of, so help me God. We’ll find the ones to fit you proper. Now, as to your schedule. Starting tomorrow I’m putting you on the eight a.m. to eight p.m. route. But for today you’ll get off at five, let you get your legs under you, so to speak. But you be here sharp in the morning, boy.”
“Right.”
“Now, when you deliver the telegram you wait for them to read it in case there’s a reply, which you always ask if there is.” He added in a warning tone, “Mind you, there’s no pushing it through the slot and scarpering off. No muckin’ about like that. We’re professionals.”
“How does that work then, this reply thin’?”
“I’ll tell you. In this leather pouch, which you will carry on your belt, are spare telegram forms, envelopes, and business cards. If no one is home, you leave your card to show an attempt was made and what time you will try to deliver the message once more, which you will scribble on the back of the card with this pencil. If they are there and wish to reply, they fill out one of these forms you will present them.”