Oliver said, “What can I do for you, Major?”
“I’d like a word with Miss Wakefield here.”
Oliver looked startled. “How did you know that she was here? I didn’t put that in my letter, merely that I was inquiring on her behalf.”
“Please, Ignatius, it’s my business to know such things.”
“Have you found my father?” Molly exclaimed. “I know in the letter you said he had committed some crimes, but that can’t possibly be right.”
“Shall we go into the study?” said Oliver quietly.
“Fact is, Ignatius, I would prefer to speak with the girl alone.”
Oliver glanced at Molly. “Are you all right with that?”
She nodded.
Oliver unlocked the study and ushered them in, then closed the door.
Bryant glanced around and took the seat behind the desk. “Sit down,” he said curtly.
She did so and waited expectantly as Bryant opened his attaché case and took out a file.
“When was the last time you saw your father?” he asked in a brisk tone.
“When he put me on the train to go to the country in 1939,” she answered promptly.
“And did you go alone?”
“Yes. My mother was... not up to it and my father was working.”
“Did he write to you?”
“Very occasionally.”
“Do you have those letters?” Bryant asked.
“I brought them back with me, but then our house was bombed. They were all burned.”
“Pity that.”
“The house, or the letters?” Molly replied icily. She had taken a dislike to the man and his blunt manner.
“Both, of course.”
“Why do you ask about the letters?”
“It might have been something for us to go on,” he said.
“They were just the usual things that a father writes to his daughter.”
“Right,” he said with a suspicious glance aimed at her.
“Did you also open my nanny’s letter? She told me that—”
“Standard operating procedure,” interjected Bryant. He opened the file and looked through it with a nonchalance that was severely grating on Molly. “We’ve been following you, did you know that?”
“Yes, or at least I suspected. But then Mr. Oliver confirmed it.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
Molly was suddenly fearful that she had gotten Oliver into trouble, but Bryant pushed on.
“We also talked to the Coopers in the village where you lived outside of Leiston.”
“Why?”
“To see if your father had visited you there.”
“I could have told you that he hadn’t,” replied Molly.
“But he might have told you not to tell us.”
“I would not lie on behalf of anyone, even my father.”
Molly knew she had done so on Charlie’s behalf with Mrs. Macklin and Inspector Willoughby, but, to her mind, that didn’t count.
He scrutinized her. “Well, that’s quite nice to hear, but we can’t take chances.”
“Why do you think he committed a crime?”
Bryant glanced at the file. “Your mother is at the Beneficial Institute in Cornwall.” It wasn’t a question.
“I haven’t been, but I was told she was there.”
“Told by whom?”
“My nanny, Mrs. Pride. She was killed in the bombing that destroyed my home. But I have read the letters the doctor there sent my father.”
“Were those letters lost in the bombing as well?”
“Yes,” replied Molly.
“Do you remember the contents? Anything at all?”
“I... I remember they said she had social phobias and neurosis. They are mental diseases, I’ve come to understand.”
“You may as well know that we have been to the Institute.”
“What? Why?”
“To see if your father had visited there after he disappeared.”
“And had he?”
“I can’t get into that.”
“Did... did you see my mother?”
He glanced up at her now, his features less stern and more sympathetic. “Yes, Miss Wakefield, very briefly. She was, sadly, not capable of answering our questions.”
“I... I see.” Molly looked down, her spirits sinking through the floorboards.
“I understand that you are a nurse auxiliary. Bit young for that, aren’t you?”
“War makes us all grow older, faster,” was Molly’s taut reply.
Bryant smiled. “In his letter Ignatius said that you were mature beyond your years.”
“So I can understand complicated matters, such as my father’s situation.”
Bryant’s smile faded as he put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m afraid there is not a lot I can tell you.”
“But that implies there is something you can tell me.”
“Has your father contacted you in any way since you’ve been back?”
“No, I’ve heard nothing from him.”
Bryant sat back. “Your father worked for us, for many years. Even before the war. And did an excellent job, as a matter of fact. Quite brave and resourceful.”
“He worked for you?
“For England, rather.”
“I know that he traveled a good deal outside of the country when I was young.”
“Yes, he was on assignment. His cover, at first, was business, you know, international transactions, money, that sort of thing. Then he was placed in a position at the Ministry of Food to continue his work for us. That was a cover, of course. He never really worked there. But then, he stopped working for his country.”
“I don’t understand.”
Bryant drew a long breath. “I do not mean to unduly distress you, Miss Wakefield, but, to put it bluntly, your father murdered three British soldiers in cold blood.”
Molly simply stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before she burst into tears, raced from the room, brushed past a startled Oliver, and fled behind the curtain.
Secrets
A few moments later Oliver poked his head into the study. Bryant was still seated behind the desk, looking disturbed.
“I could see that did not go well,” observed Oliver worriedly.
“You could say that, yes, and a sight more.”
Oliver closed the door and sat down across from the major. “What crime did he commit?”
Bryant told him.
Oliver said, “Cripes, and here I thought it was something to do with money.” He glanced at Bryant. “But British soldiers? That explains why you’re interested. What proof do you have? And why would he do that?”
“As to the proof, we have a letter from the man admitting his guilt.”
“What!”
“Yes, quite remarkable.”
“Did he say what his motive was?” asked Oliver.
“Only that if we could not administer justice, he would.”
“Any idea what he meant by that?”
“Not the foggiest. Ignatius, can one get a cup of tea in this bookshop?”
“You know it’s strictly against government regulations to have tea in the morning. But I can provide you with a simply disgusting cup of what the government deems to be coffee.”
Bryant glared at him.
“Molly was left quite badly off,” noted Oliver in a serious tone. “She’s making do as best she can, but it’s not been easy.”
Bryant nodded. “Murderous father on the lam, mother in the looney bin, house now a pile of rubble, yes, quite badly off, I’d say. Look, I’ll have the Ministry of Health take the girl off your hands. I should have brought them with me, in fact.”
Oliver leaned forward, his expression tense but focused. “I would consider it a great personal favor if you would do nothing of the kind, Scott. I really would.”