The man eyed him in surprise. “What’s all this?”
“She is vulnerable and hurt and confused. And she is also helping the war effort through her superb nursing skills. I think we should allow Molly to continue to do just as she is, and she can remain here while she does so.”
“But she’s not even sixteen.”
“She’s far more mature than many an adult of my acquaintance.”
Bryant watched him keenly. “Is she the daughter you never had, Ignatius? Is that what this is about?”
“It is about letting someone do her duty for her country whilst she is trying to cope with untold personal tragedy. I would argue that she could do that far better here than in an orphanage.”
“You and your brother were placed in an orphanage for a while, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s a highly competent surgeon, and you turned out all right.”
“We turned out all right in spite of our circumstances, not because of them.” He glanced hopefully at the major. “So, can you just let this rest? Please?”
After a few moments mulling over this, Bryant said, “As a favor to an old friend, yes, I can.” He gazed around the study. “You ever think about the old days at university?”
“Not too often, no. I have other things to occupy my time,” replied Oliver. “You know, the war?”
Bryant smiled briefly at the remark. “It was quite lucky for us that the Germans didn’t stick to only bombing the East End. We might have had social chaos otherwise, poor versus rich, that sort of thing. But they bombed everywhere.”
“Which of course drew us more together,” said Oliver. “Something I have witnessed firsthand in my official duties.”
“And how is the air raid warden bit coming along?”
“The recent lull has been nice.”
“Unfortunately, there are darker days ahead.”
“Oh, really?” said Oliver dully.
“You know of course of the Germans’ V-1 rockets? They started chucking them at us this summer. First one hit on the Kent coast, but London has been targeted as well.”
“The doodlebugs? Yes, I’ve actually witnessed one or two of the bloody things whizzing across the sky.”
“Made from sheet metal and plywood. They can fly four hundred miles per hour and carry a bomb payload of nearly a ton. Killed over six thousand people in southern England. They can’t reach the north, limited range. But we learned that by banking a plane sharply while flying close to the V-1, we can alter the flight path and drive the damn things into the ground.”
Oliver watched his friend’s tense features closely. “I take it the Germans have come up with something else of concern?”
Bryant sat forward, lowering his voice. “Have you heard any whisperings of the V-2 program?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“Good, no need to inspire fear amongst the public.”
“Well, please feel free to inspire it in me,” said Oliver brightly.
“It’s a new type of bomb the Germans are readying to hurl against us.”
“I would have thought they had far too many of those already.”
“Like the V-1s, the bombs aren’t dropped from a plane. They have their own propulsion and advanced guidance systems, internal gyros, and external rudders and the like. They’re thirteen-ton missiles, really, and the damn things can fly thousands of miles an hour, with a payload of a thousand kilograms. They’ll be launched from the Dutch coast. They’ll strike here, of course, and perhaps Birmingham and Coventry as well, if they have the range.”
“And just when I thought things were going so splendidly. So when will they be coming?”
Bryant looked nervous. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but...”
Oliver looked expectant.
“They’ve already launched them against us. But we... meaning the government, have deemed them to be gas main explosions. Don’t want to panic the public and all, you see.”
Oliver did not look pleased by this. “Yes, I do see.”
“The only saving grace is you’ll never hear the damn things coming, and you’ll be dead before you know it.”
“How reassuring.”
Bryant keenly studied his old friend. “You ever regret not going to work at Bletchley, Ignatius? They wanted you badly, you know. Your head for numbers and puzzles and all that. And your paper on cryptography outlining the possibilities of separate divisions of labor, mirrored with a shared purpose and folks from many different backgrounds and intellectual capabilities, is one of the reasons why they initiated a scheme like Bletchley in the first place. ‘Poets and physicists,’ I think you called it.”
“Careful, Major, you don’t want to run afoul of the Official Secrets Act.”
“Since it was on my strong recommendation, I know they had you down to work there,” Bryant replied. “And you could have helped the war effort far more effectively than being an air raid warden.”
“Well, I had Imogen to consider.”
“Poor Imogen,” noted Bryant, no longer looking at him.
“Yes, poor Imogen,” repeated Oliver, staring at the blank page curled in the Crown typewriter.
Angels of Death
Charlie rode his bike across the bridge to Clapham, passing the famous green along the way. He was excited, because there would be nearly eight miles to be paid for this one delivery.
He turned down a narrow street and, counting numbers, he pulled to a stop in front of a small brick house with dark shutters set behind a wrought iron fence that looked very much like its neighbors on either side.
He climbed off his bike, passed through the gate, and hurried up to the front door. He had many more messages yet to dispense, and the day was getting on.
He rapped on the door and waited. Presently, he heard the click of heels and the door opened, revealing a woman in her early twenties with soft brown hair and large, luminous eyes. She wore a calf-length, hunter-green dress.
“Yes?” she said.
“Telegram, ma’am,” said Charlie. “Are you Eleanor Drews?”
“Yes, I am.”
Charlie handed her the envelope.
She tore it open, glancing anxiously over his shoulder, and started to read.
“Will there be a reply, ma’am?” asked Charlie.
Drews screamed and threw the message at Charlie; then she started to slap and punch him. His pillbox hat came off with the flurry of blows and he fell back, lost his balance, and nearly toppled off the porch.
She struck him on the cheek, knocking him down, and Charlie could feel his skin start to swell. Drews staggered back and stared down horrified at the bruised and battered Charlie. Her eyes fluttered, then she let out a low moan and fainted in her doorway.
Charlie, breathing hard, rose and looked down at her, unable to process what had just taken place.
“Ma’am?” He knelt down and nudged her arm. “Ma’am. Are you okay?” He looked inside the open doorway. “Hullo, is anybody in there? Hullo, we need some help here. Help!”
He could hear the sounds of footsteps rushing toward him and an older woman came into view inside Drews’s home.
“Ellie!” she exclaimed.
She ran forward, knelt down, and gripped the other woman’s hand. She looked sternly at Charlie. “What happened? What did you do to her, boy?”
A frightened Charlie backed up and said, “I ain’t done nothin’. I just give her a telegram and she started hittin’ me.”
She focused on his messenger uniform and gasped. She looked around and saw the paper where Drews had dropped it. She snatched it up, read off the few lines, and dropped it again, her face pale and her limbs trembling.
“Josh?” She called back into the house. “Josh! Come quickly.”