“Well, thank you for that. And I used the books with the pages cut out to hide secret documents,” said Oliver.
“I found one of ’em in Cedric’s flat,” said Charlie. “Con-sway-low.”
“Yes, Consuelo, by George Sand.” Oliver looked at Molly. “You were staring quite hard at Jacques that night. I wondered about that, though I never dreamed you two had penetrated my secret so deeply.”
“I had looked inside it when I was searching for you that day. Charlie had told me about Consuelo. And the pages were also cut out of Jacques.”
“It grieved me enormously to desecrate books like that,” said Oliver in a depressed tone.
“And Imogen?” said Molly. “Her death?”
Oliver looked at her. “She got me firmly established as a spy in my own right. And then told me she was going to Bristol. Instead she went to Cornwall and ended her own life.”
“Why do you think she did that?” asked Molly.
“’Cause she couldn’t live with what she done,” said Charlie, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Yes, Charlie,” said Oliver earnestly. “I believe you are quite right about that.”
“But you let Cedric go tonight,” said Molly. “Why?”
“We let him go only after he saw Ignatius die,” said Bryant. “And we made it seem that it was simply the police that had seen them with children, and suspected the worst. That way he will believe that Ignatius’s status as a spy remains unknown. And he will tell his handlers in Germany that the intelligence just provided is perfectly good to use. But the intelligence won’t help Germany at all. In fact, we hope it will lead to one of the worst defeats the Nazis will suffer in this war and hasten its end. And when it’s time to pick up Cedric, we will. As I said, a short leash. He will not escape. His life will end on the gallows.”
“But how did you manage to show up so quickly tonight?” said Molly.
“We have a man who follows Cedric when he comes here. So when you left with Cedric, he reported it and we followed. They must have had someone else kill Mrs. Macklin, and used the cover of the bombing raid that night to do the deed.”
Oliver took up the story. “And the place I took us to is the prearranged spot when something is amiss.” He glanced at Bryant. “Secret communications do not always necessitate a machine or a series of esoteric numbers; sometimes it is simply what someone does while being observed.”
“Quite so,” agreed Bryant.
Oliver continued. “I was to be shot with a blank gun and Cedric would manage to escape.”
“But you was bleedin’,” said Charlie.
“Just a little capsule I keep for such occasions, Charlie. Slipped between my teeth and cracked open, and one has instant blood. And then I simply rubbed it across my shirt. Which means I’m down to just the one clean one now,” he added, ruefully looking at his ruined garment.
Bryant rose. “And now it’s time that I was off.”
He left them there in front of the now-dying fire.
Molly and Charlie came to sit on either side of Oliver as he continued to stare at the winking embers.
Molly said, “When you were ‘shot’ and dying you said ‘sorry’ to us?”
“Yes. I felt truly horrible for having placed you and Charlie in such danger.”
“I’m just glad you’re on our side,” said Molly, as Charlie nodded. “And I’m so very sorry about Imogen.”
He took their hands and squeezed them. “We all have each lost a great deal in this terrible war. But amidst all this destruction and despair, we managed to find one another. As a mathematician I can tell you the odds of that happening are staggeringly long. But here we are, together. As though it were somehow preordained. Now, I want you both to know that so long as I am here, you will always have a home. Never question or doubt that. Promise?”
They both nodded, and said together, “Promise.”
Words of a Feather
At dinner the next night Molly could barely stay awake. Oliver filled their plates with what he had managed in the way of food. Their teacups were up to the brim at least. Charlie looked as tired as Molly. His eyes were half-closed as he forked some potato and then a sliver of parsnip into his mouth.
Oliver sat down and eyed them both. “Rough days, I take it?”
Molly stirred. “Three patients died today, and I would be very much surprised if we didn’t lose a similar number tomorrow.”
“That is awful, Molly,” said Oliver.
“I delivered four more ’a them telegrams,” said Charlie. “‘We deeply regrets to inform you...’” He put his fork down.
“Did the people have someone with them when they got the messages?” asked Molly.
“One didn’t. She went right down to the floor. I hugged her till a neighbor come along. Couldn’t think ’a nothin’ else to do.”
“I’m sure it was of great comfort to her, Charlie,” said Oliver.
Charlie shrugged. Next, he rose and did something he had never done. He left the table without finishing his food. He went to the room he and Molly were sharing and closed the door.
“He’s upset,” said Molly.
“He has a right to be. He’s lost his entire family to this damn war. And look at what you have to confront on a daily basis. It’s not fair. None of it.”
“War doesn’t care about what’s fair. It’s like a virus. It only wants to invade and do harm.” She put her fork down. “I do have a question.”
He settled an anxious gaze on her. “All right.”
“When you told me about Imogen and the decisions that she had made, it caused me to think about what my father had done, the decisions he had made.”
“And what exactly did you think about?”
Molly composed herself and told Oliver about her mother being savagely attacked by the men in the bomb shelter.
“God. What a bloody, foul thing. People coming for safety and finding just the opposite.”
“Perhaps... perhaps he killed the soldiers because they represented the government that refused to help him,” she said, glancing nervously at him for Oliver’s reaction to her words.
“That could have been the case. But killing innocent people is never right, Molly.”
Her features crumpled. “I know. And he blamed himself for what happened to my mum, I’m sure of it. Poor father.”
“A terrible, terrible guilt to have to bear,” noted Oliver quietly.
“Do you... do you think he might have gone off to... kill himself, like...?”
Oliver looked deeply troubled with her query. “I really have no idea, Molly. Any answer I could give would be based on pointless speculation.”
“I mean, it would explain why he’s been gone all this time. Why he’s never written or tried to contact me.”
“People are very complicated. And your father had your mother and her maladies to worry about, and your welfare to think about, too. And remember that he did work for England and from what Major Bryant told me, he was very good at his job. Very brave. It’s just that—”
“—he made the wrong decision.”
“As did Imogen,” replied Oliver.
“But she tried to make amends, while my father—”
“Yes,” said Oliver. “Quite so.”
Later, Molly got into a pair of old pajamas that had once belonged to Imogen, and went to her room. Charlie was lying, still fully dressed, on his cot, staring at the ceiling.
“Charlie, it’s late. You need to go to sleep.”
He said nothing, as was usual when he was like this, she knew.
She sighed, got into bed, and turned off the small lamp.
Later, she awoke and noted the glittering of a light.