It was coming from a candle resting in a holder on the table between their cots.
Charlie had his pen, and his journal, and he was writing in it.
Molly had seen him do this before. “What are you writing tonight?” she said sleepily.
He glanced at her. “Just this and that. Muckin’ round.”
“Will you ever let me read any of it?”
He glanced at her with a smile. “You need to stick to real books. They’re better for you. Learn thin’s.”
“Yours could be a real book one day that I learn from.”
“I doubt that. I can’t even spell good,” replied Charlie.
“Someone can spell everything quite nicely and it still wouldn’t be worth reading. I’ve read books like that. Or tried to.”
Charlie grinned as he looked at her again. “You got a wonderful heart, Molly, like my mum. I’m glad we’re friends.”
She smiled warmly in return. “Comparing me to your mother is an amazing compliment, so thank you very much. And we’ll always be friends, Charlie. No matter what happens.”
She turned over and fell back to sleep.
Charlie looked at his page and silently read what he’d written.
Of awful messages delivered to families unprepared to receive them. But as Arthur Benedict had pointed out, the families deserved to know, and it was Charlie’s duty to bring them that information. He supposed he should feel good about that, but he really didn’t.
Later, he put his pen and journal away, and picked up the photo of his mom and his dad that Oliver and Molly had brought back from his old flat.
“Good night, Mum. Good night, Dad. Love you both.”
Four hours later the phone rang.
A Desperate Summons
“Hello?” said a sleepy Oliver into the phone receiver. “Yes, this is The Book Keep. What? Molly Wakefield? Who is... Dr. Stephens? Yes, I’ll take the call. Hello, yes, Dr. Stephens? Yes, my name is Ignatius Oliver. Just a moment and I’ll get Molly.”
Molly was already at her doorway, along with Charlie, when Oliver climbed to the top of the stairs.
“What is it?” she said. “Who rang?”
“It’s Dr. Stephens, from the—”
Molly flew past him and raced down the stairs.
She snatched up the phone from behind the front counter and said, “Yes, this is Molly Wakefield. What’s wrong?”
“Your mother, Miss Wakefield.” The voice on the other end was slow and ponderous when what Molly desperately required was information as quickly as possible.
“Yes, yes, what about her? She’s... she’s not...”
“No, no she’s still alive. I rang to tell you that she just now asked for you.”
“She... she asked for me?”
“Yes. I’m glad that you included this number in your letter when you wrote to me. It’s much faster than the post. The lines have been tricky as of late, but the operator was able to get me through just now. I apologize for calling so early in the morning, but I was looking in on your mother and she suddenly rallied and asked for you, and I’ve found that early morning trunk calls have a greater chance of going through. Now, I do not know if you can arrange things, Miss Wakefield, but I think it would be very... um, good if you were to come and see her. As quickly as possible. She... she’s not doing a’tall well, as I mentioned in my letter.”
“Of course, of course I will. I will make arrangements straightaway. Can... can I speak to her now?”
“I’m afraid she is not strong enough to come to the phone. When can you be here? I would like to tell her.”
Molly looked up to see Oliver and Charlie staring anxiously at her.
Molly glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly six in the morning. “You can tell her that I’ll do my very best to be there tonight.”
“Very good. We will see you then. Oh, is the gentleman who answered the phone, Ignatius Oliver, related to Imogen Oliver by chance? I saw her name on the letterhead you sent me. The Book Keep, is it?”
“Yes. Imogen was his wife, why?”
“Just put him on, please.”
Molly handed the phone to Oliver. “He wants to talk to you. About Imogen.”
“Hello?” a puzzled Oliver said into the receiver.
“Mr. Oliver, I wanted to let you know that I have information about your wife’s death.”
“How could you possibly know anything about that?”
“She killed herself by jumping off a cliff on our grounds.”
“What!” said Oliver as he clutched the phone with both hands. “I... I knew that she had done so in Cornwall, but I had no idea it was on your grounds.”
“If by chance you’ll be accompanying Miss Wakefield, I can tell you about it when you get here.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But why didn’t you contact me before now?”
“I knew her name, but nothing else about her until I saw it on the letterhead. And I didn’t know that you were her husband until Miss Wakefield just told me.”
“But can’t you tell me about it now?”
“I think it would be far better to do so in person. Safe travels.”
Dr. Stephens rang off, and Oliver slowly put the phone down.
“What did he say?” asked Charlie.
“Just that he knew some things about Imogen, and how she died,” he said vaguely. “He’ll tell me when we get there.”
“Blimey,” exclaimed Charlie, while Molly stared anxiously at Oliver.
The thoughts rushing through Oliver’s mind were both vague and unsettling. He knew that Imogen had jumped to her death. But learning that Imogen had killed herself on the Institute grounds? The same place where Molly’s mother currently was a patient? It seemed too stark of a coincidence, but then again, if Imogen had been seeking help? She had loved that part of England and perhaps the Institute was the only such facility in the area. But if she had sought help there, why had she ended up taking her own life?
He looked at Molly and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, my mind was just in a muddle. What did he say about your mother?”
“She asked to see me. It doesn’t look like she has very long now.”
“Then we must think of a way to get there and we will! I can check the trains again, or perhaps a bus—”
Charlie slapped his forehead. “Wait a mo’!”
“What is it, Charlie?” exclaimed Molly.
Charlie ran up the steps and was back down in a jiffy.
“We can drive there,” he said breathlessly.
“Drive? In what?” said Molly.
Charlie held up two keys. “In your Singer, that’s what.”
Oliver immediately rang Major Bryant and explained the situation. The major was able to arrange official travel papers necessary to get them to Cornwall, and a map with directions. He got the car and garage keys from Charlie and sent off a couple of men to fill the Singer with petrol, pump up its tires, and make sure the motorcar was in good working order. They then delivered the Singer to The Book Keep later that morning.
Bryant had added a caveat to their travel plans. “At this point in the war, and on that part of the coast, no one can move about freely without complications. Thus, if you do get stopped, Ignatius, these papers may not be enough. So be prepared to talk your way past any questions.”
Oliver closed up shop, and Charlie had rung the postal office and gotten time off by telling Mr. Benedict that his mum was sick. Molly had already gone to the clinic and explained things to Matron Tweedy, who was very supportive and wished her the best.
“I just assumed it was destroyed in the bombing,” Molly said, as they loaded their luggage and provisions into the Singer. “How did you know it wasn’t, Charlie, and why did you have the key?”