Page 21 of Strangers in Time

K ING & C HAUNCEY

C HARLIE BUTTONED HIS PATCHED coat, removed his cap and smoothed down his hair, used spit to clean the dirt off his face, wiped his hands on his trousers, and knocked smartly on the wood. He leapt back when the door was instantly wrenched open by a tall, thin, severe-looking woman dressed in starched collars and cuffs that looked as stiff as she did. A monocle was inserted into one eye, the red ribbon attached to it pinned to her milky white blouse.

“Yes?” she said quite aggressively, eyeing him with disdain. “We do not encourage visitors without an appointment, young man.”

The way she looked at him clearly said that it would be impossible for Charlie to have an appointment at , Solicitors.

Charlie held up the book. “Got this to sell, Miss. Paper. Blank paper. That, um, gent over there said you used paper. So’s…”

The woman looked over Charlie’s shoulder at the pavement man who was busy handing out matches to a well-dressed man for a halfpenny in return.

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“He did,” replied Charlie. “And there’s not enough paper. Rationin’. Quite awful, ’tis.”

The monocle lost a bit of its aggressiveness. “Do you know that authors are having to wait years to get their books published for lack of paper on which to print them?” she said. “When more books should be read during a war than at any other time. How terrible is that, young man?”

“Now that’s a real shame.”

“Let me see it,” she demanded.

Charlie handed it to her and she flipped through all of the pages, seemingly to make sure they were indeed blank. She passed it back.

“Come,” she said, turning sideways and motioning Charlie in.

Charlie followed the woman down a broad hallway that was well lighted with both electrical lamps and flickering wall candles. The smell of a wood fire reached Charlie’s nostrils, and he wondered where they’d gotten the timber. That was even scarcer in London than the coal.

He grew more comfortable as he looked around at the plush interior. His belly was reasonably full thanks to the canteen lady, and good prospects seemed to inflate with each step he took. The idea of a single quid was pushed to the back of his head. He figured these people might actually have pounds to spend on fine paper such as his. And wouldn’t it be sound justice if his boast to Lonzo turned out to be more than true?

She led him to a room with a desk, sturdy shelves full of weighty volumes and packets of papers with red ribbons around them, and wood-backed chairs with striped, cushioned seats. A painting of a bridge hung on one wallpapered wall. A cheery fire burned in the fireplace. Charlie took all this in and then glanced at the woman, who was watching him closely.

“Nice place, Miss,” said Charlie.

“Thank you.” She pointed to a chair for him to sit in. Charlie took off his cap, brushed off the grimy seat of his trousers, and sat while she settled in behind the desk.

She looked at Charlie and he stared back at her.

“So, are you King or Chauncey, Miss?” he asked in his politest voice.

She seemed startled, and perhaps pleased, by this query. “I’m neither. Mr. King and Mr. Chauncey are both elsewhere today. They are solicitors. My name is Virginia Woodley, and I assist them.”

Charlie nodded. “This solicitin’ bit seems to pay quite well.”

“It takes years and years of rigorous education to become one.”

Charlie’s face fell. He figured there had to be some catch.

“And what is your name, young man?”

Charlie started to answer, but then thought for a moment. “The Honorable Charles E. Matters, Miss.”

Her eyebrows knitted and then proceeded to hike up her long forehead like a building lift in motion. “And where did you get the book, Mr. Matters?”

“Didn’t nick it, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Someone give it to me.”

She ran her monocle over his unkempt appearance. “You’re certain? Because I will absolutely not entertain the purchase of stolen goods.”

Charlie never broke eye contact. “It was given me,” he said.

“By whom?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“Things like that simply do.”

“Ignatius Oliver, who owns The Book Keep over by St. Saviour’s School. He was the bloke what give it to me.”

She gazed at him wide-eyed. “You most assuredly do not attend St. Saviour’s?”

“I most ’ssuredly does not, Miss.”

For a moment Charlie thought her twitching lips might lift into a smile, but they didn’t quite manage it.

“And why would he give you the book?”

Charlie shrugged. “He… he said his wife used to write down… thin’s in hers. And he supposed I might like to do that, too.”

“Then why are you here attempting to sell it?”

“’Cause I could use the money more than I can the writin’ down what I’m thinkin’ and such. I doubt it’s worth the bother.”

She gazed uncomfortably over his tattered clothes and thin frame. “How much, then?”

Charlie bit his lip. “I was thinkin’ five quid, but for you I’ll let it go for only two.”

“And why give me such a bargain ?” she asked with suspicion.

He decided to simply tell the truth. “’Cause we been havin’ a nice talk and all. It’s warm in here,” he added. “And this chair’s the softest I ever sat in. These thin’s count with me, Miss.”

She placed her hands in front of her, but did not look unduly put off by the stated amount. “All right. But two pounds is still quite a lot of money.”

“Well, it won’t all go to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, the bloke across the street told me about you, so I figures he deserves a tanner. He helped take care ’a the bombs till his legs got blown off down East Ham way. And Gran needs a hat and specs. Then some of it would go for some shoes and a coat for me, if I can find ’em at the right price, or if I can find ’em a’tall. Anythin’ left over, well, my gran, she likes a puddin’ sometimes.”

“Your ‘gran’? Do you live with her?”

Charlie nodded.

“And your parents?”

Charlie shrugged. “Just got me gran.”

She cleared her throat and without looking at him said, “I think five pounds is the going rate for a book such as this. It is quite a large amount of paper. Let me just nip off and see to it.”

As she rose, Virginia Woodley dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief pulled from her cuff. As she started to pass by him Charlie said firmly, “There’s no need for pity, Miss. Lots of folks worse off’n me. I got Gran, and a roof.”

“Of course, Mr. Matters. And may I say that St. Saviour’s probably doesn’t deserve a fine lad like you.”

She patted him kindly on the shoulder and then hurried off.

Charlie continued to sit in the chair and look around the room. If such a place as this existed here amid all the loss and rubble, then perhaps one day they could all put the war behind them and push on to better times. It was a nice thought at least.

His gaze settled on the book. It was no longer paper stitched together with a leather hide. It was five pounds! He flipped through the pages, and as he did so Charlie suddenly didn’t simply see blank pages anymore. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing, perhaps possibilities of an unforeseen or even unknowable kind.

The prospects that lay with five pounds were quite clear enough: hat and specs for Gran, coat and shoes for him, and a tanner or two to the tin cup bloke, with perhaps a bit left over for the pudding.

And on the other side of the ledger? Invisible things. Wispy phantoms of the mind, even.

Charlie leapt from the chair, sprinted down the fine hall, and was out the front door before Miss Virginia Woodley ever came back with the fiver.