Page 63 of Strangers in Time

A F ACT OF D EVASTATION

H IS INJURIES SEEM DIFFERENT ,” said Molly as she looked at the patient that Oliver and Parker had brought in the previous night, though she didn’t know that fact. Oliver had not told her much about what had happened, and he had tried to cover his wounds. Yet Molly had seen the pain on his face and the way he limped on his injured leg.

And, like Oliver’s reaction had been, the patient’s face seemed familiar to Molly.

Matron Tweedy was examining the lad closely. “If I had to venture a guess, Molly, I would say this boy has been beaten. The wound on his head looks like it was done by a blunt instrument. And on his face by a fist. I certainly saw these injuries on the front lines. And his finger is broken.”

“How did he come to be here?”

“The duty report says that two air wardens brought him in early this morning.”

“Air wardens! Do you know who?” asked Molly.

“I wasn’t here.”

“Do we know who the boy is?”

“Look in his trousers over there,” suggested Tweedy.

Molly picked up the pants and looked for an ID tag on them but didn’t find one. However, she froze when she pulled out the registry card from his pocket.

Alonzo Rossi? That was why he looked familiar. He was the boy in the picture Inspector Willoughby had shown me and Mr. Oliver.

Tweedy glanced at her. “Any luck?”

“Um, it says Alonzo Rossi. Will he be okay?”

“He’s still unconscious. His head wound had not been treated and was severely infected. It’s now been thoroughly cleaned and he’s been given penicillin. But the wound was deep—the infection might have already spread and he could have also sustained a brain injury.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“If there is damage to his brain, I do not hold out hopes of his recovering. We don’t have an X-ray device, and the doctors who make rounds here are not brain surgeons. I doubt there are many left in all of London.”

Another nurse came to the door and asked for Tweedy’s urgent assistance with another patient.

“Just finish up here, Molly, and I’ll meet you when I can.”

“All right, Matron.”

After they left Molly bent low and said, “Lonzo, can you hear me? Lonzo? Do you know where Charlie is? I’m a friend of his. Lonzo? Do you know where Charlie Matters is? We’re looking for him.”

Lonzo did not answer. Lonzo did not move. Lonzo did nothing.

Molly meticulously cleaned his wounds again, rebandaged them, and arranged his bed covering and pillows. She then stood at the foot of his bed staring at him. One of Charlie’s mates. The one who had been with him on that night. But then where was Charlie? Had he been beaten as well? Was he lying somewhere injured or…?

After her workday was over, Molly, with Tweedy’s permission, had brought home bandages, antiseptic, and wound ointment. She had told Tweedy that her “father” was an air warden who had sustained injuries during the bombing.

“Then you take good care of him, Molly. We will surely need him in the future.”

When Molly arrived at The Book Keep she put her things down, waved to Mrs. Macklin across the way as the woman stared pointedly at her through the glass, and then went in search of Oliver. He was not in his bedroom, but she looked down in horror at the remains of his warden uniform that was lying, bloody and shredded, on the floor next to his bed.

Dearest God , thought Molly. How did he survive?

She hurried downstairs and over to Imogen’s old study. She knocked on the door. “Mr. Oliver? It’s Molly. I have bandages and medicine to treat your wounds. Mr. Oliver!”

There was no answer, and she was now worried that he might be lying in there unconscious from the result of his injuries. She tried the door but it was locked.

Thinking quickly she raced up to Oliver’s bedroom and after a quick search found the key she had seen Oliver use before to secure the study door. She rushed back downstairs and unlocked it.

Once she got inside it was readily apparent that Oliver was not here. Molly should have left then and there, but her curiosity got the better of her. She looked in the tin at the stack of typed pages representing the unfinished work of Imogen Oliver’s book. Reading several of them, Molly concluded that the dead woman had been quite the extraordinary wordsmith. She put the pages back and continued her search. In one desk drawer she found the George Medal. She reverently ran her fingers over the engraved image of their current king.

As she returned the medal to the drawer Molly noted that there was another photograph of Imogen on the desk. She knew because it was the same woman in the crepe-covered framed photo out front. Oliver was standing next to her. He looked younger and carefree. He was staring at the woman beside him with the utmost adoration. Molly could only hope that the man she married one day would look upon her with even half that level of admiration and love. Imogen was very pretty, with long, thick, luxuriant hair, but Molly was inexorably drawn to her powerfully intense eyes. Molly was quite intimidated simply by the woman’s look from the photo. She imagined it would be altogether something more to experience Imogen Oliver for real.

She noted the letter that lay next to the photo. Molly hesitated, but only for a moment. She unfolded the paper and quickly read it.

It was addressed to Oliver and was from the constabulary in Cornwall. As Molly continued to read she gasped and then hurriedly put the letter back where she had found it. The official communication had detailed the circumstances of Imogen’s death.

She had killed herself. In Cornwall .

Distressed, Molly glanced wildly around the room. She flinched when she saw another George Sand novel on a shelf, this one titled Jacques .

She took the book down and slowly opened it.

Her expression filled with despair when she saw that its guts had been cut out, leaving a compartment where something easily could be hidden.

She put the book back, left the room, and locked the door.