Page 69 of Strangers in Time

T HE W AR O FFICE R OARS

I T WAS S ATURDAY, AND Molly had the day off, though she was due to work on Sunday. She had planned to get up early and make breakfast for Oliver, but he had beaten her to the pan and kettle. She had earlier told him about Charlie’s peering in the window, and about Macklin seeing him wearing a messenger’s uniform.

“That certainly narrows things down for my search,” Oliver had said. “I just wish he had talked to us.”

“He’s probably afraid he’ll get us in trouble.”

“No doubt.”

Now he was standing by the cooker wielding a skillet.

“A real fried egg, and bacon and ham sound good?” he said. “And a pint of cold milk. Not condensed or powered, mind you. The liquid that comes from actual cows.”

Molly looked astonished. “Bacon and ham? And a pint of real milk? And a real egg? For one meal?” Ever since she had come to live here, Molly’s expectations for food had been radically altered.

“New rations for the week and a bit of a flutter. I mean, why not?”

“Sounds lovely. If you think it’s not too much.”

“I wish I could provide you with a lot more food, Molly, particularly with the important work you do. The troops get hot, fresh food in cookhouses when in camp. On the front lines that’s not possible. They have to rely on preserved food in Bully Beef tins and the like. Well, I consider you to be part of the war effort, and you must be fed properly.”

“And you too, with your air raid duties.”

He smiled. “Well, I might have a bit of the bacon and ham then, too.”

They sat and ate. Molly swallowed a mouthful of eggs and looked at him keenly. “You know, you, Charlie, and I, we’ve all lost people we loved.”

“Your nanny’s death was truly tragic, but your father may turn up. And your mother is in Cornwall.”

“I seriously doubt my father will ever return home, Mr. Oliver, if the charges against him are true. And he might not even be alive.” This was a statement that Molly could not have even contemplated uttering a short while ago. But with everything that had happened, it just seemed the practical thing to do was confront the real possibilities life threw at you.

“He might not,” agreed Oliver.

“As to my mother, I’ve done some research into the medical terms that were in the letters from the Beneficial Institute using books that are at the clinic. It is extremely unlikely that she will ever fully recover.”

“I am very sorry to hear that.”

“But if I hadn’t happened upon Charlie, and we both hadn’t found you, I’m not sure what would have become of us.”

“I can say the same, Molly. My life was terribly lonely. For around a year now it has just been me. And… and memories of Imogen. I can see now that that is not the healthiest manner of living. And it was you and Charlie who helped me to see it. That I had more to give, additional friendships to form. I mean, if life doesn’t contain that, what is the point of existing, really?”

“Please don’t say that that was something Imogen told you.”

He smiled in a self-satisfied way. “No, that bit was actually all mine.”

The tinkle of the bell interrupted their pleasant breakfast a few minutes later.

Oliver looked at his watch. “I wonder who it could be at this hour on a Saturday?”

They passed through the curtain and stopped abruptly.

Through the window they could see a man in military uniform standing outside the door.

“H-has someone… died?” said Molly with dread in her voice.

“It’s my friend from the War Office, Major Scott Bryant. The one I wrote the letter to about your father.”

He let Bryant in.

The major was tall, broad shouldered, and inflexibly constructed with a trim mustache and a proper gloved grip, which he extended to both Oliver and Molly. He carried an attaché case and held his official cap under the same arm.

Oliver said, “What can I do for you, Major?”

“I’d like a word with Miss Wakefield here.”

Oliver looked startled. “How did you know that she was here? I didn’t put that in my letter, merely that I was inquiring on her behalf.”

“Please, Ignatius, it’s my business to know such things.”

“Have you found my father?” Molly exclaimed. “I know in the letter you said he had committed some crimes, but that can’t possibly be right.”

“Shall we go into the study?” said Oliver quietly.

“Fact is, Ignatius, I would prefer to speak with the girl alone .”

Oliver glanced at Molly. “Are you all right with that?”

She nodded.

Oliver unlocked the study and ushered them in, then closed the door.

Bryant glanced around and took the seat behind the desk. “Sit down,” he said curtly.

She did so and waited expectantly as Bryant opened his attaché case and took out a file.

“When was the last time you saw your father?” he asked in a brisk tone.

“When he put me on the train to go to the country in 1939,” she answered promptly.

“And did you go alone?”

“Yes. My mother was… not up to it and my father was working.”

“Did he write to you?”

“Very occasionally.”

“Do you have those letters?” Bryant asked.

“I brought them back with me, but then our house was bombed. They were all burned.”

“Pity that.”

“The house, or the letters?” Molly replied icily. She had taken a dislike to the man and his blunt manner.

“Both, of course.”

“Why do you ask about the letters?”

“It might have been something for us to go on,” he said.

“They were just the usual things that a father writes to his daughter.”

“Right,” he said with a suspicious glance aimed at her.

“Did you also open my nanny’s letter? She told me that—”

“Standard operating procedure,” interjected Bryant. He opened the file and looked through it with a nonchalance that was severely grating on Molly. “We’ve been following you, did you know that?”

“Yes, or at least I suspected. But then Mr. Oliver confirmed it.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

Molly was suddenly fearful that she had gotten Oliver into trouble, but Bryant pushed on.

“We also talked to the Coopers in the village where you lived outside of Leiston.”

“Why?”

“To see if your father had visited you there.”

“I could have told you that he hadn’t,” replied Molly.

“But he might have told you not to tell us.”

“I would not lie on behalf of anyone, even my father.”

Molly knew she had done so on Charlie’s behalf with Mrs. Macklin and Inspector Willoughby, but, to her mind, that didn’t count.

He scrutinized her. “Well, that’s quite nice to hear, but we can’t take chances.”

“Why do you think he committed a crime?”

Bryant glanced at the file. “Your mother is at the Beneficial Institute in Cornwall.” It wasn’t a question.

“I haven’t been, but I was told she was there.”

“Told by whom?”

“My nanny, Mrs. Pride. She was killed in the bombing that destroyed my home. But I have read the letters the doctor there sent my father.”

“Were those letters lost in the bombing as well?”

“Yes,” replied Molly.

“Do you remember the contents? Anything at all?”

“I… I remember they said she had social phobias and neurosis. They are mental diseases, I’ve come to understand.”

“You may as well know that we have been to the Institute.”

“What? Why?”

“To see if your father had visited there after he disappeared.”

“And had he?”

“I can’t get into that.”

“Did… did you see my mother?”

He glanced up at her now, his features less stern and more sympathetic. “Yes, Miss Wakefield, very briefly. She was, sadly, not capable of answering our questions.”

“I… I see.” Molly looked down, her spirits sinking through the floorboards.

“I understand that you are a nurse auxiliary. Bit young for that, aren’t you?”

“War makes us all grow older, faster,” was Molly’s taut reply.

Bryant smiled. “In his letter Ignatius said that you were mature beyond your years.”

“So I can understand complicated matters, such as my father’s situation.”

Bryant’s smile faded as he put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m afraid there is not a lot I can tell you.”

“But that implies there is something you can tell me.”

“Has your father contacted you in any way since you’ve been back?”

“No, I’ve heard nothing from him.”

Bryant sat back. “Your father worked for us, for many years. Even before the war. And did an excellent job, as a matter of fact. Quite brave and resourceful.”

“He worked for you?

“For England, rather.”

“I know that he traveled a good deal outside of the country when I was young.”

“Yes, he was on assignment. His cover, at first, was business, you know, international transactions, money, that sort of thing. Then he was placed in a position at the Ministry of Food to continue his work for us. That was a cover, of course. He never really worked there. But then, he stopped working for his country.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bryant drew a long breath. “I do not mean to unduly distress you, Miss Wakefield, but, to put it bluntly, your father murdered three British soldiers in cold blood.”

Molly simply stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before she burst into tears, raced from the room, brushed past a startled Oliver, and fled behind the curtain.