Page 16 of Strangers in Time

Presently, the door opened. It was not her mother or father standing there, but her old nanny, Mrs. Pride.

She looked at Molly curiously. “Yes, Miss?” As her gaze fixed on Molly something flickered behind the woman’s eyes.

“Mrs. Pride, it’s me, Molly. I wrote that I would be returning today.”

Mrs. Pride was now close to sixty, large in stature, and respectability itself in the cut of her stiff, wide tweeds that managed to conceal any trace of female figure beneath the pleated folds. Her hair had gone white since she had come to oversee Molly, but her full cheeks still carried a robust dash of girlish pink. She looked at the young woman with a mixture of emotions that surprised Molly. Surely, she thought, happiness would be the only order of the day for her homecoming.

The next moment Mrs. Pride hugged Molly so fiercely that the girl thought she might crack. When Mrs. Pride let go Molly saw clusters of tears attached to each corner of the woman’s sunken and anxious eyes.

“Molly, dear, how you’ve grown. Has it been years or decades,child? Come in, come in.” She glanced at the driver, who stood there unsteadily on his gimpy leg; he picked up Molly’s bag.

“Here, give me that, cabbie.” She took the bag while Molly paid the driver.

He smiled at the generous tip and doffed his cap. “Well, good luck to you, Miss.”

Molly walked in and Mrs. Pride shut the door. “Let me look at you. My goodness, you’re such a young lady.”

Molly stared around at a space that she had known intimately for the first decade of her life. It appeared remarkably unchanged, but as she ran her gaze around the boundaries, it did look decidedly smaller and shabbier than she remembered.

Situated against one wall next to the door were pegs to hang hats and coats with a mirror set above, and a long metal canister where walking sticks and umbrellas were collected. She picked up a hat that was hanging from a stout wooden peg.

It was her father’s homburg, Molly knew. She noted several strands of gray hair clinging to the liner. This startled her because her father’s hair had been a dark brown when she had left.

Years aged one, obviously. She thought of the taxi driver.Waryears accelerated all that.

Next to the hat hung a gas mask on another peg. From the size of it, she reckoned it belonged to Mrs. Pride. And of course her father would no doubt have his with him, wherever he was presently. She didn’t see her mother’s mask, though.

“Where is Mr. John? I thought he might pick me up at the station in the Singer.”

“Well, we never did get a letter from you, dear, but that’s hardly unusual. The post hasn’t been what it was.”

“And Mr. John?”

“He’s no longer with us, dear.”

“What! Is he all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure that he is. But he got another position, you see.”

“I’m surprised Father let him leave. He was very fond of Mr. John. And Father doesn’t like to drive.”

“Yes, well, everyone has had to make sacrifices,” replied Mrs. Pride firmly.

Molly felt a sudden twinge of guilt for voicing concern over no longer having a driver for their luxurious car. “Yes, of course. Oh, before I forget.” She reached into her purse and drew out a small pamphlet. “My ration book. You’ll need that with one more mouth to feed.”

Mrs. Pride took it and said, “Thank you, dear. By law the shops where you register have to stock the things you registered for, but I’m not sure the law has been round the shops lately.”

“Yes, there were shortages in our village, too.”

“Have you eaten, dear?” said Mrs. Pride. “I can prepare something.”

Molly gaped. “You?Is Mrs. Brand no longer with us, either?”

“No, no she’s not. She lost both her grandsons in the war, poor dear. And, well… working here no longer suited her.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I remember her grandsons. They would come by sometimes when I was very little.”

“Yes, yes they… would.” Mrs. Pride’s voice dropped to almost nothing.

---