Page 29 of Strangers in Time

Charlie looked that way. It was a brick building stained dark with time and war. There was one wooden front door painted the red of the telephone boxes. Next to it were windows with black shutters. There was a brass plate set on the brick next to the door. Charlie couldn’t make it out from here.

“King & Chauncey, Solicitors,” said the pavement man helpfully.

“What’s a so-lis-tor?” asked Charlie.

“For His Majesty’s fine court ’a law,” said the man. “Barristers do the talking in court. But the solicitors, well, they write all legal things up, see? Wills and deeds and the like.Paper, lad. Loads of it, they need. You go there to sell your book and a fine price you should name, too. Pen and paper over bombs and bullets.”

Charlie thanked the man and rushed across the street, dodging a motorcar, a jerky bus, and finally a dray horse pulling a cart of milk cans along with a sleepy driver.

KING& CHAUNCEY

CHARLIE BUTTONED HIS PATCHEDcoat, 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 donotencourage 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 King & Chauncey, Solicitors.

Charlie held up the book. “Got this to sell, Miss. Paper.Blankpaper. 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 thatauthors 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 havepoundsto 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 isyourname, young man?”

---