Page 73 of Strangers in Time

The air warden appeared wearing a glow cape and a slickened waterproof under it and gas-resistant clothes below that. A small torch with a shield was in one hand.

As the man walked by he stopped at the door in question, and gazed around. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and slipped it through the door’s letterbox.

As he passed them by, they both saw that it was Ignatius Oliver.

Molly started to call out to him, but Charlie put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. When Oliver was out of sight Molly said, “Why did you stop me?”

“Somethin’ ain’t right ’bout this, Molly.”

“He might simply be delivering a letter, Charlie, that’s all.”

“This late at night?”

“He’s making his rounds as an air warden. You saw his uniform. And the man you saw here was the same one you saw at the bookshop. They’re obviously friends. He might just be saving the price of a stamp.”

Molly led them out of the alley, while a worried Charlie looked back at the door through which the envelope had gone.

A RISKTAKEN

IT HAD BEEN SEVERALdays since Molly and Charlie had seen Oliver slipping the envelope through the letterbox. They once more sat in Molly’s father’s study staring at a poor fire that flickered and provided scant warmth. Both of them had rugs over their laps and legs. While it was still cold, at least the rain had passed; the skies were clear, and the wind was calmer.

“We need to see about your school, Charlie. Is it back in Bethnal Green?”

He said, “I’m fourteen, Miss. I’m done with school.”

“But when Mr. Oliver gave you that pen you said you were still in school.”

“Right, but I turned fourteen the next week and left,” he lied. “Law says I can. And I learnt all I needed. Now it’s time for me to work.”

“Well, hopefully next year I’ll sit my exams to see if I qualify for university.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, looking surprised.

“I want to be a doctor, actually.”

“Can girls do that sort’a thin’?”

“Of course they can,” she replied irritably.

“Speaking of, have you done the letter to that doctor in Cornwall yet?” asked Charlie.

Molly glanced at him and shook her head. “No. As I said, I was hoping that Mr. Oliver would help me with it.”

“Then you should go ask him.”

“I plan to,” she said. “But now I need to go see about lunch. I’m famished.”

She left him there and Charlie stood and walked around the room, admiring all the books and furniture and fine implements. He gazed at the door for a moment, then sat down behind the desk and drew out the pen Oliver had given him.

He pretended to write something with it on a crisp piece of stationery that was imprinted with the name Herbert James Wakefield with this Chelsea address. He was still upset to have lost his book to Lonzo. It had meant five quid, but now that he had given it some more thought Charlie had concluded that he could have written things in it, as Oliver had first suggested.

And read them to Mum, like she used to read to me. Molly had said I can leave here and still never leave my mum. Maybe I can read to her wherever I am. And if I start fightin’ the Jerries, I won’t be able to stay here. But I’ll be doin’ my bit, like Mum would have wanted.

As he looked at the pen, he thought about what a nice gesture it had been for Mr. Oliver to loan it to him. And then Charlie felt guilty, because he had never told the man the truth that night: that he was one of the boys who had been trying to break into his shop.

You’re no good, Charlie. Here the man helps you and what do you do for him? Try to steal his money, that’s what. And now you’re thinkin’ bad stuff ’bout Mr. Oliver when all he’s done is be a friend to you.

He was called to lunch, and when he finished his food he was still quite hungry. He could tell the same for Molly, though she had given him larger portions than hers, just as his gran had. But he had something to do now because he had made up his mind. Charlie put on his hat and coat.

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