Page 53 of The Number of Love
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Drake counted it a victory when, on Thursday, he managed to get himself out of bed before his sister left for work in the morning. It still hurt like the dickens if he made too abrupt a movement, but he’d not touched the pain medication in two days—not because the doctor hadn’t given him a stern look and told him to keep taking it, but because he couldn’t get a bit of the work done that the admiral had been sending home with Dot when he did. The stuff muddied his mind.
He could handle this amount of pain, though. He tired easily, yes, but that would only get better by pushing himself a little more each day. Today, that meant shuffling out of his bedroom while the scents of tea and porridge were still fresh.
He paused a step into the main living area of the flat. Dot stood in front of the door. Overcoat on, hat pinned in place, handbag looped over her arm. And rosary beads clutched between gloved knuckles. Watching her lips move, he could tell where she was in the prayer.When Jesus is twelve years old, He goes with His parents to Jerusalem forthe feast of Passover.Her lips paused for half a beat, and her fingers moved to the next bead.After the feast of the Passover, Mary and Joseph unknowingly set out for Nazareth without Jesus....
He held his place while she finished, not wanting to disturb her. Were it anyone else, he might have thought she’d forgotten to say herprayers earlier and wanted to squeeze them in before she left home. But not Dot. Dot waited to say them until she was standing there before the door. She waited until she most needed the strength the familiar words imparted.Mary keeps all these things in her heart.
She drew in a deep breath, tucked the beads into her pocket, and lifted her chin. Her hand shook as she lifted it to the door’s latch, but she gripped it anyway.
His throat went tight. Margot was right. His sister was strong. Courageous. Every day she left this flat, she had to put on her armor like a knight errant and make herself slay the dragon of the world outside that door.
She was strong. She was courageous. But it never took away the fear. “Have a good day, Dot.” His voice came out quiet, barely audible in the room.
She didn’t look back at him. If she did, it would ruin her routine and she might not reach for the door again, he knew. It had happened before. But she nodded, pulled the door open, and stepped out without a word.
Drake sighed and continued his shuffle toward her small kitchen. He prayed that, eventually, routine would make it easier. And he was proud that she did it even when it was difficult.
As usual, a small pot of bland porridge sat on the stove for him. In days past, he’d reheated it whenever he managed to pull his aching body from bed. Today it was still warm, and he had only to spoon it into his bowl.
A few minutes later he’d fixed his tea as well and sat at the table, papers spread out before him. DID had sent a bit of everything home with Dot this week, obviously trying to discover what Drake could best do here at his sister’s house rather than in the field. This latest packet didn’t have any codes that needed to be cracked—he could muddle through when he had the key, but how they ever managed to break one without that he honestly didn’t know. But Hall apparently thought he did a decent enough job of analyzing whatothershad put into plain script, because there were quite a few decrypts here.
The challenge, as always, was determining what to do with them. What they meant—not in terms of what the words said, but in terms of what impact they could and would have on British operations.
Drake flipped through the first few pages as he ate a spoonful of porridge that might as well be tasteless. No butter, no sugar. What he wouldn’t give for a dollop of Mother’s favorite strawberry preserves to swirl through the gruel. Anything would help.
He tried not to think of the spiced sausage and eggs that would have been on Abuelo’s table this morning.
Dot had brought the newspaper in as well. When he moved a few of the decrypts aside, the headline caught his eye. ACEPILOTGROUNDEDANDFACINGCOURT-MARTIAL. His eyes went wide when he saw the grainy photograph. He hadn’t seen his old school chum in years, but there was no mistaking the face of Phillip Camden. Or, as the article called him, Black Heart.
He read all the way through the piece before pushing himself to his feet and moving to the telephone. The article still clutched in one hand, he waited to be patched through to Admiral Hall.
“Yes?”
“Morning, sir. It’s Elton.” When his side protested his standing so long in one position, Drake granted it a reprieve and sank to the hard wooden chair Dot kept beside the telephone table. “Did you see that article in yesterday’sEvening Standard? About the ace who’s been grounded?”
“Mm. Camden, wasn’t it? I couldn’t quite make sense of what had happened from the article. Had half a mind to pull a few strings just to satisfy my curiosity.”
Drake wouldn’t mind a few more answers either, but that was hardly his point in calling. “Sir, if you’ve the power, may I suggest you arrange to have him allocated to your command rather than put on trial? I know Camden rather well—we were at school together as boys. I think you’d find him just your sort of chap.”
Though it was a bit hard to tell over the static-filled line, Drake thought the admiral’s snort sounded amused. “You think a criminal is my sort?”
“He’s not a criminal. Just ... unconventional. It does have a tendency to land him in hot water”—neverthishot before, but with raised stakes came raised consequences—“but there’s nothing untrustworthy about him.”
“Hm.” Yes, definitely amused. “Perhaps I’ll pay the fellow a visit. Though what exactly makes you think he’d be an asset to me?”
Drake’s lips quirked up at the many memories that bombarded him. Phillip Camden had a way of getting into scrapes—and out of them—with flare enough that people tended to see his attitude more than his mind. But the mind was always what was behind them. “When we were twelve, he created a code and taught it to all the boys in our class so that he could give us secret messages as to when we ought to cause specific disturbances.”
A laugh crackled over the line. “Did he, now? Well then, perhaps I’ll bring him a few puzzles and see what he can do. Thank you for the tip, Elton.”
“You’re quite welcome, sir.”
They said their farewells, and Drake set the receiver back in its cradle with a bit of satisfaction. He didn’t have a clue what Camden had actually done to turn himself from one of their best pilots to someone the press was determined to make into a villain. But whatever it really was, Camden was too great an asset to the country for them to just toss him away. Drake didn’t trust themallto see that, but Blinker Hall would. Though whether the admiral could manage to get someone from the RFC transferred to Admiralty control rather than army, he really didn’t know. Why couldn’t he have joined the RNAS instead? Then he’d already be a navy man.
Drake spent some more time on the decrypts in need of analyzing and then, when the clock chimed the ten o’clock hour, put it all away and pushed himself back up and toward his bedroom. The doctor would stop by in another half hour, and it took Drake a ridiculous amount of time these days to get dressed. But he was determined to do so, just to prove to the doctor that he was well enough to handle the task.
He’d scarcely gotten his shirt buttoned, however, when a knock sounded on the door. Scowling, he checked his watch. A full fifteenminutes earlier than the doctor had said he would be. “Coming!” he called. Not all that loudly, as volume required more muscles than he currently had to spare, but he could probably still be heard in the corridor. Maybe.
