The Little Wartime Library, page 21
Beauty looked up from her sleeping spot on the bed and thumped her tail on the eiderdown.
“You heard what the police said,” Clara persisted, putting down the beigels and sitting next to him on the bed. “They’re not charging you. They’ve taken enough statements from witnesses who saw what happened when the fight spilled out of the library.”
“Oh yes, and what did happen, according to them?” he said dully.
“You know,” she replied, confused. “Mrs. Chumbley, the Salvation Army choir, the theatre manager… They all say that you were only embroiled in the fight to help defend Netty, and that Victor was attacking you. He had you against the wall and was strangling you when you struck him with the shovel. The police seem satisfied it was self-defence. You’ll have to give evidence at the inquest, of course, but there’s no suggestion at this stage that you’ll face charges or a trial.”
Billy kept on staring blankly out the window at a small group of children pushing a pram filled with scavenged firewood up the narrow street. The pram wheels had stuck on a cobblestone.
“You’ve overloaded it,” he murmured. “Lighten the load.”
“Billy, please listen,” she persisted. “If it wasn’t for you, I shudder to think what that man would have done to me outside my home last year. Think how many other women he attacked! We’ll probably never know the full extent.”
She reached out and stroked his neck, but he batted her arm away. Pushing down her hurt, she gently persisted.
“It was just a dreadful accident, Billy.”
“No, it wasn’t. I deliberately struck Victor with a shovel. If I hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have fallen back and cracked his head open.”
He scrubbed his face, his voice freighted with agony.
“He wouldn’t be dead now.”
“But if that’s the case, and he was still alive, we’d almost certainly be burying Netty now. If you hadn’t intervened and got us in the library, he’d have strangled her.”
She took Billy’s face in her hands.
“Look at me, Billy,” she said softly. “My refusal to mourn that man goes deeper than the attack on me. I never told you this, as Ruby forbade me, but he’s been beating Netty for years. It’s got worse since she found out she was expecting his baby. You saved not just her life, but that of her unborn child. You’re the hero here, not the villain.”
He jumped to his feet so fast, Clara nearly toppled off the bed and Beauty sat up and barked.
“Don’t be so trite, Clara!” he snapped, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “There are no heroes to be found here. This isn’t a story from one of your library paperbacks. I killed a man! A man is dead because of me!”
She stared at him in shock as he started pacing the room.
“I know he was a brutal man, but at the end of the day, his life wasn’t mine to take. The best place for men like Victor is prison. I’m a pacifist, or have you forgotten that?”
“No… of course not.”
“This… This isn’t me. I barely recognise myself. I’m an ambulance man. I only became one to mitigate all the death and destruction and yet now I’m the killer.”
“But Ruby and Netty don’t blame you.” She shook her head, trying to find a way to articulate the humiliation, the reign of fear, rape and brutality that Netty and goodness knows how many other women had been subjected to. She would never say it out loud, but she knew Ruby was pleased her stepfather was dead.
“Netty lived in fear. You can’t imagine the things he did to her and, now as we can see, to plenty more women. He was a monster.”
His adrenaline vanished and Billy sank back onto the bed.
“They may not blame me, but others do, plus plenty more who will say I killed him in revenge.”
Sadly, that part at least was true. Victor’s death had divided the shelter, with some convinced of his innocence. Death seemed to lend people dignity and suddenly he was talked about in hushed tones. No matter that he beat his wife, tried to attack Clara and regularly disturbed the peace of the buildings with his drunken outbursts, suddenly Victor had gone from “that bloody man” to “that poor man.” Billy had many supporters, but there were some, led by Ricky Talbot and Mr. Caley, who were demanding the immediate closure of the library, claiming it was a hotbed of vice and sin.
“The most important thing is we ride this out,” Clara insisted. “I’m going to see Pinkerton-Smythe, I can’t keep putting it off, and then next week, we’ll reopen the library. I think you should go back to work too, to take your mind off things.”
He stared at her, his eyes wide.
“Take my mind off things?” he repeated.
“Look, Billy. I love you so much. What happened was horrifying, but thanks to you, Netty is still alive and women are safe on the streets. I just want things to go back to the way they were before. We need to concentrate our efforts on finding the girls, and then…” She sighed, swallowing back her mounting panic. “Then maybe we can get married, like we planned?”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Clara, but things can’t ever go back to the way they were before. Not now. You and me…” He broke off and looked down, scuffing a patch of torn lino. “It’s a bad idea.”
The pain rose inside her, questions jamming her throat.
“I-I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” she stammered. “Ten days ago, you were pledging your love to me on bended knee. Now you’re cutting me off. I don’t understand.”
“I can’t explain,” he said miserably.
“This is about what happened at Dunkirk, isn’t it!” she exclaimed and Billy looked down. “For pity’s sake, Billy, just tell me,” she begged. “Whatever you did out there, I promise I won’t judge. I know you’re a good man.”
He shook his head, dripping in shame.
“I’m not. I’m a coward.”
“That medal you hide at the back of your wardrobe says otherwise!”
“Just please believe me, Clara. You’re better off without me.”
“So a-are you saying we’re over?”
He walked back to the window, unable to look her in the eye. The children had vanished. “I think you ought to go now.”
She stood, picked up the bag of beigels that had fallen to the floor, put them on the bed and walked to the door with as much composure as she could muster.
At the door, she turned.
“I know I won’t be better without you.”
Outside, Clara started to run in the direction of the library, a solid knot of anxiety pressing down on her chest, and a question mark as big as the moon. All this time she had brushed off questions and concerns over Billy’s past, but it seemed that whatever had happened in France was still haunting him and Victor’s death had only inflamed it. It occurred to Clara as she ran: she didn’t really know Billy at all.
Underground, she found a clear-up team of Mr. Pepper, Mrs. Chumbley and Ruby shelving books and attempting to restore order to the library before they reopened.
“He’s thrown me over,” Clara managed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Ruby said. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s in shock, dear,” said Mr. Pepper. “He’ll change his mind, you’ll see.”
“I don’t know much about matters of the heart,” admitted Mrs. Chumbley, “but it’s as plain as day he’s deeply in love with you.”
“Clearly not, because he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”
Clara made a heroic attempt to push back her tears and opened the hatch in the counter. She felt everyone staring at her. “Please, can we change the subject?”
“Where’s your mum? Is she all right?” she asked Ruby.
“Fine. She had a midwife appointment and now she’s having a lie-down.”
“The baby?”
“Absolutely fine, must be a tough little thing.” Ruby smiled and, for the first time in years, Clara saw a lightness behind her eyes.
“Like you,” Ruby added. “You’re strong, Clara, strong as a soldier, in fact. We’ll all get through this.”
Ruby hugged her tightly.
“I’m so sorry for what he tried to do to you, Cla,” she whispered. “I can’t bear the thought of him touching you.”
“Thanks to Billy, I never had to experience it. I shudder to think what your mum went through.”
“I know, but it’s over now. She’s safe at last.”
“There you are, Mrs. Button.” The reedy voice split the air between them.
Clara froze, then mentally steeled herself for the encounter that lay ahead.
“Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe and—” Her eyes ran over the well-built man accompanying him.
“This is my associate from the town hall. He’s here to ensure there’s no trouble.”
“Trouble? We’re librarians, not gangland bosses!” Ruby flashed back.
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe raised one eyebrow, and Clara knew that whatever was about to unfold, a part of him would enjoy it.
“I’ve sent numerous messages for you to come and see me, but as you’ve ignored them, you’ve left me little choice but to come here. Where can we talk privately?”
“I’m sorry, it’s been a difficult time. I-I was going to come and see you this afternoon.”
“Well now, I’ve saved you the bother.”
Ruby squeezed her hand as she walked past her and into the reading room.
“I’ll get straight to the point, shall I?” said her boss once he was seated.
“Bethnal Green Borough Council can no longer tolerate the continuing scandals that this underground library seems to elicit. Under your tenure, we’ve had complaints from irate mothers, of women abandoning the family home and now this, the death of a man.”
“Technically, that last one didn’t actually happen in the library.”
“You’re splitting hairs. The way I heard it, Netty Walsh began reading Forever Amber and took it into her silly head to leave her husband…”
“Because he was beating her within an inch of her life.”
“Good God, woman, stop interrupting me,” he exploded, banging his fist down on the table. Clara winced.
“Understandably, he took umbrage to this and pursued his wife to the library, with the intention of persuading her to come home. He ended up dead on the platform!”
“With respect, sir, he was extremely drunk and, moments before, had been attacking his wife.” She kept Victor’s attack on her to herself. She doubted it would change her boss’ mindset.
“Can you blame him for being angry?” he persisted.
“It was a dreadful accident,” Clara said, trying desperately to keep her cool.
“In which a man died, and it was a member of your book club who is at the heart of this latest affair. It tarnishes the entire reputation of the library service.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“I warned you. Didn’t I say what happens when you get women overexcited through fiction? You plant a book like Forever Amber in a woman’s hands and, of course, she will be dissatisfied with her domestic life.”
“She was dissatisfied because he once beat her so savagely, she ended up in the London Hospital for a fortnight being fed through a straw,” Clara said coolly, feeling something flick inside her. “I’m deeply sorry for the scandal it caused and his death, but I can’t mourn his passing any more than I regret encouraging her to read books.”
Clara saw herself on the edge of a big precipice that she was about to step off. The drama of Victor’s death, and her bruising encounter with Billy earlier… They had sloughed away the last of her restraint.
“Netty Walsh has a right to live in safety,” she insisted, jutting her chin out. “Mrs. Caley has the right to leave her controlling husband. Ricky Talbot’s wife has the right to happiness.”
She leant forward in her seat, blood pounding in her ears. “This might genuinely surprise you, but women aren’t chattels! If the books I’ve loaned them give them the strength to act on their convictions, then good. I’m pleased.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe’s mouth was so thin, it reminded Clara of the blade of a knife.
“And while I’m at it. You might not like this, but the fact remains that every child who is a resident of Bethnal Green from the age of eight upwards has the indisputable right to join the ranks of registered readers. And yes, even vagrants and dossers are allowed in here. All society is allowed in here because guess what? They own this library, not you or I, or any other stuffed shirt at the town hall.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe leant back in his chair and allowed himself a girlish chuckle.
“Well, well… There we have it.”
He stood up, a fly circling his bald head.
“I expect your resignation on my desk in the morning.”
“And if it’s not there?”
“Then you will be escorted from the library. This library will be reopening next week as planned, but you are no longer its branch librarian, Mrs. Button. Good day.”
He swept from the library and Clara wondered how it was that in the space of one day she had lost two of the most precious things in her life.
18
March 1945 Ruby
The library had lost its heart and soul. That was the general consensus eleven weeks on from Clara’s abrupt departure. The cold winter had thawed into an uncertain spring. Hitler’s Third Reich had entered its final death throes. It seemed as though, at last, the war would soon be over.
Ruby glanced over at Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe. The top of his bald head was gleaming, pink and sweaty as he eagerly unpacked the book consignment, humming a little tune to himself.
When he had forced Clara out on that awful overcast January day, her mother’s screams still resonating in the library, Ruby had come so close to handing in her notice, but something had stopped her. A plan had formed in her mind, cloudy to begin with, but sharpening in focus over the following weeks. What use would she be on the outside? Double agents could be far more devastating. God knows it had been difficult to resist the temptation to tell him where to shove his new agenda. Even more difficult as she watched him dismantle everything Clara had worked so hard to set up.
The library cutbacks had been swift and brutal. First, he’d reduced opening hours to between 1 p.m. and 5 p.m., closing completely on weekends, meaning that no factory workers could come in and change their books. Next, he’d restricted children’s access to just thirty minutes a day at 3 p.m. and suspended the bibliobus service and children’s storytime too.
The homeless had been discouraged from using the library. The Major was no longer welcome.
Library services to the people who needed them most hadn’t just been scaled back, they’d been cauterised. The final insult had come when he’d blacklisted Forever Amber, tearing up the waiting list with a triumphant flourish. A unanimous motion was passed for the confiscation of racy books from the library and he scaled back their stock of romantic and light fiction.
The members of the Bethnal Green Bookworm—Pat, Queenie, Irene, Dot and their kind—gradually stopped coming. Even Library Cat flicked his tail in disgust and left. Nowadays, the only people who ventured in were the odd middle- to highbrow patrons. The place was as quiet as the grave. Clara’s worst fear of libraries preaching to the converted had been realised.
But tonight was different. The library was staying open late for a special event and a select group of children, hand-picked by Pinkerton-Smythe, had been invited.
Ruby felt her stomach churn at the thought of what she planned to do.
“Can I help, Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes, you can make a display out of these books on the counter. Make them look pretty. Sort of thing girls like doing.”
“Certainly, sir.”
As she began unpacking the books, Mr. Pepper emerged from the reading room and, without saying a word, began to help.
“Such a terrific idea of yours to write to the Canadian Library Association,” she said to Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe, flattering him with her brightest smile. “First class.”
He stared back at her, a little suspiciously at first, but seeing no trace of sarcasm, puffed his chest out.
“Thank you, my dear. We have a duty of care to our young patrons, do we not?”
“Does this mean we can bring back children’s storytime?” Ruby asked.
“Absolutely not. It is desirable to keep the juveniles and the adult readers apart. Right, well, now that’s all in order, I’m off. I have some last-minute details to attend to at the town hall, but I’ll be back in plenty of time to meet and greet the Minister and press.”
“What time are they arriving, sir?”
“Six sharp.”
“Terrific! Don’t be nervous; bet you’re a smashing orator.”
He fiddled with his cufflinks.
“One tries.”
When he left, Mr. Pepper turned to her.
“I really don’t know about this, Ruby. He won’t like this one bit.”
“I certainly hope so. You haven’t told Mrs. Chumbley, have you?”
“Course not, I wouldn’t want to compromise her position as deputy shelter manager.”
“Or as your fiancée?” she grinned, tugging his tie. Mr. Pepper’s face softened as he shook his head.
“Gracious, if you’d have told me this time last year, that in a week’s time, I would be getting married to Mrs. Chumbley, I’d have said you were quite barmy.”
“So, what changed, Mr. P?”
He ran his hand over the brand-new copy of Treasure Island and smiled.
“She’s a wonderful woman and I’ll admit, I misjudged her.”
“Well, she does have a formidable reputation in the shelter.”
“Yes, but that’s just one side of her. A side she’s had to cultivate. I think when she lost her fiancé in the first show, she developed a thick skin in order to survive, but underneath that is an extraordinary well of kindness.”
He shook his head again.
“It’s no surprise to you or Clara, of course, but my eyesight’s not what it was. I know I regularly make mistakes in shelving and you and Clara have had to rectify those mistakes many times.”
