The Little Wartime Library, page 24
They stared at each other, their bodies illuminated in the light.
“That’s a travesty,” he said at last.
“That’s what Ruby and the others said. But I’m leaving the East End. I was supposed to be going today.”
“Don’t go,” he said, pushing back his tin hat in despair.
“But why do you care?” she cried in frustration. “You left me.”
“Clarkie, hurry up. We need those blankets,” a woman’s voice called out. Blackie and Darling were working on the lip of the crater, transferring a broken body onto a stretcher.
“Look. I’ve got to go,” he said. “But we need to talk. There’s things I must explain. But not now.” He turned to go, then stopped.
“I love you, Clara. I always have.”
20
Ruby
The search for the missing was now in its third day. Ruby had never seen anything like it. Rescuers worked around the clock, day and night, the sense of urgency growing with every passing hour. They’d even drafted in specially trained dogs to locate people trapped in the rubble. The death toll was now well over a hundred and rising. But in and among the despair, there were fragments of hope. Only yesterday, a boy heard his brother and sister talking under the debris and guided rescuers to them. They were brought out alive after twenty-four hours buried under the ruins.
Organisation at the Brady Club was now much smoother, especially since Mrs. Chumbley had set up a rest centre for relatives of the missing and those made homeless by the bombing in nearby Deal Street.
Ruby and Clara were just on their way there with a heap of donated clothes when Ruby glanced up.
“Is that who I think it is?” she asked, squinting.
It was extraordinary, the impact of the blast. In the centre was the crater that had swallowed up the middle block of flats, but the front block of flats, facing the street, was more or less intact. On the open-air landing that ran along the length of the building was Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe, on the third floor, leaning over the balcony railing. He stared out over the crater beneath before turning and going back inside.
“I had no idea he lived here,” Clara exclaimed.
“Me neither.”
“We ought to go and check he’s not concussed or in shock.”
“Oh, leave him, Cla, he’s a total shit and besides, we’re the last people he wants to see.”
Clara turned to her, her expression full of reproach. “Maybe, but he’s still a human being.”
Ruby wasn’t so sure about that, but she wasn’t going to let Clara go on her own and she was already heading for the buildings.
“I must need my head examined,” she muttered as she ran after her.
They knocked and the door was answered by an older man.
“Yes?”
“We’re helping in the rest centre downstairs,” said Clara. “We just wanted to check everyone’s all right. We have plenty of warm clothes if you’re in need.”
He looked down witheringly at the bundle of old clothes in Clara’s arms.
“I rather think not. You’d better come in, I suppose.”
He gestured for them to come into the small flat.
“Gerald,” he called into the hallway. “Visitors for us.”
As he called through, Ruby stared at him, her mind swirling. Where had she seen him before? He was so familiar, she just couldn’t place him.
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe walked into the room and, at that precise moment, she remembered.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked coldly.
“My God, it’s you!” Ruby exclaimed, staring at the man who answered the door. “You were in the library the night I had to run out… The night Forever Amber was stolen.” He was the bowler-hatted man who had dismissed their stock before taking The Times through to the reading room.
For a moment, both men stood perfectly still and Ruby looked around the flat. It was similar to most flats in this area, except for the fact that it was stuffed with books. Most households barely contained more than a handful; this was positively overflowing with what looked like expensive hardbacks stacked in tall bookcases. One stood out, green as an apple, nestling like a jewel on the bookcase.
Quick as a flash, Ruby pulled it out and opened the cover. It still had the reserve ticket in the inside pocket.
“Clara, look! This is the stolen copy!”
“What?” she gasped, dropping the jumble of clothes and taking the book. She ran her fingers over the Bethnal Green Library stamp.
“You’re right, Rubes. It is.…” she said, looking up in disbelief.
“Don’t be so absurd!” Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe snapped, but fear lurked at the back of his eyes.
Ruby began scanning other titles and suddenly she saw with perfect clarity.
“You’re hoarding these books to sell when the war’s over, aren’t you?”
Clara’s eyes roved over the bookcase.
“There are some valuable books in here!”
She took one at random—Pride and Prejudice.
“Poplar Library! Another library book!”
Ruby looked at Clara’s face and could not remember the last time she had seen her so angry. She was actually shaking with rage.
“O-of all the treacherous and perfidious acts,” she stammered. “To steal books from libraries, especially those frequented by people who treasure and need them most.”
Then Ruby spotted them, stacked on the edge of a bookcase, a neat pile of newspaper cuttings, the top of which showed a young woman jitterbugging in the arms of an American. Underneath that were the racing pages.
“And that was you as well, the person cutting up the newspapers!” Ruby exclaimed. “You or him,” she said, gesturing to the other man. “Why?”
“Well, someone needs to act as guardian of the library’s morals because Mrs. Button here clearly wasn’t up to the job!”
“My God,” Clara breathed. “You actually want to censor people’s leisure time, as well as their reading. And to think, I suspected poor Mr. Pepper!” She laughed at the absurdity of it. “You’re a snake!”
“And you are a bleeding-heart liberal wasting your time on dead-end kids,” said Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe, rounding on Clara. “And Miss Munroe here is nothing but a cheap painted tart.”
Ruby leapt at him with a howl but Clara pulled her back.
“No, Ruby,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t sink to his level.”
Ruby’s heart was thundering in her chest and as much as she wanted to gouge his eyes out, she knew Clara was right.
“Well, I’m calling the police then. Let’s see how this goes down at the town hall.”
“Wait!” said the other man, grabbing her arm as she passed.
“Get your hands off me!”
He dropped her arm.
“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. There’s no need to get the authorities involved.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I’m Gerald’s brother. What’ll it take to keep quiet about this?” He pulled out his wallet.
“If you don’t step aside and let us out, you’ll need a surgeon to extract that wallet,” Ruby snapped.
“Wait, Ruby,” Clara interrupted. “I think we can come to some sort of agreement.”
Ruby turned round in astonishment.
“Clara… you can’t mean…?” But as she stared at her friend’s face, she could see something extraordinary happening. Her anger had tempered into something else and for the first time in such a long time, Ruby caught a glimmer of the old Clara. Resolute. Strong and perfectly in control.
“First, you will step down as chair of the Library Committee,” she said calmly.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe laughed.
She shrugged. “Bye then.”
“Stop,” said the man, glaring at Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe. “Gerald. We’ll never survive the scandal of being arrested. I have my job in the civil service to think of.”
“Your brother’s right,” said Ruby. “Imagine the headlines! Library Boss Filches Bodice-ripper. Or how about this, Corrupt Council Boss Steals Strumpet? You’ll be a laughing-stock when that comes to court.”
As Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe thought through the ramifications, he grew pale.
“But what’ll I tell them?”
“Tell them you’re traumatised from the flying bomb and you’re looking to be relocated, away from Bethnal Green,” said Clara. “At least you get to leave with your dignity intact.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe sank into a chair.
“Is that all?”
“No. Before you resign, you’ll announce your replacement.”
“Who might that be?” he asked warily.
“Mrs. Chumbley. She’ll make an excellent Chair, subject to you getting enough support for her appointment, but I can’t see that being a problem after all she’s done at the shelter.”
“And the branch librarian?” Ruby asked and Clara smiled.
“Why, me of course,” she replied. “But only until the men come back, then I should like to resume my old position of children’s librarian.”
“Really, Clara?” Ruby cautioned. “I thought you hated being seen as a placeholder.”
“Not just the children’s librarian,” she said, eyeballing Pinkerton-Smythe. “But the children’s librarian. I’ll have input into the refurbishment of the library and my position will be seen as holding equal status to the adult department.”
Clara held up Forever Amber. “I’ll keep this as insurance, shall I? Just to make sure you carry out my wishes. Do I make myself clear?”
He nodded, almost incandescent with fury.
“Get out!” he managed at last.
“With pleasure,” Clara replied. “Come on, Ruby.”
From the balcony they spotted Miss Moses below, rushing over to the Brady Club, looking absolutely shattered. It had already been confirmed that twenty-two Jewish children from the club had died in the explosion.
“Actually,” Clara said, turning back. “One last thing to buy my silence. Sell as many of those books as you can and make a substantial donation to the Brady Club, so that when this nightmare is over, Miss Moses has some money to take the survivors on a holiday.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe’s brother laughed.
“I do believe you’re mad.”
Ruby turned to the balcony railing, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A policeman manning the cordon looked up.
“Very well, we shall.”
“Good. Make the donation in the name of Amber and when you’re done, leak it to the local rag so I know it’s happened. Oh, and all those copies of Forever Amber I know you’ve got under lock and key at the town hall, make sure those go back to the library so that they are available to borrow immediately.”
And with that, Clara and Ruby swept from the flat leaving the shattered men behind them.
21
Clara
As they walked back to Deal Street, Ruby was beside herself.
“Cla! What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t really know,” she laughed, disbelievingly. “You don’t think I went too far, do you?”
“No bloody way! He deserved everything he got. My God, girl. You played a blinder! Even Amber St. Clare would be proud of you.”
She squeezed her hand and Clara suddenly felt her legs might go from under her. How she’d kept so calm was anyone’s guess, her heart was galloping so hard.
“But where did that come from?” Ruby asked. “A couple of days ago, you were all ready to leave.”
“It’s when he told me I was wasting my time on dead-end kids. It reminded me of that promise I made to Tubby’s mum in the library, to never give up on their kids. I let her down.”
She remembered the look of hurt on Sparrow’s face the last time she saw him.
“And more importantly, I’ve let the kids down.”
She’d allowed her trauma over Victor’s death and her heartache over Billy to cloud her judgement, but now the way ahead was clear. Sparrow. Ronnie. Molly. Maggie May. Joannie. All the kids in that underground library needed someone on their side.
“No more behaving as others expect me to or living in the past either,” she vowed. “This is my life and I need to be back in my library.”
“With or without Billy?” Ruby asked.
“With or without. I love Billy and he says he loves me too, but whatever is going on with him can’t define me any longer.”
Sparrow’s harrowing experiences, Tubby’s death, the Jersey girls’ upheaval from the island they loved… she couldn’t shield the children from this war, but she could make it more bearable.
“Those kids deserve more. I’ve got to get them back in the library.”
“That’s my girl,” said Ruby, playfully punching her on the arm. “It’s good to have you back! What about Pinkerton-Smythe, heh? Or should I say, Gerald! I always knew he was an absolute toe rag!” Ruby cocked her little finger. “Miss Munroe here is nothing but a cheap painted tart!”
Clara was still laughing at her uncannily accurate impression of Pinkerton-Smythe as they pushed open the doors to the rest centre.
“The clothes!” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering she’d left them in Pinkerton-Smythe’s flat. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Chumbley, but we forgot them.”
“Never mind that,” she said, her tone grim. “There’s news. You’d better sit down.”
Clara knew before she’d even opened her mouth it concerned Beatty and Marie.
“Apparently, they’ve found a Union Jack scarf in the rubble. Someone remembered a girl wearing one similar in the underground library. Can you think who that might be?”
“Beatty!” Clara murmured. “It’s Beatty’s, I know it is.”
“It could belong to anyone though,” Mrs. Chumbley reasoned.
“But they’re looking, yes?”
“Of course they are,” said Mrs. Chumbley. “But it’s been three days now…” She left the sentence hanging in the air.
“All the more reason why they can’t waste any more time.”
“Look after this, Mrs. Chumbley,” Clara said. She thrust Forever Amber at her and ran out of the rest centre. Dimly she could hear Ruby calling after her but she didn’t stop running until she reached the buildings.
The police were in the process of sealing off the site and every single man and woman who had toiled there for the past three days looked sick and shattered.
“Please, I need to see Billy Clark!” Clara cried, clutching the arm of a policeman.
He hesitated.
“Miss, they’re winding down the rescue effort. They don’t believe there’s much chance of finding anyone still alive.”
“I don’t care! Get Billy Clark if you can, he’s station chief at Station 98.”
“Very well. Wait there.”
Ruby caught up with her. Breath heaving, she bent over, hands on her knees.
“Cla, please don’t get your hopes up,” she begged, but Clara wasn’t listening, for she had spotted Billy walking towards the cordon.
“Clara,” he gasped, “what’s wrong?”
He was wearing protective gear, a thick rubber all-in-one, with his face covered in a ghostly veil of dust, and they barely recognised him.
“B-Billy, please hear me out. I know you’ve found Beatty’s scarf.”
“We’re not sure who it belongs to yet, Clara. The dogs are trying to pick up a scent. Please go and wait at Deal Street and we’ll update you with news…”
“But…”
“No arguments.”
“Let’s do as Billy says, shall we?” Ruby said, gently leading Clara back to the rest centre.
The atmosphere at Deal Street was tense as they waited.
“Clara, please try to calm down. Sit and have a cup of tea,” Mrs. Chumbley begged, but Clara ignored her, just pacing up and down the room, biting at a flap of skin by her thumb. Her vow earlier never to give up on the library kids felt even more poignant in light of this. Were Beatty and Marie trapped in an underground tomb, frightened and alone, injured or worse?
As she looked around the rest centre, she realised she wasn’t the only one waiting in dread. East Enders had lost so much in this war, but none as much as their Jewish friends. With the news emerging from parts of liberated Europe of giant death camps containing the emaciated bodies of men, women and children, of walking skeletons, the horrors were just stacking up.
The death toll at Hughes Mansions was now running at 134 lives lost, 120 of whom were Jewish. This rocket was Hitler’s last roll of the dice, and it had fired right into the heart of an already grieving community.
An hour or more passed before word came back that, out of all the dogs, it had been Beauty who had detected a scent. Clara was out of the door like a whirlwind, Ruby close behind.
Beauty was scrabbling like crazy at a patch of rubble in the furthest corner of the bombsite and the tail end of the rocket was lodged ominously nearby. Pieces of timber were propping up what looked like a dangerously precarious piece of rubble, with the slenderest of openings just visible beneath. The arc lamp had been positioned over the hole.
“Billy! What’s happening?” Clara cried over the cordon, and he came over.
“We think we’ve heard something. The building caretaker thinks it’s the site of the door to the basement.”
“Exactly the sort of place you could hide away in!” Clara exclaimed.
“Please don’t get your hopes up.”
“But you are going to try?”
“Of course. Where there’s hope, we will always try.”
Clara looked at the tiny opening that plunged down into a dense pile of shattered brick and concrete and felt the skin on her back shrink. It looked like a trapdoor to hell.
“Who’s going down?” she asked, feeling short of breath.
She knew the answer before Billy had even replied.
“Oh no, Billy, no,” Clara said tremulously. “Why does it have to be you?”
“It’s a simple case of physiology. I’m the skinniest.”
Clara looked at the other burly heavy rescue men and couldn’t argue with that.
“Besides,” he said, “I volunteered. If they are down there, they’ll be dangerously dehydrated and terrified. I know them, so I’ll have a better chance of coaxing them out.”
“That’s a travesty,” he said at last.
“That’s what Ruby and the others said. But I’m leaving the East End. I was supposed to be going today.”
“Don’t go,” he said, pushing back his tin hat in despair.
“But why do you care?” she cried in frustration. “You left me.”
“Clarkie, hurry up. We need those blankets,” a woman’s voice called out. Blackie and Darling were working on the lip of the crater, transferring a broken body onto a stretcher.
“Look. I’ve got to go,” he said. “But we need to talk. There’s things I must explain. But not now.” He turned to go, then stopped.
“I love you, Clara. I always have.”
20
Ruby
The search for the missing was now in its third day. Ruby had never seen anything like it. Rescuers worked around the clock, day and night, the sense of urgency growing with every passing hour. They’d even drafted in specially trained dogs to locate people trapped in the rubble. The death toll was now well over a hundred and rising. But in and among the despair, there were fragments of hope. Only yesterday, a boy heard his brother and sister talking under the debris and guided rescuers to them. They were brought out alive after twenty-four hours buried under the ruins.
Organisation at the Brady Club was now much smoother, especially since Mrs. Chumbley had set up a rest centre for relatives of the missing and those made homeless by the bombing in nearby Deal Street.
Ruby and Clara were just on their way there with a heap of donated clothes when Ruby glanced up.
“Is that who I think it is?” she asked, squinting.
It was extraordinary, the impact of the blast. In the centre was the crater that had swallowed up the middle block of flats, but the front block of flats, facing the street, was more or less intact. On the open-air landing that ran along the length of the building was Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe, on the third floor, leaning over the balcony railing. He stared out over the crater beneath before turning and going back inside.
“I had no idea he lived here,” Clara exclaimed.
“Me neither.”
“We ought to go and check he’s not concussed or in shock.”
“Oh, leave him, Cla, he’s a total shit and besides, we’re the last people he wants to see.”
Clara turned to her, her expression full of reproach. “Maybe, but he’s still a human being.”
Ruby wasn’t so sure about that, but she wasn’t going to let Clara go on her own and she was already heading for the buildings.
“I must need my head examined,” she muttered as she ran after her.
They knocked and the door was answered by an older man.
“Yes?”
“We’re helping in the rest centre downstairs,” said Clara. “We just wanted to check everyone’s all right. We have plenty of warm clothes if you’re in need.”
He looked down witheringly at the bundle of old clothes in Clara’s arms.
“I rather think not. You’d better come in, I suppose.”
He gestured for them to come into the small flat.
“Gerald,” he called into the hallway. “Visitors for us.”
As he called through, Ruby stared at him, her mind swirling. Where had she seen him before? He was so familiar, she just couldn’t place him.
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe walked into the room and, at that precise moment, she remembered.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked coldly.
“My God, it’s you!” Ruby exclaimed, staring at the man who answered the door. “You were in the library the night I had to run out… The night Forever Amber was stolen.” He was the bowler-hatted man who had dismissed their stock before taking The Times through to the reading room.
For a moment, both men stood perfectly still and Ruby looked around the flat. It was similar to most flats in this area, except for the fact that it was stuffed with books. Most households barely contained more than a handful; this was positively overflowing with what looked like expensive hardbacks stacked in tall bookcases. One stood out, green as an apple, nestling like a jewel on the bookcase.
Quick as a flash, Ruby pulled it out and opened the cover. It still had the reserve ticket in the inside pocket.
“Clara, look! This is the stolen copy!”
“What?” she gasped, dropping the jumble of clothes and taking the book. She ran her fingers over the Bethnal Green Library stamp.
“You’re right, Rubes. It is.…” she said, looking up in disbelief.
“Don’t be so absurd!” Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe snapped, but fear lurked at the back of his eyes.
Ruby began scanning other titles and suddenly she saw with perfect clarity.
“You’re hoarding these books to sell when the war’s over, aren’t you?”
Clara’s eyes roved over the bookcase.
“There are some valuable books in here!”
She took one at random—Pride and Prejudice.
“Poplar Library! Another library book!”
Ruby looked at Clara’s face and could not remember the last time she had seen her so angry. She was actually shaking with rage.
“O-of all the treacherous and perfidious acts,” she stammered. “To steal books from libraries, especially those frequented by people who treasure and need them most.”
Then Ruby spotted them, stacked on the edge of a bookcase, a neat pile of newspaper cuttings, the top of which showed a young woman jitterbugging in the arms of an American. Underneath that were the racing pages.
“And that was you as well, the person cutting up the newspapers!” Ruby exclaimed. “You or him,” she said, gesturing to the other man. “Why?”
“Well, someone needs to act as guardian of the library’s morals because Mrs. Button here clearly wasn’t up to the job!”
“My God,” Clara breathed. “You actually want to censor people’s leisure time, as well as their reading. And to think, I suspected poor Mr. Pepper!” She laughed at the absurdity of it. “You’re a snake!”
“And you are a bleeding-heart liberal wasting your time on dead-end kids,” said Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe, rounding on Clara. “And Miss Munroe here is nothing but a cheap painted tart.”
Ruby leapt at him with a howl but Clara pulled her back.
“No, Ruby,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t sink to his level.”
Ruby’s heart was thundering in her chest and as much as she wanted to gouge his eyes out, she knew Clara was right.
“Well, I’m calling the police then. Let’s see how this goes down at the town hall.”
“Wait!” said the other man, grabbing her arm as she passed.
“Get your hands off me!”
He dropped her arm.
“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. There’s no need to get the authorities involved.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I’m Gerald’s brother. What’ll it take to keep quiet about this?” He pulled out his wallet.
“If you don’t step aside and let us out, you’ll need a surgeon to extract that wallet,” Ruby snapped.
“Wait, Ruby,” Clara interrupted. “I think we can come to some sort of agreement.”
Ruby turned round in astonishment.
“Clara… you can’t mean…?” But as she stared at her friend’s face, she could see something extraordinary happening. Her anger had tempered into something else and for the first time in such a long time, Ruby caught a glimmer of the old Clara. Resolute. Strong and perfectly in control.
“First, you will step down as chair of the Library Committee,” she said calmly.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe laughed.
She shrugged. “Bye then.”
“Stop,” said the man, glaring at Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe. “Gerald. We’ll never survive the scandal of being arrested. I have my job in the civil service to think of.”
“Your brother’s right,” said Ruby. “Imagine the headlines! Library Boss Filches Bodice-ripper. Or how about this, Corrupt Council Boss Steals Strumpet? You’ll be a laughing-stock when that comes to court.”
As Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe thought through the ramifications, he grew pale.
“But what’ll I tell them?”
“Tell them you’re traumatised from the flying bomb and you’re looking to be relocated, away from Bethnal Green,” said Clara. “At least you get to leave with your dignity intact.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe sank into a chair.
“Is that all?”
“No. Before you resign, you’ll announce your replacement.”
“Who might that be?” he asked warily.
“Mrs. Chumbley. She’ll make an excellent Chair, subject to you getting enough support for her appointment, but I can’t see that being a problem after all she’s done at the shelter.”
“And the branch librarian?” Ruby asked and Clara smiled.
“Why, me of course,” she replied. “But only until the men come back, then I should like to resume my old position of children’s librarian.”
“Really, Clara?” Ruby cautioned. “I thought you hated being seen as a placeholder.”
“Not just the children’s librarian,” she said, eyeballing Pinkerton-Smythe. “But the children’s librarian. I’ll have input into the refurbishment of the library and my position will be seen as holding equal status to the adult department.”
Clara held up Forever Amber. “I’ll keep this as insurance, shall I? Just to make sure you carry out my wishes. Do I make myself clear?”
He nodded, almost incandescent with fury.
“Get out!” he managed at last.
“With pleasure,” Clara replied. “Come on, Ruby.”
From the balcony they spotted Miss Moses below, rushing over to the Brady Club, looking absolutely shattered. It had already been confirmed that twenty-two Jewish children from the club had died in the explosion.
“Actually,” Clara said, turning back. “One last thing to buy my silence. Sell as many of those books as you can and make a substantial donation to the Brady Club, so that when this nightmare is over, Miss Moses has some money to take the survivors on a holiday.”
Mr. Pinkerton-Smythe’s brother laughed.
“I do believe you’re mad.”
Ruby turned to the balcony railing, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A policeman manning the cordon looked up.
“Very well, we shall.”
“Good. Make the donation in the name of Amber and when you’re done, leak it to the local rag so I know it’s happened. Oh, and all those copies of Forever Amber I know you’ve got under lock and key at the town hall, make sure those go back to the library so that they are available to borrow immediately.”
And with that, Clara and Ruby swept from the flat leaving the shattered men behind them.
21
Clara
As they walked back to Deal Street, Ruby was beside herself.
“Cla! What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t really know,” she laughed, disbelievingly. “You don’t think I went too far, do you?”
“No bloody way! He deserved everything he got. My God, girl. You played a blinder! Even Amber St. Clare would be proud of you.”
She squeezed her hand and Clara suddenly felt her legs might go from under her. How she’d kept so calm was anyone’s guess, her heart was galloping so hard.
“But where did that come from?” Ruby asked. “A couple of days ago, you were all ready to leave.”
“It’s when he told me I was wasting my time on dead-end kids. It reminded me of that promise I made to Tubby’s mum in the library, to never give up on their kids. I let her down.”
She remembered the look of hurt on Sparrow’s face the last time she saw him.
“And more importantly, I’ve let the kids down.”
She’d allowed her trauma over Victor’s death and her heartache over Billy to cloud her judgement, but now the way ahead was clear. Sparrow. Ronnie. Molly. Maggie May. Joannie. All the kids in that underground library needed someone on their side.
“No more behaving as others expect me to or living in the past either,” she vowed. “This is my life and I need to be back in my library.”
“With or without Billy?” Ruby asked.
“With or without. I love Billy and he says he loves me too, but whatever is going on with him can’t define me any longer.”
Sparrow’s harrowing experiences, Tubby’s death, the Jersey girls’ upheaval from the island they loved… she couldn’t shield the children from this war, but she could make it more bearable.
“Those kids deserve more. I’ve got to get them back in the library.”
“That’s my girl,” said Ruby, playfully punching her on the arm. “It’s good to have you back! What about Pinkerton-Smythe, heh? Or should I say, Gerald! I always knew he was an absolute toe rag!” Ruby cocked her little finger. “Miss Munroe here is nothing but a cheap painted tart!”
Clara was still laughing at her uncannily accurate impression of Pinkerton-Smythe as they pushed open the doors to the rest centre.
“The clothes!” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering she’d left them in Pinkerton-Smythe’s flat. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Chumbley, but we forgot them.”
“Never mind that,” she said, her tone grim. “There’s news. You’d better sit down.”
Clara knew before she’d even opened her mouth it concerned Beatty and Marie.
“Apparently, they’ve found a Union Jack scarf in the rubble. Someone remembered a girl wearing one similar in the underground library. Can you think who that might be?”
“Beatty!” Clara murmured. “It’s Beatty’s, I know it is.”
“It could belong to anyone though,” Mrs. Chumbley reasoned.
“But they’re looking, yes?”
“Of course they are,” said Mrs. Chumbley. “But it’s been three days now…” She left the sentence hanging in the air.
“All the more reason why they can’t waste any more time.”
“Look after this, Mrs. Chumbley,” Clara said. She thrust Forever Amber at her and ran out of the rest centre. Dimly she could hear Ruby calling after her but she didn’t stop running until she reached the buildings.
The police were in the process of sealing off the site and every single man and woman who had toiled there for the past three days looked sick and shattered.
“Please, I need to see Billy Clark!” Clara cried, clutching the arm of a policeman.
He hesitated.
“Miss, they’re winding down the rescue effort. They don’t believe there’s much chance of finding anyone still alive.”
“I don’t care! Get Billy Clark if you can, he’s station chief at Station 98.”
“Very well. Wait there.”
Ruby caught up with her. Breath heaving, she bent over, hands on her knees.
“Cla, please don’t get your hopes up,” she begged, but Clara wasn’t listening, for she had spotted Billy walking towards the cordon.
“Clara,” he gasped, “what’s wrong?”
He was wearing protective gear, a thick rubber all-in-one, with his face covered in a ghostly veil of dust, and they barely recognised him.
“B-Billy, please hear me out. I know you’ve found Beatty’s scarf.”
“We’re not sure who it belongs to yet, Clara. The dogs are trying to pick up a scent. Please go and wait at Deal Street and we’ll update you with news…”
“But…”
“No arguments.”
“Let’s do as Billy says, shall we?” Ruby said, gently leading Clara back to the rest centre.
The atmosphere at Deal Street was tense as they waited.
“Clara, please try to calm down. Sit and have a cup of tea,” Mrs. Chumbley begged, but Clara ignored her, just pacing up and down the room, biting at a flap of skin by her thumb. Her vow earlier never to give up on the library kids felt even more poignant in light of this. Were Beatty and Marie trapped in an underground tomb, frightened and alone, injured or worse?
As she looked around the rest centre, she realised she wasn’t the only one waiting in dread. East Enders had lost so much in this war, but none as much as their Jewish friends. With the news emerging from parts of liberated Europe of giant death camps containing the emaciated bodies of men, women and children, of walking skeletons, the horrors were just stacking up.
The death toll at Hughes Mansions was now running at 134 lives lost, 120 of whom were Jewish. This rocket was Hitler’s last roll of the dice, and it had fired right into the heart of an already grieving community.
An hour or more passed before word came back that, out of all the dogs, it had been Beauty who had detected a scent. Clara was out of the door like a whirlwind, Ruby close behind.
Beauty was scrabbling like crazy at a patch of rubble in the furthest corner of the bombsite and the tail end of the rocket was lodged ominously nearby. Pieces of timber were propping up what looked like a dangerously precarious piece of rubble, with the slenderest of openings just visible beneath. The arc lamp had been positioned over the hole.
“Billy! What’s happening?” Clara cried over the cordon, and he came over.
“We think we’ve heard something. The building caretaker thinks it’s the site of the door to the basement.”
“Exactly the sort of place you could hide away in!” Clara exclaimed.
“Please don’t get your hopes up.”
“But you are going to try?”
“Of course. Where there’s hope, we will always try.”
Clara looked at the tiny opening that plunged down into a dense pile of shattered brick and concrete and felt the skin on her back shrink. It looked like a trapdoor to hell.
“Who’s going down?” she asked, feeling short of breath.
She knew the answer before Billy had even replied.
“Oh no, Billy, no,” Clara said tremulously. “Why does it have to be you?”
“It’s a simple case of physiology. I’m the skinniest.”
Clara looked at the other burly heavy rescue men and couldn’t argue with that.
“Besides,” he said, “I volunteered. If they are down there, they’ll be dangerously dehydrated and terrified. I know them, so I’ll have a better chance of coaxing them out.”
