by Rhys Bowen
The boy sat. “What are your names, please?” he asked.
“I’m Jack and this is Maggie.”
Peter looked worried. “I’m supposed to call grown-ups by their last name.”
“Well, we’ll forget about that for tonight. We’ll be instant friends, all right?”
“I’m not sure. What are you doing in our house if you aren’t burglars?”
“We got bombed out, love,” Maggie said, squatting beside them by the fire. “Our house burned. We had to get away, and we saw the front door open here and it looked like nobody was home, so we thought we’d shelter for the night.”
“I’m awfully sorry about your house,” Peter said.
Maggie looked at him. Such a solemn child, incredibly polite after his ordeal. How he must have worried about his missing mother. And being alone in this great big house in the dark. She wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right and she’d take care of him from now on.
“What was your mummy thinking, coming up here with no servants or anything?”
“I don’t know.” He frowned, trying to process this. “I expect she thought Christmas in the country wasn’t very jolly for me. We were staying with this lady, you see. Mrs Bradshaw. And she had all sorts of rules, and I had to be very quiet and not make a mess. Mummy took me there to start with because she wanted to keep me safe, and there weren’t enough servants left to run the house, so she sent the rest away, even Nanny.” He paused again, thinking. “I didn’t want Nanny to go. She was the one who took care of me, you see. Mummy said she could do it, but she couldn’t. Not properly. And Mrs Bradshaw was hopeless.”
“Where is your daddy?” Maggie asked. “Off fighting somewhere?”
Peter nodded. “He was in Egypt but we haven’t heard from him for a long, long time. Mummy thinks he might be dead. I heard her telling someone that.”
“Do you have any relatives living nearby that we can take you to—until we find your mummy, that is?” Maggie asked.
He shook his head. “Mummy and Daddy were both born in India, and my grandparents were dead before I was born.”
“You must know somebody,” Jack insisted. “Friends of the family?”
Peter frowned again. “Mummy had lots of friends. She went out a lot, but they weren’t my friends, only grown-ups, and I had to stay in the nursery. I had Nanny. The only person I know now is Uncle Arthur.”
“Your uncle? Where is he?”
“He’s not my real uncle,” Peter said scornfully. “Mummy said I was to call him that. He’s Mummy’s friend. I don’t like him very much. He pretends to make a fuss of me, but he doesn’t really like me, either. I can tell.” His face brightened up. “I say—are those sausages ready, do you think?”
Jack put a couple on a plate for him and he wolfed them down. They sat in companionable silence, following the sausages with mince pies and then crystallized fruit.
“What a feast, eh?” Jack said, giving Peter’s head a friendly rub. “Not a bad Christmas Eve after all.”
“Is it really Christmas Eve? I’d forgotten,” Peter said. “I sort of got the days mixed up. Do you think Father Christmas will come?”
Jack shot Maggie a worried look. “I’m not sure about that, love,” she said. “He might not realize that you’ve left the country.”
“I suppose it’s hard for him, with the aeroplanes and the bombing,” Jack said.
Peter nodded, staring into the glowing embers of the fire.
“This Uncle Arthur,” Jack said. “Do you know where he lives?”
“In a big house, near Mrs Bradshaw. I haven’t seen it, but Mummy said it’s very nice. He’s very rich. He drives a Lagonda! But I’m not sure now. Mummy and Uncle Arthur had a big row and she was really angry. I think that’s why she decided to come back to London.”
“And where do you think your nanny is?”
“She went back to Scotland, I think. She was really sad to go.”
“I bet you were really sad, too,” Maggie said.
He nodded. “I am. She used to sing to me before I went to sleep. She was awfully nice. She never got cross. Mummy doesn’t know any of the proper songs to sing, and most nights she goes out and leaves Mrs Bradshaw to look after me. And Mrs Bradshaw is absolutely awful at singing. She sounds like an old toad.”
Maggie put a tentative arm around him. “Don’t you worry, love. We’ll find your mum and make everything all right for you. And we won’t leave you alone, I promise.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m really glad you came, even if you were burglars.”
Maggie looked at him fondly. “I think it’s time you went to bed, don’t you? I don’t expect you’ve been able to sleep, worrying about your mum.”
“And about burglars,” Peter said. “I think there were burglars earlier tonight. I heard people downstairs, and a voice said, ‘That’s all right. There’s nobody here.’ So I hid and then they’d gone.”
“Oh, you poor little love. I expect they were just ARP wardens checking on the house. Maybe they saw the front door open. Come on. I’ll take you up to bed. I might even know one of the songs you like.” Maggie took his hand and they went up the stairs together, across the first landing and then up a second flight.
Peter’s room was very different from the grandeur of the rest of the house. A simple small bed, a shelf of stuffed toys and books. It was also icily cold up there.
“Will you be warm enough?” Maggie asked.
“My eiderdown is really warm,” Peter said. “Nanny used to put a hot-water bottle in my bed so it was always nice and warm. And there’s a fireplace in the day nursery next door. But I’m not allowed to touch matches, so I couldn’t light it.”
He climbed into bed with the stuffed dog beside him. Maggie pulled up the covers. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Bowo. I’ve had him since I was a baby.”
“And what song are we going to sing?”
“Do you know ‘You Are My Sunshine’?”
“Of course,” she said and sang it in a soft voice. She watched his eyelids flutter shut, his face so young and innocent, feeling a great rush of love for him. When he was asleep she tiptoed out. On the first landing she met Jack.
“Just having a look around for where we can sleep,” he said. “Here, come and have a look.”
He led her into a bedroom dominated by a four-poster bed and a giant mahogany wardrobe. “Take a look at these,” he said, opening the wardrobe door.
“Jack, you’ve no right to go snooping,” Maggie scolded.
“I’m not doing no harm. But look—three fur coats. Three! And look at these ball gowns. That blue one would suit you a treat, Maggie.”
“It’s lovely.” For a second she fingered the delicate silk. “But it’s no use showing me what I’ll never have.”
“I don’t reckon she’d miss one or two, do you?” Jack grinned, giving her a nudge.
“Jack, don’t even say that in fun. And I’m not sleeping up here, either. I’ll do fine in one of them chairs by the fire.”
“Hang on a minute.” Jack reached into the wardrobe and gave a little shout of joy. “Look what I’ve found.”
“Jack, you shouldn’t be touching things!”
“No, look,” he said, bending to drag out two packages. “I bet these are the presents for the little nipper. Yes, there you are. They’ve got his name on them. Why don’t you creep up and put them by his bed. At least he’ll have one good surprise when he wakes up in the morning.”
Maggie took the nicely wrapped packages from him. “Do you think his mum is dead? Or in hospital somewhere?”
“Either that or she’s done a bunk.”
“Keep your voice down, just in case he hears us.” Maggie put a finger to her lips. “Left Peter alone, you mean?”
“Yeah. Run off with that Uncle Arthur. It’s quite clear she didn’t care much for the boy, isn’t it?”
“I can’t believe that, Jack. What mother would walk out on he
r son?”
“Plenty do. Perhaps she just went off dancing or to spend the night with this bloke and something happened—the car broke down.”
“But if a car broke down, wouldn’t she find a telephone and let someone know her child was all alone? No, Jack. I reckon she was caught by a bomb.”
She paused, gazing up the dark stairway to Peter’s room on the floor above. “Poor little mite. What on earth will become of him?”
“Let’s not worry about that tonight,” Jack said. “Go on. Take them presents up to him and then come on back by the fire. It’s time we got some kip, too.”
When Maggie returned to the sitting room, she found Jack standing by one of the side tables, holding a silver candlestick.
“A lot of good stuff in this house, ain’t there, Maggie? Must be worth a fortune. And you know what I’m thinking . . . If this little nipper’s mum and dad really are dead, then he inherits the lot. He won’t know all the stuff that’s in the house. And what’s the betting a few people help themselves along the way and young Peter’s none the wiser?”
“What are you saying, Jack?” Maggie was frowning now.
“I’m saying that nobody’s going to miss the odd bit of silver. It means nothing to them, but to us . . . Well, it could help us get started again, couldn’t it? Find a decent place to rent, get you some new clothes.”
“Jack Harris, I’m ashamed of you!” Maggie confronted him, glaring into his face. “There’s a poor little chap upstairs who may have lost his mum and his dad, and you’re talking about how you can steal from him?”
Jack gave a nervous grin. “Just toying with the idea, Maggie. Not really serious, like.”
“You promised me when you married me that there would be no funny business from now on. You promised.”
He reached out to touch her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “How can you even have let that thought cross your mind?”
He gave an embarrassed grin. “Just thinking that it doesn’t seem right that some people have so much they don’t know what to do with it and others, like us, have nothing at all. That’s not right, is it? Not fair.”
“You yourself said that life isn’t fair, Jack. That bomb on our street could have been a direct hit on us. We could both be dead now. And yet we were spared. And we found this place to spend the night. And we’re making one boy’s Christmas a little bit happier. So we’ve already had our share of good luck, I reckon. A sort of Christmas blessing.”
Jack put the candlestick back on the side table. “I suppose you’re right. But it makes you think, don’t it?”
“I’m going to try to get some sleep now,” Maggie said. “And don’t you dare touch anything while I can’t see you.”
Jack gave her a sheepish grin. “You can be quite a tartar when you put your mind to it, Maggie. A proper little Hitler.”
“And don’t you ever compare me to that monster. I only hope one of our boys dropped a bomb on him tonight. That would be my Christmas wish.” She sat in one of the big armchairs and curled up like a cat. “And don’t forget to make up the fire before you go to sleep.”
Jack came over to her and bent to give her a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well, love, and don’t worry. It will all work out all right.”
Maggie lay her head against the upholstered arm of the chair, then she raised it again and stared into the fire, thinking, before she said, “Jack, if we do find out that Peter’s mum has been killed, what do you think will become of him? If they can’t find a relative or guardian, I mean. I was just thinking . . . I could take him down to my sister’s place. He’d love it down there, on the farm, with the animals. And I’d take good care of him . . . just until something could be settled properly for him, of course.”
Jack gave her a knowing look. “Now who’s wanting to take something that isn’t theirs?”
“It’s not the same at all, Jack Harris. I just want to do the best for the boy. He’s lonely. He needs love, and I have the feeling that the Good Lord might have sent us to this house for that very reason.”
“He can’t replace the child you lost, Maggie,” Jack said softly.
“I know that. But just for now. Just until things get sorted out.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Likely as not, his mum will show up with a good reason why she was detained, and will probably be mad at us for eating her hamper. Now go to sleep.”
“All right.” Maggie lay her head down again. She tried not to think, but she could picture it so clearly—she and Peter, running across the fields, playing with dogs, feeding the chickens, and he growing strong and healthy. It was like a Christmas miracle.
Chapter 3
The first streaks of a red dawn were showing in the eastern sky when Maggie felt herself shaken awake. She sat up, heart pounding, with no idea where she was.
“What? What is it?” She looked around the unfamiliar room and then focused on the small figure standing in front of her. He was still wearing the striped pyjamas but now with a dressing gown over them.
“He came, Maggie.” The child’s face was alight with excitement. “Father Christmas. He did know I’d moved back here, and he came. Look. Presents. He brought me presents.” He held out a clockwork bus in one hand and a box of toy soldiers in the other. “New soldiers for my fort. Isn’t he clever? He knew I’d lost most of the old ones at Mrs Bradshaw’s.”
Jack was now sitting up on the sofa. “Good for you, boy,” he said.
“I expect there will be more presents when Mummy comes back, don’t you?” Peter asked. “She likes buying me things.”
Jack got to his feet, stretching. “I’ll get the fire going again and find a kettle to make us a cup of tea. I reckon it will be more of those mince pies for breakfast. And some of that smoked salmon. Not a bad start to Christmas Day.”
Maggie went across and pulled back the curtains and then the blackout blinds. The morning was bright and crisp, with a layer of frost over the world outside. “Lucky we didn’t try to spend the night in that park,” she called after him. “We’d have been stiff as boards by now.”
She stood staring at the empty street, listening. No bells. On Christmas Day there would always be bells ringing from all the churches—a great cacophony of sound to herald the day. And now silence. Bells were only to be rung to warn of an invasion. She had just let the net curtain fall and turned to Peter, who was winding up his clockwork bus, when Jack came back into the room.
“Couldn’t you find the kettle?” she asked. Then she looked at his ashen face. “What’s wrong?”
“Come and see,” he said.
Maggie followed him along the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen. He had removed the blackout blinds, and daylight streamed in. “Look. That’s why this street was cordoned off,” he said.
An unexploded bomb stuck out from the small square of lawn outside the back window, its fins glinting in the first rays of the sun.
“Bloody hell,” Maggie said, not even noticing that she was swearing. “We need to get out of here right now, Jack.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a huge rush,” Jack said, without too much conviction. “We could probably have that cup of tea first.”
“Cup of tea? Are you out of your mind? It could go off any minute, Jack.”
“It hasn’t so far. Sometimes they’re duds.”
“And sometimes the least little noise can set them off. Come on. Let’s get Peter and go.” She took his arm and began to drag him out of the kitchen. “Now we’ve got no choice, Jack. We’ll definitely take him down to my sister. At least he’ll be safe there.”
“We need to find out about his mother first,” Jack said, following her up the stairs. “We need to tell someone what’s happened.”
“What? And have them shove him into some sort of orphanage or care home? No, I’m not having it, Jack. He’s been put into my life for a reason. We’ll take him down to the country and let the authorities know where they can find him if his mother turns up. No
w for God’s sake, let’s get him dressed and out of here.” She ran up the last few steps.
Peter had removed the cellophane from his box of soldiers and had lined them up on the carpet. He looked up when Maggie came into the room. “I’m using my bus to transport the troops to the front,” he said.
“Peter, love, we need to go out first,” Maggie said, trying to sound calm. “I want you to go up and get your clothes on, as quick as you can.”
“Right now? Are we going to church? We usually have to go to church on Christmas morning before I’m allowed to play with my new toys.”
“We may go to church later, but right now we just need to leave the house, as quickly as we can.”
“Why?” Peter looked up, a worried frown on his face.
Jack had come in behind her. He didn’t bother to mince words. “There’s a bomb in your back garden, Peter. It hasn’t gone off yet, but it might any moment. So we need to get away, until they can defuse it. All right?”
“Golly,” Peter said. “Can I see it?”
“Yes, go and look out of your dining room window. Only then you need to hurry. Maggie will help you get dressed.”
Maggie followed the boy as he ran into the dining room.
“Crikey!” he exclaimed, staring down at the explosive. “I had no idea they were so big.” He turned back to Maggie. “You know, I felt something the night when Mummy didn’t come home. There was a sort of noise like a whoosh and a thump, and the house shook. But then it was all quiet again. And later that’s when I heard the voices and I thought they were burglars.”
“I bet they were ARP wardens checking the house to see if anyone was living here,” Maggie said. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”
“Shouldn’t I have my bath first?” Peter asked.
“Peter, the whole house could blow up.” Maggie’s voice was no longer calm. She took him up to his room, where she helped him out of his nightclothes and into a pair of shorts, a shirt, a pullover and shoes.
“Do you have an overcoat, cap and scarf?” she asked. “It’s really cold out there.” She looked around for a bag to pack his nightclothes in but couldn’t find one. When they’ve defused it, we can come back, she thought. She bent to tie his laces.
