The Turnkey

by Allison Rushby

  “Was that your house, Grace?” Flossie sat her gently down upon the road and crouched beside her.

  After some time, Grace nodded.

  “Were you in the Anderson shelter when the bomb hit?” Flossie knew that many of the families in this street would have had Anderson shelters in their tiny back gardens, care of the government. Strong corrugated iron structures with an arched roof, they were dug into the ground and the disturbed soil then piled on top. They were extremely sturdy, but could not survive a direct hit.

  Grace gave no answer, though gestured to Flossie’s pocket. Flossie reached inside and pulled out the notebook and pencil.

  “You keep it,” she told Grace as she passed it over again. “So, were you in the shelter?” she asked, her voice quieter this time. She didn’t want to push, but she needed to find out what was going on.

  Mother.

  Grace wrote. Flossie could see writing the single word was a painful exercise in itself.

  “Your mother was in the shelter?”

  Grace’s eyes, fearful, met Flossie’s.

  “And your father?”

  In Egypt.

  Flossie bit her lip. If her heart could have clenched, it would have. Grace’s father was fighting in Egypt and her mother was most likely gone. Flossie opened her mouth to say something about her own father having been in the Navy, then closed it again. That was a story that didn’t end well. She remembered something else. “And your sister?”

  Grace’s fingers trembled as she wrote.

  She forgot her glasses.

  We went to fetch them.

  A group of men started down the road, approaching them. Flossie stood and offered Grace her hand. Flossie saw that the group was a mix of Civil Defence workers, a civilian and a man whose helmet read PDSA animal rescue – the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals. Beside him trotted a sweet little wire-haired fox terrier. They all stopped when they came to what was left of Grace’s house. Flossie noted that Grace’s expression perked up when she saw the civilian – a young man.

  “You know him?” Flossie asked her.

  Grace scribbled away.

  Yes.

  “Definitely this one, you say?” one of the Civil Defence workers asked the young man.

  “Yes. Two girls. Not just the one,” he said. “Grace, her name is.”

  One of the Civil Defence workers spoke to the man from the PDSA. “We pulled one girl of around fourteen or so from the rubble – think her name was Ruth. But why weren’t they in the shelter? That’s where we found their mother, God rest her soul.”

  Flossie squeezed Grace’s hand as the confirmation that Grace’s mother was gone hit her like a second blast. And was it her imagination, or did Grace fade away even further? Flossie willed her new friend to hold on, all the while thinking how unfair this war was. Homes weren’t safe, backyard shelters weren’t safe, even the Underground shelters weren’t safe. Only weeks ago a water main had burst at Balham tube station and killed almost seventy people. Nothing was safe or sure any more. Every time Flossie thought about the situation and found herself becoming angry, she then remembered it was the same for everyone caught up in the fighting – British, German, Italian, Polish, French. The list of countries went on and on. For every girl like Grace, there was a German Liesl, an Italian Carina, a Polish Zofia, a French Camille. And that made it worse. No one was right. There were only vast acres of wrong, spanning countries and continents. There was nothing to be angry about. Only things to be saddened by.

  A short bark caught Flossie’s attention and she saw that the little dog had honed in on something in the rubble. He stood on a pile of wood, his ears and nose twitching with excitement. A few sniffs and he began scratching furiously at the rubble beneath him.

  “Seems Jack here thinks you’re right, young man,” the PDSA man said as he picked his way through the rubble.

  The other men followed him and soon bricks and bits of banister were being passed from one of them to the other as they searched for Grace.

  It wasn’t long before the PDSA man called out.

  “Here, Jack’s found something!”

  The men began scrabbling faster, bricks flying here and there.

  And then Flossie saw it. The arm. She grabbed Grace and faced her in the opposite direction, not wanting her to see her body this way.

  “Is she …” the young man said.

  Flossie held her non-existent breath, her hand clenched tight around her iron ring and her arms keeping Grace in place.

  There was a terribly long silence. Then the dog barked a different sort of bark.

  “That means she’s alive!” someone called out. And that’s when all the voices started up at the same time.

  “Come on, let’s get her out of there.”

  “Careful now, we’d better move some more bricks.”

  “I’ll fetch the ambulance.”

  “That’s it. Watch her leg. She’s got a nasty cut.”

  Flossie kept Grace faced away from the scene until the ambulance doors closed behind her body.

  The young man followed the ambulance driver around to his door. “Where will they take her? I’d better tell her …” He paused here, obviously remembering her mother was gone. “Her aunt. She’s got an aunt who lives nearby, I think. And a young cousin.”

  “We’re taking them all over to Lambeth Hospital. The other hospitals are full up. It’s where her sister went as well, in case anyone needs to know.”

  Chapter 10

  In which Flossie and Grace search for Ruth

  In the corridors of Lambeth Hospital, Flossie and Grace tried to make sense of what was going on around them. Gurneys were pushed up against the walls as doctors and nurses raced between patients, assessing their injuries. Horrible groans rose from some as they were pressed and prodded. Worse still – some didn’t groan at all and were covered with sheets.

  Flossie had no idea what to say. What to do. How to help Grace. Just as she’d done at the Invalid Cemetery, she wondered why she’d been entrusted with the role of Turnkey instead of being left at rest.

  Flossie didn’t spend long ruminating on this, however, because Grace left their place beside her gurney and bolted down to the end of the corridor, her gas mask box bumping against her hip as she ran. Flossie spotted what she’d seen as she followed close behind her – a pair of glasses balanced precariously on top of a white sheet that a doctor had picked up and was now passing to a nurse. He read the paper tag that was attached to Ruth, dusty, pale and unconscious on the gurney. “This one next. It could be her spleen.”

  Grace bent down close beside her sister’s face and, as she stared at her unresponsive sibling, she again seemed to fade away just that little bit more.

  “You’ve got to be strong for her,” Flossie told Grace. “Someone needs to believe she’ll be all right.”

  It wasn’t long before a shout from the swinging doors further up the corridor saw the nurse from before arrive back at Ruth’s gurney. Grace gave her sister one last longing look before she was whisked away, taken to theatre.

  Flossie needed to get moving. She had to find out more about the German officer. But just as the gurney had disappeared from sight, something happened to Grace. Her face creased with pain and she doubled over. Flossie glanced back down the corridor once more to see that Grace’s body in the living world was being assessed. Flossie helped Grace to her gurney to see what was going on.

  “She’s broken at least two ribs and there could be some internal bleeding,” a different doctor said to a nurse who wrote on Grace’s cardboard tag. “I want her blood pressure checked again in the next half-hour, but she can wait.” He moved off, leaving the nurse to scribble some notes.

  “This could take a while,” Flossie told Grace. She couldn’t drag Grace away from here – not while her sister was in surgery. But somehow she also needed to return to Tower Hamlets. She had to find out if William had discovered anything else about the German officer. As much as she didn’t wan
t to, she would have to leave Grace.

  “Grace,” she reached out and touched her on the arm, “I need to go and check on something. Do you think you’ll be all right until I return? I won’t be long.”

  It took Grace some time to let Flossie know she had registered her words.

  “Good. I’ll be right back, I promise you.”

  A flicker of her eyelids and Flossie was at the gates of Tower Hamlets once again. Time had moved on and it was morning now, with people walking around the streets, checking on the damage, on loved ones, on friends. The East End was waking up.

  “Ada!” Flossie rattled the gates, her key clattering against the iron railings as she did so.

  Ada appeared at once, her angelic Advisor filling the sky behind her. Before Ada could speak, Flossie’s words tumbled forth.

  “Don’t worry about letting me in – I don’t have much time,” she said. “I have Grace and her sister at Lambeth Hospital, but I wanted to check if you have any news for me.”

  “I do,” Ada said. “Your German officer has been spotted again. This time in Whitehall.”

  Flossie bit her lip. In Whitehall, where all the country’s important government departments and ministries were situated! This time she didn’t pause to think about what he might be up to. Now it was time to act. “I need to take someone back with me. To stay with Grace.”

  “It was the Turnkey of Brompton who brought the news, along with a few other men. The men are still here, and so is William, though the Turnkey of Brompton had to leave in order to see to his other men. I’ll bring the men to us.”

  William and three other of the Chelsea Pensioners appeared before them.

  “I’ve got another mission for you, if you don’t mind,” Flossie said. “But I’ll need someone else as well.” She turned to the other three men. “Did any of you have daughters when you were alive? Granddaughters?”

  “I had three daughters, Miss. And five granddaughters!” a man with a fine silver moustache and unruly eyebrows said proudly.

  “Well, I have a special task for you.” Her eyes moved to the man questioningly as Ada opened the gates, ready for their departure. “William and …”

  “Michael, Miss. The name’s Michael Woodman,” he said as he was ushered outside, along with William and Flossie.

  “Hopefully you’ll know just what to say to a small girl who’s very lost.”

  Ada relocked the gates behind them, her expression worried. “Be careful!” she warned Flossie. “I’ll let the Turnkey of Brompton know where you are so he can stop by.”

  “Thanks! I’ll be back to check in with you soon.”

  With a last wave in Ada’s direction, Flossie took both William and Michael’s hands and closed her eyes.

  “Grace?” she called out on opening them once more, back in the corridor at Lambeth Hospital. Flossie saw that Grace’s gurney hadn’t moved an inch, but no twilight Grace was in sight. Dropping the two men’s hands, she took a few quick steps down the corridor. And if she could have breathed a sigh of relief, she would have. There was Grace, sitting upon the floor, her back against the wall. “You scared me!” Flossie crouched down before her. “Do you think you could come and meet someone for me?

  “This is Mr Woodman, Grace.” Flossie introduced her to the kindly Chelsea Pensioner.

  “Michael, please,” he interjected. “Mr Woodman feels wrong in the afterlife, somehow.”

  Flossie knew exactly what he meant. Things were more informal in the afterlife for some reason. There was more equality. Young and old, rich and poor – all were on the same footing in the twilight.

  “Michael will stay with you, Grace,” she continued. She filled Michael in on the fact that they were waiting for Ruth to return from surgery and that Grace was being monitored.

  Grace’s worried eyes moved to Flossie’s as she spoke. “Don’t you worry; I’ll be back soon,” Flossie told her when she was done. “Do you have your notebook and pencil?”

  Grace held up the notebook.

  Michael took the lead. “Come on, love. I’ll tell you all about the time I met the King. He’s a decent fellow and he and Churchill are going to get us out of this mess, you know …”

  William offered Flossie his arm. Together, they walked to the end of the corridor, where her face adopted a worried frown.

  “Tell me exactly what’s going on.”

  Chapter 11

  In which Flossie goes underground

  William leaned against the wall as a nurse walked by. “The thing is, we’ve been following the top brass around. Top secret, it is, but the Cabinet War Rooms are beneath the Government Offices on Great George Street. That’s where they control the whole war from, you know. The Prime Minister’s there for most of the day.”

  Flossie covered her mouth with her keyed hand, shocked. “And that’s where the German officer was seen?”

  “Heading for the War Rooms, yes. Seemed like he knew where he was going too.”

  “Which means he’s known where they are for–”

  “We don’t know how long, Miss, but longer than we have. Worse still, the men got a good look at him – at his uniform and his medals.” He paused to whistle. “That one would have had the ear of Hitler, that’s for sure.”

  It was as Flossie had feared, but had been too scared even to give thought to. To put a name to. Because she wasn’t sure how it could be possible. Or what it might truly mean.

  The German officer was a spy.

  “You just missed our Turnkey. The thing is, the men and I were talking to him. The German officer can’t still get information to him, can he, Miss? Hitler, I mean. We asked our Turnkey and he said no. We wanted to ask you as well.”

  “I don’t think he’d be able to,” Flossie said. But she was beginning to become very afraid that she might be wrong about that. What if he’d found a way? A way to bridge the gap between the living and twilight worlds. It wasn’t meant to be possible – every person in the twilight world knew that. There was no way for them to communicate with the living and no way for the living to communicate with them. Flossie remembered something. “And the word that the girl mentioned? The Ahnenerbe?”

  “One of the men, Leo, had a German grandmother so he speaks a bit of German and he said the word means a legacy. You know, something inherited from the people who came before you.”

  Flossie considered this. “That doesn’t make sense. The girl told me he was ‘part of the Ahnenerbe’. As if it was some sort of a group.”

  “We’ll keep asking around. Right now it might be best to return to the War Rooms. See what’s going on there.”

  Flossie held out her keyed hand towards William. “You’re right. Just tell me where to go.”

  * * *

  William directed Flossie to take them to the corner of Horse Guards Road, Great George Street and Birdcage Walk. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a large wall of sandbags directly in front of them.

  “Get down!” Someone tugged on her dress and both she and William were unceremoniously pulled to the ground. They landed cross-legged, their backs against the sandbags.

  “Sorry, Miss,” a Chelsea Pensioner she hadn’t met before said, “we don’t want him to see us. He was close by not long ago, lurking about Number 10. We think the Prime Minister’s on the move.”

  Flossie slumped against the sandbags. Things were only getting worse. Now he was at the Prime Minister’s official residence at 10 Downing Street!

  Another Chelsea Pensioner flew around the corner of the long wall of sandbags and rushed over to them, his coat flapping. “The German officer’s down there now. In the War Rooms. They’re all there – Churchill and all. There’ll be a meeting soon, I’d say. But there’s more. That thing he’s got? It’s not a crystal ball. It’s some kind of a skull.”

  “A skull?” William and Flossie said at the same time.

  “Not only that, he’s talking to it. Arguing with it in German. The man’s stark raving mad! Leo’s down ther
e listening in, translating what he can. And believe you me, you’re not going to like what he’s overheard.”

  * * *

  Flossie and the men walked past the sandbags and barbed wire and down to the entrance to the bunker. Two Royal Marines stood to attention, guarding the open entrance – a wooden door. The men had helmets on their heads and rifles by their sides.

  Taking the lead, Flossie slipped past the Marines and through the open doorway. They proceeded until another Chelsea Pensioner came into sight. He had been peering into a different corridor and now he beckoned them towards him, at the same time holding a finger to his lips, warning them to be quiet.

  Obviously the German officer was close by.

  The foursome continued along soundlessly. When they reached the other Chelsea Pensioner, the men shuffled Flossie forwards so she was at the front of the group. William followed her.

  Flossie took a peek herself. A long corridor presented itself. It was rather like a rabbit warren down here – doors leading off either side of the passageway. Some of the doors were open and she could see that the rooms inside were tiny and almost cell-like. A woman in a plain blue dress, a knitted cardigan and immaculate red lipstick passed by in a hurry.

  One of the men tapped Flossie on the shoulder and pointed around the corner to the left.

  “Down there,” he whispered to William and Flossie. “He’s in that room. Leo’s in the opposite room across the hall, listening in.”

  “We’ll go down there,” William said.

  Flossie followed him, gripping onto her key so it wouldn’t clank on its iron ring and alert the German officer to her presence. Just as the Chelsea Pensioner had said, there was already a man in the small room – Leo.

  William and Flossie crowded in beside him.

  “What’s going on?” William whispered.

  “He seems to have quietened down,” Leo said, his voice low. “But he was ranting and raving before, shouting at that skull of his. Strange thing, that. Doesn’t seem like it belongs in our world, does it? What do you think he’s doing with it? That doesn’t come standard issue with–”