by Molly Green
‘Well, we’re very grateful to you, Mrs Brown for the safekeeping of this box,’ June said crisply, taking out a file and closing the cabinet. ‘It will be perfectly safe here at Bingham Hall and I will report it to Dr Barnardo’s headquarters that you kindly brought it in. I’m sure they will write to thank you.’
‘So that’s all, is it?’ Mrs Brown said in a cross tone, snatching off her glasses and putting them in her handbag. She snapped it closed. ‘I’ve kept it under difficult circumstances and that’s all you have to say? Am I not to know the contents of them letters?’
‘They’re not for the general public, no,’ June said swiftly. ‘They’re private, and Herr Best is still alive, we presume. We will try to find him and return them to him. But in the meantime, will you just write your name and address down?’ She put a piece of paper and pencil in front of Mrs Brown, who looked at them dubiously.
‘Is anything the matter?’ Maxine asked.
Mrs Brown swung her head round, her face red with annoyance. ‘I never did no reading nor writing,’ she said. ‘If I had, you can be sure I’d have opened them letters.’
Maxine hid a smile. ‘Well, you’d need to be pretty good at German,’ she said, ‘because I can’t understand a word.’ She picked up the pencil and sheet of paper. ‘Just tell me your address, Mrs Brown, and then we have it if we need to contact you again.’
It was in one of the poorer parts of Liverpool, Maxine noted.
Mrs Brown sniffed the air like a dog. ‘Something smells nice coming from the kitchen,’ she said.
Oh, no, Maxine thought. She’s hinting she wants to stay for dinner.
‘Yes, Bertie is a very good cook,’ June said, rising to her feet. ‘I need to speak to her about something. Maxine, would you ring for Ellen to ask Harold if he’d take Mrs Brown home? We can’t send her off in this weather.’ She nodded towards her window where the rain was bucketing down and disappeared.
Maxine rang the bell and gave Ellen the message. Mrs Brown sat in silence, unnerving Maxine again. What was it about the woman that she found quite obnoxious? Was it the way her sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing? As though she were weighing up the place. It was more than mere interest, or even curiosity. Thankfully, June was back in a trice, holding a package wrapped in greaseproof paper.
‘For your trouble, Mrs Brown,’ June said, handing it to her. ‘It’s one of Cook’s best pies. And a slice of cake to go with it.’
‘That’s most thoughtful,’ Mrs Brown said, taking it from her and putting it in her basket. ‘But I think I deserve something more for me trouble.’ She gave June an unblinking stare.
‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ June said in a deliberately neutral tone, though Maxine was certain June knew exactly.
‘It’s very hard to manage these days,’ Mrs Brown said, ‘with the war on. And my Hilda not working here no more.’
Maxine gave a start. So that’s who she was. Hilda’s mother. And June was just as surprised, if she wasn’t very much mistaken.
‘Ah, Mrs Brown. I should have connected,’ June said quietly. ‘Of course Hilda came here long before I did so I knew very little about her. I’m afraid she stirred the children up by making an example out of an innocent child, just because he happened to be from Germany. And it wasn’t the first time. She was warned then but took no notice.’
‘He’s not even a Jew-boy,’ Mrs Brown said, her eyes glinting with hate. ‘My Hilda was right to speak up. When she told me his name – Peter Best – I had to keep me promise. But the boy is worse than a Jew, if anything. His father is a Nazi. I might not know me letters, but I know a swastika when I see one.’
Maxine gave a quick intake of breath. So Hilda had shown the photograph to her mother. June looked steadily across her desk.
‘As I said before – we don’t use that language. It’s what cost your daughter her job.’
Mrs Brown opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak there was a knock at the door.
‘Is the lady ready, Matron?’ Harold turned his hat over in his hands.
‘Yes, I believe she is,’ June said, nodding to Mrs Brown. ‘This is Harold, our chauffeur. He will take you to your door, but he needs to go now as he has several errands to do later. So we must take advantage of him.’ She hesitated, then put her hand out, but Mrs Brown ignored her and rose to follow Harold, who had been swept up in the children’s rush for dinner.
‘So Hilda gave Peter’s father’s photograph to her mother,’ June said, shaking her head when Mrs Brown had vanished.
‘Yes, and now she’s after money,’ Maxine said when she sat down again.
‘I know,’ June answered wearily. ‘And I think there’s a threat behind those innocent words – she’s obviously bitter about her daughter no longer working here.’ She paused, doodling with her pencil underneath Mrs Brown’s address. ‘I’ll have to have a word with Dr Barnardo’s. See how they want me to handle this.’ She looked up. ‘Do you have a clue as to what’s in those letters?’
‘I only know that “liebling” means “darling”.’ Maxine dropped her eyes to the letter again. ‘But it might hold clues as to where the boy’s father is and we could send word to him that his son is here.’ She looked up. ‘I think you told me headquarters haven’t had any reply to their letter telling him Peter is safe with us.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ June answered. ‘It’s a worry because it means we don’t even know if he’s aware that both his wife and his mother-in-law are dead … which means we’ll have to read a letter or two. It’s a real nuisance he’s written in German.’
Maxine didn’t mention that the only two people who would be able to translate the letters were Peter himself, which wouldn’t be at all appropriate, and Crofton.
As though June read her mind, she said, ‘Crofton? Would he, do you think?
‘I’m not sure,’ Maxine said, flushing at the mention of his name. ‘I haven’t seen him for several weeks …’ her voice trailed off.
June gave her a sharp look. ‘You don’t look as though you’re sleeping very well. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.’
‘I’m not,’ Maxine admitted.
‘It’s awfully hard for the men to keep in regular contact. I’m sure he’s fine.’
Maxine swallowed hard. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I think we’ll have to look at the last two letters or so, or else we’ll never know what the situation is. She must have wanted Peter to read the letters for himself one day when he was older, or why did she keep them, and hand them over to her mother?’
‘I expect she thought they’d be in safe hands,’ Maxine said soberly.
‘But reading a couple of letters will give us more of an insight than that brief report I had from headquarters,’ June persisted. ‘I really think we should ask Crofton if he would be kind enough to translate them. I can trust him not to let this go any further, and after all, he’s been there right from the beginning … when you and Peter bumped into him in Morrows.’ She threw Maxine a knowing smile.
Maxine sighed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to telephone him.’
The last thing she wanted was for Crofton to think she was making an excuse to see him again. Her cheeks warmed at the thought.
‘You don’t sound convinced,’ June said, her voice sounding concerned. ‘Would you prefer me to ask?’
‘It might be better coming from you,’ Maxine said. ‘More professional.’
‘You don’t want him to think you’re chasing him,’ June smiled sympathetically. It was strange how June was beginning to know her so well, Maxine thought. ‘He won’t,’ June added. ‘He’s not that type at all.’ She stared directly into Maxine’s eyes. ‘Are you sure you want me to ring him?’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ Maxine said.
‘Maxine!’ Crofton’s deep warm tones came over the crackling line. ‘You must have wondered where on earth I’ve been these last weeks.’ There was a pause. ‘This line’s none too clear. Can
you hear me?’
‘Yes.’ She felt miserable. He should have been the one to ring her and now he’d be trying desperately to think of some excuse as to why he hadn’t been in touch.
‘It’s wonderful to hear your voice. We’ve had a bit of a rough time of it lately.’
Dear God, what had happened to him? If only he was allowed to tell her where he was exactly – what he did – she’d feel closer to him somehow. She was thankful he couldn’t see her dismay.
‘Are you all right?’ She felt her voice shake.
‘Yes, don’t worry about me. I was going to ring you this evening. Plan our next outing.’
Her heart lifted. So he did want to see her again. Just because she’d not heard from him didn’t mean he was losing interest. He was fighting a war, for goodness’ sake. Of course he wasn’t always going to be able to keep in touch with her.
‘Are you still there, Maxine?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Did you need me for anything?’
‘Yes,’ Maxine said, resisting the impulse to tell him she needed him more than anything in the world. ‘We’ve come across some letters written by Peter’s father to his wife when she took the boy to England. They’re all in German. June wondered if you’d be kind enough to interpret them.’
‘Of course I would,’ Crofton said immediately. ‘How did you come by them?’
‘We’ll tell you when we see you,’ Maxine said. ‘Will you have some time soon?’
‘After what the boys have been through I’ve given most of them some time off,’ Crofton said, ‘but I could get away the day after tomorrow for an hour or two. Say, eleven o’clock. Would that do?’
‘It would do very well,’ Maxine said, her heart lifting. ‘I’ll have the kettle on.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Try as she might, Maxine could not stop her heart from fluttering out of control. Crofton would be here in a few more hours. She hopped out of bed and went over to the window. A fine sheet of ice clung to the pane on her side, but for once she didn’t feel cold. She couldn’t help smiling. Crofton had sounded pleased to hear from her, though she’d noticed his voice was tired.
She had a shock when she saw him waiting for her in the Great Hall. His face looked gaunt and he had bags under his eyes. He’d obviously not been sleeping much. Even his uniform hung a little loose. But he leapt to his feet and his beaming smile was the same. Just as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek, she saw Alan and Bobby out of the corner of her eye and quickly stepped back, but too late – they threw loud wolf whistles at her as they smirked their way to the dining room for elevenses.
‘Little monkeys,’ she said, trying to cover her embarrassment, but Crofton merely chuckled.
‘Shall we go to the library?’ he said.
‘It’s the most private,’ Maxine said. ‘Oh, June said to tell you she’s sorry but she’s had to go into town today and couldn’t lose the chance of a lift with Harold. But she sent her regards and hopes you’ll have success with the letters.’
‘I hope so, too.’ Crofton smiled. ‘Shall we get started?’
Ellen brought a tray of coffee as soon as they’d sat at the round table in the small room off the main library.
‘Don’t know how your cook gets hold of this real coffee,’ Crofton said, appreciatively licking his lips after the first gulp. ‘It’s a darned sight better than we get.’
‘She only brings it out on special occasions,’ Maxine admitted, then could have bitten her tongue out.
‘I’m glad she recognises this is one of those occasions,’ Crofton laughed, pressing her hand.
She quivered at the sudden tingle and managed an embarrassed smile.
‘This is a box Peter’s grandmother’s neighbour brought in the day before yesterday,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she opened the lid. ‘Besides some jewellery there was a bundle of letters and a few photographs.’
She laid out the photographs and Crofton picked them up, one by one, and studied them, as Maxine explained who the people probably were.
‘June thought if you could just translate the last couple of letters or so, we might get an idea of the situation – if Herr Best knew his wife was ill – anything, so that after the war we’ll know what to do with Peter.’ Crofton raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, that sounds awful,’ she added quickly, ‘but I know he desperately misses his father now he’s lost his mother and grandmother. It must be terrible for him, and if he could go back to Germany after it’s over and be with his father, that would be the best thing for him, I’m sure.’
‘When the war ends there will be a lot of questions the Nazis will have to answer,’ Crofton said grimly. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’re tried, and if found guilty, executed.’
Maxine shuddered. How could the child go through what might prove to be the worst horror of all?
‘Let’s don’t think of it for now,’ she said, handing him an envelope – not the one she’d glanced at already – but the second from the top of the pile. ‘Is your German good enough to translate it as you go along?’
‘Depends,’ Crofton said, taking out the sheet of paper. ‘Let me have a look.’ His eyes roved swiftly over the page and to the second sheet, much as Maxine had done, though without understanding a word of the letter she’d picked; she was sure Crofton wouldn’t have the same problem.
‘It’s dated 21st November 1941.’ He looked up and shook his head slowly. ‘That’s a year ago.’ He cleared his throat. ‘My darling Chrissie, I hope you are much improved from the last time you wrote, which seems a long time ago. I’m worried about that cough you mentioned. Try not to smoke too much. Also, of course, how is your mother? If only I could be with you I would take care of you both, mein Schatz.’ Crofton looked up. ‘That means “my treasure”.’ He grinned. ‘Seems Herr Best is not your typical cold-hearted Nazi. Anyway, he goes on, How is our son? I miss you both so much. Sometimes I find it difficult to get through the days. You know I cannot say what I am in the middle of, but be sure of one thing – you can both rest with a peaceful heart. You remember our special song, dearest …’ Crofton frowned. ‘Oh, yes, I see,’ he muttered. ‘This next bit’s in English.’
Maxine waited. So far it had all been words of love. Not what you’d expect from a Nazi, but the words of a husband or a lover – she went pink at the idea as she caught Crofton’s eye. She always felt he knew what she was thinking.
‘Sorry.’ Crofton sent Maxine an apologetic smile. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, the song.’ He bent his head again. ‘You remember our song, “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes”?’
What an odd song for a husband and wife to love, Maxine thought, frowning. As far as she knew, it was an old American folk song. It wasn’t a scrap romantic, in complete contrast to Herr Best’s lovey-dovey manner towards his wife in the rest of the letter.
Crofton looked up. ‘I don’t know what you make of it, Maxine, but I think there’s some kind of special meaning there.’ His lips moved silently as he formed the words of the song again. ‘I need to think some more about that.’
‘It does sound a strange thing to write in a love letter,’ Maxine said, then wished she could swallow back the words as she uttered the forbidden word.
Crofton didn’t appear to notice and instead turned to the next page. ‘He’s gone back into German now. You are always in my thoughts and dreams and heart, mein liebling … my darling …’ Crofton looked directly at her, and she wasn’t sure whether he was deliberately translating those last two words, or Carl had gone into English. She held her breath. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was as though an invisible thread bound them together. He, too, seemed reluctant to drop his eyes, but finally he bent his head and cleared his throat again. ‘… until I hold you safely in my arms once more and press you to me so our hearts beat as one, I will say goodnight. Give our dear child a kiss for me. Tell him I love him. You already know how I feel about you. But to remind you, I love
you with all my soul.’ Crofton’s voice held a slight tremor. ‘Be strong. Your Carl, followed by a row of kisses.’ He set the letter aside. ‘What’s your first thought, Maxine?’
Without hesitation, she said, ‘He doesn’t sound one bit like I would’ve expected.’
‘Well, even Hitler loves his dog,’ Crofton commented dryly. ‘But I agree, that’s my impression as well. And that song that’s supposed to be special for both of them – it’s not your usual wartime love song or anything you’d expect between a husband and wife who seem to adore one another.’
‘Unless it’s a private joke between them,’ Maxine offered.
‘Hmm. It’s possible, I suppose. But Germans don’t usually joke in that way. They’re not normally playful with words the way the British are.’
‘Maybe he’s caught his wife’s sense of humour,’ Maxine said.
‘I can’t see it myself.’ Crofton picked up the letter and studied it again. ‘“She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes”. I’m wondering …’ Maxine thought she might melt under his gaze. ‘Could it possibly be a coded message?’
Maxine’s eyes flew wide. ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean?’
‘We seem to be speaking in code ourselves,’ Maxine laughed nervously. ‘I mean, could it be something he’s about to do – something he’s planning, and that’s where the line, “She will be coming round the mountain” fits in, and he will let her know when he’s arrived … “when she comes”?’
‘It’s a bit far-fetched—’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Maxine interrupted, feeling a little foolish.
‘… but I think you’re right. You’d make a good code-breaker, you know.’ He gave her a look of approval, and Maxine felt her cheeks flush. ‘The Germans would never understand that one,’ he said. ‘And I’ll go even further … I’d even question whether he’s a Nazi!’
There was a stunned silence as they held one another’s gaze. Maxine broke it.
‘If that’s true, it would be the best piece of news possible for Peter.’