by C. G Oster
The drone of the planes could be heard when she and Ridley reached the bridge standing strong over the inky blackness of the Thames below them.
"They are coming up the river tonight," Dory said. "They do that quite often." From where she stood, she could see the searchlights shifting across the sky. "I think that's my one," she said, indicating a distant light. It was hard to tell from here as there were quite a few. Vera was doing her job that night.
The Bofors guns started firing and the glowing hot steel lit up patterns in the sky. The noise of the air raid started, but there was often a lag between seeing a bomb drop and hearing it. The trailing flares of the bombs, the glow of the fires and the whistle of falling missiles.
In all this, Ridley put his arm around her shoulder and she let him. None of this was safe, but she felt safe with him there, as if she didn't mind what happened as long as they were together.
"You are a very brave girl," he said.
"You get used to it."
"I hate seeing this happening to my city."
Drawing herself closer to him, she felt him along her body. They had never been this close. She could smell his cologne. His eyes sought hers in the darkness, then he leaned down and kissed her. Dory's eyes swam closed and for a moment, she forgot everything else.
Chapter 18
"DORY," VERA CALLED from outside her door. "It's time to go. Get up sleepyhead."
Sitting up abruptly, Dory tried to gather her senses. She and Ridley had walked and waited until dawn for the bus that would take her back to Poplar. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye, because she didn't know when she would see him again. Or worse, she didn't know if she would see him again, but she had to get home and back to her duties.
With a staggering step, she got out of bed, feeling a little groggy, being pulled out of sleep in the middle of a dream. "I'm coming," she said and pulled on her trousers and blouse. Through the window, she could see that the sun was going long and dusk was approaching. There may not be time for breakfast.
Lacing up her boots as quickly as she could, she was ready, just about forgetting to brush her teeth in her rush. She wondered if Ridley had woken yet. It had been a lovely night, even with the terrible things going on around them, they had talked and laughed. It was a strange notion, insisting on getting on with life when so much was happening. Even with everything they had both given as part of this war, there was guilt for taking a moment for themselves. But that interlude was over now. It was time to get on with doing her bit for the war.
"I'm here," Dory said as she entered the kitchen. There was a lorry outside. "Are they finally fixing that hole?"
"I think they're starting," Betsy said as she handed Dory a wrapped sandwich. "Cheese. We don't have anything else."
"Thanks."
"We should go," Vera said as she grabbed her bag. "Hopefully it will be a quiet night tonight. We can always hope."
"So tell us about your night off with your beau," Betsy teased.
"He's not my beau," Dory said, but then wondered if he actually was. They had kissed last night, standing on the Westminster Bridge. "We walked mostly. Around Soho. I have to admit it was relatively quiet over that part of town."
"Because they're still bombing us to smithereens."
"Are you going to see him again?" Vera asked.
"No, he has to get back to his duties."
"Which is what exactly?" Betsy asked.
"Don't be so nosy," Vera reprimanded.
"Apparently I have been going about my investigation all wrong," Dory admitted. "Amateur mistakes."
"That's what happens when you're an amateur," Vera said. "I know we've given you a lot of flak about your sleuthing, but I do respect that you are trying to find out what happened to this man. There are so many people who are just getting lost in this constant bombing. There was this woman on Radish Street, I heard about. Pretty, young girl in a red coat and no one has a clue who she was. Her family don't know she's dead and they might never know what happened to her. Everyone should be forced to wear some ID at a time like this. At least this man has you watching out for him."
It gladdened Dory to hear that they at least understood what she was trying to do. For a while, she'd assumed that they were ridiculing her. Well, they had been ridiculing her, which was fine as long as they understood the importance of what she was doing. And even with what Ridley said, she was happy to hand it over to the police if there was enough to ensure they would actually look into it.
*
Throughout the night, Dory swung between nervous distress when the bombs were falling, to nervous delight whenever she thought of the kiss she'd shared. It was her first real kiss and at times it was hard not to think about it.
Eventually the Luftwaffe retreated and the all-clear sirens wailed. The city could now get on with dealing with this latest set of damage. The rescue brigades were out, as were the firemen, and the dawn of a new day broke.
As with every morning, Dory was exhausted, but she sat down and reviewed the list of names she had just about discarded when everyone had been accounted for one way or another. Now she had to remember all of them. She had only crossed names off, thinking she didn't need to record any more information. If she had been forethinking, she would have recorded more about them. Who she'd spoken to and what they said. Now she only had a list of names with nothing but lines.
When he worked as a police officer, Ridley had a notebook where he meticulously took notes. Maybe she should do the same thing, and not be completely reliant on her memory.
Some were easy to dismiss, such as the coal merchant. She'd spoken to him in person, so he could reliably be ignored from now on—unless it hadn't been him, and instead some other person pretending to be him. It sounded outlandish, but it would be the length a murderer would go to. Was it reasonable to insist on checking the identity that people gave her in person? Was that normal procedure? She didn't know.
In a way it was rude to go skulking around someone's neighborhood, asking people to confirm that so and so were who they claimed to be, but what choice was there? It was what policemen did. They couldn't afford to worry about rudeness, and neither could she. Still, it could make her uncomfortable. Even the coal merchant could be lying to her. For all she knew, he had a brother that had been so fed up for whatever reason, he saw it as a brilliant time to dispatch his sibling over the future ownership of their dirty coal empire. It sounded ludicrous, but apparently people murder for ludicrous reasons.
Vera and Betsy were gone by the time Dory was done with her review and she had the rooftop all to herself. Boats were starting to travel down the Thames, sailing into the ravaged docks. The Germans didn't stop them using the docks. It was a point of pride.
Making her way downstairs, she walked down to the high street to the stationary store, where she bought some more writing paper and a spiral bound notebook like she'd seen Ridley with. Then she went to the mobile canteen and bought a cup of coffee. The money Lady Pettifer sent her allowed her some luxuries that her ration-book wouldn't.
Pulling a pencil out of her bag, she started listing what she remembered about each man on her list—especially the ones she hadn't spoken to in person. It might even be that she needed to check the veracity of the ones that had been proclaimed dead. How easy was it to lie about that?
Dory's problem was that she tended to believe what people told her and it wasn't in her nature to question the truth of what she was told. Even with her investigations, it surprised her whenever a murderer was revealed. She never ended up seeing it coming.
Looking across the street, she let her eyes observe the things around her. The merchants putting out their wares, women running along to their jobs and a newspaper boy touting for customers. London was awakening. Not being a native Londoner, it had taken her some time to feel the city's charm, but she was starting to feel a little like she belonged here.
It may well be that she ended up staying in London. Her stomach lurched like she went
over a dip in the road, because who knew what her future would be? Perhaps there was potential with one who'd so sweetly kissed her the previous night. That would mean staying in London. But the future was too abstract to think about.
The idea of meeting someone, or being with someone, had always been there in the back of her mind, but it also seemed so very strange. And to potentially be the wife of someone like Captain Ridley, well, that was… beyond anything she had ever hoped. He was such a lovely man, a respectable man who was strong and capable. And handsome. She could hardly forget handsome.
Still, she wouldn't tell Lady Pettifer about the kiss. In fact, she wasn't going to tell anyone about that kiss. A memory that was all hers.
Her eyes lingered on the general merchant's shop. A tray of freshly baked bread being carried in and Dory could smell it from across the street. Some bread would be lovely, but there was no point going in there as they only served the people assigned to the shop. Each person had their shop where their rations were registered.
For right now, she had an investigation to repeat, and she was going to do it right this time.
Drinking the last of her coffee, she handed back the mug to the woman in the van, and put her notebook away for her walk over to the coal merchant. Might as well start with him. And his local shop would have known him long enough to confirm if something strange was going on or if George Mason was in fact exactly who he said he was. She was fairly certain already, but this was about proper procedure.
Chapter 19
RETURNING TO THE STREET that Mr. George Mason lived in, Dory continued walking past his house where the door was firmly shut to the shop further down the street. There was a queue outside, which wasn't by any means unusual, but it was a long queue.
"What do they have?" Dory asked the harried woman standing in the back with a toddler on her hip.
"Sugar," she said.
"Oh, that's nice." Shame this wasn't her shop. It was rare that sugar came in, so it was understandable that so many people came. Perhaps if Dory and the girls were lucky, they could get some too.
With a smile, Dory walked along the queue to the front, suspicious and curious glances being thrown her way, even with her ATS uniform. No one said anything, but she could feel all their urge to object when she squeezed past the queue into the shop. The shopkeeper was an older man with a white apron. A small scooper in his hand poured glistening white sugar onto the scales, precisely measuring the amounts allowed each patron.
"Excuse me," Dory said.
"What you want?" the man asked brusquely.
"Is there a man by the name of George Mason around here?"
"Just down the road."
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Saw him this morning," the woman at the front of the line said. "What'd you want with him?"
"Just to order some coal," Dory lied.
"There's a sign just down the road. Don't know how you could have missed it."
"Registered here, then?" she asked, turning her attention to the shopkeeper.
"That he is. Got his yesterday."
"Right, thanks," Dory said and smiled. That was all the confirmation she needed.
"Dozy girl," she heard the woman say when she walked out of the shop, where people were eyeing her hands to make sure she didn't cut the queue for her rations.
Stopping somewhat down the road, Dory made notations in her notebook. George Mason could definitely be crossed off her list.
Her intention had been to do another one, but there was sugar available and that was not an opportunity missed for any degree of murder and mayhem.
*
"I think there's sugar at the shop," she said, bypassing the door and going straight to the hole in the wall. "I'll go." It was her turn anyway.
Quickly, she was handed their ration books and she marched down the road. It seemed she wasn't the only one who knew there was sugar. The queue was now longer than the store near George Mason's house. This was going to take a couple of hours at least. Dory was going to be exhausted and famished by the time she got home, but sugar had to be grabbed before it was gone. She passed the time considering what they could do with it. They had a pamphlet at home, explaining how they could make an eggless sponge.
Eventually, it was her turn and she placed the three ration books down on the counter. "We'll have our portion of sugar."
Mr. Henry nodded and went to scoop sugar into the scales. It looked so pure and beautiful. "There you are," he said, placing the paper wrapped bundle on the counter in front of her.
"What else do you have?"
"Powdered eggs." Even the mention of them made her throat restrict with revulsion. "Some parsnips and carrots."
Beside her was a new pamphlet from the Ministry of Food, suggesting a recipe for carrot marmalade.
"And this," Mr. Henry said, putting down a round can in front of her. "Ham."
"In a can?" Dory said incredulously. "It says Spam."
"Spiced ham. Twelve points." That was expensive. "Quite nice, some say."
"Alright, I'll take one."
"Spread it evenly over the books?"
"Yes, please. And a loaf of bread, two each of the parsnips and carrots." Dory said and packed away her horde.
"You know you can eat the tops of the carrots."
"So I understand," Dory said, feeling that little bit guilty because she never could bring herself to eat the carrot tops. "Thank you. Any news what is coming in next?"
"Potatoes coming tomorrow."
"Good," Dory said and stepped aside for the anxious person behind her.
They had sugar. It was a good day, and whatever Spam was. Dory wasn't entirely sure, but there was a plate of cut slices on the label.
The girls had already gone to bed, so Dory unloaded their provisions and went upstairs herself. The long day had taken everything out of her and she flopped into bed without bothering to undress.
*
It was past three when she woke up, which was a little later than usual. Vera and Betsy were talking down in the kitchen as she righted herself. She really should have taken the time to undress before bed. Now she had to wash quickly before redressing. Her uniform needed a wash, but she was caught for time trying to do her investigation while also coming home to wash her clothes. In this weather, they would hardly dry in time.
"And what in the world is this that you got us?" Vera asked when Dory made her entrance into the kitchen. She placed down the can of Spam.
"Mr. Henry seemed to think they are worth it."
"Shall we open it? We only have one egg to share between us. We could scramble it and put it on a sandwich, I suppose."
Bringing out the can opener, Vera worked around the edge of the can, which released a meaty smell. It made a gloopy sound when it came out, keeping the shape of the can as it did. But it was pink.
"Made in America," Betsy said, picking the empty can up. "On the tin, they bake it whole."
"We don't have time to bake anything. Maybe we can fry it in the skillet like you do with ham steaks."
Dory sat down to review her notebook, while Betsy and Vera explored the new supplement to their groceries. "It's quite salty, isn't it?"
"It's nice enough."
"Only the Americans would put ham in a tin."
"It must have come right across the ocean."
Dory decided that she would go find Mr. Dellow that day before work. Hopefully she would have time to go to one of the restaurants as well, maybe have some pilchard and potatoes to keep her going through the night.
Before long, a sandwich cut in half was put down on a plate in front of her and she picked it up and bit into it. Saltiness was what she noticed first about the ham. It had a unique taste, but it wasn't bad. Not exactly ham as she knew it.
"Do you think it will become a staple down at the shop?" Betsy asked.
"I doubt it," Vera said. "Maybe every time we get sugar, we get cans of these."
"They take twelve points per can,"
Dory added.
"That's murderous," Betsy gasped.
Well, it was definitely edible and Dory felt full when she finished, which was nice. "I better go," she said, taking the plate over to the sink and wiping it clean.
"And where are you running off to now?" Vera asked.
"To find a Mr. Dellow to see if he is still alive." The old note she had with the names and addresses had become tattered now and she didn't need it as she had transferred all the information to her new notebook.
"Good luck," Betsy said. "Although I am glad I am not spending my spare time chasing ghosts."
"I'm not chasing a ghost," Dory said, defending herself. "I am chasing a murderer."
"Such melodrama. You should consider a career on the stage."
It was jesting, but it took some work not to be offended. She had thought they were supportive of her efforts, but they seemed to have slid back into ridiculing her for it. "Maybe I should," she said, although a career on stage was absolutely not for her—not that she could even contemplate a career after the war. She just didn't have that thing she was really passionate about. Other girls wanted to be hairdressers or secretaries, nurses—or to be on stage. Dory had never had that, even as a child. Had always simply gone along with what was asked of her. Exactly as she had done when the ATS had come to the munitions factory, or when Lady Pettifer had asked her to be a companion. Coming here to man the searchlight had not been something she'd sought. The opportunity had simply presented itself, and she had agreed.
Grabbing her bag, Dory said her goodbyes and walked out the door. It was a nice day, clear—which meant it might be a quiet night. Hopefully, because Dory felt tired—a tiredness that she wasn't getting enough sleep to fix. She was taxing herself running around investigating this man's death every spare minute she had.
Still, the idea of this man being murdered and simply forgotten by everyone drove her on. It was a concept that always drove her on. It had in the past and it still did. The idea of being forgotten and ignored, your very life stolen from you. That wasn't something Dory felt she could ignore. And really, it was only a few more days to establish that the people on her list were definitely where they were supposed to be.