The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(18)
“It’s impossible to have a stiff upper lip before tea and breakfast,” Maggie said lightly. K leapt off her lap and then off the bed to take a sunbath in the slanted rectangle of light on the threadbare carpet. “I’ll talk to Sarah when she gets up. Between us, we’ll get you and Griffin everything you need.”
Chuck rolled her eyes and took a seat in a tattered wing chair. “First of all, I won’t take your clothes—and second, they wouldn’t fit me anyway. Although you did put on a bit of weight in the U.S.”
“The food there…” Maggie tried unsuccessfully to dispel memories of real coffee, hamburgers, French fries, and chocolate bars. “Look, we’ll pool our rations, so we can get you and Griffin the basics. And there must be something in place for the people from your building….You’re not the only one who’s affected, after all.” It had been a horrible event, but the British excelled at surviving. And organizing. “Certainly your ARP warden must know something by now. We can check in today.”
Chuck slumped. “I’m dreading finding out about the neighbors,” she confessed, avoiding Maggie’s eyes. Her alto voice trembled. “I’m not sure all of them made it.”
“Don’t give up before you know the facts.”
“Well, you’re right: That’s something to do today, stop by the block. I still have the pram and I’ll take Griffin and we’ll go by and see if there’s anyone to speak with about…well, anything.” Chuck straightened and scrubbed at her eyes with her fists.
“Knock knock!” called a raspy voice. Sarah was at the door in her red satin dressing gown, mouth open wide in a yawn, graceful hands stretching up to the ceiling. Her long dark hair was tangled, and there were black smudges under her eyes and a rose stain on her lips—remains of the previous evening’s makeup.
“I thought I heard voices….” she mumbled as she swept in, still half asleep. “Hello, Sir K, remember me?” she asked, bending down and offering her hand.
K raised his head to sniff her fingers and allowed her to pet him, then curled back up in a regal circle to continue his nap.
“Goodness gracious, Sarah!” Maggie gasped. “I’d forgotten about your feet!” Sarah’s toes were distended by bunions and disfigured with calluses.
“Bloody hell, girl!” For a moment, Chuck was her old self. “Did you put your tootsies through a meat grinder?”
“Once a dancer, always a dancer.” The brunette shrugged. “I don’t care about my feet as long as my derriere’s in decent shape.” She smiled and turned to wiggle her bottom, then plopped down on the bed next to Maggie.
“What time’s your meeting today, Sarah?”
“Nine sharp. And I’m hoping my friend will be there, too.”
“Do you mean the one who’s the bee’s knees?”
Sarah gave a girlish smile, one Maggie had never seen before. “One and the same!”
“Oh, my,” Maggie said, trying not to tease. “Nine’s when I’m due in, too. Let’s have some tea here, then we can walk over together. And I’ll give Mr. Knees the once-over.”
“You two go on,” Chuck said wearily, leaning back on the chair and closing her eyes. “While Master Griffin is sleeping, I’ll try to catch a few winks as well.”
—
Even though the nightly bombings had stopped, the trappings of war were everywhere. Barrage balloons—massive zeppelin-shaped bulks—hovered over the city. Canvas sandbags were piled around building entrances. Emergency pontoon bridges stretched across the Thames, and brick bomb shelters cluttered the icy pavement. The Victoria Embankment bristled with pillboxes, while government buildings and other vital targets were tangled in barbed wire.
The newspaper stands trumpeted the latest: British forces were slugging it out in a back-and-forth campaign against the Germans and Italians in North Africa. The influx of American troops to Great Britain was ongoing in the wake of Pearl Harbor and the German declaration of war upon the United States. The Japanese were threatening to invade Australia, but descending first on small Pacific islands like locusts. Meanwhile, despite the bitter cold in the East, the Russians fought on.
“Wait a moment,” Maggie said, catching a glimpse of a smaller article. She gave a few coins to the newspaper boy. “Look,” she said to Sarah, pointing at a story titled Pimlico Explosion Ignites Fire, Fells Buildings and Injures at Least 19. As they walked through the stinging cold, Maggie read aloud: “A powerful gas pipe explosion yesterday in Pimlico caused a building to collapse and ignited a large fire that quickly spread to neighboring buildings, leaving at least 19 people injured and 5 dead. At least one person was reported missing. The building is one of many in the area owned by Dr. Iain Frank, a practicing psychoanalyst.”
Sarah shook her head. “Chuck and Griffin were lucky.”
Maggie continued to walk and read: “?‘Based on records, the building has had some work done inside; new gas service pipes; a lot of things, piping and such, Mr. Clendenin from Westminster Gas Light and Coke Company said.’?” Maggie looked up from the newspaper. “Didn’t Chuck say she saw some dodgy people siphoning off the gas lines? Sounds a bit iffy. And now we’ll probably never know the truth.”