Hedy glanced up from the shelf she was dusting. “Of course. How old is the boy?”
“He’s five,” said Miss Crow. She stared at the floor. “He’s just lost his father.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Gertie.
Miss Crow gave a brief nod as Hedy retrieved three volumes from the shelf. “I know a little boy who is the same age who enjoyed these very much.” Miss Crow looked at each one in turn before settling on a copy of Treasure Island.
“An excellent choice,” said Gertie. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy you reading it to him.”
“Well, I don’t know . . .” began Miss Crow.
“Philomena?” said Miss Snipp, appearing from the back of the shop.
Miss Crow froze. “Hello, Eleanora,” she said with a frosty edge to her voice.
Miss Snipp clasped her hands together. “I haven’t seen you for a good while. I was sorry to hear about your nephew.”
Miss Crow avoided her gaze. “Yes, well. It’s the world we live in.” She took her purchase from Gertie. “Thank you, Mrs. Bingham,” she said, tucking the book in her basket. She was just about to leave when the air-raid siren sounded.
“Come along, everyone,” called Gertie, ushering them toward the back of the shop. “Into the shelter. This way. Miss Crow?”
The woman frowned before turning to follow her. “Oh, very well.”
The crowded shelter immediately reminded Gertie of when Bingham’s Book Club really had been standing room only. “Is everyone all right?” she asked, ushering Miss Crow inside and closing the door behind them.
“Not really,” said Miss Snipp, glaring at her nieces who, in the absence of spare chairs, had decided to perch on the edge of her orders desk.
“Oh, Auntie Snipp, don’t be such a crosspatch. It’s nearly Christmas.”
“Try telling that to Hitler,” said her aunt as the hum of planes overhead built to a crescendo.
“Why don’t we discuss A Christmas Carol. Who’s read it?” asked Gertie. Half the assembled company raised their hands. “Splendid. What did you think?”
“Well, as you know, dear lady, my passion is military history, but I rather enjoyed it,” said Mr. Reynolds, leaning on his silver-topped walking stick. “I’m hoping Hitler gets a visit from the three spirits and learns to change his ways too.” There were murmurs of agreement around the shelter.
“Do you remember reading it at school?” said Miss Snipp to Miss Crow. The latter had her back to the company and appeared not to hear. “Philomena?”
Miss Crow inhaled deeply. “I do not wish to discuss it.”
The others in the shelter seemed to hold their breath in almost delighted silence at the unfolding drama.
“What else did people enjoy about the book?” asked Gertie, throwing a panicked look toward Hedy.
“Tiny Tim was my favorite character,” said Hedy.
“Adorable little chap,” said Sylvie.
“Charming,” echoed Rosaline.
“He is a metaphor for the deprivation of the poorest elements of London society, which was a theme that greatly preoccupied Dickens,” said a voice. They all turned in surprise to see Cynthia Fortescue blinking out at them from the corner of the shelter, her cheeks crimson, her eyes saucer-wide, as if the sound of her own voice had surprised her too.
“That’s a fascinating insight,” said Gertie.
Cynthia gave a shy smile before shrinking back into the half-light.
“Would you read a little from the book, please, Gertie?” asked Hedy after a particularly loud explosion made them all jump. “I’m sure everyone would like to hear it, even if they already know the story.”
There were positive murmurs around the shelter. Gertie took in their expressions. Some looked worried, others scared, others as if they were praying.
“How about I read the passage where Scrooge visits his old employer, Fezziwig, with the first spirit?”
“That’s the bit with the party,” said Rosaline with a sigh. “How I love a party.”
“Me too,” said Sylvie while their aunt rolled her eyes and tutted.
As Gertie began to read, some of the gathering inclined their heads, as if by moving toward the story they could escape into it. They were there in Fezziwig’s snug warehouse, transformed now into a ballroom with music and partygoers, dancing and games. They feasted on cake and roasted meats, ate mince pies and drank beer. Gertie glanced up and noticed their expressions had changed. Their creased brows were now soothed to gentle contemplation as Gertie told them of Fezziwig and how “the happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”
“What a splendid chap,” said Mr. Reynolds.
When the all clear sounded, they emerged from the shelter with breathless relief. Gertie turned to speak to Miss Crow, but she was already disappearing out the door and up the street.
“I didn’t realize you knew each other,” she remarked to Miss Snipp.
She nodded. “We were at school together. We were the very best of friends . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the middle distance.
“Are you all right, Miss Snipp?”
The woman snapped her gaze back to Gertie. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Right well. No time to dawdle. We’ve had enough distractions today as it is,” she said as if the Luftwaffe had been sent merely to disrupt her day.
“See you for Christmas, dear Aunt Snipp,” said Rosaline with a fluttering wave.
“Yes, goodbye, Aunt Snipp,” called Sylvie, clutching her sister’s arm as they left in a flurry of giggles.
“Hmm,” muttered Miss Snipp, disappearing back to her domain.
“Well, we live to fight another day, Mrs. Bingham,” said Mr. Reynolds, doffing his hat to her before he left. “And God bless us, everyone!”
Chapter 12
Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.
—Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Christmas Day arrived crisp and clear without the usual peal of church bells but with a welcome lull in the bombing. Gertie had barely marked the festivities after Harry died and neither she nor Hedy had felt the inclination to celebrate the year before, but this year was different. Everything had changed and Gertie was compelled to make an effort, whilst Hedy was keen to embrace new traditions. Else Fischer was a Christian, and so Hedy had been used to observing certain traditions such as putting up a tree and singing carols. They decorated the house with holly from the garden and hung the glass baubles and tinsel, which Gertie had found in an old box on top of the wardrobe, on the tree.
“It’s perfect, Gertie,” said Hedy, standing back to admire their handiwork. Gertie knew she was thinking of home. The telegrams still arrived most weeks, but twenty-five words could only say so much. They had hoped that Sam might have been granted leave over Christmas, but he had written the week before to report that it was impossible. Gertie wasn’t surprised. Whenever she heard the planes droning overhead, her thoughts immediately flew to Sam and his fellow airmen, and a silent prayer flew with them.
She was unused to entertaining in great numbers, and yet today she would be serving dinner for six. Charles was coming and Mrs. Constantine, and after a conversation with Elizabeth Chambers, she had invited her and Billy too. Uncle Thomas had graciously declined her invitation on the basis that he “disliked Christmas intensely,” preferring the company of Dickens in both book and cat form.