Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“There’s a telephone call for you, Lady Virginia,” Giles announced from the doorway to the sitting room.
Ginger looked up from the settee, where she and Gran had been in the middle of a card game. After her father and Henry had left for the train station an hour earlier, Madeline had called Gran over for a visit.
A telephone call at Penmore was a rare enough event. Who would call her here at her aunt’s? Ginger frowned and set her hand down, the cards silkily shuffling into a pile. “Who is it?”
“A Mr. David Peterson, my lady. He asked for your brother first, but since I informed him he was no longer here, he asked for you instead.” Giles held the door for her.
David Peterson? Even though he’d helped her, Ginger felt a chill go up her spine at his name.
He was Stephen’s friend. Maybe Stephen had told him of her refusal.
He could be angry Ginger had tricked him.
She excused herself from her grandmother and went into the foyer, where the telephone stood on the console table.
She took the earpiece and then leaned into the heavy mouthpiece. “This is Virginia Whitman.”
“Lady Virginia. David Peterson.” The voice on the line crackled with static, sounding as though it came from a tin box. “Where on earth is John Martin? If he doesn’t arrive in the next hour, I’m afraid the opportunity will completely pass us over.”
“John Martin?” Ginger went rigid with shock. But Stephen had said...
She remembered the distant look in his eyes when she’d asked.
He’d given her the wrong date.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Peterson. My brother left an hour ago—where is it he’s supposed to be getting John Martin from? Perhaps I can meet him there and see if there’s been a hiccup.” She motioned to Giles to get her paper and a pen, which he supplied immediately.
David rattled off an address. “But it’s not likely it’ll do you any good to go there. Stephen delivered the paperwork to Henry himself. Without it, he won’t be able to get out of the internment camp.”
She didn’t believe for one second Stephen had given Henry the paperwork. Henry would have said something.
Ginger stared at the address. It was in the city. “John is here in London?”
David’s voice crackled. “Yes, it’s a former factory of some sort. It’s being used for the interned. But he must be here within the hour.”
Was it possible she could get him from the internment center herself? Even without the paperwork?
“Could you stall for any longer, Mr. Peterson? I hate to ask—”
He released a guttural sigh. “Perhaps by a few minutes, but it isn’t likely. I’ll do my utmost.”
Ginger hung up the receiver and stared at the address she’d scrawled. The paper shook in her hands, a mixture of fury and fear running through her.
Of all the cold-hearted, horrible things for Stephen to do. He’d done it on purpose. Maybe revenge—or to teach her how much she “needed” him.
She rushed back to the sitting room in a daze.
Gran and Madeline stared at her expectantly, and then Gran tilted her head, clearly reading her distress. “Something tells me David Peterson was not the bearer of good news.”
“No, he’s—” Ginger rubbed her temple, a dull, brutal pain pulsing through the top of her head.
A sudden headache. Or she just hadn’t noticed it before.
She slackened her jaw, sure she’d been clenching it, and met her grandmother’s eyes.
“He’s just informed me Stephen gave me the wrong date for John Martin’s naturalization.
Henry was supposed to have him at Mr. Peterson’s office right now. ”
Madeline and Gran exchanged a look. “And what does that mean?” Madeline asked, arching a brow.
“It means—” Ginger released a deep breath “—it means Stephen lied to me when I asked him about the details. I’d say it was a cruel joke, but he’ll probably claim to have been so broken-hearted by my refusal he simply mixed up the date.
And if John Martin isn’t at the Home Secretary’s office within the hour, the opportunity will be gone. ”
“But why?” Gran leaned forward. “Surely if they’ll naturalize him today, they can naturalize him some other day.”
Would they though? David Peterson had been quite firm about the deadline.
“Stephen arranged the whole matter—by using some of his father’s connections.
I’m certain those connections won’t be at my disposal now.
And even if they were, who’s to say Stephen won’t undo the arrangement to get his revenge with me?
Mr. Peterson probably hasn’t heard I’ve refused Stephen yet—but he himself was doing me the favor under the impression he was doing a favor for Stephen’s fiancée.
” Ginger crumpled the address into her fist, her hand shaking.
She paced, agitated and furious. “I must get John Martin out of the internment center myself. That’s all there is to it.” She whirled in a circle, then stormed from the room, heading for the stairwell.
A rush of footsteps sounded behind her. “What are you going to do?” Madeline asked.
Gran and Madeline had followed and were mere steps away. Their concern was evident—and something more . . . Are they willing to help?
Ginger started up the stairs. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something along the way.”
Gran’s voice grew louder. “I always say, if you can’t win fairly...cheat.” Ginger stopped and looked back. Gran gave her a stern look.
Ginger unwrinkled the paper. John Martin wasn’t terribly far. She’d need a car—and a reason to get him out of the internment camp. But she doubted she could simply go to the camp and demand they release him.
He needed a reason to leave.
She stomped her foot. “This is why I need to learn to do something useful with my life. Everyone can guffaw all they want about my wish to be a nurse, but when situations like this arrive, it would be nice to be capable of more than nothing.” She stopped short, her chin jerking upright.
“Ah, look, Mama, it seems our darling Ginger has had an idea.” Madeline’s green gaze gleamed.
“She has.” Gran marched closer. “Out with it.”
“Do you think—” Ginger came back down the stairs toward them. “Would they allow John Martin out of the internment center for a medical reason? If a doctor, for example, were to say he was transferring him for treatment to the hospital?”
“They might.” Madeline looked skeptical. “But we’d need a doctor.”
Ginger smiled. “I might know one willing to help.”
Ginger bounced her knee nervously, her heart jittery as the car drew closer to St. Thomas’ Hospital.
She wished for a pocket watch. Anything to let her know how much time she had left.
On her lap, she held the uniforms the matron of nurses had lent her.
She’d grabbed them before she left, thinking if she needed an excuse to speak to James, returning the uniforms might be a good one.
Gran put her hand on Ginger’s knee. She and Madeline had insisted on coming with her—though Ginger wasn’t certain if it was a good thing or not. Gran could slow her. Giving her a sardonic smile, Gran said, “Really, Ginger. You’re not jumping rope, there’s no need to bounce.”
“I’m sorry, Gran. I’m nervous.” Ginger sucked in a slow, calming breath, her chest tight. “What if James doesn’t agree to it? I’m probably asking him to do something illegal.”
“You said he’s a Liberal. They’re always more than happy to disregard propriety.” Gran shrugged and patted the silver curls of her head exposed below her hat.
Madeline laughed. “Oh, Mama—don’t let Hugh hear you say it. He voted with the Liberals recently.”
“Yes.” Gran made a face of distaste. “But Hugh isn’t here. The only way he’ll hear it is if you’re foolish enough to tell him.”
The car stopped in front of the hospital. Ginger scrambled from her seat before the chauffeur climbed out. “Stay here,” she told her aunt and grandmother. “It’ll be faster if I go alone.”
She bundled the uniforms under her arm and hurried into the entrance. Somehow within a few days of visiting the hospital, she’d learned the route well. She was usually terrible with directions.
Racing up the staircase to the floor where James’s office was, she prayed he’d be there.
She reached his office, her heart pounding through her blouse. She knocked, trying to catch her breath.
He didn’t answer.
She tried the knob, but the door appeared to be locked.
Her heart falling, Ginger turned. Where could he be?
Footsteps approached and Ginger grew hopeful. But as the sound drew closer, an orderly rounded the corner, not James.
“Excuse me,” Ginger called out to him. “Would you know where Dr. Clark is?”
“He’s in surgery, miss.” The orderly gave her a polite nod. “Don’t expect he’ll be out soon, but you can wait for him on that bench if you’d like.”
Disappointment crushed her core.
Without James’s help, she had no backup plan. She couldn’t very well pretend to be a doctor credibly, even if there were women doctors in London.
...but she could pretend to be a nurse.
She stared at the uniforms in her hands.
Would she be believable? Maybe. But her chances were better still if she had sister nurses with her.
Climbing back into Madeline’s car, Ginger handed the uniforms to her aunt before settling into her seat.
She’d changed into the one walking-about uniform the matron had lent her—a uniform meant for use on the nurses’ days off.
As it was more fitted than the others, changing in the hospital had seemed like the best option.
“What on earth?” Madeline stared at the outfit Ginger wore. She rifled through the stack of uniforms Ginger had given her. “What’s all this?”