Lost & Found
L OST & F OUND
H ELLO, MIGHT I HAVE a word?” said Oliver as he walked into yet another postal office in his ongoing search for Charlie.
Arthur Benedict turned to look at him. “Yes, sir, is there a problem with something?”
Oliver approached the counter. “No. I was just wondering about your telegram boys?”
Benedict’s expression turned apprehensive. “What about ’em?”
“I was actually trying to locate one.”
Benedict warily looked him up and down. “Why, is the lad in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that his mother got back into town and we can’t locate him. We do know that he’s a telegram boy, but that’s all we know.”
“I don’t understand. Wasn’t he at home?”
“That’s just the thing. He is not at home and his mother is terribly worried about him.”
“Name?”
“Charlie Matters?”
“No, got no lad with that name here.”
Oliver edged forward a bit and started speaking in a confidential tone. “The thing is, the boy might be using an alias.”
Benedict blanched. “An alias! What, is he some sort of criminal?”
“No, things were not exactly happy at home, you see. His mother had to leave for the country to take care of her sick sister and…”
“And the lad didn’t like that?”
“That’s right. It was actually a terrible fiasco. But she wants him home now and is desperate to find him.”
Benedict pulled a paper from a drawer. “Well, here’s a list of all my boys.”
Oliver ran his eye down the page until it came to rest on Ignatius Oliver.
“See anyone you recognize?”
“I do indeed. That’s him.” Oliver indicated the name.
“Ignatius? He’s a right good lad. One of my best. Works hard and has a way about him.”
“Yes, yes he does.”
“He probably won’t be back for several hours.”
“I tell you what, let’s have a bit of a surprise for young Ignatius . When he returns, can you send him out with a telegram?”
“Well, sir, that is the business we’re in.”
“Of course.” Oliver filled out the telegram form and paid over the requisite amount.
“It’ll be sometime this afternoon, sir. Say around four or so.”
“Splendid.” He handed Benedict a crown. “Make that one Charlie’s last message of the day, can you? So his mum can spend time with him. Fix things up?”
Benedict took the coin and put it in his pocket. “Surely, sir, surely.”
“His mum will be thrilled. But not a word, eh?”
“As you say, sir. Mum’s the word.”
“Molly, dear, are you all right?” asked Matron Tweedy.
“What?” said a distracted Molly breathlessly.
“Those are dirty bandages you’re rolling up. The clean ones are in that bin.”
“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry.”
Molly put the dirty bandages back in the proper bin and thoroughly washed her hands at the sink.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” said Tweedy.
“Well, actually, I received some bad news about a family member, and I guess I was thinking about that. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“That’s all right. We’re all only human. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, Matron. I wish there were, but there’s just not.”
“Do you need some time to deal with things?”
“No, I’d much prefer to work. We’re so busy now and it helps me take my mind off other things.”
“Certainly. As you wish.”
Tweedy left her there, and Molly started rolling the clean bandages. But her thoughts were directed to her father, the alleged murderer. This all made sense now. Her father leaving like he had. No communications to her. The mental image of her father walking up the steps to the gallows made her want to retch. She put the rolled bandages away and settled her face in her hands.
It was clear that her beloved father was lost to her. And her mother? In a sanatorium with mental disease. It had been quite some time and yet Dr. Stephens had still not written back to her. She wondered if he ever would. Perhaps he didn’t share information with a child.
But I’m not a child. I’m a nurse auxiliary. I’m doing my part. And she is my mother.
After meeting with Major Bryant, she had fled upstairs, flung herself on the bed, and had a good cry. Or a bad one rather. So bad, in fact, that she had nearly stopped breathing.
Get hold of yourself, Molly , she had told herself afterward. This does no good. You can’t change any of it with tears.
Mr. Oliver had done his best to cheer her up, but it was a hopeless task. Her life, so perfect before the war, was now utterly destroyed. As much cast in rubble as her old home.
She spent the rest of the morning tending to patients, taking care that she made no more mistakes. The wards were full, the injuries serious, and the pain being endured by those in the clinic crushing to all of them, patients and their caregivers.
She had nursed Lonzo every day, hoping that he would tell her something of Charlie. But though he was sometimes conscious and could eat and drink a bit, he looked muddled and didn’t even appear to recognize her.
She hurried to The Book Keep later that afternoon to collect the latest post, something she had started doing after writing her letter to Dr. Stephens. Oliver had given her a spare key, and she opened the door and picked up the letters the postman had put through the slot. She noticed that one of them was addressed to her. Then she gaped. It was from the Beneficial Institute!
She eagerly opened it and read the letter at the counter.
Dr. Stephens acknowledged the receipt of her letter and was sorry to tell her that her mother’s condition had deteriorated quite recently and rapidly.
As Molly read through the letter her spirits dropped even further. Dr. Stephens did not seem to hold out much hope.
I’m afraid that her issues are deep and troubled and despite certain treatments, we were not able to make any progress. She is also experiencing some grave internal disorders, and frankly I’m not sure how much longer she can survive. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Wakefield, but felt that you ought to know.
Sincerely…
Molly carefully folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
She returned to the clinic in a daze and bumped into someone in uniform at the front entrance.
“Charlie!” she screamed, breaking out into a broad smile. She hugged him.
“M-Molly!” exclaimed Charlie as she squeezed him tightly. “What are you doin’ here?”
“I work here.”
Oliver came around the corner of the building, beaming. “Ignatius Oliver the telegram boy, eh, Charlie?”
“How’d you know that?” said an amazed Charlie.
Oliver explained what he had done, and that Charlie had the rest of the day off.
“You must come home with us, Charlie,” said Oliver.
“I can’t. That copper.”
“Charlie,” said Molly. “Your friend Lonzo is in the clinic. It looks like he was beaten.”
“Beaten! Can… can I see him?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he might not recognize you.”