A Legacy Given
A L EGACY G IVEN
H E LEFT THE BOTH of you The Book Keep,” the man in a somber brown suit, and with a handlebar mustache, said as he looked over the typed papers.
Seated in the study, Molly and Charlie stared dully at the man, who was Ignatius Oliver’s solicitor, as he went over the contents of Ignatius Oliver’s last will and testament.
Molly stirred. “He did?”
“Yes, in equal shares. When you come of age, it will be deeded in your names. There was also the payment from a life insurance policy he had. It will be sufficient to keep the shop going and to help with your expenses.”
“When did he do this?” Molly asked.
“On the day after Boxing Day. He came to me and said it was what he wanted. He said he never wanted either of you to fear you would not have a home.”
“That was so very kind of him,” she said, while a teary Charlie nodded in agreement.
The lawyer said somberly, “It was quite sad, what happened. They said he was just a minute or so away from safety. The serendipity of life is quite… odd.”
Molly said, “Yes, yes, it is.”
She then closed her eyes and tried to force her mind to shut down because she simply could not process having lost her friend forever.
Charlie simply gazed at the Crown typewriter.
The funeral service had been a very private one. Major Bryant was there, as were a few other government types. Some fellow booksellers and a couple of Oliver’s friends from Oxford were also in attendance. So was Oliver’s older brother, Francis, who looked like his younger brother but didn’t have his gentle kindness and empathetic spirit. However, he had told them that he loved his brother very much and that Ignatius had written him about them, and that if they ever needed anything, he would help them however he could.
He had shaken both their hands, glanced at his brother’s coffin, and then gone back to his home in Glasgow.
Major Bryant had spoken with Molly afterward. “I wanted you to know that while I cannot condone what your father did, the three soldiers he killed were a terribly bad lot. They had been involved in thefts and other attacks on both men and women, and were about to be court-martialed.”
“And yet the police would do nothing?”
“Heads have rolled, Molly, from the bobby on the beat all the way up to Scotland Yard.”
“Then some good came of it,” she said.
Bryant glanced back at the coffin. “It’s an awful loss, both personally and for the country. He was an air warden when he should have been working on other things for the war effort. He would have made a name for himself, I can tell you that. In his field he had few peers.”
“And what field was that exactly?” she asked. He looked at her stonily and she added, “Right, you can’t tell me.”
“Sorry, goes with the territory, I’m afraid.”
“So why didn’t he work on these other things?” she asked.
“He would have been separated from Imogen. He couldn’t do that.”
“He must have loved her very much to have given up his dreams for her.”
“You know, they were the oddest couple at Oxford. She was all fire and fury, with ideas that broke through all societal norms. And Ignatius was calm and quiet and—”
“Opposites sometimes do attract,” Molly pointed out.
“Quite so.”
“He certainly always spoke highly of her. And forgave her quite a bit.”
Bryant coughed and looked around at the others.
“Don’t worry, I will give away no secrets, Major,” said Molly. “I only wish that Mr. Oliver had realized how very special he was, too.”
“Yes, well. He was just not the sort to dwell on himself.”
“But his memory will be carried forward through us.”
“You really are quite mature beyond your years, Molly.”
“And I am quite fortunate indeed to have known Ignatius Oliver.”
After the burial, Molly and Charlie sat in the study, with a small fire warming them.
“When do we go to Yorkshire?” he asked.
Arrangements had been made for them to move to Yorkshire and live with the Tinsdales for the foreseeable future.
“Next week, by train. It’s all confirmed.”
“Are you sure they want me?” said Charlie.
“They are very sure. And if you don’t go, I won’t go.”
He looked at the fire. “It feels quite odd bein’ here without him.”
“It will always feel that way, I suppose. He was this place, really. You can’t imagine one without the other.”
“He was truly a good bloke.”
“I wish I had told him something,” said Molly.
“What?”
“He always talked about how brilliant Imogen was, so much smarter than he, so much cleverer at everything, really. And while he and I talked some about that habit of his, I wish I had told him far more often that he was quite extraordinary, too.” She looked earnestly at Charlie. “What do you think?”
“He had to make it look like he was workin’ for the Jerries when he was really workin’ for us. That’s quite tricky. He was really brave, with all he done, the air warden bit and everythin’. I mean, I guess it was brave for Imogen to jump off that cliff. I never coulda done it. But… I think it was braver to stay here and keep tryin’ to do the right thin’. Like Mr. Oliver done.”
“I think you said it far more eloquently than I could, Charlie.”
“And he knew that you felt that way ’bout him, Molly. He really did. We loved each other. Only thin’ that kept us goin’ was that. We didn’t have nobody else.”
She sighed and looked at the Crown typewriter with the blank page.
“So’s we can come back here when we’re older?”
“Yes,” Molly said. “This is our home, Charlie.”