Chapter 19 Joyce #2
‘Actually, I’m no longer employed by the council. Take this as my official notice.’ He looked around the crowd.
‘I joined in order to serve the people. If you insist on closing the library, then I can no longer fulfil my duties as a public servant.’
Joyce took the steps two at a time and gripped Dore’s arm.
‘Dore, think about this,’ she muttered.
‘I’ve been awake all night, thinking over what you said, and you were right. We simply hadn’t tried hard enough. This is a hill I am prepared to die on. Besides, this’ll give me more time to focus on my duties at the Swiss Cottage shelter and editing The Swiss Cottager.’
He glared at Mr Foster. ‘I have a feeling I know what our next front-page story will be.’
He gestured to Joyce and Adela, his voice full of emotion.
‘You fail to see what’s right before your eyes.
These women aren’t just librarians. They are part counsellors, social workers, listening ears, facilitators, trouble-shooters, advisors, confessors .
. . But, above all, friends to all in this community. ’
Mr Foster gave them a tight-lipped grimace before turning and marching back inside the town hall.
The door slammed shut and a wave of euphoria rippled over the crowd, whose chants grew louder.
Joyce was powerless to stop her tears. ‘Tears of happiness,’ she managed, as Dore reached for her hand.
‘I feel I should resign in solidarity with you, Dore.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. We need someone good on the inside.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t know if this protest, or my resignation, will do any good, though,’ he sighed.
‘But it can’t do any harm either,’ she pointed out. ‘The library is one of our last true democratic spaces, especially in a time of war. People must feel heard.’
They turned to stare at the crowd. Mitsy was standing on the mobile library steps, leading a new chant.
‘Books not bombs!’
And then, Mitsy did something that – had Joyce not seen it with her own two eyes – she would never have believed.
Mitsy put down her banner and took Dore’s hand. A long look passed between the pair and, suddenly, Joyce understood.
‘I’ve been waiting for proof that you were the man I suspected you were,’ Mitsy said. ‘Will you marry me?’
The sparkle returned to Dore’s eyes as he took her hand and placed a chivalrous kiss on it.
‘Madam, it would be my greatest honour. I am, after all, your biggest fan.’
The extraordinary events of the public protest, coupled with Mitsy’s unexpected proposal, gave Adela, Joyce and Harry the perfect distraction as they drove to Devon the next day in the mobile library.
‘Did you really not have any clue that Dore was in love with Mitsy and was the writer of those anonymous letters?’ Harry probed as he drove the van along winding countryside roads.
‘None whatsoever,’ Joyce laughed. ‘That woman is incorrigible, and now she has a toyboy.’
‘Churchill should have her on his war cabinet,’ Harry joked. ‘Good luck to ’em. Get your happiness wherever you can find it, I say.
‘Do you think the protest’ll have any effect on the council decision?’ he went on.
Joyce wound down the window and breathed in the sweet countryside air, enjoying the feeling of spring sun on her cheeks.
‘Who knows? In all honesty, I doubt it. I looked to see if the local paper covered it this morning, but of course not.’
‘That’s wartime censorship for you,’ Harry remarked. ‘Half the direct hits I’ve turned out to never made the papers and, if they do, it’s only some vague reference to “incidents” somewhere in the south of England.’
‘Was the school bombing never reported? Surely it must’ve been?’
Joyce knew she was treading on ice raising this. She could tell by the squaring of Harry’s jaw that the wound was still fresh three months on.
‘There was an article in the Daily Mirror last week. Four kids from the same family all dug out and then separated in the chaos. Apparently, they’ve been reunited in hospital.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Joyce murmured.
‘What’ll happen to the poor mites, though?’ he muttered, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. ‘Their mum and nan are dead. Father’s serving somewhere in Burma. They’ll likely be fostered out to different families. Another family destroyed.’
‘But surely—’
‘Please, Joyce,’ he said quietly. ‘I really can’t talk about it.’
‘Of course. Sorry.’
Joyce glanced at Adela. ‘Are you feeling all right, sweetheart? You’re awfully quiet.’
‘I feel a bit queer,’ she replied.
‘Want me to pull over, Adela?’ Harry offered.
She shook her head. ‘No, let’s just get there and get this over and done with.’
‘I think the sooner a midwife can check you over, the better,’ Joyce said.
‘Annie wrote to tell me her mother’s friend is an experienced midwife and is discreet.
Apparently, she’s getting used to this kind of thing.
Since war began, there’s been quite the increase in .
. . in . . .’ she trailed off awkwardly.
‘Illegitimate babies?’ Adela finished.
They drove the rest of the way to Barnstaple in silence, every so often getting stopped at a roadblock manned by soldiers, batteries and gun emplacements.
It was with a huge sense of relief that they finally pulled up into the library car park. Harry turned off the van, and there was silence, save for the sound of the ticking engine cooling.
‘Adela . . .’ Joyce said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘I think you’re running a fever. You’re ever so clammy.’
‘I don’t feel good,’ she admitted.
Harry quickly unlocked the back of the van and pulled down the steps to the mobile library. Joyce helped Adela out and led her to the back of the library instead.
‘Sit down, my love,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll go inside and see if I can’t rustle up a hot, sweet tea. It’s been a long day.’
As she turned, she saw a group advancing out of the shadows of the car park and, as they drew closer, her throat closed up with emotion.
‘Girls . . .’ she barely managed to croak out. It was, of course, the Secret Society of Librarians.
‘You’re here. You made it,’ she finally managed.
And then they were all hugging one another in a tangle of limbs. There was Jo from Exeter Library, Beth from Coventry Central Library, Evelyn from Plymouth, Clara from Bethnal Green and Annie from Barnstaple.
‘I can’t believe we’re back together again,’ said Beth, her eyes glowing.
‘Well, nearly all of us,’ said Clara.
‘I think our absentees can be excused,’ Evelyn said dryly.
‘We should raise a toast of something stiff and restorative to Grace and Dorotha,’ said Jo. ‘But first, aren’t you going to introduce us, Joyce?’ She was looking over, admiringly, at Harry.
‘Of course,’ she replied, feeling overwhelmed to be back in the bosom of her dear friends. ‘This is Harry . . . My Harry,’ she added, blushing as she spied the girls’ knowing looks. ‘And this is our dear Dorotha’s sister, Adela. She’s a bit wrung out from the trip.’
Adela leaned over, her elbows on her knees, and let out a long, low wail of pain. It was then that Joyce noticed with a lurch of dismay the patch of wet seeping over her trousers.
‘My waters have broken,’ Adela cried. And then she let out a howl.