who is not herself truly care for another?
She gathers her materials and stands. “So you’ll take me to the Admiralty?” she asks quietly. She hands him the unfinished drawing.
“We’ll go a week from today.”
T he rain spits sideways in great gusts as Mary Dodsworth brings the motorcar around. Dr. Bridge’s black umbrella, with which he hopes to shield Stella on the way from the house to the vehicle, blows inside out the moment he opens it. Dr. Bridge and Stella run for the car and duck inside, their outer garments beaded up with water. Dr. Bridge has made arrangements with a rear admiral he knows for a noon appointment at the Admiralty. Between them, it has been decided that Albion Tillman will keep Dr. Bridge and Stella waiting in an area through which most personnel pass either going to or coming from the canteen during the lunch hour. The delay will be tedious, but it is, after all, the point of the excursion: Stella will have an opportunity to scan the passersby for the man she seeks.
Stella has her uniform on, the white bib over the blue dress, her hair fixed neatly under the white cloth that ties in the back to make a cap.
“You remind me of the Miss Bain I met when you came to us. But now you have regained your health. Are you sure the uniform is wise? Someone may query you as to your posting.”
“I’ll be taken more seriously in my quest to find my ‘brother,’ who went to sea to participate in the Battle of Jutland and from whom I’ve heard nothing.”
“Tillman knows this is a false request.”
“Yes, but we may encounter an underling. I’ve found that, for a woman, a uniform enhances her status.”
“For a man as well,” Dr. Bridge says beside her, and she imagines he may be nursing that old wound. They journey along George Street, through Baker Street, to Oxford Street, none of them marked with a signpost.
Is it possible that in a matter of hours she will find the man she is looking for?
When Mary Dodsworth gives Dr. Bridge’s name at the Admiralty gate, the Austin is allowed to pass through. Stella sucks in a long breath as they reach the courtyard. Already this is farther than she has ever been.
Despite an attempt to appear normal, she stumbles when Dr. Bridge helps her out of the vehicle.
“Steady now,” he says in a quiet voice. “You’re distressed at the mystery surrounding your brother’s disappearance, but you’re not afraid to be here. In fact, the opposite. You demand information.”
“Yes, of course,” she says, but something more complicated than fear grips her.
Inside the stately lobby, now defaced with handwritten signs and temporary desks, boots ring out with authority on the marble floor as men in uniform come and go. Dr. Bridge and Stella visit reception and inquire about an appointment with Rear Admiral Albion Tillman. The receptionist, a woman in a Wren uniform, makes the call and tells them that there will be a slight wait. Would they care to take one of the benches against the marble wall? She will alert them when Tillman becomes available.
Stella and Dr. Bridge settle themselves to wait at least an hour, as prearranged. She notices other civilians on benches, one or two of whom appear to be in severe distress. She makes a mental note to stop as she and Dr. Bridge pass by the front gate to hand a coin to a beggar.
She does not know what she is looking for, but hopes she will know it when she finds it. Conversation with Dr. Bridge is all but impossible, not only because she is riveted to each face passing by but also because even whispers can be heard in the echoing chamber. When she and Dr. Bridge are both staring at an individual, that person stares at them in return, which, she supposes, is all right, since the person may recognize Stella before she recognizes him.
When, after an hour, Dr. Bridge’s name is called, he stands. Stella is now confronted with an inescapable fact: her time spent searching for a face is over. An escort comes
She gathers her materials and stands. “So you’ll take me to the Admiralty?” she asks quietly. She hands him the unfinished drawing.
“We’ll go a week from today.”
T he rain spits sideways in great gusts as Mary Dodsworth brings the motorcar around. Dr. Bridge’s black umbrella, with which he hopes to shield Stella on the way from the house to the vehicle, blows inside out the moment he opens it. Dr. Bridge and Stella run for the car and duck inside, their outer garments beaded up with water. Dr. Bridge has made arrangements with a rear admiral he knows for a noon appointment at the Admiralty. Between them, it has been decided that Albion Tillman will keep Dr. Bridge and Stella waiting in an area through which most personnel pass either going to or coming from the canteen during the lunch hour. The delay will be tedious, but it is, after all, the point of the excursion: Stella will have an opportunity to scan the passersby for the man she seeks.
Stella has her uniform on, the white bib over the blue dress, her hair fixed neatly under the white cloth that ties in the back to make a cap.
“You remind me of the Miss Bain I met when you came to us. But now you have regained your health. Are you sure the uniform is wise? Someone may query you as to your posting.”
“I’ll be taken more seriously in my quest to find my ‘brother,’ who went to sea to participate in the Battle of Jutland and from whom I’ve heard nothing.”
“Tillman knows this is a false request.”
“Yes, but we may encounter an underling. I’ve found that, for a woman, a uniform enhances her status.”
“For a man as well,” Dr. Bridge says beside her, and she imagines he may be nursing that old wound. They journey along George Street, through Baker Street, to Oxford Street, none of them marked with a signpost.
Is it possible that in a matter of hours she will find the man she is looking for?
When Mary Dodsworth gives Dr. Bridge’s name at the Admiralty gate, the Austin is allowed to pass through. Stella sucks in a long breath as they reach the courtyard. Already this is farther than she has ever been.
Despite an attempt to appear normal, she stumbles when Dr. Bridge helps her out of the vehicle.
“Steady now,” he says in a quiet voice. “You’re distressed at the mystery surrounding your brother’s disappearance, but you’re not afraid to be here. In fact, the opposite. You demand information.”
“Yes, of course,” she says, but something more complicated than fear grips her.
Inside the stately lobby, now defaced with handwritten signs and temporary desks, boots ring out with authority on the marble floor as men in uniform come and go. Dr. Bridge and Stella visit reception and inquire about an appointment with Rear Admiral Albion Tillman. The receptionist, a woman in a Wren uniform, makes the call and tells them that there will be a slight wait. Would they care to take one of the benches against the marble wall? She will alert them when Tillman becomes available.
Stella and Dr. Bridge settle themselves to wait at least an hour, as prearranged. She notices other civilians on benches, one or two of whom appear to be in severe distress. She makes a mental note to stop as she and Dr. Bridge pass by the front gate to hand a coin to a beggar.
She does not know what she is looking for, but hopes she will know it when she finds it. Conversation with Dr. Bridge is all but impossible, not only because she is riveted to each face passing by but also because even whispers can be heard in the echoing chamber. When she and Dr. Bridge are both staring at an individual, that person stares at them in return, which, she supposes, is all right, since the person may recognize Stella before she recognizes him.
When, after an hour, Dr. Bridge’s name is called, he stands. Stella is now confronted with an inescapable fact: her time spent searching for a face is over. An escort comes
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