“I’ll recover.” He placed his hand on Susan’s shoulder. “It’s the running to the shelter that has flared them up.”

Susan retrieved cold cloths and ointment. She gently rubbed some salve over his knees.

Duchess fluttered over and landed on the back of Bertie’s chair.

“What are you looking at?” Bertie said over his shoulder.

Duchess cocked her head and watched Susan wrap cloths around Bertie’s knees.

Susan tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m going.”

Bertie shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“You can barely walk, let alone travel to London.”

“I can’t let you go. Your parents and Granny would never forgive me.” He placed his hand on Susan’s arm. “And I would never forgive myself.”

Susan thought of Granny, recalling how much she missed their walks in Epping Forest to pick wild elderberries, most of which they ate before returning home. “Tell your grandfather that his pigeons have stolen all the berries,” Grandmother would often say, tossing a handful into her mouth. Susan would grin, pluck a berry from a bush, and place it into her mouth, feeling a wee bit mischievous. It was their little secret. They would come home from their adventures with full bellies, empty pails, and new memories, despite always taking the same winding path. Susan could remember every detail of Granny—her wispy gray hair, a constant smile spreading the soft wrinkles in her cheeks, and the eloquent timbre of her voice, like the strings of an old violin. Granny passed away in her sleep on a warm summer night, a mere four years ago. But it seemed like a lifetime ago, the war having driven a wedge between the past and present.

Susan tried to remember her parents, casualties of the Spanish flu pandemic, but could only envision children jumping rope as they chanted. I had a little bird, its name was Enza. I opened the window, and in flew Enza. Susan clenched her hands, shutting the chant from her mind.

“I’m going,” Susan said.

“Absolutely not,” Bertie said firmly. “Besides, Wallace mentioned a Clyde Boar. The only Boar I know was the little dickens in your primary school who ate the ribbon off the parish Christmas tree. There’s no way I’m letting a tinsel eater escort my granddaughter to London.”

Susan shook her head. “The garland was made of popping corn. And I doubt it’s the same person.”

CHAPTER 7 - HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA

CHAPTER 7

HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA

The Canadian embarkation authorities were almost nonexistent, considering most of the customs officers had left to join the war. There were only two officers working the port—one with thick spectacles who struggled to read his clipboard, and another who spent his time staring through binoculars, as if he were waiting for a German submarine to rise from the depths of Halifax Harbour. Ollie disembarked by simply walking off the ship and mingling into a crowd.