Alfie took two, popped the first in his mouth, and put the other in his pocket for later.
“It’ll get all furry in there,” said Marian with a frown. “You’ll have to wash it before you eat it or you’ll come down with something.”
Alfie nodded. Back when Mr. Janáček still had his sweet shop, Georgie used to buy him a quarter of apple drops every Saturday morning when he went for his newspaper. He’d come back with the paper folded in half, and Alfie would stand there grinning at him until he opened it up—“Look what I’ve got for you,” he’d say—and revealed the package contained inside.
“Ipswich is quite close to Suffolk, of course,” continued Marian, “so you’re probably on the right one after all. Did you speak with a conductor?”
“Yes,” said Alfie.
“Did you tell him where you wanted to go?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s where you made your mistake, you see. There’s no point boarding a train unless you’re absolutely certain that your destinations match. Doing it your way is what lands a person in Edinburgh when he had designs on Cornwall. Are you enjoying your sweetie? You’re making a tremendous noise with it. Learn to suck without making that horrible chewing sound—you’ll prove far more popular with traveling companions.”
Alfie was uncertain how he could eat any more quietly, and swallowed the entire thing in one go, which made an awful gulping sound, which in turn made Marian narrow her eyes at him as if she were considering switching carriages (which he rather hoped she would).
“What’s in Suffolk anyway?” she asked. “Do you have a sweetheart there?”
“No,” said Alfie, blushing furiously.
“I’m only teasing. Sweethearts are more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me. Mine threw me over, but you don’t want to hear about him, do you? But do tell me, what brings you out there?”
Alfie thought about it. He hadn’t planned on revealing his secret mission to anyone; not Margie, Old Bill Hemperton, Granny Summerfield, or Joe Patience. But he didn’t think it could do much harm to tell a stranger, particularly when she seemed to know everything about everything.
“The East Suffolk and Ipswich Hospital,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” she replied, opening her eyes wide in surprise. “The East Suffolk? Why, that’s where I’m going too! What a coincidence! Or perhaps it’s not, since we’re clearly heading in the same direction. But why on earth is a boy your age going to the East Suffolk? Are you a young genius who became a doctor at the age of five?”
“I’m just visiting,” he said.
“Just visiting? Queer sort of place to go on a visit, but all right, I won’t ask any questions. Tell me what you want, keep the rest to yourself. Doesn’t matter to me much. I have to attend a lecture there, if you can believe it. Frightful bore. But terribly interesting, of course,” she added, a contradiction that didn’t make a lot of sense to Alfie.
“What sort of a lecture?” he asked.
She shrugged, reached inside her bag for a packet of cigarettes, and took one out, lighting up in a quick fluid movement of thumb, wrist, and match. When the smoke appeared before her in a sudden haze, she used her other hand to wave it away. “Awful things,” she said. “Don’t ever start. They take over one’s soul. Are you really interested in my lecture or are you just being polite?”
“I’m just being polite,” said Alfie.
“Oh, all right then. Well, I’ll tell you anyway since you asked. I work with soldiers who’ve come back from the front, you see. You know about the front, don’t you? Everyone does, I suppose. You’d have to be living under a rock not to. Well, they come back in a terrible way, some of them. So we do what we can to help. I’m doing a sort of triangle, if that makes sense. I live in Norwich, I took the train to London yesterday to visit a friend—an awful girl I used to go to school with and who’s now a big voice in the Suffrage movement. Have you heard of the Suffrage movement? No, I expect you’re too young, but if anyone ever asks, you’re in favor of it, all right? Anyway, I took the train down there and now I’m on a train to Ipswich for this lecture. A chap from a hospital in Manchester is giving it. He gave one two months ago that I attended, and half the men there fell asleep. The women didn’t. We paid attention, you see. What’s the point of going and not listening? Then tonight I’ll head home to Norwich. My father’s a vicar there. Don’t laugh.”
Alfie shook his head. He had no idea why she thought he might laugh. She hadn’t said anything funny.
“I can take you to the hospital, if you like,” she said. “When we arrive, I mean. It’s not far from the station, but if you don’t know where you’re going you’re likely to get lost. And I can’t have it on my conscience that I let a ten-year-old boy wander the streets without any idea of his destination.”
“I’m nine,” said Alfie for the second time.
“Well, you’ll be ten soon enough, I imagine. Nine-year-old boys usually turn ten at some point. It’s the nineteen-year-olds who have difficulty turning twenty.” She looked away and stared out the window for a few moments, blinking furiously, then closing her eyes and breathing heavily through her nose. Finally she turned back and offered something like a smile. “Anyway, if you get lost in Ipswich you might have a birthday before you find your way home again. So are we agreed? You’ll let me show you the way?”
Alfie nodded, feeling quite exhausted by the way the young woman had talked to him. He felt as if a little nap might be in order and leaned back against the seat, turning his head to look out at the passing fields.
“Oh, we’re finished talking now, are we?” asked Marian, and Alfie turned back to her but she shook her head. “I’m only teasing. Go ahead. Watch the scenery pass. I’m perfectly happy with my own company and that of Dr. F. R. Hutchison. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you when we get there. It’ll be at least two hours yet. Probably more. The trains take forever these days. No need to worry.”
Alfie nodded, sat back, and closed his eyes. He didn’t really want to fall asleep, but he thought that if he listened to the young woman talking for much longer, he might go a little mad. He’d never heard anyone speak so fast or have so much to say. He gave a little yawn and was just reflecting that forty winks might come in very useful when a thought occurred to him and he opened his eyes again and sat up straight.
“The hospital we’re going to,” he asked, “what sort of hospital is it, anyway?”
“Well, one for sick people, of course,” said Marian.
“Yes, but what sort of sick people?”
“Sick soldiers. The ones who survived but aren’t doing a terribly good job at surviving, if that makes sense. There’s a term for it. That’s what my lecture is about, as it happens. It’s an awful thing, but it’s become terribly common. Even if there are those who simply refuse to believe the evidence of their own eyes.”
Alfie looked at her. He was almost afraid to ask. “What is it?” he asked.
Marian Bancroft looked at him and smiled—not a happy smile, more the sort of smile that accompanies bad news; a smile that might put a person at ease.