Constance smiled to herself. Here she was, a frail old lady who had never married, sitting in a wheelchair, believing she had all the answers about courtship, love and marriage. But, in her defence, she had been privy to so many people’s secrets over the last fifty years. She was a seasoned observer, and she liked to think she was also an excellent judge of character.

She had recently written to young Dilys at Bourne & Hollingsworth and told her she didn’t believe for one moment that Molly had given goods to friends posing as customers. She said that one of the worst things for Molly was to be frogmarched from the building without even being able to leave a note of explanation for Dilys, who she had cared for a great deal. She asked that, if Dilys had felt the same about Molly, she should write to her or telephone. She ended her letter reminding her that true friends are rare and valuable and should be treasured.

If Dilys came back into Molly’s life, it would help heal the wounds that the treacherous Miss Stow had inflicted on her, and maybe prove to Molly that she was worthy of love and affection. But there was something more Constance could do, and that was to use her contacts to help with Molly’s future. Tomorrow, when Molly was at work, Constance intended to telephone someone she knew well and see if they had any vacancies.

February was even colder than January. Snow turned to dirty slush and then froze again, leaving great piles of black ice at the sides of the roads. All the pavements were treacherous. Every day Molly heard horrible stories from people who lived in tenements about frozen lavatories and water pipes. She could tell by the smell of people who came into the café that washing wasn’t a high priority any more. Even she, who had once been so fastidious, found it too cold to strip off in the scullery and wash all over every day. She went to the public baths with Constance every Thursday night, but even though it was lovely once she was in a nice, hot bath, it was so cold getting dressed and going home that sometimes she was tempted to skip it.

Constance often told her tales about how it was in the Blitz. She said that she didn’t wash anything but her face and hands for over three weeks once, because she’d been bombed out and was sleeping in shelters.

‘It was the same for lots of us.’ She laughed. ‘People came out of a night in the shelter to find their house had been flattened. They’d lost everything, but they’d still go off to work like nothing had happened. I saw women having a strip wash in the public toilets – they had nowhere else to do it.’

‘In Bristol, people went out into the countryside at night because they were scared of the bombs,’ Molly said.

‘People left London, too,’ Constance said. ‘Not everyone was as brave as you are led to believe. I met women who were so terrified that they almost lost their reason. I would lead prayers in the shelters when the bombing was at its worst and, while most people found it comforting, there were some who tried to shout me down, saying there was no God.’

‘Were you in the Church Army then?’

‘Yes, but I can’t remember if I also told you that I was a nurse back then. I was twenty-two in 1905 when my sweetheart, Ronald, died of pneumonia. We were planning to get married, but he died just a few weeks before the date we’d booked,’ she said. ‘That was my reason for turning to nursing. I thought that caring for the sick and injured would make me whole again, too. Perhaps it did, as nursing men with appalling injuries during the Great War brought me into the church to pray for them.’

‘I think it would’ve stopped me believing in God,’ Molly said.

Constance smiled, the kind of wry smile that said she’d had that response from many people. ‘I can only speak for myself and, odd as it sounds, I felt something like a hand on my shoulder urging me to put my life in God’s hands. I suppose, had I been a Roman Catholic, I might have entered a convent, but I was an Anglican, so it was the Church Army. They have always done evangelical work in places like slums, and I was sent here.’

‘To try and make people turn to the Church?’

‘To introduce them to God’s love is how I see it. Some of the people I’ve met over the years have been right down in the gutter, as far down as it’s possible to be. They might have a drink problem, be a criminal, have some terrible medical condition, or just be desperately poor, with absolutely no one to turn to. If I can make them see that God loves them, too, that their life is important to him, often that raises them up and gives them the inner strength to improve their situation.’

‘But you don’t preach to people,’ Molly said, puzzled how this evangelical thing worked. ‘Well, at least not to any of the people I’ve met.’

‘The simplest way to get the message across is by example.’ Constance shrugged. ‘They know I have as little as them, but they also see my contentment. Over the years I’ve been a friend to half the people in Whitechapel while they went through a tough period. For some, it was being bombed out in the war or having their husband brought home badly injured. Some have lost a child; others have a serious medical problem. Ordinary people encounter countless different hurdles but, mostly, they can cope if they have someone to talk to about it. I give them myself and God.’

Molly privately thought that Constance being willing to listen and sympathize was what worked, but if it was her faith that motivated her to do that, then just maybe God was there, too.

The morning after Constance had told Molly how she came to join the Church Army, she got a letter. She’d picked it up from the door mat with a couple of letters for Constance, and stood in the hall looking at the handwriting, which she didn’t recognize for some time, before finally opening the envelope.

When she did, she gave a little shriek of joy and ran in to Constance. ‘It’s from Dilys, my friend at Bourne & Hollingsworth,’ she said excitedly. ‘How on earth did she get this address?’

‘Go on and read it then,’ Constance urged her, and wheeled her chair over to the stove, because the kettle was boiling for their tea.

Dear Molly

[she read]

. I was so very relieved and happy to get a letter from your friend, because I just knew you hadn’t stolen anything, I know that wicked Miss Stow made it up. But I didn’t know how to find you, and I was really sad because I missed you so much and I was afraid you’d have to go home and face your dad.

I spent the whole of Christmas Day crying. All those plans we had, the stockings and meeting those blokes at the Empire. It was just miserable. I never even wore my new dress.

None of the other girls believe you’d done anything either. All of them thought it was a terrible thing to do to you. I hope that makes you feel better.

I’ve got a new girl in with me now. Her name is Janice, and she’s the most boring person I’ve ever met. She sits and knits, like that Madame Defarge in

A Tale of Two Cities.

Even the jumper she’s knitting is brown. Only really dull people wear that colour! I’m almost tempted to invite her out one night and then push her onto the tube line.

I’ll phone you on Thursday evening, and I hope we can arrange to meet up somewhere. I never wanted to lose touch with you. I thought we’d still be mates when we were old ladies. You thank Constance for me, tell her I said she is an angel for writing to me.

Your loving chum, Dilys

‘Oh, Constance,’ Molly sighed as she finished the letter. She wiped a stray tear from her eye. ‘Thank you so much for writing to her. She doesn’t believe I did it.’

‘Would anyone believe that if they really knew you?’ Constance smiled and poured tea into two cups. ‘So, when are you going to see her?’