Page 2 of The Unknown Birds

“No, sir,” she whispered to the empty room.

Then why was her soul so unsettled, pulled tight as a hidden tripwire, heart pounding like a howitzer delivering its fatal blow?

Are we downhearted? she asked again. “Well, maybe just a bit.”

Chapter 2

London, June 1916

With heavy shoulders, Charley ran through the bustling streets of Whitechapel, making her way to Wintter’s Bakery in record time. The jog down familiar streets brought a bit of comfort now that everything was about to change.

After sitting huddled with her mother in the Underground half the night, waiting to see if German zeppelins would make good on their threats to level the East End, they’d finally returned home in the daylight to discover her twin brother Charles had fled to God knew where.

“He doesn’t mean it,” their mother had insisted. “He’ll come back in his own time.”

But Charley knew her brother better than anyone. While he had many fine qualities—a head for numbers, a knack for quoting Shakespeare, compassion beyond measure—he was also a coward, not equal to the task of foreign war. His compassion extended first and foremost to himself. He’d probably been planning how to disappear since they passed the Conscription Act in January.

His notice arrived a week ago, and the air raid warnings had provided the perfect cover for him to up and disappear. Besides all that, he’d taken most of his clothes.

“He’s supposed to report for duty by tomorrow,” she reminded her mother. “I’m not sure his own time will suit.”

“He’ll be back, you’ll see.”

“He’s taken the sketch he drew of you and me,” Charley said, observing the empty place upon the mantel. “He isn’t coming home.”

“He has to,” her mother said, wringing her hands. “What will be the penalty if he’s found?”

“They won’t find him,” she answered evenly, straightening her mother’s collar to hide the trembling in her own hands. “They won’t even look, because I’m going in his place.”

She, too, had thought it through since January, because Charles was always their mother’s favorite, whether she admitted it or not—the man of the house, whom she couldn’t live without—the one it would break her heart to lose. And because Charley knew without a doubt that if he made it to the Western Front, they would lose him. The war in France would break him just as surely as the Boers had broken the father she never met.

“What can you mean?” her mum asked, crossing her arms and rubbing them against a sudden chill. “Go in his place? Don’t be absurd.”

Charley pulled her long hair up, tucking it beneath her brother’s old cap. “What do you see?”

Her mother blinked, and Charley knew she had her, no matter how much she might protest.

“I see my darling girl.”

“Admit it, Mum. You see Charles.”

“This isn’t Twelfth Night, Charley. You can’t just dress up as your twin and be taken for a man.”

“Viola dresses up as Cesario, not Sebastian,” she countered. “And I know it’ll be hard, but I can do it. Only first, you must cut my hair.”

She pulled off the cap, letting it fall to her waist in wavy brown locks.

“Your beautiful hair,” her mother moaned, stepping back.

Charley moved closer, holding out the scissors.

“You can’t do this. I can’t lose you both.”

When her mother sniffled, eyes filled with tears, Charley’s own tears threatened to fall, so she focused on the scissors.

“You won’t lose either of us. Charles is out there, somewhere. Safe enough for now. If I go in his place, he’ll stay safe, don’t you see? You know I can bear it better than he can. And I promise to take very good care while I’m away.” She tried to press the scissors into her mother’s hand. “What’s the alternative?” she asked gently.

“We do nothing. We wait.”