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There was a baby in the basement.
There was a baby in the basement.
There was an actual human infant sitting on the desk in the basement office of MI5, chewing on a pen.
The baby stared at Charles.
Charles stared at the baby.
“Um, hello?” He said, holding out a hand as if expecting the baby to shake it. Unsurprisingly the baby did not shake his hand, but it did at least put the pen down and give him a gummy smile, which felt like progress.
Bolstered by the reaction, Charles continued. “My name is Charles Cholmondeley, and- well, I would ask yours, but you won't be able to tell me. Oh god, you can’t tell me anything, how on earth am I supposed to return you to your family?”
At that point, it suddenly occurred to him that, after spending 16 straight hours at work, he may have been hallucinating. It certainly made more sense than a random child suddenly showing up in one of the most secure buildings in England. A wave of relief washed over Charles as he fully accepted his newfound insanity.
“Well that’s a relief.” he said to the almost certainly imaginary baby before him. “Just imagine if there had been an actual child here. What a nightmare that would have been.”
“Charles? Who are you talking to?” A voice rang out in the stillness of the basement air. Charles jumped at the sound, and the baby let out a displeased coo. Seconds later, Ewen Montagu strode into the room, his slightly creased shirt and askew tie the only signs that he’d been working just as long a shift as Charles had.
He stopped in the entrance way, staring past Charles with a concerned expression on his face. “Charles… why is there a baby on the desk?”
Well, that rather threw a spanner in the works of Charles’ insanity theory.
Any relief he had been experiencing over the past few minutes disappeared in a flash, as hot panic shot down his spine. “I don’t know! I just went out for a bit to grab some files from upstairs, and when I came back it was just… there! Where do you think it came from?”
“Oh isn’t it obvious?” Monty approached the baby, holding out a hand for the little one to grab. “The blond curls, those big blue eyes, the faintly disapproving way he’s staring at me? Clearly this is a little baby Bevan!”
The cogs turned painfully slowly in Charles' exhausted mind, until they came to an abrupt conclusion. “Oh my god. You mean… that baby is Colonel Bevan?”
Monty stared at Charles for a second, his expression completely unreadable. “...Yes.” he said, finally. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying Charlie.”
“But, how?”
Monty shrugged. “Some kind of nefarious Nazi scheme? We knew they were up to something, but this really is beyond the pale.”
Charles' body moved almost on instinct, snapping into a salute. “Colonel Bevan, sir, I am so sorry!” he blustered, “I can't believe… this is awful, Monty, we have to do something!”
“Quite right, Charlie, quite right.” There was something odd about Monty's tone, but Charles was terrible at reading people at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't him at his best. “The fate of this baby lies in our hands now.”
A thought suddenly occurred to Charles. “What are we going to tell the others - what are we going to tell Hester?”
Monty looked up from where he was letting the baby gnaw on one of his fingers. “We can’t tell them anything, not yet. This could have devastating consequences for the workings of MI5 - we can’t have it getting out that our fearless leader can barely sit up straight.”
Baby Bevan babbled something in agreement, tiny hands grabbing at Monty’s wedding ring as it glinted in the overhead lights. For a second, Charles felt his heart melt at the sight, at the small smile on Monty’s face as he wiggled his fingers in front of the baby’s face, earning him a hearty chuckle from their tiny boss.
Then Charles remembered the gravity of his situation, and felt a sick pit opening up in his stomach. “This - this is an absolute nightmare! We can’t just lose Colonel Bevan like this, MI5 will practically fall apart! And right when we’re so close to completing Mincemeat!”
As if sensing Charles' panic, Baby Bevan started to cry. Small sniffles at first, but soon building up to a wail that could have served as a decently effective air raid siren.
“Oh god!” Charles said, flapping his hands in panic. “What do we do?”
“I don't know?” Stress was starting to creep in on Monty's casual demeanour, as if he was suddenly realising the severity of the situation. “In my experience this is the point where you hand them off to a servant and wash your hands of the whole messy business.”
Unfortunately this was neither the time nor place to dig into Monty's childhood, but Charles did make a mental note to bring it back up later. Said note was mostly drowned out by the rest of his brain yelling at him to stop the baby crying, now.
There was no point being precious about it anymore. Charles took a deep breath and scooped the child up, trying frantically to remember what little he'd been told about how to hold babies. Thank goodness this one seemed to be old enough to hold up his head, but Charles cupped it with his hand anyway, just to be certain. To his surprise, the crying did subside slightly, and Monty shot him a thumbs up.
“Now what?” Charles hissed, holding the baby so delicately he felt as if he was handling some kind of volatile explosive device.
Monty shrugged, making a kind of panicked ‘I don’t know!’ noise. Charles started pacing back and forth, running through possibilities in his mind. “Do you think he’s hungry? We can’t give him milk, neither of us are exactly equipped for that - but he looks older, maybe he’s eating solid food? How old are babies when they start eating real food, six months? A year? I’ll have to call my parents - or, no, they can’t know, Monty we need to get to a library immediately, there have to be books on this kind of thing.”
Nervous energy was coursing through his veins, and Charles found himself absentmindedly bouncing the baby as he walked, settling the small body on his hip and holding him close to his side. He needed to move, to try and get both his body and his thoughts moving as he tried to wrangle his exhausted mind into problem-solving mode. “I don’t think he needs changing, we’d probably have noticed that - oh, but even if he did, we don’t have anything to change him into, do we? Are nappies rationed? I’ve got spare tokens from last month, but do cloth nappies count as clothing? Or maybe I can ask my neighbour, I think her youngest is potty-trained now, she might have spares. There’s probably more we’ll need, if he’s going to be like this for a while - oh god, Monty what if it’s permanent? What if he’s stuck as a baby and we have to wait fifty years until we get our Bevan back - what if we have to raise him? I’m not ready to be a father, I’d be useless, I can barely keep myself alive!”
“You’re doing a pretty good job so far.” Monty said, and there was a softness to his words that almost made Charles stop in his tracks. He slowed his pacing, turning to meet Monty’s gaze, feeling his eyebrow raise in confusion. Monty simply gestured at the child in Charles’ arms, and Charles followed the other man’s gaze to look down at him.
At some point, while Charles had been anxiously pacing back and forth, the baby had stopped crying and was now looking intently up at Charles. His cheeks were still damp with tears, and Charles managed to somehow manoeuvre his handkerchief one handed out of his trouser pocket to try and dry them. He gently dabbed at baby Bevan’s cheeks, mopping up the remnants of the earlier crying. “There we are, much better. Good to see you’ve cheered up, sir.”
“He must have liked the movement,” Monty said, moving closer until he was practically shoulder to shoulder with Charles. “My sister was the same, when she was little. Wouldn’t settle unless she was on someone’s shoulder, being paraded around the house like she was being given a guided tour. She still likes to go for an evening walk, if she can’t get to sleep - although the blackouts have put a bit of a damper on that.”
“It must be soothing, the repetitive motion.” Charles agreed. “Like falling asleep on the train. I once missed my stop on the way south to visit my family and woke up all the way down in Penzance.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Monty’s words could have been mocking, but his voice was still soft enough that it just came out fond instead. He leaned into Charles’ side, reaching out to stroke the baby’s cheek, and once again, affection swelled in Charles’ chest. He opened his mouth, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was about to say.
It didn’t matter anyway. Anything he would have said died in his throat at the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, and the sudden appearance of Jean in the doorway. She stopped as soon as she saw the pair of them, eyes wide as dinner plates. Charles dreaded to think what this must all look like to an outside observer, two men standing in a basement holding a strange baby. He didn’t even know where to start to explain it all.
“Ah, Jean, perfect! Just the person we need!” Monty said, before Charles could stop him. “You’re a woman, right? You know what to do with children?”
Jean stared at them for a second, before turning on her heel and leaving the room as quickly as she’d entered.
“...Well, drat.” Monty said. “That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”
“Of course it didn't!” Charles snapped. “Really, Monty, how did you think that was going to go down?”
Monty stared at him, baffled. “What? Women know these kinds of things, don't they have classes in them? Some kind of special baby lesson at school that the rest of us skipped?”
The annoying part was that he wasn't technically wrong, but Charles wasn't going to admit that. Nor was he going to admit that Jean had confided in him once that she'd actively refused to take part in any of said lessons, smuggling books in under her desk to read when her teacher wasn't paying attention. She may have been one of the few people in the building worse at dealing with children than Charles was.
Monty didn't get to know that.
Instead, Charles just resumed his pacing, filled once again with restless energy. Monty watched him in a kind of sulky silence, fidgeting with his cufflinks. In Charles’ arms, the baby grizzled unhappily, not quite crying but clearly picking up on the mood in the room.
In lieu of any better ideas, Charles turned his attention to Baby Bevan. “Hush, hush, don’t be upset. It isn’t your fault we’re terrible at this, and I really am terribly sorry sir, but I’m sure we’ll muddle through. We will have to tell Hester, of course - Monty, don’t give me that look, you were perfectly happy to bring Jean into this mess - but I assure you, this will not go any further, not until we find out exactly what has happened.”
To his surprise, his words seemed to be helping. Bevan had stopped grizzling and was looking up at Charlie in astonishment. He waved his little arms around and babbled something, ending with a blown raspberry and a cheeky giggle.
Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps once again - louder, this time. More people, which meant more problems. Charles, Monty and the baby all whipped their heads round to see who was about to join them.
The door swung open to reveal Jean back again, flanked by Hester and-
“Colonel Bevan!” Charles squeaked, flinging his free hand up in a salute. “But… I thought you… What on earth is going on?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” Bevan said, face like thunder. “What the hell are you doing with my nephew?”
“Your… I’m sorry, what?” Charles was far too tired for this. His thoughts were like treacle, even his usual instinctive panic felt like it was coming slower than usual. He looked around at Monty, hoping that he would have some answer - or at the very least, would share in his confusion. Instead, he was surprised to see that Monty looked slightly… sheepish. It was an odd look on him, and a more alert Charles would have found it deeply suspicious. As it was, in his current state, all Charles was capable of doing was saying “I’m terribly sorry sir, but we thought the baby was you.”
Bevan blinked at him, all of his earlier irritation dissipating in the face of confusion. “You what?”
Monty cleared his throat. “That, err, that may have been my doing. In my defence, it was very funny.”
The irritation was back. “Montagu. What the hell have you done now?”
“Well, again in my defence, Charles started it-”
“I found a baby!” Charles blurted out. “He was sitting on the desk when I came in, and I thought I was seeing things, but then Monty came in and saw him too, and said the baby was you, and that you’d been de-aged, and…” It suddenly occurred to him, as he spoke the words out loud and watched the expressions on his co-workers’ faces, that this really was a ridiculous situation. Of course Bevan hadn’t been magically reduced in age by some bizarre Nazi scheme. Of course Monty had been joking when he’d brought up the possibility - and of course his stupid tired brain had run with it as far as he could.
Charles could feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Typical Charlie, getting carried away with his worries, making up things that don’t exist. “I’m very sorry, sir. I… I haven’t been sleeping much, and I think… I think I got a little confused.”
He held out the baby, allowing Bevan to carefully take the child from his arms. The baby made a small disappointed noise as he was handed over, but as soon as Bevan settled him close to his chest, he snuggled in closer to the familiar adult. Bevan took a second to adjust the small body, making sure he was comfortable, before turning his attention back to Charles.
“Cholmondeley, I… Honestly, all I can say is thank you. I have no idea how my nephew managed to find himself down in this office - particularly when I gave the typing pool strict instructions to keep an eye on him while I was in a meeting-” Now it was Jean’s turn to look vaguely sheepish, looking at the floor as if to avoid the glare Hester was sending her. Charles was suddenly very curious about the exact chain of events that had led to an unaccompanied baby being left in the basement office, but that would have to wait.
Bevan cleared his throat and continued. “But regardless of how he got down here, it seems you have taken good care of him. Even if somebody decided to take advantage of your… confusion.”
Monty had joined Jean in looking anywhere but at the group, although he was attempting to play it more nonchalantly. When he realised everyone was looking at him, he simply raised his eyebrows. “What? It all worked out in the end! Charlie’s a natural with children, he really is.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Charles admitted, “But you have a very well behaved nephew.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Bevan’s voice softened slightly, as he bounced the baby slightly on his hip. “This is Harry Bevan, my brother’s son - his mother has had to go out of town for an emergency, and the nanny’s fallen ill, so I’m on uncle duty today.”
The family resemblance was uncanny. For the first time, Charles felt faintly vindicated about his earlier confusion, watching the two Bevans next to each other.
Harry yawned loudly, his tiny mouth opening as wide as it would go. Bevan chuckled. “Right, now that’s all settled, I’m putting this one down for a nap.”
“Take Charlie,” Monty said, “I think he needs one too.”
Charles opened his mouth to protest, realised he was swaying slightly on his feet, and closed it again. “You know, that actually does sound like an excellent idea.”
“Of course it does, it’s one of mine.” Monty patted Charles on the arm. “Finish up that report, I’ll take it up to Bevan, and then you and I are going back to mine and passing out for as long as it takes for you to get back to a state where you don’t genuinely believe our boss has been turned into a baby.”
As much as he wanted to protest, that sounded pretty good to Charles. He allowed himself to be guided over to his desk, collapsing into the chair with a sigh. Through the haze of exhaustion, Charles was vaguely aware of muttered conversations around him, the dull thuds and soft clicks of footsteps as Bevan, Hester, Jean, and the baby left the room. It was just him and Monty left now, left to their work - or at least, as much work as they could complete before one or both of them passed out at their desks.
There may have been no rest for the wicked, but Charles reckoned he had been good enough for a short nap at least. And if that nap happened to take place at Monty's flat, in Monty's bed, wrapped up in Monty's arms - well, he had been particularly good this week.
***
“I do worry about Cholmondeley, sometimes.” John said, as they walked through the corridors of MI5. In his arms, Harry made a noise that almost sounded like agreement, babbling nonsense at his uncle, who nodded solemnly. “Quite right Hal, he does deserve a break. Once this Mincemeat nonsense is done, I’m going to strongly suggest he takes full advantage of all the leave he’s got backed up. You all should, really.”
Hester startled slightly as she realised she was being addressed. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Even once Mincemeat is complete, I do still have a typing pool to run. Some of us can’t afford to go swanning off for a week.”
“You deserve it, though.” John said, insistently. “Really, Hester, I insist. At least take a long weekend, go see some family, catch up on some reading - or sleep for the entire thing, whatever you fancy.”
“And when will you be doing the same, sir?” Hester fired back, knowing damn well it had been several weeks since John had taken even a single day off. The man in question looked away sheepishly, and Hester allowed herself a small smile. From behind her, she heard a cough from Jean that sounded suspiciously like it was covering up the words ‘Just ask him out already’. Not even one of Hester’s best Hard Stares could stop the cheeky grin from spreading across Jean’s face, but thankfully John hadn’t noticed. He was distracted by the child in his arms, watching as Harry’s wide eyes took in the sights and sounds of MI5 around him.
There was something very compelling about seeing John holding a baby. Hester had never felt any particularly maternal urges - she wasn’t good with things that needed help to grow, after all, and while she had to admit she did enjoy looking after her gaggle of typing pool girls, at the end of the day, they were adults who could look after themselves. Children - babies especially - had always seemed like a mystery, one that she was particularly unequipped to solve.
And yet, there was something about seeing John Bevan walking through the corridors of the Admiralty with a child on his hip, talking in a low voice about the important work that went on there, how every man and woman in the building was doing their part to keep children like Harry safe, all around the world. There was no way Harry was actually taking any of it in, but he was watching his uncle transfixed, as if this was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard. It made Hester’s heart melt just a little, watching the pair interact. It was so rare to glimpse the softer side of Colonel John Bevan, the man who was as tightly buttoned as his uniform jacket. Perhaps she needed to convince him to bring his relatives to work more often.