This is the delay, Polly thought. We’re going to spend the next two hours attempting to pry Theodore loose from Eileen’s legs.
But Eileen was ready for him. “I must go,” she said, “but I brought you a Christmas present.” She pulled a box wrapped in Townsend Brothers Christmas paper out of her bag and handed it to him.
Theodore sat down immediately to open it, and they made a hasty exit and were back on the train in a thankfully empty car by half past four. “We should have plenty of time to get to St. Paul’s before the raids start,” Mike said.
“But in case we don’t,” Polly said, “and in case we get separated, you need to tell me what Mr. Bartholomew looks like.”
“He’s tall,” Eileen said, “dark hair, early thirties—no, wait, I keep forgetting he was here six years ago. He’d be in his late twenties.”
“The fire watch’s headquarters are in the Crypt,” Polly said, “and the stairs to it are—”
“I know,” Mike said. “I’ve been to St. Paul’s.”
“To look for Mr. Bartholomew?” Polly asked.
“No. I told you, I thought he came in the spring. I was looking for you, remember? Mr. Humphreys gave me a whole tour of the place. He told me all about this Captain Faulknor guy who saved the day by tying two ships together and showed me all the staircases and—”
“But he didn’t show Eileen,” Polly said. “Or did he, that day you came looking for me, Eileen?”
“Yes, but I had other things on my mind. Where did you say the steps down to the Crypt are?”
“Here,” Polly said, drawing a map of St. Paul’s with her finger on the leather back of the seat and pointing to where the stairway down to the Crypt was.
“Where are the stairs to the roof?” Eileen asked.
“I don’t know, and it’s not roof, it’s roofs. There are layers and layers of levels and roofs. That’s what made putting out the incendiaries so difficult. But there’ll be someone in the Crypt who can take a message up to Mr. Bartholomew,” she said, and filled Eileen in on the raid. “St. Paul’s didn’t burn—”
“Because of the fire watch,” Mike said.
“Yes, but the entire area around it did. And Fleet Street and the Guildhall and the Central Telephone Exchange—all the operators had to be evacuated—and at least one of the surface shelters. I don’t know which one.”
“Then we need to stay out of all of them,” Mike said. “You said some of the tube stations were hit? Which ones?”
“Waterloo, I think,” she said, trying to remember. “And Cannon Street, and Charing Cross Railway Station had to be evacuated because of a land mine.”
“St. Paul’s Station wasn’t hit?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they drop lots of high-explosive bombs?” Eileen asked nervously.
“No,” Mike said. “It was nearly all incendiaries, but the tide was out, and the primary water main got hit. And it was really windy.”
Polly nodded. “The fires nearly became a firestorm like Dresden.”
“Which means it will be a great time to have already gone home,” Mike said. “How many more stops do we have till we get to St. Paul’s?”
“One more till Monument, where we change for the Central Line, and then one to St. Paul’s,” Polly said.
But when they got to the Central Line platform, there was a sandwich board in the entranceway: No service on Central Line until further notice. All travelers are advised to take alternate routes.
“What other line is St. Paul’s on?” Mike asked, starting over to the tube map.
“None. We’ll have to use another station,” Polly said, thinking rapidly. Cannon Street was the nearest, but it had been hit, and she didn’t know at what time. “We need to go to Blackfriars,” she said. “This way.”
She led them out to the platform. “Blackfriars isn’t one of the stations that burned, is it?” Eileen asked.
She led them out to the platform. “Blackfriars isn’t one of the stations that burned, is it?” Eileen asked.
“No,” Polly said, though she didn’t know. But it was only a bit past five. It wouldn’t be on fire now.
“How far is Blackfriars from St. Paul’s?” Mike asked.
“A ten-minute walk.”
“And from here back to Blackfriars, what? Ten minutes?”
Polly nodded.
“Good, we’ve still got plenty of time,” he said and headed for the platform.
But they had just missed the train and had to wait a quarter of an hour for the next one, and when they got off at Blackfriars, they had to work their way through scores of shelterers putting down their blankets and unpacking picnic hampers.
Oh, no, the sirens must already have gone, Polly thought, looking at the crowd, and the guard won’t let us leave.
