Eileen and the fires and falling walls and blocked-off streets.
And Alf and Binnie.
“Why is it everywhere I go there are horrible children?” Eileen had asked, but if it hadn’t been for the Hodbins, Eileen wouldn’t have survived after Mike died. And if she hadn’t insisted on taking them in, if they hadn’t insisted on bringing their parrot, Alf and Binnie wouldn’t have got them thrown out of the boardinghouse. They all might have died along with Mrs. Rickett.
“It’s lucky we got thrown out, ain’t it?” Alf had said, and Mr. Humphreys had said, “What luck you came to Saint Paul’s today. He’s here, the man I told you about.” And Mike had said, “It’s lucky that was the only available room in Bletchley, or I’d never have found out what happened to Gerald Phipps.”
“It was lucky the warden heard me in the rubble,” Marjorie had said, and that night in Padgett’s, Eileen had said, “It’s lucky I heard you calling.”
And at some point Polly must have fallen asleep, must have murmured Eileen’s name, because Eileen said, “I’m here,” and when Polly opened her eyes, she was And at some point Polly must have fallen asleep, must have murmured Eileen’s name, because Eileen said, “I’m here,” and when Polly opened her eyes, she was there, and it was morning. A nurse was pulling back the blackout curtains from the tall windows, and sunlight was streaming into the ward.
Polly held her hands up in the light and looked at them. They were open, empty of anything, but it didn’t matter. She hadn’t lost the answer she’d been holding carefully cupped in them. It had been there all along. She had just been looking at it the wrong way round.
“Are you all right?” Eileen asked.
“Yes,” she said wonderingly. “I am.” If I’m right. If Alf and Binnie—
“Oh, thank goodness,” Eileen said, and Polly saw that she had been crying. “Mr. Dunworthy and I have been so worried … When you didn’t come home last night … The warden told us there’d been bombs all over the West End, and then when I rang the theater and the stage manager said you’d run out during the performance into the middle of a raid and hadn’t come back, I …”
Eileen broke off, blew her nose, and attempted to smile. “The matron said they found you inside the Phoenix Theatre. What on earth were you doing there?”
“Saving Sir Godfrey’s life,” Polly said. “Eileen, how ill was Binnie?”
“How ill? What—?”
“With the measles. Would she have died if you hadn’t been there?”
“I don’t know. Her fever was dreadfully high. But you’re not going to die, Polly. The nurse said you’d be fine —”
“What happened to the firewatcher?”
“The fire—”
“The one who was injured, who John Bartholomew took to St. Bart’s? Did Mr. Bartholomew save his life?”
“Polly, you’re not making any sense. The doctor said you breathed in a good deal of gas. I think you may still —”
“On the last day of your assignment, why didn’t you go back to Oxford?”
“I told you, the quarantine.”
“No, I need to know exactly what happened,” Polly said, clutching Eileen’s hand. “Please. It’s important.”
Eileen looked at her as if trying to decide whether to call the nurse, and then said, “I was leaving to go to the drop when some new evacuees arrived. Theodore was one of them.”
Theodore, who had prevented them from going straight to St. Paul’s to find John Bartholomew. They had had to take him home to Stepney, and by the time they reached St. Paul’s, the sirens had gone and the ARP warden—
“I had to get the new evacuees settled,” Eileen was saying, “and then as I was leaving, the vicar asked me to help him get out of giving Una, Lady Caroline’s kitchen maid, her driving lesson, and when I drove round the curve, Alf and Binnie were standing in the middle of the lane.”
Blocking the way. Delaying her. As they had delayed her on the twenty-ninth, as the troop trains had delayed Polly reaching Backbury and the manor till after Captain Chase had left for London, as the slippage had delayed Mike till after the bus had left for Dover, as she was almost certain the Hodbins had delayed—
“Are Alf and Binnie here at the hospital?” Polly asked.
“Yes, downstairs in the waiting room. Children aren’t allowed in the wards.”
“Is Mr. Dunworthy here?”
“No, I thought it best not to tell him what had happened till I found out for certain—”
That’s what I’m trying to do, Polly thought. Find out for certain.
“Go and ask Alf and Binnie—” she said, and then stopped. They wouldn’t tell Eileen the truth. If they even remembered the incident. Alf and Binnie had clearly thought they knew Mr. Dunworthy from somewhere that night she brought him home from St. Paul’s—they’d asked her if he was a truant officer—but they hadn’t been able to place him. And if Eileen asked them, they’d assume the guard—or the authorities—were involved.
Polly would have to ask them herself and then ask Mr. Dunworthy. If he remembered. And even if he did, it wouldn’t prove anything. The proof lay with Sir Godfrey. He had said she’d saved his life, but he’d been in shock from loss of blood and confused from the gas …
“Eileen,” Polly said. “I must see Sir Godfrey. I need you to go find out what room he’s in. And fetch me my clothes,” she added and then remembered they consisted of a bloodied bathing suit and one gilt high-heeled shoe. “Where’s your coat?”
