“I ran out without it when I found out you—”
“See if there’s a robe in the cabinet there.”
Eileen opened the cabinet and the drawers of the nightstand. “There’s no robe. I can bring you one when I come back this afternoon.”
“That’s not soon enough,” Polly said. “I must ask Sir Godfrey something. It’s urgent. You must go find me a robe and find out what room he’s in, and then we need a diversion.”
“A diversion? I can’t—”
“Not you. Alf and Binnie,” Polly said. “And if I’m right, it’s only fitting that they do this.”
“Fitting?”
“Yes. Do you remember when you said Alf and Binnie could defeat Hitler all on their own?”
Eileen nodded.
“Well, you may have been right.”
“But how can they create a diversion if children aren’t allowed in the wards?” Eileen began, and then sighed. “You’re right. They’re the ones for the job. What do you want them to do?”
“I’ll leave that to them,” Polly said. “They’re the experts. Tell them I’ll need a clear shot at the stairwell and the corridor outside Sir Godfrey’s room. And don’t forget the robe.”
“I won’t, if you’ll promise to rest till I come back.”
“I will,” Polly lied.
There wasn’t time to rest. There were too many pieces to fit into the puzzle, too many clues to decipher. Mike had saved Hardy, and Hardy had rescued five There wasn’t time to rest. There were too many pieces to fit into the puzzle, too many clues to decipher. Mike had saved Hardy, and Hardy had rescued five hundred and nineteen soldiers, and the patient with gangrene that she and the other FANYs had driven to Orpington from Dover had said he’d been rescued from Dunkirk by someone who’d been rescued himself. “You saved my life,” he’d told Polly. “I’d have been a goner without you.” And Hardy had told Mike the same thing.
Mike had thought the slippage had been trying to keep him from affecting the evacuation of Dunkirk and had somehow failed. But what if he’d been sent through at Saltram-on-Sea because the Lady Jane was there? What if it had purposely sent him there after the bus and Mr. Powney had gone so he—
Binnie ran in carrying a scarlet kimono. “ ’Ere.” She dumped it unceremoniously on the bed. “ ’E’s one flight up.”
“In which ward?”
“ ’E ain’t in a ward. ’E’s got a private room. Last one on the right,” Binnie said, and raced out again.
The kimono had a large golden dragon embroidered on the back. I should have specified an inconspicuous robe, Polly thought, hastily putting the kimono on. She pulled the bedclothes up to her neck and then lay still, listening.
There was a shriek and a clatter and then the sound of hurrying feet. Polly flung the covers off, padded over to the doors, and peeked out in time to see two nurses and an attendant disappearing through the doors to the other ward.
Polly padded quickly along the corridor to the stairs. There was another shriek, and a woman’s voice shouted, “Catch him!”
Polly ducked into the stairwell and up the steps, braced for the sound of the ward doors opening, of running feet.
More shrieks. “You wretched little—” the woman’s voice said, and then cut off.
Oh, Lord, I hope they haven’t killed anyone, Polly thought, reaching the landing and starting up the next set of stairs, wincing at the sounds drifting up from below
—a horrible thumping, followed by feet pounding down some other flight of stairs and a sound of something (or someone) falling—trying not to think of the effects of the chaos she had just set in motion.
“I think they went that way!” someone shouted. More shrieks.
Polly reached the top of the stairs. The floor was deserted. A flurry of papers lay on the linoleum in front of the matron’s desk, and halfway down the corridor a cane-backed wheelchair lay on its side, fortunately with no one in it.
Polly ran down to Sir Godfrey’s room. His door was shut. Oh, God, she thought, don’t let him be dead. She took a deep, ragged breath and opened the door.
Sir Godfrey was lying propped up against pillows, a gray pajama top open over his bandaged chest. His eyes were closed, and his face and hands were nearly as white as the bandages. A tube ran from his arm to a bottle of dark red blood hanging next to the bed. Polly went over to the bed and looked down at him, watching his almost undiscernible breathing.
“ ‘Time hath not yet dried this red blood of mine,’ ” he murmured, and opened his eyes.
“You’re all right,” Polly said thankfully.
“Yes, though imprisoned here and set about with foul fiends who refuse to let me up. How did you succeed in escaping their iron grip?”
“I had assistance,” Polly said, shutting the door. “Sir Godfrey, last night you told me—”
“Oh, dear, I do hope I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have. I didn’t confess undying love to some girl fifty years my junior, did I? Or quote Peter Pan?”
“No, of course not. You said last night that I’d saved your life—”
