Sir Godfrey silenced him with a look.
“And hold your branches up.” He turned to Binnie and roared, “Go back to sleep. Don’t move until you’re kissed.” To Polly, he muttered as he passed, “There is a reason Shakespeare never put children in his plays.”
“You’re forgetting the little princess.”
“Whom he had the good sense to murder in the second act. Again!”
Polly nodded, drew her sword, and stepped forward. “ ‘And my trusty shield—’ ”
There was a horrific crash somewhere backstage. Polly looked instantly at Alf, who was wearing his innocent expression.
“Can anything else happen tonight?” Sir Godfrey said, and stormed backstage, shouting, “And don’t follow me! When I come back, I expect you to be all the way through this scene and the next! And tell me the instant that carpenter arrives.”
The children looked interestedly after Sir Godfrey.
“Get back in line,” Polly said. “Cross your branches.” She raised her sword. “ ‘And my trusty—’ ”
There was a sound at the rear of the theater, and a man appeared in the doorway at the back. Thank goodness, Polly thought, walking out to the edge of the stage, still holding her sword. It’s the carpenter.
But it wasn’t. It was Mr. Dunworthy. His coat was open, his scarf dangled unevenly to one side, and he was bareheaded.
“Mr. Dun—Mr. Hobbe,” Polly called to him, shading her eyes with her free hand, trying to see out into the darkened theater. “What are you doing here? What’s
“Mr. Dun—Mr. Hobbe,” Polly called to him, shading her eyes with her free hand, trying to see out into the darkened theater. “What are you doing here? What’s happened?”
He didn’t answer. He took a stumbling step down the aisle.
Oh, God, he’s been injured, Polly thought.
Alf appeared beside her. “Did somethin’ ’appen to Eileen?” he asked.
Mr. Dunworthy made an effort to speak, but nothing came out. He took another step forward, to where Polly could see his face. He looked stunned, his face ashen.
No, she thought, not Eileen. It can’t be. Mr. Dunworthy and I are the ones with the deadlines. Eileen survived the war. She—
Binnie, trailing bedclothes, pushed past Polly. “Where’s Eileen?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Did sumthin’ ’appen to ’er?”
Mr. Dunworthy shook his head.
Thank God.
“Are you all right?” Polly called to him.
“I was at St. Paul’s …” he said, looking up at her and then back toward the doorway he’d come through.
A young man was standing in it. He started down the aisle, and Polly saw he had an ARP warden’s armband and a helmet, which he’d taken off and was holding in both hands. Oh, God, she thought. It’s Stephen.
But it couldn’t be. Stephen hadn’t even met her yet. He wouldn’t meet her till 1944. And the warden’s hair was reddish blonde, not dark. “Polly,” he said.
“Sir Godfrey!” Trot shouted into the wings. “The carpenter’s here!”
“It ain’t the carpenter, you noddlehead!” Alf shouted at her. “It’s an air-raid warden.”
No, it isn’t, Polly thought.
It wasn’t Stephen either, and the sword that Polly had been holding all this time, that she hadn’t realized she was still holding, fell from her nerveless fingers.
It was Colin.
Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel,
And piece together the past and the future
—T.S. ELIOT, FOUR QUARTETS
Imperial War Museum, London—7 May 1995
COLIN SAT THERE IN THE SHELTER REPLICA WITH BINNIE, not hearing the siren sound effects, not seeing the red flashes, not doing anything but attempting to take in what Binnie had just told him. Eileen was dead. She’d died eight years ago. Which meant Polly had died in December 1943.
There was a poster on the wall behind Binnie with a picture of a housewife, a nurse, and an ARP warden on it. You Can Win the Battle, it read.
I didn’t win it, he thought numbly. I was too late. Eileen’s been dead nearly a decade. I wasn’t able to rescue her. Or Polly.
“I’m so sorry,” Binnie said. “I should have told you that first thing. It was a cancer.”
A cancer which could have been cured easily if Eileen had been home in Oxford where she belonged. Which they still might be able to cure if he could go back and get her out in time. If she had been alone when she died, he might still be able to …
“Did she die in hospital?” he asked urgently. “Was anyone with her?”
Binnie looked at him, frowning. “Of course. All of us were.”
