She looked at a pencilled and crossed-over roster. 'I don't show an admission by that name.'
'I'm certain she was brought here,' I said, twisting my head round to read the list. 'There isn't another St George's, is there?'
She shook her head and lifted up the roster to look at a second sheet.
'Here she is,' she said, and I had heard the rescue squads use that tone of voice often enough to know what it meant, but that was impossible. She had been under that headboard. The blood on her nightgown hadn't even been hers.
'I'm so sorry,' the sister said.
'When did she die?' I said.
'This morning,' she said, checking the second list, which was much longer than the first.
'Did anyone else come to see her?'
'I don't know. I've just been on since eleven.'
'What did she die of?'
She looked at me as if I were insane.
'What was the listed cause of death?' I said.
She had to find Mina's name on the roster again. 'Shock due to loss of blood,' she said, and I thanked her and went to find Jack.
He found me. I had gone back to the post and waited till everyone was asleep and Mrs Lucy had gone upstairs and then sneaked into the pantry to look up Jack's address in Mrs Lucy's files. It had not been there, as I had known it wouldn't. And if there had been an address, what would it have turned out to be when I went to find it? A gutted house? A mound of rubble?
I had gone to Sloane Square Station, knowing he wouldn't be there, but having no other place to look. He could have been anywhere. London was full of empty houses, bombed-out cellars, secret places to hide until it got dark. That was why he had come here.
'If I was a bad'un, I'd come straight to London,' Swales had said. But the criminal element weren't the only ones who had come, drawn by the blackout and the easy pickings and the bodies. Drawn by the blood.
I stood there until it started to get dark, watching two boys scrabble in the gutter for candy that had been blown out of a confectioner's front window, and then walked back to a doorway down the street from the post, where I could see the door, and waited. The sirens went. Swales left on patrol. Petersby went in. Morris came out, stopping to peer at the sky as if he were looking for his son Quincy. Mrs Lucy must not have managed to talk Nelson out of the patrols.
It got dark. The searchlights began to criss-cross the sky, catching the silver of the barrage balloons. The planes started coming in from the east, a low hum. Vi hurried in, wearing high heels and carrying a box tied with string. Petersby and Twickenham left on patrol. Vi came out, fastening her helmet strap under her chin and eating something.
'I've been looking for you everywhere,' Jack said.
I turned around. He had driven up in a lorry marked ATS. He had left the door open and the motor running. 'I've got the beams,' he said. 'For reinforcing the post. The incident we were on last night, all these beams were lying on top, and I asked the owner of the house if I could buy them from him.'
He gestured to the back of the lorry, where jagged ends of wood were sticking out. 'Come along then, we can get them up tonight if we hurry.' He started towards the truck. 'Where were you? I've looked everywhere for you.'
'I went to St George's Hospital,' I said.
He stopped, his hand on the open door of the truck.
'Mina's dead,' I said, 'but you knew that, didn't you?'
He didn't say anything.
'The nurse said she died of loss of blood,' I said. A flare drifted down, lighting his face with a deadly whiteness. 'I know what you are.'
'If we hurry, we can get the reinforcements up before the raid starts,' he said. He started to pull the door to.
I put my hand on it to keep him from closing it. 'War work,' I said bitterly. 'What do you do, make sure you're alone in the tunnel with them or go to see them in hospital afterwards?'
He let go of the door.
'Brilliant stroke, volunteering for the ARP,' I said. 'Nobody's going to suspect the noble air-raid warden, especially when he's so good at locating casualties. And if some of those casualties die later, if somebody's found dead on the street after a raid, well, it's only to be expected. There's a war on.'
The drone overhead got suddenly louder, and a whole shower of flares came down. The searchlights wheeled, trying to find the planes. Jack took hold of my arm.
'Get down,' he said, and tried to drag me into the doorway.
I shook his arm off. 'I'd kill you if I could,' I said. 'But I can't, can I?' I waved my hand at the sky. 'And neither can they. Your sort don't die, do they?'
There was a long swish, and the rising scream. 'I will kill you, though,' I shouted over it. 'If you touch Vi or Mrs Lucy.'
'Mrs Lucy,' he said, and I couldn't tell if he said it with astonishment or contempt.
