All Clear

And I should have told Eileen what Mike said about trying to think of historians who’d been here earlier, Polly thought. But I didn’t want her to ask me about my last drop or my last assignment. So here we all are, making a last-minute dash to find an historian who was here six years ago.

And if we succeed, Mr. Bartholomew will take a message through to Mr. Dunworthy, and he will wait six years and then send us through, he will lie to us for six years and then send us through to Dunkirk and an epidemic and the Blitz, knowing full well Mike will lose half his foot, knowing full well how terrified of the raids Eileen will be.

She refused to believe it, in spite of the extra money he’d made her bring, the limitations he’d placed on where she could live. He wouldn’t lie to them like that.

How do you know he wouldn’t? she thought. You’ve been lying to Eileen and Mike for weeks.

What if, like her, Mr. Dunworthy had had a good reason for lying? What if he was trying to protect them, too? What if lying to them was the only way to save them?

Save us from what? she thought. And even if he was convinced lying was the only way, there’d have been no way he could have kept it from Colin, and Colin Save us from what? she thought. And even if he was convinced lying was the only way, there’d have been no way he could have kept it from Colin, and Colin would never have gone along with it. He’d have warned her.

Perhaps he had. He’d said, “If you get in trouble, I’ll come rescue you.” But he’d seemed boyishly earnest when he’d said it, not worried she might be in actual danger.

If he thought you were, he’d have stopped you. Or moved heaven and earth to come fetch you. And he wouldn’t let a little thing like an increase in slippage stop him.

Which means we didn’t find Mr. Bartholomew, we didn’t get a message through. We didn’t get there in time. Mike’s wrong, and Mr. Bartholomew went home in October or won’t be here till May. Or we won’t be able to find anyone to leave Theodore with. Or the train back to St. Paul’s will be delayed. It will jerk to a stop, and we’ll sit in a tunnel for hours and won’t be able to get to St. Paul’s.

Or perhaps the delay’s already happened, she thought, remembering the fatal minutes they’d spent arguing with the usher, that they’d spent arguing over how to get Theodore home. We’re already too late.

But they had to find Mr. Bartholomew. It was the only chance they had of getting out before her deadline.

And not just her chance, but theirs. Mike and Eileen would never be able to find Denys Atherton among the hundreds of thousands of soldiers preparing for D-Day.

They hadn’t even been able to find her at Townsend Brothers.

Eileen had been at VE-Day because they hadn’t been able to get out. They’d still been here when Polly’s deadline arrived. And Mike …

We’ve got to find him, she thought, trying to think what they should do if there was no one to leave Theodore with.

But Mrs. Owens was there. “I was afraid he might not last through the whole pantomime,” she said, greeting them at the door. “I’m glad ’e didn’t. I’ve’ ad a feelin’

all day there was going to be a raid tonight.”

“Well, if there is,” Eileen said, “take Theodore to the shelter. That cupboard under the stairs isn’t safe.”

“I will,” she promised. “And you three should be ’eadin’ for ’ome.”

“We are,” Eileen said.

“Theodore, tell Eileen goodbye, and thank her for taking you.”

“I don’t want to,” Theodore said, and launched himself at Eileen. “I don’t want you to go.”

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?”