“Fetch—?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“Your coming to take them back through the drop.”
“But you just said I wasn’t able to find Eileen.”
“I didn’t say that,” she replied, surprised. “I meant you didn’t find her now, not then.”
“I found Eileen and Polly?”
She nodded. “And Mr. Dunworthy.”
“Mr. Dunworthy? He’s alive?”
Binnie nodded. “Polly found him at St. Paul’s.”
“He’s alive,” Colin murmured, unable to take it all in. “I thought he was dead. His death notice was in the newspapers.”
“No, he was only injured.”
“And I was able to come through to get them out?” he asked.
She nodded.
But if he had succeeded, Eileen wouldn’t still have been here. She wouldn’t have died still trying to find him. “What happened?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. “I came too late to be able to get them out, didn’t I?”
Journeys end in lovers meeting.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, TWELFTH NIGHT
London—19 April 1941
POLLY’S SWORD HIT THE STAGE WITH A CLATTER. “YOU’RE gonna catch it now!” Alf said, but she didn’t hear him.
“Colin,” she tried to say, but no sound came out. She glanced over at Mr. Dunworthy, who still stood there gripping the theater-seat back for support, and then back at Colin.
Though it wasn’t the Colin she’d known. There was nothing of the eager, high-spirited boy who’d followed her around Oxford like a puppy, who’d told her he intended to marry her when he grew up, in the man standing there in the aisle before her with his ARP helmet in his hands.
But it didn’t matter. Polly had known the moment she saw him standing there in the aisle that it was Colin. And that he had come, just as he had promised he would, to rescue her. But at what cost? He looked not only older but sadder, grimmer, his face lined with suffering and fatigue.
Oh, Colin, she thought, what’s happened to you since I saw you seven months ago?
But she knew that, too. He had spent weeks, months, years, frantically trying to get to them—trying to get the drops, any drop, to open. And then, when he’d failed, trying to puzzle out what had happened, trying to follow a trail which had gone cold.
I have ridden long, weary miles, she thought. I have searched long, hopeless years. And fought battles and spells and brambles and time. And found her.
Found all of them. She looked at Mr. Dunworthy, hanging on to the back of the theater seat for dear life, as though he still couldn’t believe what had happened. He looked like the Admirable Crichton and Lady Mary must have looked when the ship had finally arrived.
“They’ve reconciled themselves to living out their remaining lives and dying on the island,” Sir Godfrey had said when they were rehearsing the rescue scene. “And now rescue is at hand. No, no, no! No smiles! I want staggered, stunned, unable to believe they have been saved. Joyous and sad and afraid, all at once.”
And silent, Polly thought, as if we’re under a spell.
Colin was under it, too. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He stood there perfectly still, with his ARP helmet in his hands, looking at her, waiting.
For me to break the spell, she thought.
“Oh, Colin,” she said, and came down the steps into the theater and up the aisle to where he stood. “You said you’d come rescue me if I got into trouble. And here you are!”
“Here I am,” he said, and his voice was changed, too. It was both rougher and gentler than the boy Colin’s—a man’s voice. “Rather late, I’m afraid, and somewhat the worse for wear.” He grinned at her, and she had been wrong. It was exactly the same Colin who had followed her into the Bodleian that day. He hadn’t changed at all.
Her heart caught. “You’re not late. You’re exactly on time.”
He started toward her, and she was suddenly breathing hard, as if she had been running. “Colin—”
“Polly!” Alf shouted from the stage. “Is the warden ’ere to evacuate us?” He pointed at Colin, who had stopped only a step away from her.
“Course ’e ain’t, you puddinghead,” Binnie said, coming out to the edge of the stage beside Alf. “Air-raid wardens don’t evacuate people.”
“They do if there’s a UXB,” Alf retorted. “Is ’e ’ere with the bomb squad, Polly?”
“I know who he is,” Trot said, joining Alf and Binnie. “He’s the Prince. He’s come to rescue Sleeping Beauty.”
“Don’t be daft,” Binnie said, while Alf collapsed in laughter. “There ain’t no such thing as Prince Dauntless.”
Oh, yes, there is, Polly thought. And he’s here. In the very nick of time.
“He is so the Prince,” Trot said, and started down the steps on the side of the stage. “I’ll show you.”
“No, you won’t,” Polly said. That was all they needed, the children down here asking questions. “Go change into your christening-scene costumes this instant.”
Trot headed immediately for the wings, followed by Nelson, but Polly should have known better than to think Alf and Binnie would obey her. “Sir Godfrey told us we was s’posed to go on from where we was,” Binnie said.
“I don’t care what he said, Binnie. Go put on your fairy costumes.”
Next to her Colin murmured, “That’s Binnie?”
Even he’s heard of the notorious Hodbins, Polly thought.
“Yes,” she said. “Go change for the christening scene now.”
“I can’t,” Binnie said. “Eileen ain’t back yet.”
Eileen. She’ll be overjoyed at the thought of going home.
“Eileen isn’t here?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“No, I think she went to check my drop first,” Polly said.
He and Colin exchanged glances.
“Why?” she asked worriedly. “The raids aren’t over Kensington tonight, are they?”
“No, they’re mostly over the docks,” Colin said.
“We can’t do the christening scene without I’m wearin’ my costume,” Binnie said. “And Eileen said not to put it on till she fixed the wing. It’s broke. Alf was the one what broke it,” she added unnecessarily.
“Put on the costume without the wings,” Polly ordered.
Eileen will be even more overjoyed at not having to cope with the Hodbins than she will be at going home, she thought, and then felt guilty. Alf and Binnie had already lost their mother, and now they were going to lose Eileen. Poor little—
“Eileen said not to,” Binnie said belligerently. “And Sir Godfrey said we was s’posed to go straight through to the end and no stopping.”
“And I said go put on your costume,” Polly ordered. “And when Eileen gets here, tell her I need to speak to her.”
“All right, but you’re goin’ to be in trouble,” Binnie muttered darkly.
You’re wrong, Polly thought. We were in trouble, but now Colin’s here.
“Do as I say this instant,” she said, and Alf and Binnie trudged off the stage into the wings.
Polly turned back to Mr. Dunworthy and Colin. “I still can’t believe you’re here, Colin.”
“I can’t either. I had the very devil of a time finding you. Far worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.”
She could imagine. No one at Townsend Brothers would have known where they were, and even if he’d managed to find out they’d lived at Mrs. Rickett’s—
He must have seen the announcement of the pantomime in the newspapers, she thought. Mike had said they’d be reading the newspapers, looking for clues to where—
Oh, God, Mike. “Mr. Dunworthy,” she said, “did you tell him about Mike?”
“He already knew.”
Of course, she thought. He read that in the newspapers as well. Mike Davis, American war correspondent for the Omaha Observer. Died suddenly.