All Clear

  “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.”

  Which meant there was no way to rescue her at the last moment, no way to whisk her off in a stolen ambulance and send her back through. He sank back down on the bench beside Binnie and put his head in his hands.

  “We all got to tell her goodbye,” Binnie said. “The end was very peaceful.”

  Peaceful, he thought bitterly. Dying stranded in the past like Polly before her, waiting in vain for rescue. Only Eileen must surely have given up waiting, given up hoping, years before. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s a pity,” she said, nodding. “She would have loved to see you again. But at least we found you.” She beamed at him. “When you didn’t find Mum, we were afraid something had gone wrong. Or at least I was. But Alf said we had to have found you, because if we hadn’t, you couldn’t have come to fetch Polly and—”

  “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 strai
ght 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.

  “What about Charles Bowden?” she asked Colin. “He’s in Singapore. He needs to be pulled out before the Japanese Army—”

  “His drop was still working,” Colin said. “We pulled him out as soon as we realized something was wrong.”

  Oh, thank God. “What about Denys Atherton?”

  “He never came through, and neither did Gerald Phipps. Nor Jack Sorkin. Nothing would open. Except your drop, Mr. Dunworthy,” Colin said, “and it stopped working the moment you’d gone through. Till three years ago, we thought the entire war was permanently shut to us.”

  Three years ago, Polly thought. And how many years before that had he kept searching, had he refused to give up, even though he’d believed they were permanently lost?

  “Merope was right, Polly,” Mr. Dunworthy was saying. “She said our drops would open now that you’d saved Sir Godfrey. I went in to check mine, and there Colin was. I thought at first he was an air-raid warden and he’d seen an incendiary fall on the transept roof and come in to check on it, and then he said, ‘I’ve got to get you out of here, Mr. Dunworthy’, and I realized it was Colin.”

  “I’ve got to get you both out of here,” Colin said. “We need to get back to St. Paul’s.”

  Polly nodded, wondering why Colin hadn’t sent Mr. Dunworthy on through. He must not have known where the theater was and needed Mr. Dunworthy to show him the way.

  “Colin, you need to take Mr. Dunworthy there right now and send him through,” she said. “His deadline’s only ten days off, which means he’s in far more danger than I am. I’ll stay here and wait for Eileen. I’ve got to notify everyone I’m leaving, at any rate. I can’t just go off without telling them. And they’ll have to find someone else to play my part. The pantomime’s in two weeks. I owe it to them …”

  She faltered to a stop. I’ll have to tell them all goodbye, she thought sickly. Miss Laburnum and Trot and, oh, God, Sir Godfrey. How can I bear—

  “Polly?” Colin said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She managed a smile. “I’ll stay here and tell them, and then when Eileen arrives, we’ll come and meet you at St. Paul’s.”

  But Mr. Dunworthy was shaking his head. “I want to wait till she comes,” he said, looking at Colin.

  Colin nodded. “There’s time.”

  There was something here Polly didn’t understand, something they weren’t telling her. “Why is Eileen late?” she asked, remembering Mr. Dunworthy’s ashen look when he first came in and the unhappiness in Colin’s face. “Tell me. Has something happened to her?”

  Mr. Dunworthy and Colin exchanged glances.

  “Tell me,” she demanded.

  “Polly?” Eileen’s voice called from the front of the theater. “Where are you?”

  Oh, thank God, Polly thought, whirling to look at the stage.

  Eileen came out from the wings in her hat and coat. She must have come in through the stage door. She shaded her eyes, squinting out past the footlights.

  “I’m here,” Polly called to her, and before she could tell her, Eileen pattered down the side steps and started up the aisle, asking, “Why aren’t you rehearsing? And where’s the rest of the cast? I hope you haven’t been waiting for me to—Mr. Dunworthy,” she said, spotting him, “what are you doing here? Did something happen at St. Paul’s?”

  “No,” Polly said. “Yes. Oh, Eileen, it’s Colin, and he’s here to take us home.”

  “Colin?” she said joyfully, and turned to look at him, and as she did, her expression changed to one of—what? Shock? Dismay?

  Polly looked questioningly at Colin, but he was staring at Eileen, and all the weariness had returned to his face.

  What—? Polly thought, but the next instant she decided she must have been mistaken, that what she’d seen as dismay was only astonishment, because Eileen ran forward to embrace Colin.

  “I knew you’d come!” she cried happily. “I told Polly things were happening behind the scenes.” She stood back to take a long, searching look at him and then smiled. “And here you are! I told them they mustn’t give up hope, that you wouldn’t let—” Her voice broke. “I knew you’d pull them out in time.”

  “And you, you noddlehead,” Polly said. “Just think, you’ll never have to eat Victory Stew again.”

  But Eileen didn’t laugh. She was looking at Mr. Dunworthy, her eyes full of tears. “You mustn’t cry,” said Polly. “This is a happy occasion. The drops are working again, and Charles is all right. He wasn’t in Singapore when the Japanese arrived. They were able to rescue him.”

  “But not Mike,” Eileen said, looking at Colin.

  “No.”

  Eileen nodded slowly. “When I saw you, I thought perhaps he was all right, that he’d somehow told you where—How did you know where we were? There was no one left in Backbury or at Townsend Brothers who knew, and Mrs. Rickett’s …”

  She looked intently at him, as if the answer was of immense importance. “How did you find us?”

  “We can talk about that in Oxford,” Polly said. “We need to go before the raids get any worse.”

  “You’re right,” Eileen said. “Of course,”

  But neither Colin nor Mr. Dunworthy moved. All three of them stood there looking at one another, as if waiting for something.

  “What—?” Polly asked, bewildered.

  “You said you needed to tell them you’re leaving, Polly,” Colin said.

  “Yes, and change out of my costume. Do the three of you want to go on ahead, and I’ll meet you at St. Paul’s?”

  “No.” Colin was looking at Eileen. “We’ll wait for you.”

  “I’ll be back straightaway,” Polly said, and ran down the aisle, up onto the stage, and into the wings.

  Mrs. Brightford was there, attempting to repair the damage Alf and Binnie had inflicted on the bramble branches. “Have you seen Sir Godfrey?” Polly asked.

  Mrs. Brightford shook her head. “I think he went to find a carpenter.”

  Oh, no. She couldn’t leave without telling him goodbye. “You don’t know where, do you?”

  Mrs. Brightford shook her head again.

  “If he comes back, tell him I need to speak with him,” Polly said, and ran down to the dressing room. She’d change and then, if he still wasn’t back, see if anyone knew where he’d gone and go look for him.

  And when and if she found him, what could she say? I’m a time traveler? I was trapped here, but now my retrieval team’s come, and I must go home? I don’t have a choice—I’ll die if I stay?

  Perhaps it would be just as well if she couldn’t find him. She stepped out of her leggings and pulled on her stockings, but in her haste she snagged one of them and it ran.

  I
t doesn’t matter, she thought, yanking her doublet off and putting on her frock. I never need to worry about runs again, or ration books, or bombs.

  She buttoned her frock. “I won’t ever have to wrap another parcel,” she said, and found herself suddenly, inexplicably, in tears.

  Which is ridiculous, she thought. You hate wrapping parcels. And this is a happy ending, exactly like in Trot’s fairy tales.

  She pulled on her shoes, caught up her coat and hat, and went out, putting them on as she went, and then hesitated. In another six months, Mrs. Brightford or Viv would be desperate for those stockings, even with a ladder in them. She went back into the dressing room, took off her shoes, stripped off the stockings, and draped them over the makeup mirror. Then she grabbed up her bag and opened the door.

  Sir Godfrey was standing there in his Hitler uniform and mustache. He took in Polly’s clothes, her coat. “There’s no need for that, the carpenter’s on his way,” he told her, and then stopped.

  “You’re leaving us,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “It’s your young man. He’s come.”

  “Yes. I thought he couldn’t, that he—”

  “—was dead,” Sir Godfrey said. “But he’s arrived, ‘despite all obstacles, true love triumphant.’ ”

  “Yes,” she said, “but I—”

  He shook his head to silence her. “The times were out of joint,” he said. “It would not have been suitable, Lady Mary.”

  “No,” she said, wishing she could tell him why it wouldn’t have been, that she could tell him who she really was.

  Like Viola, she thought. Sir Godfrey had named her well. She couldn’t tell him why she’d been here or why she had to leave, couldn’t tell him how he’d saved her life as much as she’d saved his, couldn’t tell him how much he meant to her.

  She had to let him think she was abandoning him for a wartime romance. “I’d stay till after the pantomime if I could—” she began.

  “And spoil the ending? Don’t be a fool. Half of acting is knowing when to make one’s exit. And no tears,” he said sternly. “This is a comedy, not a tragedy.”

  She nodded, wiping at her cheeks.

  “Good,” he said, and smiled at her. “Fair Viola—”