Connie Willis - Blackout

Now she was the one shivering in the chill predawn air. “I’d best go if I’m to get to Mrs. Rickett’s and back in time for work. I’ll see you in a bit. I’m on third,” she reminded her. “The stockings counter. Take care,” and hurried off toward the tube station.

The train to Notting Hill Gate was empty, and she was grateful. She needed time to think what to do. If she told Mike why she was positive they’d won the war, it would stop him worrying about having altered events.

But she’d have to tell him all of it. Saying she’d been at VE-Day wouldn’t convince him. He’d just say the continuum hadn’t changed till later, after he’d rescued Hardy. She’d have to tell him why that wasn’t true. And both of them had had as many shocks as they could take for one night.

Eileen had already broken down once, and when the knowledge of how narrowly she’d escaped death in Padgett’s sank in, she might give way altogether.

And Mike, for all his Admirable Crichton-like taking charge, was in worse shape than Eileen. He’d obviously been brooding for weeks over the possibility of having lost the war. Telling him about VE-Day might send him right over the edge.

But so could thinking he’d caused the nightmare the world would have become if Hitler and his monstrous Third Reich had won-concentration camps and gas chambers and ovens and who knew what other horrors. Hitler had planned to set up a gallows outside the Houses of Parliament and execute Churchill and the King and Queen. And Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret Rose, aged fourteen and ten.

I’m going to have to tell him, she thought. I’ll do it as soon as he and Eileen get back from Stepney, and the train immediately jerked and slowed.

Are we coming into the station? she wondered, peering forward out the window, but she couldn’t see anything. The train ground to a halt and sat there. And sat there.

What was causing the delay? A bomb on the line like the one on Miss Laburnum’s train from Croxley, or a tunnel collapse? Or a simple mechanical problem? There was no way to tell, any more than the three of them could tell if their drops’ failure was due to a catastrophe in Oxford or Mike’s having rescued a soldier at Dunkirk. Or only something minor, like slippage or their retrieval teams having difficulty finding them.

The train started up, gathered speed, racketed along for perhaps a minute, and halted again. I’ll never get out of here, she thought and smiled bitterly. Mike had already convinced himself that he was responsible for all this. What if she told him and he still didn’t believe her? What if it only made matters worse? And what if he told Eileen? Surely there was some other way to convince him he couldn’t have altered events besides telling him about VE-Day.

But by the time the train reached Notting Hill Gate three quarters of an hour later, she hadn’t thought of one. She walked quickly along the tunnel and onto the escalator, glancing at her watch. Half past eight. She scarcely had time to get to Mrs. Rickett’s and back, let alone go see Mrs. Wyvern about coats. She hurried over to the turnstile.

“Finally bringing the curtain down, are they?” the guard asked as she started through.

“What? Is the troupe still down there rehearsing?”

He nodded.

“Thank you,” she said fervently and ran back down to the District Line. With luck, Mrs. Rickett and Mrs. Wyvern would both be there, but when she reached the platform, she couldn’t see either of them. The rest of the troupe was still doing a scene. “No, no, no,” Sir Godfrey was saying to Lila. “Not like that. You need to sound more cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” Lila said. “I thought you said we were supposed to play this scene like we didn’t know what was going to happen to us.”

“I did,” Sir Godfrey said, “but that is no reason to convince the audience you will all be dead by the final curtain. This is a comedy, not a tragedy.”

That remains to be seen, Polly thought.

“Miss Laburnum,” Sir Godfrey said. “Kindly give Lady Agatha her cue.”

“‘Here comes Ernest,’” Miss Laburnum read from the script and caught sight of Polly. “Miss Sebastian,” she said, hurrying over. “Did you find her?”

For a moment Polly had no idea what she was talking about-so much had happened since she’d seen Miss Laburnum at Oxford Circus-and then remembered she’d told her she had to deliver a message to Marjorie’s landlady. “Yes, I mean… no,” she stammered. It obviously couldn’t have taken her all night to deliver a message. “Something happened. Has Mrs. Rickett gone home?”

“Yes, she went ahead to cook breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Mr. Dorming snorted. “Is that what you call it?”

“Miss Laburnum, do you know if she has any rooms to let?” Polly asked.

“Lady Mary, here at last!” Sir Godfrey said, his voice rich with sarcasm. “May I remind you that this is The Admirable Crichton, not Mary Rose, and that, consequently, vanishing for long periods of time and then reappearing is not-” His face changed. “Something’s happened. What is it, Viola?”

She couldn’t say “Nothing.” He wouldn’t believe her. And she’d have to tell the troupe something to account for Eileen’s moving in with her.

“She was delivering a message for a friend in hospital,” Miss Laburnum was whispering to Sir Godfrey. “I’m afraid something may have happened to her friend.”

“No,” Polly said. “It isn’t Marjorie. It’s Padgett’s. It was bombed last night.”

“Padgett’s?” Miss Laburnum said. “The department store?” And the others instantly gathered round, asking questions: “When?” “How badly?” “You weren’t injured, were you?”

“But I thought you worked at Townsend Brothers,” Lila said.

“I do, but my cousin works-worked at Padgett’s, and she and I were to meet there after work-”

“Oh, my dear,” Miss Laburnum said. “I do hope she wasn’t-”

“No, she’s all right, but the store was bombed just after closing, and we’d only just left-” Which hopefully accounted for the fear Sir Godfrey had seen in her face. “It was completely destroyed.”

More questions. Was it incendiaries or an HE? How big an HE? Were there any casualties?

Polly answered them the best she could, keenly aware of how much time this was taking and of Sir Godfrey’s searching look. She spent a full quarter of an hour assuring them she was all right before they began to gather up their things.

Polly looked at her watch, trying to decide if she had enough time to get to Mrs. Rickett’s and back.

“I don’t understand,” Miss Laburnum said. “Why did you ask about a room if it was your cousin’s place of employment which was bombed?”

“I was meeting her so we could look for a room for her. The boardinghouse where she lived was bombed out, and now Padgett’s has been as well,” which was a totally implausible story. It was a good thing Sir Godfrey had gone over to pick up his coat and his Times. “I was hoping Mrs. Rickett might have a room to let.”

“But couldn’t she stay with you? Your room was meant to be a double, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but a friend of ours, Mr. Davis, was bombed out, too.”

Miss Laburnum’s eyebrows went up. “A friend?”

Oh, no. She’d immediately assume some sort of hanky-panky. “Yes,” she said, and then shamelessly, “He was injured at Dunkirk.”

“Oh, poor boy,” Miss Laburnum said, instantly sympathetic. “There’s no vacancy at Mrs. Rickett’s at present, but I believe Miss Harding has one. She’s in Box Lane.”

Which wasn’t on Mr. Dunworthy’s forbidden list. Perfect. Now if she could just get over to Box Lane and put a deposit on the room.

“And you’d best look for a room for your cousin,” Mr. Dorming growled on his way out. “She’s already been bombed out. You don’t want to put her through Mrs. Rickett’s cooking as well, do you?”

He went out. Polly thanked Miss Laburnum and started after him, but Sir Godfrey stopped her. “Viola, what is it? What’s really happened?”

“I told you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “My cousin-”

“Viola could not speak either, to tell Orsino of her sorrow or the brother she had lost,” he said. “But silence has its dangers as well. Whatever is troubling you, you can tell-”

“Sir Godfrey, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Miss Laburnum said, “but I must speak to you. It’s about shoes.”

“Shoes?”

“Yes, in the third act, on the island after the shipwreck, everyone’s supposed to go unshod, but the station floor’s so unsanitary, so I was thinking perhaps beach sandals-”

“My dear Miss Laburnum,” Sir Godfrey said, “at this point we will not ever reach the third act. Lord Loam is incapable of remembering his lines. Lady Catherine and Tweeny are incapable of remembering their blocking. Lady Mary,” he said, looking at Polly, “persists in nearly getting herself blown up, and the Germans may invade at any moment. We have far more pressing problems at hand than footwear.”

You’re right, we do, Polly thought. Not knowing what airfield Gerald is at, and not having coats or jobs or roofs over our heads. And trying to keep from being arrested as German spies. Or killed by shrapnel or stray parachute mines.

“Oh, but Sir Godfrey,” Miss Laburnum protested, “if we don’t do it now-”

“If and when we reach a point where it becomes necessary to decide whether going unshod is a threat to our health, we will discuss it. Until then, I’d suggest you concentrate on persuading Lady Catherine not to titter each time she says a line. There is no point in fretting over things which may never come to pass. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ my dear Miss Laburnum.”

And there’s my answer, Polly thought gratefully. Mike and Eileen have more than enough to deal with without my adding to it. We need to concentrate on getting Eileen out of Stepney and Mike out of Fleet Street and both of them into warm coats. And on finding Gerald Phipps. If we do, and his drop is working, I won’t have to tell them at all.

“‘Sufficient unto the day,’” Miss Laburnum was saying. “Is that from Hamlet?”

“It is from the Bible!” Sir Godfrey roared.

“Oh, of course. And it’s excellent advice, but with winter nearly here and so many shortages, beach sandals may prove difficult to find, and if we don’t purchase them now-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, Sir Godfrey,” Polly said, taking pity on him, “but I must ask Miss Laburnum something.”

“Pray do, Viola,” he said with a grateful look at her. “‘Mark what I spake to thee,’” and fled.

“Do you have the address of Mrs. Wyvern’s assistance center?” Polly asked. “I must speak with her about getting coats for my cousin and Mr. Davis.”

“Coats?”

“Yes, they lost theirs in the bombing.” She hoped Miss Laburnum wouldn’t ask her which one. “I thought Mrs. Wyvern might be able to help.”

“Oh, I’m certain she will. What sizes?”

“My cousin’s my size, though a bit shorter. When I gave her my coat, it was too long. I’m not certain about Mr. Davis-”

“Gave her your coat? But what are you doing for one?”

“I’ll be all right. Townsend Brothers is only a short way from Oxford Circus-”