No ships in sight. Something must have gone wrong.
En route to London-29 September 1940
POLLY’S JOURNEY BACK TO LONDON WAS EVEN WORSE than the one to Backbury had been. The train had no empty seats, and she had to stand squashed in the corridor-the only advantage of which was that she couldn’t fall down when the train swayed or stopped so the inevitable troop trains could pass.
When she changed trains at Daventry, she managed to snag a seat in a compartment, but at the next stop scores of soldiers poured onto the train, all with enormous kit bags which they crammed onto the overhead racks and then, when they were filled, set on the already crowded seats, squashing Polly into a smaller and smaller space.
Colin warned me about the dangers of blast and shrapnel, but not about the possibility of being smothered. Or stabbed to death, she thought, attempting to shift the kit bag on her right, which appeared to have a bayonet in it from the way it was poking her in the side.
And why had the train had to arrive in Backbury on time, today of all days? No other train had been on time during the entire war. If it had been put onto a siding by even a single troop train, she’d have had time to speak to the vicar and find out for certain if Merope had gone back to Oxford.
Of course she’s gone back, she argued. She left when the Army took over the manor. Her assignment had obviously been designed to end then. With everyone leaving, her disappearance wouldn’t even have been noticed. They’d have assumed she’d taken another job or gone home to her family, like the sergeant said. But what if she hadn’t left for Oxford? What if the evacuees had been sent to another village, and Merope’d gone with them?
No, the sergeant had said the children had gone back to London, and even if they’d been sent to another manor, it would have had its own staff to care for them. And the last thing Merope would have wanted to do was to go with the Hodbin children. And to leave her drop. If she’d been told to accompany them, she’d have made some excuse and gone to the drop and through to Oxford as soon as possible.
Either way, she was gone, which meant Polly was stuck here till someone came to fetch her. But it also meant she could stop imagining that the net was broken, or worse, and that they wouldn’t be able to come get her before her deadline. Merope’s drop was obviously working or she couldn’t have gone back.
Which meant the problem had to be a divergence point-or a series of them-and the team would be here as soon as they were over. Or they might already be over, and the team was waiting for her at Townsend Brothers, though it was highly unlikely they’d have come on the one day she’d been gone.
If it was only one day. At this rate it would take her a week to get back to London. The train from Daventry had been so late and there’d been so many delays that by six o’clock they still hadn’t reached Hereford, which meant she might as well have stayed till the service was over, talked to everyone in Backbury, and taken the bus back. But after Reading they made better time, and by ten one of the soldiers reported, “We’re coming into Ealing. We should be in London soon.”
The train pulled out of the station and then stopped. And sat. “Is it another troop train?” Polly asked.
“No. Air raid.”
Polly thought of the vicar’s sermon. “We fear we will be trapped in this dreadful place forever,” he’d said. Truer words, she thought, leaning her head against the kit bag and trying to catch a little sleep.
It was a good thing Marjorie had said she’d cover for her if she wasn’t there at the opening bell. They didn’t make it to Euston Station till half past eight the next morning, after which she still had to run the obstacle course of London-After-a-Big-Raid. The Piccadilly, Northern, and Jubilee Lines weren’t running; the bus she needed to take was lying on its side in the middle of the road; and there were notices saying Danger UXB barring access to every other street.
It was half past eleven before she reached Townsend Brothers. Marjorie would almost certainly have told Miss Snelgrove about Polly’s ailing mother by now. She’d have to ask Marjorie exactly what she had told her, so they could coordinate their stories.
But Marjorie wasn’t there. When Polly got to the floor, Doreen hurried over to her and demanded, “Where have you been? We thought you’d gone off with Marjorie.”
“Gone off?” Polly said, glancing over at Marjorie’s counter, but a plump brunette she didn’t recognize was standing behind it. “Where?”
“No one knows. Marjorie didn’t say a word to anyone. She simply didn’t come in this morning. Miss Snelgrove was livid, what with not knowing whether you’d be in and us so busy. Customers have been coming in in droves.” She pointed at the brunette. “They had to send Sarah Steinberg down from Housewares to fill in till they can hire someone.”
“Hire someone? But just because Marjorie didn’t come in doesn’t mean she’s given her notice. She might have had difficulty getting here. I had a dreadful time coming from the station. Or something might have happened to her.”
“That was the first thing we thought of, what with the raids last night,” Doreen said. “And when Miss Snelgrove rang her landlady, she said Marjorie hadn’t come in last night, and she’d rung the hospitals. But she rang back a bit ago and said she’d checked Marjorie’s room, and all her things were gone. Marjorie was always on about going to Bath to live with her flatmate, but I never thought she’d actually do it, did you?”
“No,” Polly said. Marjorie hadn’t said a word about leaving. She’d promised to cover for her and to tell the retrieval team where she was. What if they’d been here this morning?
“Did anyone come in-?” she began, but Doreen cut her off.
“Quick, Miss Snelgrove’s coming,” she whispered. She scuttled off to her own counter, and Polly started toward hers, but too late. Miss Snelgrove was already bearing down on her.
“Well?” she demanded. “I trust you have a good reason for being two and a half hours late?”
That all depends on what Marjorie told you on Saturday, Polly thought. Had she said she was ill or visiting her mother?
“Well?” Miss Snelgrove said, folding her arms belligerently across her chest. “I trust you’re feeling better.”
She’d told her she was ill, then. I hope. “No, actually, I’m still a bit gippy. I rang up to say I wouldn’t be in today, but they said you were dreadfully shorthanded, so I thought I’d best try to come in.”
Miss Snelgrove was not impressed. “To whom did you speak?” she demanded. “Was it Marjorie?”
“No, I don’t know who it was. I didn’t know about Marjorie till I got here. I was so surprised-”
“Yes, well, go and tell Miss Steinberg she can go back to her department. And I believe you have a customer.”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” Polly said and went over to her counter, but Miss Snelgrove continued to watch her like a hawk, so she didn’t have a chance to ask Sarah if anyone had come in asking about her this morning, and no chance to talk to Doreen either till Miss Snelgrove went on her lunch break.
As soon as she was out of sight, Polly darted over to Doreen’s counter and asked her, “Marjorie didn’t say whether anyone had come in asking for me before she left, did she?”
“No, I didn’t even have a chance to talk to her,” Doreen said. “We were swamped, what with you being out ill and all, and then, just before closing, Miss Snelgrove said I’d made a mistake in my sales receipts, and I had to tote them all up again and by the time I’d finished, Marjorie’d gone.” She looked speculatively at Polly. “Who were you expecting? Did you meet someone?”