“No. You tell them two I’ll set the constable on ’em if they come round here again.” He stomped back into the office.
Oh, dear. They couldn’t stay here all night, not knowing whether the train would come or not. Theodore’s face was already pinched with cold, and with the blackout, station lights weren’t allowed. If the train came after dark, it might not even see them waiting and wouldn’t stop. She’d have to take him all the way back to the manor and try again tomorrow. But his ticket was for today, and she had no way to get in touch with his mother and tell her he wasn’t coming. She peered anxiously down the track, looking for a glimpse of smoke above the bare trees.
“I’ll wager the line was out ’cause there was a train wreck,” Binnie said, appearing from behind a pile of sleepers.
“I’ll wager a jerry plane flew over and dropped a bomb and the whole train blew up,” Alf said. They clambered up onto the platform. “Boom! Arms and legs everywhere! And ’eads!”
“That’s enough of that,” Eileen said. “You two go back to school.”
“We can’t,” Binnie protested. “I told you, Alf’s got a fever. His ’ead’s-”
Eileen clapped her hand to Alf’s perfectly cool forehead. “He hasn’t any fever. Now go.”
“We can’t,” Alf said. “School’s let out.”
“Then go home.”
At the word, Theodore’s face puckered up. “Here, let’s put your mittens on,” Eileen said hastily, kneeling in front of him. “Did you ride on a train when you came to Backbury, Theodore?” she asked to distract him.
“We come on a bus,” Binnie said. “Alf was sick all over the driver’s shoes.”
“You get your ’ead cut off on a train if you stick it out the window,” Alf said.
“Come along, Theodore,” Eileen said. “Let’s go stand out by the edge where we can see the train coming.”
“A girl I know stood too close to the edge and fell onto the tracks,” Binnie said, “and a train run right over her. Sliced her right in ’alf.”
“Alf, Binnie, I don’t want to hear another word about trains,” Eileen said.
“Not even if it’s comin’?” Binnie said and pointed down the tracks. The train was indeed bearing down on them, its massive engine wreathed in steam.
Thank goodness. “Here’s your train, Theodore,” Eileen said, kneeling to button his coat. She hung his gas-mask box around his neck. “Your name and address and destination are on this paper.” She tucked it in his pocket. “When you get to Euston, don’t leave the platform. Your mother will come out to the train to fetch you.”
“What if she ain’t there?” Binnie asked.
“What if she got killed on the way?” Alf said.
Binnie nodded. “Right. What if a bomb blew ’er up?”
“Don’t listen to them,” Eileen said, thinking, Why can’t it be the Hodbins I’m sending home? “They’re teasing you, Theodore. There aren’t any bombs in London.” Yet.
“Why’d they send us ’ere then?” Alf said, “’Cept to get us away from the bombs?” He stuck his face in Theodore’s. “If you go ’ome, a bomb’ll prob’ly get you.”
“Or mustard gas,” Binnie said, clutching her throat and pretending to choke.
Theodore looked up at Eileen. “I want to go home.”
“I don’t blame you,” Eileen said. She picked up his suitcase and walked him over to the slowing train. It was full of soldiers. They peered around the blackout curtains in the compartments, waving and grinning, and jammed the platforms at both ends of the cars, some of them half hanging out over the steps. “Come to see us off to the war, ducks?” one of them called to Eileen as the car slowed to a whooshing halt in front of her. “Come to kiss us goodbye?”
Oh, dear, I hope this isn’t a troop train. “Is this the passenger train to London?” she asked hopefully.
“It is,” the soldier said. “Hop aboard, luv.” He leaned down, one hand extended, the other clutching the side railing.
“We’ll take good care of you,” a beefy, red-faced soldier next to him said. “Won’t we, boys?” and there was an answering chorus of hoots and whistles.
“I’m not taking the train. This little boy is,” she said to the first soldier. “I need to speak to the guard. Can you fetch him for me?”
“Through that mob?” he said, looking back into the car. “Nothing could get through that.”
Oh, dear. “This little boy must get to London,” she said. “Can you see that he arrives there safely? His mother will be at the station to meet him.”
He nodded. “Are you certain you don’t want to come as well, luv?”
“Here’s his ticket,” she said, passing it up to him. “His address is in his pocket. His name’s Theodore Willett.” She handed the suitcase up. “All right, Theodore, up you go. This nice soldier will take care of you.”
“No!” Theodore shouted, turning and launching himself into her arms. “I don’t want to go home.”
She staggered under his weight. “Of course you do, Theodore. You mustn’t listen to Alf and Binnie, they were only trying to frighten you. Here, I’ll climb up the steps with you,” she said, trying to set him on the bottom rung, but he grabbed her around the neck.
“No! I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” she said, trying to loosen his grip. “But just think, your mum will be there, and your own nice bed and toys. Remember how much you’ve been wanting to go home?”
“No.” He buried his head in her shoulder.
“Whyn’t you just toss ’im onto the train?” Alf suggested helpfully.
“No!” Theodore sobbed.
“Alf,” Eileen said. “How would you like to be tossed into the middle of a lot of people you didn’t know to fend for yourself?”
“I’d like it fine. I’d make ’em buy me sweets.”
I’ll wager you would, Eileen thought. But Theodore’s not as tough as you. And, at any rate, she couldn’t toss him. His hands were locked around her neck. “No!” he shrieked, as she tried to pry his fingers loose. “I want you to go with me!”
“I can’t, Theodore. I haven’t a ticket.” And the soldier who’d taken Theodore’s suitcase had disappeared into the car to stow it, and there was no way to get it or the ticket back. “Theodore, I’m afraid you must get on the train.”
“No!” he screamed, right in her ear, and tightened his grip around her neck, nearly strangling her.
“Theodore-”
“There, that’s no way to carry on, Theodore,” a man’s voice said, nearly in her ear, and Theodore was abruptly off her neck and in his arms. It was the vicar, Mr. Goode. “Of course you don’t want to go, Theodore,” he said, “but in a war we must all do things we don’t want to do. You must be a brave soldier, and-”
“I’m not a soldier,” Theodore said, aiming a kick at the vicar’s groin, which he deflected neatly by grabbing Theodore’s foot.
“Yes, you are. When there’s a war, everyone’s a soldier.”
“You’re not,” Theodore said rudely.
“Yes, I am. I’m a captain in the Home Guard.”
“Well, she’s not,” Theodore said, pointing at Eileen.
“Of course she is. She’s the major-general in charge of evacuees.” He saluted her smartly.
He’ll never buy it, Eileen thought. Nice try, Vicar, but Theodore was asking, “What sort of soldier am I?”
“A sergeant,” the vicar said. “In charge of going on the train.” There was a whoosh of steam, and the train gave a lurch. “Time to go, Sergeant,” he said, and handed him up into the arms of the red-faced soldier. “I’m counting on you to see that he reaches his mother, soldier,” the vicar said to him.
“I will, Vicar,” the soldier promised.
“I’m a soldier, too,” Theodore informed the soldier. “A sergeant, so you must salute me.”