Blackout (49 page)

Unless they’re on the
City of Benares
, she thought, looking worriedly at Alf and Binnie. Today was the ninth. If Mrs. Hodbin took them to the office tomorrow and they left for Portsmouth on Wednesday, they might very well end up on the
City of Benares
. It had sailed on the thirteenth and been sunk four days later.

“I’m hot,” Binnie said, fanning herself with her magazine. It
was
hot. The afternoon sun was streaming in, but pulling down the shade wasn’t an option. It had been designed for the blackout and shut out all light. And it would deprive Alf of his planespotting, and he’d think up some other mischief.

“I’ll open the window,” Alf said and jumped up on the plush seat. There was a sudden jerk, a whoosh of releasing steam, and the train began to slow sharply.

“What did you do?” Eileen said.

“Nuthin’.”

“I’ll wager he pulled the emergency cord,” Binnie said.

“I never,” Alf said hotly.

“Then why’s the train stoppin’?” she asked.

“Did you let Bill out?” Eileen demanded.

“No.” He rummaged in his haversack and held up the wriggling snake. “See?” He shoved it back in and jumped down. “I’ll wager we’re comin’ to a station.”

He darted for the door. “I’ll go see.”

“No, you will not,” Eileen said, grabbing him. “You three stay here. Binnie, watch Theodore. I’ll go see.” But no station was visible in either direction from the corridor, only a meadow with a stream meandering through it. Several people had come out into the corridor, including the headmistress. Oh, dear, she was still on the train.

“Do you know what’s happening?” one of the passengers asked.

The headmistress turned and glared directly at Eileen. “
I
suspect someone pulled the communications cord.”

Oh, God
, Eileen thought, ducking back into the compartment.
They’ll put us off the train in the middle of nowhere
. She shut the door and stood there with her back to it.

“Well?” Binnie demanded. “Are we at a station?”

“No.”

“Why’d we stop, then?”

“I’ll wager it’s an air raid,” Alf said, “and the jerries are goin’ to start droppin’ bombs on us any minute.”

“We’ve probably stopped to let a troop train pass,” Eileen said, “and we’ll start again in just a bit.” But they didn’t.

The minutes wore on, the compartment grew hotter, and the number of passengers milling about in the corridor increased. Eileen tried to distract the children with a game of I Spy.

“I’ll wager there’s a spy on the train and that’s why we’ve stopped,” Alf said. “I
knew
that man who wouldn’t let me sit by the window was a fifth columnist. ’E’s gonna blow up the train.”

“I don’t
want—
” Theodore began.

“There is
not
a bomb on the train,” Eileen said, and the guard came in, looking grim.

“Sorry to inconvenience you, madam,” he said, “but I’m afraid we must evacuate the train. You need to collect your things and leave the train.”

“Evacuate?”

“I
told
you,” Alf said. “There’s a bomb, ain’t there?”

The guard ignored him. “What was your destination, madam?”

“London,” Eileen said. “But—?”

“You’ll be taken by bus the rest of the way,” he said and left before they could ask any more questions.

“Gather up your things,” Eileen said. “Alf, fold up your map. Binnie, hand me my book. Theodore, put on your coat.”

“I don’t
want
to blow up,” Theodore said. “I want to go home.”

“You won’t blow up, dunderhead,” Binnie said, standing on the seat to take down their luggage. “If it was a bomb, they wouldn’t let you take anything with you,” which made sense.

And it’s a good thing there isn’t one
, Eileen thought, wrestling the three of them and the luggage out into the corridor and down to the end of the car,
or we’d never make it out in time
.

The other passengers were already off the train and standing on the gravel next to the tracks. The headmistress was shouting at the guard. “Are you telling me we’re expected to
walk
all the way to the nearest village?”

It was obvious that that was exactly what was expected. Several passengers had already set off across the meadow carrying their bags. “I’m afraid so, madam,” the guard said. “It’s not far. You can see the steeple of the church just beyond those trees. A bus should arrive within the hour.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t take us on to the next station. Or back to—”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. There’s another train behind us.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “There’s been an incident on the line ahead.”

“I
told
you there was a bomb,” Alf said. He shoved his way past the headmistress. “What’d ’e blow up?”

The guard glared at him. “A railway bridge.” He turned back to the headmistress. “We greatly regret the inconvenience, madam. Perhaps this boy could help you carry your bags.”

“No, thank you, I will manage on my own.” She turned to Eileen. “I warn you that I have no intention of sharing a bus with a snake,” she said and set off grimly across the meadow after the others.

“Was it a Dornier what dropped the bomb?” Alf, undaunted, asked the guard. “Or a Heinkel III?”

“Come
along
, Alf,” Eileen said and dragged him away.

“If the train’d been a few minutes earlier,” he mused, “we’d been on that bridge when they dropped the bomb.”

And you and your snake were the ones who made the train late
, Eileen thought, remembering the headmistress shaking her finger and the stationmaster looking anxiously at his watch. Which she supposed meant she should be grateful, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. The grass in the meadow was knee-high and impossible to walk through while carrying luggage. Theodore made it a quarter of the way and then demanded to be carried. Alf refused to carry Theodore’s duffel, and Binnie dawdled behind.

“Stop picking flowers and come along,” Eileen said.

“I’m pickin’ a name,” Binnie said. “Daisy. Daisy Odbin.”

“Or Skunk Cabbage Odbin,” Alf said.

Binnie ignored him. “Or Violet. Or Mata.”

“What sort of flower’s that?”

“It ain’t a flower, slowcoach. It’s a
spy
. Mata ’Ari. Mata ’Ari Odbin.”

“I’m hot,” Alf said. “Can’t we stop and rest?”

“Yes,” Eileen said, even though the rest of the passengers were far ahead. Or perhaps that was just as well, considering. She set Theodore down. “Alf, they won’t let you take your snake on the bus. You need to let it go.”

“’Ere?” Alf said. “There ain’t nothin’ for Bill to eat ’ere.” He pulled the writhing snake not out of his haversack, but out of his pocket. “’E’ll starve.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “This is a perfect place for him. Grass, flowers, insects.”

It
was
a perfect place. If she hadn’t been trekking three children and all this luggage across it, she would have loved standing here knee-deep in the fragrant grass, the breeze ruffling her hair, listening to the faint hum of bees. The meadow was golden in the afternoon light and full of buttercups and Queen Anne’s lace. A copper dragonfly hovered above a spray of white stitchwort, and a bird flashed past, dark blue against the bright blue sky.

“But if I leave Bill ’ere, ’e might get bombed,” Alf said, dangling the snake in front of Binnie, who was unimpressed. “The Dornier might come back and—”

“Let him go,” Eileen said firmly.

“But ’e’ll be lonely,” Alf said.
“You
wouldn’t much like bein’ left all alone in a strange place.”

You’re right, I don’t
. “Let him go,” she said. “Now.”

Alf reluctantly squatted and opened his hand. The snake slithered enthusiastically off into the grass and out of sight. Eileen picked up Theodore’s duffel and her own suitcase, and they set off again. The other passengers had disappeared. She hoped they’d tell the bus to wait for them, though that was probably a fond hope, considering the headmistress’s attitude.

“Look!” Alf shouted, stopping so short Eileen nearly ran into him. He pointed up at the sky. “It’s a plane!”

“Where?” Binnie said. “I don’t see nuthin’.” For a second Eileen couldn’t either, then saw a tiny black dot. “Wait, now I see it!” Binnie cried. “Is it comin’ back to bomb us?”

Eileen had a sudden image of a vid in one of her history lectures, of refugees scattering wildly as a plane dove toward them, strafing them. “Is it a dive-bomber?” she asked Alf, dropping her suitcase and clutching Theodore’s hand, ready to reach for Binnie and Alf with the other and run.

“You mean a Stuka? I can’t tell,” Alf said, squinting at the plane. “No, it’s one of ours. It’s a ’Urricane.”

But they were still out in the middle of a meadow, with a stopped train—a perfect bombing target—only a few hundred yards off. “We need to catch up to the others,” she said. “Come along. Hurry.”

No one moved. “There’s another one!” Alf said deliriously. “It’s a Messerschmitt. See the iron crosses on its wings? They’re gonna fight!”

Eileen craned her neck to look up at the tiny planes. She could see them both clearly now, the sharp-nosed Hurricane and the snub-nosed Messerschmitt, though they looked like toy planes. They circled each other, swooping and turning silently as if they were dancing instead of fighting. Theodore let go of her hand and went over to stand by Alf, looking up at the graceful duet, his mouth open, transfixed. And rightly so. They were beautiful. “Get ’im!” Alf shouted. “Shoot ’im down!”

“Shoot ’im down!” Theodore echoed.

The toy planes banked and dipped and soared silently, trailing narrow veils of white behind them.
Those weren’t clouds I saw from the train. They were vapor trails from dogfights just like these. I’m watching the Battle of Britain
, she thought wonderingly.

The Messerschmitt climbed and then dove straight at the other plane. “Look out!” Binnie shouted.

There was still no sound, no roar as the plane dove, no machine-gun rattle. “Missed!” Alf shouted, and Eileen saw a minuscule spurt of orange halfway along the Hurricane’s wing.

“’E’s hit!” Binnie shouted.

White smoke began to stream from the wing. The Hurricane’s nose dipped. “Pull up!” Alf shouted, and the tiny plane seemed to straighten out.

That means the pilot’s still alive
, Eileen thought.

“Get out of there!” Binnie yelled, and it seemed to obey that, too, fleeing north, white smoke trailing from its wing. But not fast enough. The Messerschmitt banked sharply and came around again.

“Behind you!” Alf and then Theodore shouted. “Watch out!”

“Look!” Binnie’s arm shot up. “There’s another one!”

“Where?” Alf demanded, “I don’t see it,” and Eileen suddenly did. It was above the other two planes and coming in fast.

Oh, God, don’t let it be German
, Eileen thought.

“It’s a Spitfire!” Alf yelled, and the Messerschmitt cockpit exploded into flame and black smoke. “’E got ’im!” he said deliriously. The Messerschmitt keeled over and went into a spiraling dive, smoke billowing from it, still graceful, still noiseless in its deadly descent.

It won’t even make a sound when it hits
, Eileen thought, but it did—a quiet, sickening thud. The children cheered. “I knew the Spitfire’d save ’im!” Alf exulted, looking back up at the two planes.

The Spitfire was circling above the Hurricane, which still streamed white smoke. As they watched, the Hurricane went into a long, shallow dive across the endless expanse of blue sky, and vanished beyond the trees. Eileen closed her eyes and waited for the impact. It came, faint as a footstep.

I want to go home
, she thought.

“’E bailed out,” Alf said. “There’s ’is parachute.” He pointed confidently at the empty blue and white sky.

“Where?” Theodore asked.

“
I
don’t see no parachute,” Binnie said.

“We must go,” Eileen said, picking up her suitcase and taking Theodore’s hand.

“But what if ’e crash-landed and needs first aid?” Alf asked. “Or a ambulance? The RAF are wizard pilots. They can land anywhere.”

“Even with their wing on fire?” Binnie said. “I’ll wager ’e’s dead.”

Theodore clutched Eileen’s hand and looked imploringly up at Eileen. “You don’t know that, Binnie,” Eileen said.

“My name ain’t Binnie.”

Eileen ignored that. “I’m certain the pilot’s fine, Theodore,” she said. “Now come along. We’ll miss the bus. Alf, Binnie—”

“I told you, I ain’t Binnie no more,” Binnie said. “I decided on my new name.”

“What is it?” Alf asked disdainfully. “Dandelion?”

“No. Spitfire.”

“Spitfire?” Alf hooted. “’Urricane, more like. ’Urricane ’Odbin.”

“
No
,” Binnie said. “Spitfire, ’cause they’re what’s gonna beat old ’Itler. Spitfire ’Odbin,” she said, trying it out. “Ain’t that a good name for me, Eileen?”

MISS SNELGROVE TOLD POLLY SHE WAS IN NO CONDITION
to work and insisted on her lying down. “Miss Hayes can take charge of your counter,” she said.

“Shouldn’t she go home?” Doreen asked, coming over.

“She can’t,” Marjorie said, and whispered something to her.
How does she know about the drop being damaged?
Polly wondered.

“Come along,” Miss Snelgrove said and took her down in the lift to Townsend Brothers’ basement shelter. “You need to rest,” she said, pointing to one of the cots normally reserved for customers, and when Polly still stood there, “Here, take off your coat.” Miss Snelgrove unbuttoned it for her and laid it over a chair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get a black skirt,” Polly said. She hadn’t projected an air of calm and courage either. All employees were supposed to be cool under fire. “And I’m sorry I—”

“You mustn’t worry about that now,” Miss Snelgrove said. “You mustn’t worry about anything except having a good sleep. You’ve had a bad shock.”

A bad shock
, Polly thought, sitting down obediently on the cot. Sir Godfrey and Miss Laburnum and all the others dead and the drop not working. And the retrieval team not here.
They were supposed to be here yesterday. Yesterday
.