Connie Willis - All Clear

“And then you came, and I knew that was a lie. That beauty, courage, meaning still lived.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Polly heard Sir Godfrey’s nurse shout from the end of the corridor. “Children aren’t allowed up here.”

“And then,” he said, “when you knew your lines, I realized I could not possibly leave.”

“Come back here, you wretched child!” the nurse shouted, but Polly scarcely heard her.

“The next morning,” Sir Godfrey said, “I wrote to him, turning his offer down.”

Polly waited, afraid to speak, afraid to breathe.

“The theater in Bristol was bombed during the second act of Sentimental Tommy. A direct hit. The entire company was killed.”

Miranda: What foul play had we that we came from thence? Or blessed was’t we did?

Prospero: Both, both.

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, THE TEMPEST

London—Spring 1941

IT TOOK THE STAFF OF THE HOSPITAL ANOTHER QUARTER of an hour to apprehend Alf and Binnie, during which time Polly was able to assure Sir Godfrey again that yes, she’d do the pantomime if he could find another theater to put it on in, hurry back down to the ward, divest herself of the Chinese robe, climb into bed, and be lying there looking nearly as innocent as Alf and Binnie did when they were dragged in by the scruff of their necks.

“Do you know these children?” the matron demanded.

“They’re my foster children,” Eileen said, coming in. “I told them to stay in the waiting room while I visited Polly. They’ve been very worried over their aunt,” she explained.

Alf nodded. “We was scared she was dead.”

“We was orphaned before, you see,” Binnie said, sniffling.

Alf patted his sister kindly. “We ain’t got nobody to take care of us ’cept Aunt Eileen and Aunt Polly.”

“I’m sorry if they attempted to come up to the ward to see me,” Polly said. “They meant well—”

“Attempted to come up to the ward?” the matron said. “They’ve turned this entire hospital upside down. They’ve been racketing through the corridors, terrorizing patients, wreaking—”

“We was only trying to catch Alf’s snake,” Binnie said, “ ’afore it frightened anyone.”

“Snake?” the matron said. “You two let a snake loose in hospital?”

“Course not,” Binnie said, her eyes wide and innocent. “ ’E got away on ’is own, didn’t ’e?”

“But don’t worry, we caught ’im,” Alf said, pulling a snake out of his pocket and dangling it in front of the matron.

The matron blanched. “I want these two children—and their reptile—out of this hospital immediately.”

“Yes, Matron,” Eileen said, and hustled the children out.

“I’m afraid they’ll only come back,” Polly said. “They’re very much attached to me.” And within a quarter of an hour she was pronounced fully recovered, discharged, and allowed to telephone someone—but not Eileen—to bring her her clothes and handbag.

Polly rang up Hattie and spent the time till Hattie got there from the Alhambra thinking of everything that had happened, trying to fit it into the puzzle.

Because she’d driven Stephen, Paige Fairchild had gone with her to Croydon and had stopped the car to confront Polly. If she hadn’t, they wouldn’t have been there when the V-1 hit, they wouldn’t have found the man with the severed foot. Had she saved his life, too?

I hope so, Polly thought, remembering how he’d clutched her hand, how he’d told her he was sorry.

Just as I told Sir Godfrey I was sorry for getting him killed. But the man at Croydon hadn’t got either of them killed. It was just the opposite. If Paige hadn’t been bringing the medical kit, she’d have been in the ambulance when the V-2 hit and been killed. So why had he said he was sorry—?

“Oh, thank goodness you’re all right!” Hattie said, bursting into the ward. “I was so afraid—I kept telling the incident officer Reggie’d seen you run into the Phoenix, but it took me an age to convince him.” She handed Polly her clothes. “Tabbitt says you’re not to come in tonight or tomorrow night.”

Good, Polly thought. That will give me time to go to St. Bart’s. But when she arrived home, Eileen wouldn’t hear of it. “You’re going to bed,” she said. “You’ve only just got out of hospital, I’ll go. What is it you want me to find out?”

“The names of the people you took to St. Bart’s on the night of the twenty-ninth, especially the officer you kept from bleeding to death. And any information you can find out about them and about what happened to them after they got out of hospital, if they did get out of hospital.”

“You think I did something to lose the war, don’t you?” Eileen said, anguished.

“No,” Polly said, “I think you may have done just the opposite, but I need proof. Where are Alf and Binnie?”

“At school.”

“What about Mr. Dunworthy?”

“He’s sleeping, finally, and you’re not to wake him. He’s been so worried.”

“But there’s something I must ask him.”

“You can do it after I come back,” Eileen said firmly, and made Polly get into bed.

“Wait, before you go, you said Alf did the navigating that night. How did he know the streets?”

“From his planespotting,” she said. “He pored over his maps of England and London for hours.”

“Where did he get them? Did you give them to him?”

“No, the vicar did. During the quarantine. Alf was driving me mad, and I asked Mr. Goode to please send over something to keep him occupied.”

And if Eileen hadn’t been there, none of it would have been able to happen. Alf wouldn’t have known the streets, and Binnie wouldn’t have known how to drive, wouldn’t even have been alive. It all fit perfectly, as if it had been planned: Steps for Saving a Bombing Victim During an Air Raid.

“You’re to rest till I get back,” Eileen said.

Polly promised, and Eileen left. Polly waited five minutes, in case she came back to check on her, and then dressed and went to Alf and Binnie’s school and told the headmistress she needed to take them home. “It’s an emergency,” she said, which was true.

The headmistress sent a student to fetch them.

“Where’s Eileen?” Binnie asked when she saw Polly.

“At St. Bart’s,” Polly said, and Binnie went ashen.

“She’s dead, ain’t she?” Alf said hoarsely.

“No,” Polly said. “She’s perfectly fine. I sent her there to find out something for me.”

“You swear?”

“I swear,” Polly said, and Binnie’s color began to come back.

“Then what are you doin’ ’ere?” Alf asked.

“I came to take you out for a sweet to thank you for helping me at the hospital.”

“What sort of sweet?” Alf asked suspiciously.

She hadn’t thought that far, but the Hodbins knew exactly where to go. Polly bought them both ices and then asked, “This autumn did you ever go to St. Paul’s Station?”

Binnie, her mouth full, began to say no, but Alf was already blurting out, “That guard was lyin’. We didn’t do nothin.’ ’E give me that shilling. For tellin’ ’im what station it was, and then the guard come along and said we picked ’is pocket, but we never. ’E ain’t gonna put us in jail, is ’e?”

“I don’t know,” Polly said consideringly. “If the guard says you did … Do you remember what the gentleman looked like who gave you the shilling? Perhaps if we could find him, he’d be willing to speak to the police—”

“It weren’t no gent,” Alf said. “ ’E was a boy.”

“How old?”

Alf shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Older ’n us,” Binnie said. “Maybe seventeen.”

“And where were you when he gave you the shilling?”