All Clear

London—19 April 1941

POLLY’S SWORD HIT THE STAGE WITH A CLATTER. “YOU’RE gonna catch it now!” Alf said, but she didn’t hear him.

“Colin,” she tried to say, but no sound came out. She glanced over at Mr. Dunworthy, who still stood there gripping the theater-seat back for support, and then back at Colin.

Though it wasn’t the Colin she’d known. There was nothing of the eager, high-spirited boy who’d followed her around Oxford like a puppy, who’d told her he intended to marry her when he grew up, in the man standing there in the aisle before her with his ARP helmet in his hands.

But it didn’t matter. Polly had known the moment she saw him standing there in the aisle that it was Colin. And that he had come, just as he had promised he would, to rescue her. But at what cost? He looked not only older but sadder, grimmer, his face lined with suffering and fatigue.

Oh, Colin, she thought, what’s happened to you since I saw you seven months ago?

But she knew that, too. He had spent weeks, months, years, frantically trying to get to them—trying to get the drops, any drop, to open. And then, when he’d failed, trying to puzzle out what had happened, trying to follow a trail which had gone cold.

I have ridden long, weary miles, she thought. I have searched long, hopeless years. And fought battles and spells and brambles and time. And found her.

Found all of them. She looked at Mr. Dunworthy, hanging on to the back of the theater seat for dear life, as though he still couldn’t believe what had happened. He looked like the Admirable Crichton and Lady Mary must have looked when the ship had finally arrived.

“They’ve reconciled themselves to living out their remaining lives and dying on the island,” Sir Godfrey had said when they were rehearsing the rescue scene. “And now rescue is at hand. No, no, no! No smiles! I want staggered, stunned, unable to believe they have been saved. Joyous and sad and afraid, all at once.”

And silent, Polly thought, as if we’re under a spell.

Colin was under it, too. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He stood there perfectly still, with his ARP helmet in his hands, looking at her, waiting.

For me to break the spell, she thought.

“Oh, Colin,” she said, and came down the steps into the theater and up the aisle to where he stood. “You said you’d come rescue me if I got into trouble. And here you are!”

“Here I am,” he said, and his voice was changed, too. It was both rougher and gentler than the boy Colin’s—a man’s voice. “Rather late, I’m afraid, and somewhat the worse for wear.” He grinned at her, and she had been wrong. It was exactly the same Colin who had followed her into the Bodleian that day. He hadn’t changed at all.

Her heart caught. “You’re not late. You’re exactly on time.”

He started toward her, and she was suddenly breathing hard, as if she had been running. “Colin—”

“Polly!” Alf shouted from the stage. “Is the warden ’ere to evacuate us?” He pointed at Colin, who had stopped only a step away from her.

“Course ’e ain’t, you puddinghead,” Binnie said, coming out to the edge of the stage beside Alf. “Air-raid wardens don’t evacuate people.”

“They do if there’s a UXB,” Alf retorted. “Is ’e ’ere with the bomb squad, Polly?”

“I know who he is,” Trot said, joining Alf and Binnie. “He’s the Prince. He’s come to rescue Sleeping Beauty.”

“Don’t be daft,” Binnie said, while Alf collapsed in laughter. “There ain’t no such thing as Prince Dauntless.”

Oh, yes, there is, Polly thought. And he’s here. In the very nick of time.

“He is so the Prince,” Trot said, and started down the steps on the side of the stage. “I’ll show you.”

“No, you won’t,” Polly said. That was all they needed, the children down here asking questions. “Go change into your christening-scene costumes this instant.”

Trot headed immediately for the wings, followed by Nelson, but Polly should have known better than to think Alf and Binnie would obey her. “Sir Godfrey told us we was s’posed to go on from where we was,” Binnie said.

“I don’t care what he said, Binnie. Go put on your fairy costumes.”

Next to her Colin murmured, “That’s Binnie?”

Even he’s heard of the notorious Hodbins, Polly thought.

“Yes,” she said. “Go change for the christening scene now.”

“I can’t,” Binnie said. “Eileen ain’t back yet.”

Eileen. She’ll be overjoyed at the thought of going home.

“Eileen isn’t here?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.

“No, I think she went to check my drop first,” Polly said.

He and Colin exchanged glances.

“Why?” she asked worriedly. “The raids aren’t over Kensington tonight, are they?”

“No, they’re mostly over the docks,” Colin said.

“We can’t do the christening scene without I’m wearin’ my costume,” Binnie said. “And Eileen said not to put it on till she fixed the wing. It’s broke. Alf was the one what broke it,” she added unnecessarily.

“Put on the costume without the wings,” Polly ordered.

Eileen will be even more overjoyed at not having to cope with the Hodbins than she will be at going home, she thought, and then felt guilty. Alf and Binnie had already lost their mother, and now they were going to lose Eileen. Poor little—

“Eileen said not to,” Binnie said belligerently. “And Sir Godfrey said we was s’posed to go straight through to the end and no stopping.”

“And I said go put on your costume,” Polly ordered. “And when Eileen gets here, tell her I need to speak to her.”

“All right, but you’re goin’ to be in trouble,” Binnie muttered darkly.

You’re wrong, Polly thought. We were in trouble, but now Colin’s here.

“Do as I say this instant,” she said, and Alf and Binnie trudged off the stage into the wings.

Polly turned back to Mr. Dunworthy and Colin. “I still can’t believe you’re here, Colin.”

“I can’t either. I had the very devil of a time finding you. Far worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.”

She could imagine. No one at Townsend Brothers would have known where they were, and even if he’d managed to find out they’d lived at Mrs. Rickett’s—

He must have seen the announcement of the pantomime in the newspapers, she thought. Mike had said they’d be reading the newspapers, looking for clues to where—

Oh, God, Mike. “Mr. Dunworthy,” she said, “did you tell him about Mike?”

“He already knew.”

Of course, she thought. He read that in the newspapers as well. Mike Davis, American war correspondent for the Omaha Observer. Died suddenly.

“What about Charles Bowden?” she asked Colin. “He’s in Singapore. He needs to be pulled out before the Japanese Army—”

“His drop was still working,” Colin said. “We pulled him out as soon as we realized something was wrong.”

Oh, thank God. “What about Denys Atherton?”

“He never came through, and neither did Gerald Phipps. Nor Jack Sorkin. Nothing would open. Except your drop, Mr. Dunworthy,” Colin said, “and it stopped working the moment you’d gone through. Till three years ago, we thought the entire war was permanently shut to us.”

Three years ago, Polly thought. And how many years before that had he kept searching, had he refused to give up, even though he’d believed they were permanently lost?

“Merope was right, Polly,” Mr. Dunworthy was saying. “She said our drops would open now that you’d saved Sir Godfrey. I went in to check mine, and there Colin was. I thought at first he was an air-raid warden and he’d seen an incendiary fall on the transept roof and come in to check on it, and then he said, ‘I’ve got to get you out of here, Mr. Dunworthy’, and I realized it was Colin.”

“I’ve got to get you both out of here,” Colin said. “We need to get back to St. Paul’s.”

Polly nodded, wondering why Colin hadn’t sent Mr. Dunworthy on through. He must not have known where the theater was and needed Mr. Dunworthy to show him the way.

“Colin, you need to take Mr. Dunworthy there right now and send him through,” she said. “His deadline’s only ten days off, which means he’s in far more danger than I am. I’ll stay here and wait for Eileen. I’ve got to notify everyone I’m leaving, at any rate. I can’t just go off without telling them. And they’ll have to find someone else to play my part. The pantomime’s in two weeks. I owe it to them …”

She faltered to a stop. I’ll have to tell them all goodbye, she thought sickly. Miss Laburnum and Trot and, oh, God, Sir Godfrey. How can I bear—

“Polly?” Colin said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She managed a smile. “I’ll stay here and tell them, and then when Eileen arrives, we’ll come and meet you at St. Paul’s.”

But Mr. Dunworthy was shaking his head. “I want to wait till she comes,” he said, looking at Colin.

Colin nodded. “There’s time.”

There was something here Polly didn’t understand, something they weren’t telling her. “Why is Eileen late?” she asked, remembering Mr. Dunworthy’s ashen look when he first came in and the unhappiness in Colin’s face. “Tell me. Has something happened to her?”

Mr. Dunworthy and Colin exchanged glances.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“Polly?” Eileen’s voice called from the front of the theater. “Where are you?”

Oh, thank God, Polly thought, whirling to look at the stage.

Eileen came out from the wings in her hat and coat. She must have come in through the stage door. She shaded her eyes, squinting out past the footlights.

“I’m here,” Polly called to her, and before she could tell her, Eileen pattered down the side steps and started up the aisle, asking, “Why aren’t you rehearsing? And where’s the rest of the cast? I hope you haven’t been waiting for me to—Mr. Dunworthy,” she said, spotting him, “what are you doing here? Did something happen at St. Paul’s?”

“No,” Polly said. “Yes. Oh, Eileen, it’s Colin, and he’s here to take us home.”

“Colin?” she said joyfully, and turned to look at him, and as she did, her expression changed to one of—what? Shock? Dismay?

Polly looked questioningly at Colin, but he was staring at Eileen, and all the weariness had returned to his face.

What—? Polly thought, but the next instant she decided she must have been mistaken, that what she’d seen as dismay was only astonishment, because Eileen ran forward to embrace Colin.

“I knew you’d come!” she cried happily. “I told Polly things were happening behind the scenes.” She stood back to take a long, searching look at him and then smiled. “And here you are! I told them they mustn’t give up hope, that you wouldn’t let—” Her voice broke. “I knew you’d pull them out in time.”

“And you, you noddlehead,” Polly said. “Just think, you’ll never have to eat Victory Stew again.”

But Eileen didn’t laugh. She was looking at Mr. Dunworthy, her eyes full of tears. “You mustn’t cry,” said Polly. “This is a happy occasion. The drops are working again, and Charles is all right. He wasn’t in Singapore when the Japanese arrived. They were able to rescue him.”

“But not Mike,” Eileen said, looking at Colin.

“No.”

Eileen nodded slowly. “When I saw you, I thought perhaps he was all right, that he’d somehow told you where—How did you know where we were? There was no one left in Backbury or at Townsend Brothers who knew, and Mrs. Rickett’s …”

She looked intently at him, as if the answer was of immense importance. “How did you find us?”

“We can talk about that in Oxford,” Polly said. “We need to go before the raids get any worse.”

“You’re right,” Eileen said. “Of course,”

But neither Colin nor Mr. Dunworthy moved. All three of them stood there looking at one another, as if waiting for something.

“What—?” Polly asked, bewildered.

“You said you needed to tell them you’re leaving, Polly,” Colin said.

“Yes, and change out of my costume. Do the three of you want to go on ahead, and I’ll meet you at St. Paul’s?”

“No.” Colin was looking at Eileen. “We’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll be back straightaway,” Polly said, and ran down the aisle, up onto the stage, and into the wings.

Mrs. Brightford was there, attempting to repair the damage Alf and Binnie had inflicted on the bramble branches. “Have you seen Sir Godfrey?” Polly asked.

Mrs. Brightford shook her head. “I think he went to find a carpenter.”

Oh, no. She couldn’t leave without telling him goodbye. “You don’t know where, do you?”

Mrs. Brightford shook her head again.

“If he comes back, tell him I need to speak with him,” Polly said, and ran down to the dressing room. She’d change and then, if he still wasn’t back, see if anyone knew where he’d gone and go look for him.

And when and if she found him, what could she say? I’m a time traveler? I was trapped here, but now my retrieval team’s come, and I must go home? I don’t have a choice—I’ll die if I stay?

Perhaps it would be just as well if she couldn’t find him. She stepped out of her leggings and pulled on her stockings, but in her haste she snagged one of them and it ran.

It doesn’t matter, she thought, yanking her doublet off and putting on her frock. I never need to worry about runs again, or ration books, or bombs.

She buttoned her frock. “I won’t ever have to wrap another parcel,” she said, and found herself suddenly, inexplicably, in tears.

Which is ridiculous, she thought. You hate wrapping parcels. And this is a happy ending, exactly like in Trot’s fairy tales.

She pulled on her shoes, caught up her coat and hat, and went out, putting them on as she went, and then hesitated. In another six months, Mrs. Brightford or Viv would be desperate for those stockings, even with a ladder in them. She went back into the dressing room, took off her shoes, stripped off the stockings, and draped them over the makeup mirror. Then she grabbed up her bag and opened the door.

Sir Godfrey was standing there in his Hitler uniform and mustache. He took in Polly’s clothes, her coat. “There’s no need for that, the carpenter’s on his way,” he told her, and then stopped.

“You’re leaving us,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “It’s your young man. He’s come.”

“Yes. I thought he couldn’t, that he—”

“—was dead,” Sir Godfrey said. “But he’s arrived, ‘despite all obstacles, true love triumphant.’ ”

“Yes,” she said, “but I—”

He shook his head to silence her. “The times were out of joint,” he said. “It would not have been suitable, Lady Mary.”

“No,” she said, wishing she could tell him why it wouldn’t have been, that she could tell him who she really was.

Like Viola, she thought. Sir Godfrey had named her well. She couldn’t tell him why she’d been here or why she had to leave, couldn’t tell him how he’d saved her life as much as she’d saved his, couldn’t tell him how much he meant to her.

She had to let him think she was abandoning him for a wartime romance. “I’d stay till after the pantomime if I could—” she began.

“And spoil the ending? Don’t be a fool. Half of acting is knowing when to make one’s exit. And no tears,” he said sternly. “This is a comedy, not a tragedy.”

She nodded, wiping at her cheeks.

“Good,” he said, and smiled at her. “Fair Viola—”

“Polly!” Binnie called from the top of the stairs. “Eileen says to hurry!”

“Coming!” she said. “Sir Godfrey, I—”

“Polly!” Binnie bellowed.

She darted forward, kissed Sir Godfrey on the cheek, and ran for the stairs, calling to Binnie, who was leaning over the railing, looking down at her, “Go tell Eileen I’m coming now!”

Binnie raced off, and Polly ran up the stairs. “Viola!” Sir Godfrey called to her as she reached the top. “Three questions more before we part.”

She turned to look back down over the railing at him. “ ‘What is your will, my lord?’ ”

“Did we win the war?”

She had thought she couldn’t be amazed by anything after Colin, but she had been wrong.

He knows, she thought wonderingly. He’s known since that first night in St. George’s. “Yes,” she said. “We won it.”

“And did I play a part?”

“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty.

“I didn’t have to do Barrie, did I? No, don’t tell me, or my courage will fail me altogether.”

Polly’s laugh caught. “Was that your third question?” she managed to ask.

“No, Polly,” he said. “Something of more import.” And she knew it must be. He had never, except for that one scene in The Admirable Crichton, called her by her real name.

“What is it?” she asked. Will I ever see you again?

No.

Do I love you?

Yes, for all time.

He stepped forward and grasped the staircase’s railing, looked up at her earnestly. “Is it a comedy or a tragedy?”

He doesn’t mean the war, she thought. He’s talking about all of it—our lives and history and Shakespeare. And the continuum.

She smiled down at him. “A comedy, my lord.”

There was an ungodly crash from the stage. “Alf! I told you not to touch nothin’!” Binnie shouted.

“I never! The scrim just fell down.”

“The scrim!” Sir Godfrey bellowed. “Alf Hodbin, I told you not to mess about with those ropes!”

“Don’t try to pick it up,” Binnie’s voice warned. “You’ll tear it!”

“Touch nothing!” Sir Godfrey roared, galloping up the stairs past Polly and out onto the stage, where she could hear Alf and Binnie both insisting, “I didn’t do nothin’! I swear!”

“ ‘They have all rushed down to the beach,’ ” Polly murmured, looking after him, and then turned and ran down into the theater and up the aisle to where Eileen and Mr. Dunworthy and Colin stood.

The three of them were standing very near one another, their heads bent, talking, and Polly thought of that first night when she and Mike and Eileen had sat in the emergency stairwell, catching one another up, making plans. “I’m going to get you both out of this, I promise,” Mike had said, and he had.

He’d died, and because he had, she’d wanted to do something, anything, to make her life matter and had gone to St. Paul’s to ask Mr. Humphreys to help her get a job as an ambulance driver. And because she’d done that, she’d found Mr. Dunworthy and despaired. And if she hadn’t despaired, she would never have been at the Alhambra when the Phoenix was hit, would never have rescued Sir Godfrey, and the drop would never have opened.

You did save us, Mike, she thought. Just as you promised.

She reached the group. Eileen had been crying. She wiped clumsily at her cheeks as Polly joined them, and then smiled at her. “Are you ready?” Eileen asked.

No, Polly thought. “Yes.”

“Are you certain?” Colin said. “I know how hard this must be for you. We haven’t a lot of time, but we’ve enough for you to say goodbye, if there’s anyone else you need to—”

I love you, Polly thought.

“No, I’m ready.” She looked back at the stage, where the children, Sir Godfrey, Mr. Dorming, and Nelson were struggling with the collapsed scrim.

“Should we help them?” Colin asked her.

“No, we’ll never get away if we do. Let’s go,” she said, and turned to start up the aisle, and oh, no, here came Miss Laburnum.

“It’s all right, you needn’t go for the carpenter, Polly,” she said. “I found him at last, and he’ll be here shortly. Is the scrim still stuck?”

“No,” Polly said dryly.

“No, no, no!” Sir Godfrey bellowed and Miss Laburnum looked down at the stage.

“Oh, good heavens! What happened?” She started down the aisle.

“We need to go,” Colin said quietly to Polly. “We haven’t got much time.”

She nodded. “I’m ready,” she said.

“Go?” Binnie, who’d been on the stage only a moment ago, said at Polly’s elbow. “Where are you all going?” and Miss Laburnum immediately turned and hurried back up the aisle toward them.

Alf jumped off the stage and tore up the aisle after her, with Trot—and Nelson, barking wildly—in his wake. “Are you goin’ someplace?” he called.

And now how are we going to get out of here? Polly thought.

“Has something happened?” Miss Laburnum asked, seeming to take in Colin’s ARP uniform for the first time.

“Yes,” Polly said. “I’m sorry to let you all down, but—”

“This is Polly’s fiancé,” Eileen cut in.

“Are you going to marry Polly?” Trot asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “If she hasn’t fallen in love with someone else in the meantime.”

“He’s unexpectedly come home on leave, Miss Laburnum,” Eileen was explaining.

And has gone to work for the ARP? Polly thought, but Miss Laburnum apparently hadn’t noticed the oddness of that, or the sudden appearance of a fiancé Polly had never mentioned before.

“Oh, my, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.—” She looked expectantly at Polly.

“Lieutenant Templer,” Eileen volunteered.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Laburnum,” Colin said. “Polly’s told me about all your kindnesses to her.”

“Ain’t we gonna get to meet ’im?” Alf demanded.

“This is Alf, Trot, and Binnie,” Polly said, indicating each in turn.

“Vivien,” Binnie corrected. “Like Vivien Leigh.”

“Alf, Trot, and Vivien,” Polly said resignedly, and Colin shook hands with Alf and then Trot.

“Did you look for Polly for a hundred years?” Trot asked.

“Nearly,” he replied, and turned to Binnie. “It’s an honor to meet you, Vivien,” he said solemnly, and Binnie shot Polly a triumphant glance.

“Why can’t you be in the pantomime?” Alf asked Polly.

“Can’t be in the pantomime?” Miss Laburnum said, alarmed. “Oh, but Miss Sebastian, you can’t desert us now. Whom shall we find to play the part of principal boy?”

“I’ll do it,” Binnie said. “I know all the lines.”

“Don’t be a noddlehead,” Alf said. “You ain’t old enough.”

“I am so.”

“You’re already a fairy,” Eileen said, “and a bramblebush. You’re too important to the pantomime to play any other parts,” and before Alf could put in his twopence worth, “Alf, go and tell Sir Godfrey that the carpenter will be here in just a moment. And help him put the scrim back up in the meantime. Take Trot with you. And Nelson.”

Which was a cruel thing to do to poor Sir Godfrey, but at least it got rid of Alf for the moment. Now if they could only get rid of Miss Laburnum, who was saying,

“But we shall never be able to find another principal boy at this late date. I entreat you, Miss Sebastian. Think of how disappointed the children will be.”

“I ain’t a child,” Binnie said, “and I am so old enough to play the Prince. Listen.” She flung her bramble-covered arms out dramatically. “ ‘Long years ’ave I searched—’ ”

“Hush,” Eileen said. “Go and fetch Polly’s costume and bring it to me.”

Binnie took off at a run toward the stage, and Eileen turned to Miss Laburnum. “I’ll substitute for her.”

“But you can’t,” Polly blurted out. “You’re going with us,” and then she could have kicked herself because Binnie was tearing back up the aisle, demanding, “What does she mean, you’re goin’ with them, Eileen? You ain’t goin’ away, are you?”

“No. She was talking about my going to her wedding,” Eileen said glibly. “She and Lieutenant Templer are going to be married, and I should love to go, but someone has to stay behind to do the pantomime.” She turned to Polly and Colin. “You must promise to write me all about the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Miss Laburnum said to Polly. “You’re being married? Oh, well then, of course you must go! But couldn’t the wedding wait till after the performance?

Sir Godfrey had his heart set on—”

Eileen shook her head. “She hasn’t time. There are licenses to get and arrangements and things—”

Colin nodded. “We’re going to see Dean Matthews now.”

“And Lieutenant Templer only has a twenty-four-hour leave,” Eileen said smoothly, “but it’s all right. I can play the Prince. Binnie will help me with my lines, won’t you, Binnie?”

What are you doing? Don’t lie to Binnie, Polly thought, even if we do need to get out of here. She’s already had too many betrayals, too many abandonments.

“Eileen—” she said warningly.

“Binnie,” Eileen said, ignoring her, “go fetch Polly’s costume and bring it to me. You’d best go with her, Miss Laburnum. The doublet will need to be taken up. I’m shorter than Polly.”

Miss Laburnum nodded and started down the aisle. “Come, Binnie.”

Binnie stayed where she was. “When I had the measles, you said you wouldn’t leave,” she said. “You promised.”

“I know,” Eileen said.

“The vicar says breaking a promise is a sin.”

Tell her sometimes it’s not possible to keep promises, Polly willed her. Tell her—

“The vicar’s right,” Eileen said. “It is a sin. I’m not leaving, Binnie.”

“You swear you’re stayin’?” Binnie said.

“I swear,” Eileen said, and smiled at her. “Who’d take care of you and Alf if I left? Now, go with Miss Laburnum.” And Binnie ran off after her.

This time Polly waited until she was certain they were out of earshot and then said, “You shouldn’t have lied to her. It isn’t fair. You owe it to her to tell her that you’re leaving.”

“I can’t tell her that,” Eileen said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going back with you.”

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET