them, but she must have dozed off again because when she woke, it was daylight and Marjorie was dressed and standing at an ironing board, pressing a blouse. Polly’s blouse, neatly washed and pressed, lay on the made-up bed. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Marjorie said, smiling at her over the iron.
Polly looked at her watch, but it had stopped. “What time is it?”
“Half past four.”
“Half past four?” Polly pushed the blanket aside and stood up.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have let you sleep so long, but you seemed so all in… What are you doing?” she asked as Polly reached for her blouse.
“I must go,” Polly said, pulling it on and buttoning it with fumbling fingers.
“Where?” Marjorie said.
Home, she thought. “To the boardinghouse,” she said, pulling on her skirt. “I must find out if I still have a room there.” She tucked in her blouse and sat down to put on her shoes. “And if I haven’t, I must find another.”
“But it’s Sunday,” Marjorie said. “Why don’t you stay here tonight and come to work with me tomorrow, and we could go over together after work?”
“No, you’ve already done too much for me, letting me stay and pressing my blouse for me. I can’t impose any further.” She pulled on her coat.
“But… can’t you wait? I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t go there alone.”
“I’ll be all right.” Polly grabbed up her hat and bag. “Thank you—for everything.” She hugged Marjorie briefly and hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
Halfway down, Marjorie called after her, “Wait, you forgot the stockings,” and ran down the stairs with them fluttering in her hand.
To avoid a time-consuming argument, Polly took them and jammed them into her coat pocket. “Which way is Russell Square Station?”
“Turn left at the next crossing, and then left again,” Marjorie said. “If you’ll only wait a moment, I’ll fetch my coat and—”
“It’s not necessary. Really,” Polly said and was finally able to get away. She ran all the way to Russell Square, but when she reached it, there was an endless queue of shelterers laden with camp cots and dinner baskets and bedrolls. “Is there a separate queue for passengers?” she asked a woman wheeling a pram full of dishes and cutlery.
“Just go to the head of the line and tell ’em you’re meetin’ someone,” the woman said, “and that if you’re late, you’ll miss ’im.”
I will, Polly thought, thanking the woman and going over to the guard. He nodded and let her through, and she hurried to the lift and down to the southbound platform. A chalkboard stood in the doorway. “Southbound service temporarily suspended,” it read.
There must have been damage on the line, she thought, consulting the Underground map. She’d need to take a northbound train to King’s Cross and catch the Victoria Line, but when she got there, the southbound trains weren’t running either. Which left the Circle Line. She took it, praying it hadn’t been knocked out, too.
It had, but only between Holland Park and Shepherd’s Bush. She took the train to Notting Hill Gate and hurried toward the escalators. “Oh, my God, look!” a young woman’s voice squealed from the far side of the hall as she crossed it, “It’s Polly!” and a second voice echoed, “Polly!”
Oh, thank God, she thought, relief washing over her. They’re here. Finally.
“Polly Sebastian! Over here!” they called from the direction of the escalators.
It can’t be the retrieval team, Polly thought as she turned. They’d never call attention to me or to themselves like that.
It wasn’t. It was Lila and Viv.
Never give up. No one knows what’s going to happen next.
—L. FRANK BAUM
London—22 September 1940
“POLLY! OVER HERE!” LILA CALLED AGAIN FROM ACROSS the tube station, and Viv echoed, “Here.”
It couldn’t be them—no one could have survived in that flattened tangle of rubble—but there they were, elbowing their way toward her carrying mugs of tea and sandwiches. “Where—how—?” Polly stammered. “I thought you were dead.”
“You thought we were dead?” Lila said. “We thought you were dead! Viv, go tell them we’ve found her,” she ordered, and Viv handed Polly the sandwich and tea she was holding and took off back through the crowd.
“You said ‘they.’ Does that mean—?”
But Lila wasn’t listening. “What happened to you?” she demanded. “We were convinced you’d gone to St. George’s. Where have you been all this time? It’s been three days!”
Polly heard Viv say, “We came up to the canteen to buy a sandwich, and there she was,” and looked over at the escalator. Viv was