leaning over it, chattering to someone coming up. “We couldn’t believe our eyes!” and it was the rector she was talking to.
Polly started through the crowd toward them, but the little girls—Bess and Irene and, oh, thank goodness, Trot—were already pelting toward her. Irene ran full tilt into her, and Trot hugged her legs. “You aren’t killed!” she said happily.
“I knew she wasn’t,” Bess said.
The rector came up. “Praise God you’re safe.”
Irene was tugging on her arm. “Come along,” she said. “We must show you to Mother.”
“Trot, let go,” Bess said, taking hold of her other arm. “You’ll bowl her over.” And the three of them dragged her down the escalator, Trot clinging to her skirt, and out to the northbound District Line platform, shouting, “Mother, look what we’ve found!”
And there at the end of the platform were Mrs. Brightford and Miss Laburnum and Mr. Dorming—all of them rising from where they’d been sitting to gather around her, exclaiming and smiling and talking at once in a happy jumble: “Where have you been? … gave us such a fright… so worried… Sir Godfrey refused to leave… and when you didn’t come back to Mrs. Rickett’s…”
Trot was tugging on her mother’s skirt. “She isn’t killed, Mummy.”
“No, she isn’t,” Mrs. Brightford said, beaming. “And we’re very, very glad.”
“I told you you were all worried for nothing,” Mrs. Rickett said to the rector. “Didn’t I say she’d turn up?”
“But you… I don’t understand… the man at the church—” Polly stammered. “I saw the wreckage—” And yet here came Miss Hibbard, carrying her knitting, tears streaming down her face, and, trotting toward Polly on a leash, was Nelson. “But pets aren’t allowed in public shelters,” Polly said, thinking, This must be a dream.
“The London Underground Authority’s given him a special dispensation,” Mr. Simms said, and she couldn’t be dreaming. She could never have imagined something like that.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you! We feared you’d been killed,” Mrs. Wyvern said, stepping forward to embrace her, and she couldn’t have imagined that either.
They were really here and not buried in the rubble of the church. “You’re not dead. You’re all here,” Polly said, looking around happily at Mrs. Rickett and the rector and Nelson and—
Where was Sir Godfrey? She looked wildly around at the people on the platform. “Sir Godfrey refused to leave,” they’d said, and the old man at St. George’s had shaken his head and murmured, “Such a pity. So many killed.”
“Where’s Sir Godfrey?” Polly demanded. She darted back along the platform, pushing her way past passengers, looking for him, stepping over shelterers, thinking, Oh, God, that rescue shaft was for him—
And saw him coming through the archway from the tunnel, his Times tucked under his arm.
Thank God, he’s all right, Polly thought, but he wasn’t. He looked beaten, battered—as if St. George’s had crashed down on him—and years older than that night they’d done The Tempest. His face was lined and ashen.
Trot shot past her through the milling passengers, shouting, “Sir Godfrey! Sir Godfrey!” He looked down at Trot and then up. And saw Polly. “She’s not dead!” Trot said happily.
“No,” he said, his voice cracking, and took a step toward Polly.
“Sir Godfrey,” she tried to say, but nothing came out.
“‘I saw her as I thought dead,’” he murmured, “‘and have in vain said many a prayer upon her grave.’” He reached forward to take her hands and then stopped and looked questioningly at her. “‘What rich gift is this?’”
“What?” Polly said blankly and looked down at her hands. She was still holding Viv’s sandwich and tea mug. “I’ve no idea… I must have…” she stammered, and held them helplessly out to him.
He shook his head. “‘I am too far already in your gifts—’”
“Oh, good, you’ve found him, Miss Sebastian,” the rector said, coming up with Miss Laburnum and the others. They crowded around them. Nelson pushed forward, tail wagging.
“Sir Godfrey, isn’t it wonderful?” Miss Hibbard said. “Finding Miss Sebastian safe and well?”
“Indeed,” he said, looking at her solemnly. “‘It is a most high miracle. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful. I have cursed them without cause.’ Welcome, thrice drowned Viola.”
“You should have seen Sir Godfrey!” Lila said. “He was simply beside himself.”
“They had dogs and everything,” Viv said.
“What I want to know is where you’ve been all this time,” Mrs. Rickett demanded sourly.
“Yes, do make her tell us where she’s been, Sir Godfrey,” Miss Laburnum urged.
“But shouldn’t we go back to our own corner first?” Mr. Simms suggested. “Someone’s