her alibi for tomorrow. “It’s only a headache, and my throat’s been a bit sore this afternoon.” She put her hand to her throat, but Miss Snelgrove didn’t look impressed. Marjorie was right; she’d used up her quota of kindness for the week.
“Where is your sales receipt for Mrs. Scott?” Miss Snelgrove demanded.
Polly had wanted to say goodbye to Marjorie—it was, after all, the last time she might ever see her—but by the time Miss Snelgrove finished reprimanding Polly for smudging her carbons, she’d already gone, and it was probably for the best. Polly couldn’t afford to have her ask what her “cousin”’s name—or gender—was. And at any rate, there was no time for goodbyes. It was already a quarter to six.
She had to leave. And to make the 6:48, she’d have to take a taxi to Mrs. Rickett’s. If she could find one. There weren’t any parked in front of Townsend Brothers or on the street. She finally ran the four blocks to Padgett’s and had its doorman hail her one, but it took several minutes, and by the time they reached Mrs. Rickett’s, it was twenty past. Polly told the cabbie to wait, and raced inside, hoping Miss Hibbard would be in the parlor so she wouldn’t have to deal with either Mrs. Rickett or the talkative Miss Laburnum, but there was no one there, or in the dining room, though the supper dishes still lay on the table. The sirens must have gone early again—the raids tonight didn’t start till nine.
She pelted up the stairs to her room to get her money, ran back downstairs, leaped in the taxi, and said, “Euston Station. And hurry. I’ve a train to catch.”
“I’ll get you there,” he said and roared down Cardle Street to Notting Hill Gate and past the Underground station.
Oh, no, Polly thought. I didn’t tell them I’m leaving. When she’d realized the siren had sounded, she’d forgotten all about it. I should have left a note.
It was too late now. It was already twenty till. She’d be lucky to catch her train as it was. But she was seeing the tears streaming down Miss Hibbard’s face and the look on Sir Godfrey’s ashen face before he saw her. She was remembering her own knees giving way when she saw the wrecked church.
I can’t do that to them again, she thought, not when they’ll have to face so many real deaths in the four and a half years ahead. She leaned forward and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “Take me to Notting Hill Gate Underground Station.”
“But what about your train, miss?”
“I’ll take the next one,” she said.
He made a U-turn and headed back. “Do you want me to wait again?” he asked, pulling up in front of the station.
With the sirens already having gone, the guard wouldn’t let her out of the station. “No, I’ll take the tube from here,” she said, handed him the fare, and ran inside and down to the platform.
“Oh, good, the warden told you,” Miss Laburnum said the moment she saw her.
“Told me what?”
“About the gas leak.”
“A delayed-action bomb went off two streets over and ruptured a gas main,” Miss Hibbard said, coming over with her knitting. “During supper.”
A gas leak! A spark from the taxi’s ignition could have blown us both sky-high.
The rector and Mrs. Rickett were there, and Mrs. Brightford and her girls, all spreading out their blankets. “I’m glad you’re here,” Miss Laburnum said. “We’ve been discussing the play.”
“I can’t stay,” Polly said. “I only came to tell you I won’t be here tonight.”
“Oh, but you must,” Miss Laburnum said.
“We’ve decided the only fair thing to do is put it to a vote,” Mrs. Wyvern said.
Oh, dear, that meant Barrie. Poor Sir Godfrey.
“But Sir Godfrey wants us to wait till Sunday. First he wants us to see a scene from Twelfth Night. The one where Viola longs to tell him of her love, but she can’t because she can’t reveal her true identity—and he wants you to play Viola.”
He was obviously counting on her to help him talk them out of Barrie. But she had to catch the 7:55. “I’m afraid someone else will have to play Viola. I—”
“Oh, but Sir Godfrey insists you do it. He says you’re perfect for the part.”
“I can’t. I’ve had a letter from my sister. My mother’s ill, and I must go home. I only came to tell you so you wouldn’t think—”