Warwickshire some weekend to brighten your existence with tales of my derring-do.”
I can imagine
. “No, I’m afraid I come back at the beginning of May.” Thank goodness
. She waved to Linna and walked quickly out of the lab before he could propose anything else. First the Hodbins and now Gerald
, she thought, stopping outside the door to put on her coat and gloves.
But this wasn’t February, it was April, and a lovely day. Linna’d said rain was forecast for late this afternoon, but for now it was warm. She took her coat off as she walked. That was the most difficult thing about time travel, remembering where and when one was. She’d forgotten she wasn’t still a servant and called Linna “ma’am” twice, and now she kept looking nervously behind her to make certain Alf and Binnie weren’t following her. She reached the High, stepped into the street, and was nearly hit by a bicycle whizzing past.
You’re in Oxford
, she told herself, stepping hastily back up on the curb, not Backbury
. She crossed the street, looking both ways this time, and started along the sunlit High, suddenly jubilant. You’re in Oxford. There’s no blackout, no rationing, no Lady Caroline, no Hodbins—
“Merope!” someone shouted. She turned around. It was Polly Churchill. “I’ve been calling to you all the way down the street,” Polly said breathlessly as she caught up to her. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“No… I mean, yes… I mean, I didn’t realize you were calling me at first. I’ve been trying so hard to think of myself as Eileen O’Reilly these last months, I don’t even recognize my own name anymore. I had to have an Irish name because of my posing as a maid—”
“And your red hair,” Polly said.
“Yes, and Eileen is all anyone’s called me in months. I’ve practically forgotten my name is Merope, though I suppose that’s better than forgetting one’s cover name, which is what I kept doing the first week I was in Backbury, and on my very first assignment! How do you manage to remember your cover names?”
“I’m lucky. Unlike your Christian name, mine’s been around for a good part of history, and I can always use it or one of its many nicknames. I can sometimes even use my last name. When I can’t—Churchill’s not really an option for World War II—I use Shakespeare.”
“Polly Shakespeare?”
“No,” Polly said, laughing. “Names
from Shakespeare. I had the plays implanted when I did that sixteenth-century assignment, and they’re full of names. Especially the history plays, though for the Blitz it’s going to be Twelfth Night
. I’ll be Polly Sebastian.”
“I thought you’d already gone to the Blitz.”
“No, not yet. The lab’s had difficulty finding me a drop site that met all of Mr. Dunworthy’s requirements. He’s such a fusspot. So, since it’s a multitime project, I did one of the other parts first. I only just got back yesterday.”
Eileen nodded. She remembered Polly having said something about observing the World War I zeppelin attacks on London.
“I’m on my way to Balliol to report in to Mr. Dunworthy,” Polly said. “Is that where you’re going?”
“No, I must go to Oriel.”
“Oh, good, then we’re going the same direction.” She took Eileen’s arm. “We can walk part of the way together and catch up on things. So you’ve been in Backbury observing evacuees—”
“Yes, and I have a question,” Eileen said earnestly. “You’ve had loads of assignments. How do you keep from getting them all mixed together? It’s not only the names. I’m already getting confused as to where I am and when.”
“You’ve got to forget you’ve ever been anywhere or anyone else and focus completely on the situation at hand. It’s like acting. Or being a spy. You’ve got to shut out everything and be
Eileen O’Reilly. Thinking about other assignments only ruins your concentration on the task at hand.”
“Even if you’re doing a multitime assignment?”
“Especially if you’re doing a multitime assignment. Focus entirely on the part or the assignment until it’s over, and then shut that
out and go on to the next. Why are you going to Oriel?”
“For driving lessons.”
“Driving lessons? You’re not planning to drive
to VE-Day, are you? You’ll never get through. The crowds—”
“This isn’t for VE-Day. If only it were. Mr. Dunworthy refuses to send me.”
“But you—” Polly said and stopped, frowning.
“Had my heart set on going? That doesn’t matter two pins to Mr. Dunworthy. I met with him this morning, and he told me VE-Day was already part of another assignment, and having two historians in the same temporal