Mr. Dunworthy, no doubt, even though she had no business carrying that much money—it would have been a fortune to a 1940 shopgirl. But if she turned it down, the tech might report it to Mr. Dunworthy. She signed for the money and the wristwatch, told the tech she’d pick up the papers in the morning, and went over to Magdalen to ask Lark Chiu if she could stay with her for a few nights, and when she said yes, sent her to Balliol to fetch her clothes and her research and sat down with the list of Underground shelters Colin had done for her.
Colin. She’d have to ask him not to say anything to Dunworthy. If he was still here. He’d probably gone back to school, which, in light of what Merope had said, might be just as well.
She memorized the Underground shelters and the dates and times they’d been hit and then started on Mr. Dunworthy’s list of forbidden addresses, which took her the rest of the night to commit to memory, even though it only included houses that had been hit in 1940, during the first half of the Blitz. Had every house in London been bombed by the time it was over?
The next morning she went over to Wardrobe to order her costume. “I need a black skirt, white blouse, and a lightweight coat, preferably also black,” she told the tech, who promptly brought out a navy blue skirt.
“No, that won’t work,” Polly said. “I’m posing as a shop assistant, and department store employees in 1940 wore black skirts and white long-sleeved blouses.”
“I’m certain any dark skirt would do. This is a very dark navy. In most lights, one can’t tell the difference.”
“No, it needs to be black. How long would it take to have a skirt like this made in black?”
“Oh, dear, I’ve no idea. We’re weeks behind. Mr. Dunworthy suddenly made all sorts of changes in everyone’s schedules, and we’ve had to reassign costumes and come up with new ones on no notice at all. When’s your drop?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Polly lied.
“Oh, dear. Let me see if I have anything else which might work.” She went into the dressing room and emerged after a bit with two skirts—one a 1960s mini and the other an i-com cargo kilt. “These are the only blacks I could find.”
“No,” Polly said.
“The kilt’s cellphone’s only a replica. It’s not dangerous.”
But it also hadn’t been invented till the 1980s, and the cargo kilt hadn’t been invented till 2014. She made the tech put in a rush order for a black cut on the same pattern as the navy blue and then went over to the lab to tell them where she was staying and see if by some miracle they’d found a drop site.
The door of the lab was locked. To keep out historians irate at having had their drops canceled? Polly knocked, and after a long minute a harassed-looking Linna let her in. “I’m on the phone,” she said and hurried back to it. “No, I know you were scheduled to do the Battle of the Somme first,” she said into it.
Polly went over to Badri at the console. “Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you’d found a drop site for me yet.”
“No,” he said, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “The problem’s the blackout.”
Polly nodded. The drop couldn’t open if there was anyone nearby who might see it. Ordinarily the faint shimmer from an opening drop wasn’t all that conspicuous, but in blacked-out London, even the light from a pocket torch or a gap in a house’s curtains was instantly noticeable, and ARP wardens patrolled every neighborhood, looking for the slightest infraction. “What about Green Park or Kensington Gardens?”
“No good. They’ve both got anti-aircraft batteries, and the barrage balloons are headquartered in Regent’s Park.”
There was an angry knock, and when Linna went to the door, a man in a fringed suede jacket and a cowboy hat stormed in, waving a printout. “Who the bloody hell changed my schedule?” he shouted at Badri.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve found something,” Badri said to Polly, and this obviously wasn’t the time to ask them to please hurry.
“I’ll come back later,” she said.
“You can’t cancel it!” the man in the cowboy hat shouted. “I’ve been prepping to go to the Battle of Plum Creek for six months!”
Polly ducked past him and started for the door, waving at Linna, who was still on the phone. “No, I realize