His hands were locked around her neck. “No!” he shrieked, as she tried to pry his fingers loose. “I want you to go with me!”
“I can’t, Theodore. I haven’t a ticket.” And the soldier who’d taken Theodore’s suitcase had disappeared into the car to stow it, and there was no way to get it or the ticket back. “Theodore, I’m afraid you must get on the train.”
“No!” he screamed, right in her ear, and tightened his grip around her neck, nearly strangling her.
“Theodore—”
“There, that’s no way to carry on, Theodore,” a man’s voice said, nearly in her ear, and Theodore was abruptly off her neck and in his arms. It was the vicar, Mr. Goode. “Of course you don’t want to go, Theodore,” he said, “but in a war we must all do things we don’t want to do. You must be a brave soldier, and—”
“I’m not a soldier,” Theodore said, aiming a kick at the vicar’s groin, which he deflected neatly by grabbing Theodore’s foot.
“Yes, you are. When there’s a war, everyone’s a soldier.”
“You’re not,” Theodore said rudely.
“Yes, I am. I’m a captain in the Home Guard.”
“Well, she’s not,” Theodore said, pointing at Eileen.
“Of course she is. She’s the major-general in charge of evacuees.” He saluted her smartly.
He’ll never buy it, Eileen thought. Nice try, Vicar, but Theodore was asking, “What sort of soldier am I?”
“A sergeant,” the vicar said. “In charge of going on the train.” There was a whoosh of steam, and the train gave a lurch. “Time to go, Sergeant,” he said, and handed him up into the arms of the red-faced soldier. “I’m counting on you to see that he reaches his mother, soldier,” the vicar said to him.
“I will, Vicar,” the soldier promised.
“I’m a soldier, too,” Theodore informed the soldier. “A sergeant, so you must salute me.”
“Is that so?” the soldier said, smiling.
The train began to move. “Thank you,” Eileen called over the clank of the wheels. “Goodbye, Theodore!” She waved to him, but he was talking animatedly to the soldier. She turned to the vicar. “You’re a miracle worker. I could never have got him off by myself. Thank goodness you happened to be passing.”
“Actually, I was looking for the Hodbins. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them?”
That explained why they’d vanished. “What have they done now?”
“Put a snake in the schoolmistress’s gas mask,” he said, walking out to the edge of the platform and looking over it. “If you should happen to see them—”
“I’ll see that they apologize.” She raised her voice in case they were under the platform. “And that they’re punished.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t be too hard on them,” he said. “No doubt it’s difficult for them, being shipped off to a strange place, so far from home. Still, I’d best go find them before they burn down Backbury.” He took another searching look over the edge of the platform and left.
Eileen half expected Alf and Binnie to reappear as soon as he was out of sight, but they didn’t. She hoped Theodore would be all right. What if his mother wasn’t there to meet him, and the soldiers left him alone at the station? “I should have gone with him,” she murmured.
“Then who’d take care of us?” Alf said, appearing out of nowhere.
“The vicar says you put a snake in your schoolmistress’s gas mask.”
“I never did.”
“I’ll wager it crawled in there by itself,” Binnie said, popping up. “P’raps it thought it smelt poison gas.”
“You ain’t gonna tell Mrs. Bascombe, are you?” Alf asked. “She’ll send us to bed without our supper, and I ain’t ’alf starved.”
“Yes, well, you should have thought of that,” Eileen said. “Now, come along.”
They both stood stubbornly still. “We ’eard you talkin’ to them soldiers,” Alf said.
“Mrs. Bascombe says nice girls don’t talk to soldiers,” Binnie said. “We won’t tell if you don’t tell ’er what we done.”
They’ve both long since grown up and been sent to prison, Eileen told herself. Or the gallows. She looked around, half hoping the vicar would reappear to rescue her and then said, “March. Now. It will be dark soon.”
“It’s already dark,” Alf said.
It was. While she’d been wrestling Theodore onto the train and talking to the vicar, the last of the afternoon light had faded, and it was nearly an hour’s walk to the manor, most of it through the woods. “’Ow’ll we find our way ’ome in the dark?” Binnie asked. “Ain’t you got a pocket torch?”
“They ain’t allowed, you noddlehead,” Alf said. “The jerries’ll see the light and