“Two,” Eileen said.

Two? Mr. Humphreys had said one.

“The other one was in the transept,” Eileen said. “I don’t know when.”

“The north transept?” Polly asked, thinking irrelevantly of the memorial to Captain Faulknor. Mr. Humphreys would be so upset if that was destroyed.

“I don’t know which transept. Mr. Bartholomew didn’t say.”

Mr. Bartholomew? Who was Mr. Bartholomew? Had someone here at the concert told her about the bombing of the altar? If so, then it could still be a discrepancy.

“Mr. Bartholomew?” Polly asked.

“Yes, John Bartholomew. He gave a lecture about it when I was a first-year.”

Oh, thank goodness, it was someone from Oxford. “He’s a professor at Balliol?”

“No, an historian. He gave a lecture about his experiences on the St. Paul’s fire watch during the Blitz.”

“He’s here?” Polly grabbed Eileen’s arms. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“No, he’s not here now. He was here years ago.”

“In the Blitz. In 1940,” Polly said, and when Eileen nodded, “It doesn’t matter when he was here Oxford time. This is time travel. If he was here in 1940, he’s still here now.”

“Oh!” Eileen clapped her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t even think of that! Is that why you—?”

“How could you not think of it?” Polly burst out. “Mike asked us to try to think of any past historians who might be here,” she said, but even as she said it, she thought, That was that day he came to Townsend Brothers, before he left for Beachy Head, and Eileen wasn’t there. And immediately after that, all their attention had turned to Bletchley Park.

“Mike never said a word to me about past historians,” Eileen said defensively. “How—?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now that we know he’s here—”

“But he’s not. He was injured when the bomb fell on the altar and went back to Oxford.”

“How long after the bombing?”

“The next day.”

Which meant he’d gone back two weeks before Mike had found her and the two of them had found Eileen.

“Oh, if I’d only realized,” Eileen lamented.

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Polly said, sorry she’d upset her. “By the time we found one another and realized there was something wrong with our drops, it was already too late. He was already gone. You’re certain he went back on the eleventh?”

“Yes. I don’t remember very much about the lecture because it was on 1940, and the only part of World War II I wanted to go to at that point was VE-Day—”

So you didn’t pay attention, just as you didn’t pay attention to Gerald, Polly thought bitterly. But that was unfair. Eileen could scarcely be expected to know that three years later the details of a first-year lecture would prove to be vitally important.

“—but I do remember Mr. Bartholomew talking about going back the morning after St. Paul’s was attacked,” Eileen went on. “Because I assumed it was because he was injured and needed medical attention.”