“No, over the City and—”

“The city?” Eileen said, looking nervously up at the ceiling. “Which part of it?”

“Not the city of London. The City with a capital C. It’s the part of London around St. Paul’s.” And Fleet Street, Polly added silently. “It’s nowhere near here, and the raids later on were over Whitechapel.”

“Whitechapel?”

“Yes. Why? Mike wasn’t going there, was he?”

“No. But that’s where Alf and Binnie Hodbin live.”

Good Lord. Whitechapel was even worse than Stepney. It had been almost totally destroyed.

“Was it heavily bombed?” Eileen said anxiously. “Oh, dear, perhaps I shouldn’t have torn up that letter after all.”

“What letter?”

“From the vicar, arranging to send Alf and Binnie to Canada. I was afraid they might end up on the City of Benares, so I didn’t give it to Mrs. Hodbin.”

Thank goodness Mike’s late and wasn’t here to hear that, Polly thought. She was going to have a difficult enough time persuading him that Padgett’s five fatalities weren’t a discrepancy, let alone having to convince him that Eileen hadn’t saved the Hodbins’ lives by withholding the letter.

There were lots of ships to America they might have gone on. Or the Evacuation Committee might have decided to send them to Australia instead, or to Scotland. And even if they had been assigned to the City of Benares, they might not have gone. Their train might have been delayed, or—if they were as dreadful as Eileen said—they might have been thrown off the ship for painting blackout stripes on the deck chairs or setting them on fire.

But she doubted Mike would be convinced by her arguments, especially if he’d found out about Padgett’s. He’d go into a tailspin, certain he’d lost the war, and nothing short of telling him about VE-Day would persuade him otherwise. But telling him meant their finding out about her deadline, and the rest of it. Which would give them even more to worry about, and now, with this discrepancy …

I must find out about those fatalities before he does, Polly thought. “Don’t bring up the subject of Alf and Binnie to Mike,” she said to Eileen. “He needn’t know about the letter. And there’s no need to tell him you didn’t write and tell them your address.”

“But perhaps I should write to them. To tell them Whitechapel’s dangerous.”

I should imagine they already know that. “I thought you didn’t want them to know where you are.”

“But I’m the one responsible for them being there instead of in Canada. And Binnie’s still not completely well from the measles. She nearly died, and—”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Polly said.

“Yes, she had a horribly high fever, and I didn’t know what to do. I gave her aspirin—”

And thank goodness Mike hadn’t heard that either.

“If Alf and Binnie are in danger,” Eileen said, “it’s my fault. I—”

“Shh,” Polly said. “Someone’s coming.”

They listened. Far below them a door shut and footsteps began to ascend the iron steps.