No, Eileen thought, looking desperately over to where John Bartholomew was elbowing his way toward the exit.

“What’re you doin’ ’ere?” Binnie asked.

“ ’Ow come you never sent my map back like you said?” Alf said.

I haven’t got time for this, Eileen thought frantically. He was nearly to the exit. “I can’t talk to you now,” she said, shoving the children aside and running after him.

An arm shot out to bar her way. “Where do you think you’re going, miss?” the station guard demanded.

“The man who just left—I must catch him.”

“Sorry, no one allowed out till the all clear.”

“But you let him out,” she said, straining against his arm.

“He’s one of St. Paul’s fire watch.”

“I know. I must catch him,” Eileen said, and made a dive to get past him.

The guard grabbed her around the waist. “No, you don’t, miss,” he said, and then more kindly, “It’s too dangerous out there.”

“Dangerous?” she said, nearly crying with rage. “Dangerous? You don’t understand. If I don’t get a message through to—”

“The fire watch is too busy for messages just now. So you be a good girl and go back down below, where it’s safe. Whatever you need to tell him can wait till morning.”

He turned her around and gave her a push back toward the turnstiles. And Alf and Binnie.

“We thought you’d be glad to see us,” Binnie said reproachfully. “Tim told us ’e seen a lady named Eileen, and I says, ‘Eileen what?’ and Tim says ’e don’t know, and I says, ‘Well, go ask ’er then—’ ”

Eileen grabbed Binnie by the shoulders. “Listen. I must get past the guard. Can you help me?”

“Course,” Alf said scornfully.

“Wait ’ere,” Binnie ordered her, and the two of them shot over to where the guard was standing.

Eileen couldn’t see what they were doing, but moments later the guard shouted, “Hey, you two! Come back here!” and took off after them.

Eileen didn’t wait to see where they went. She shot through the gate and up the steps.

And into a nightmare. There was smoke everywhere, and just up the hill a building spurted red-orange flames from its roof. Half a dozen firemen had their hoses trained on it, and more moved purposefully around the fire pumper and the ambulance standing in the middle of the street, hooking up hydrants, loading a stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

But there was no sign of Mr. Bartholomew. Those few minutes she’d been delayed had given him too much of a head start. At least she knew where he was going. But there was no sign of the cathedral either, only smoke and more smoke, great billowing gray and pink and rose-colored clouds of it.

You don’t need to see it, she thought. It’s at the top of the hill. She started up it, past the pumper, trying to hurry, but speed was impossible. The pavement was a snake pit of hoses and water and mud. She squelched through it past the fire, past the ambulance, where they were loading in a second stretcher.