“I did find them,” Mike said, “but it wasn’t the retrieval team. It was a guy I knew in hospital.”

Eileen’s face fell. “But they still might come. I could write to Mr. Goode again. And the manor. Or we could check Polly’s drop again. It might be working by now.”

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll do all those things. And I’ll figure out a way to get you both out of here. But right now we need to concentrate on staying alive till I do. Where are tomorrow’s raids?”

“There aren’t any tomorrow either,” she said. “But I’m afraid I have more bad news.” She told them about not knowing about the raids after the first of the year.

“But Notting Hill Gate’s safe, right?” Mike said. “And Townsend Brothers, so you two are safe during the day.”

“No,” Eileen said. “My supervisor told me today they plan to let all the Christmas help go as soon as the New Year’s sales are over.”

“And we have another problem,” Polly said. “Sometime—I don’t know when—Eileen and I are going to be conscripted.”

“Conscripted?” Mike said. “Into the Army?”

“Not necessarily, but into some sort of national service. The ATS or the land girls or working in a war-industry factory. It’s the National Service Act. All British civilians between the ages of twenty and thirty must sign up.”

“Can’t you get a deferment from Townsend Brothers or something?” Mike asked.

“No,” Polly said. “And if we don’t volunteer before it goes into effect, we run the risk of being assigned somewhere outside of London.”

“Which means we’d better find a way out of here fast,” Mike said, frowning.

“Don’t you know when any of the raids are, Polly?” Eileen asked nervously.

“Some of them,” Polly said. “And some nights the Luftwaffe attacked other cities.”

“And they can’t attack when the weather’s bad,” Mike said, “which should help for the next couple of months. And the Blitz ends in May, right?”

“Yes, May eleventh,” Polly said. But between now and then nearly twenty thousand civilians will be killed.

“So all we have to do is get through the next four and a half months,” Mike said, “and then we’re safe till Denys Atherton gets here.”

Safe, Polly thought.

“And that’s a worst-case scenario. We’re bound to figure out a way to get home before—” He stopped. “What is it, Polly? Why are you looking like that?”

“Nothing. What is that dreadful odor?”

“My coat,” Eileen confessed. “I’m afraid I used a bit too much benzene on it to get the blood out.”

“A bit?” Mike said, laughing, but the fumes grew so overpowering they had to abandon the staircase and go sleep in the station, which was no warmer.

“We must get Mike a coat,” Eileen said on the way to work the next morning. “Perhaps there’ll be one marked down that we can buy.”

But they had no time to look amid the preparations for the New Year’s sales and then the sales themselves, which people flocked to in spite of the wretched weather. The next few days there was bone-chilling fog and almost constant sleet.