“Dulwich …” the man murmured. He must be asking where they were going to take him.

“We’ll take you to Norbury,” she said. “It’s quicker. You mustn’t worry about that. That’s our job.”

“I can’t get the stretcher out!” Fairchild called from the ambulance. “It’s stuck!”

“Leave it! Just bring the medical kit!”

“What?” Fairchild called back. “I can’t hear you, Mary!”

The man made a sound, part moan, part gasp. “Mary?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m here.” She pressed down as hard as she could.

This wasn’t working. Blood was still oozing through her hands. It would have to be a tourniquet. “Paige!” she called. “Bring the kit! Hurry!”

“Mary,” the man said urgently. “You mustn’t go.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m right here,” she reassured him.

He’d been wearing a tie. If she could get it off, she could use that for a tourniquet. She opened his coat and began to untie the knot.

“Something wrong …,” he said, and the rest of his words were lost in a spasm of coughing.

The knot wouldn’t come undone. She dug at the fabric with her fingernails, trying to loosen it.

“Don’t,” he said, distressed.

“I need to untie your tie so I can use it for a bandage. I’m going to tie a tourniquet to stop your leg from bleeding.” Where is Fairchild? And Croydon’s ambulance?

The knot finally came loose. Mary untied it quickly. “I’ll get you out of here,” the man murmured, repeating what she’d said. “I promise.”

She pulled the tie from his collar and began to crawl back down to his foot.

He grabbed hold of her wrist. “Mary,” he said urgently, choked, and began to cough again. “Don’t go …”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m only going to bind your foot up. I won’t leave you. I promise.”

“No,” he said, and caught hold of her wrist. “You can’t go!”

“I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

“No,” he said furiously. “Don’t go. It won’t …” And the world went white and then black, splattering them with printer’s ink, with blood, and she bent over him to tackle him, to push him into the gutter, but it was too late. It had already gone off.

Once more into the breach, dear friends.

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, HENRY V

London—Winter 1941

EILEEN HURRIED DOWN THE ESCALATOR STEPS TOWARD them in her new green coat, calling, “Mike, I got you a coat!” She waved the dark blue hat. “Polly, look, a hat!”

She reached the bottom. “And it matches your coat—” She stopped short. “What’s wrong?” She looked anxiously at Polly and then at Mike. “Has something happened?”

Yes, Polly thought, feeling sick.

“What’s wrong?” Eileen said.

I’ve got to keep this from them, Polly thought. Just now, it will kill them if they find out. I’ve got to look as though nothing’s happened. But it was impossible, like trying to stand up after being kicked in the stomach. She couldn’t even think what excuse …

“Are you ill?” Eileen was saying, alarmed. “You’re white as a sheet.” Mike turned to look questioningly at her.