“ ’At’s right,” Alf said, planting himself firmly beside his sister. “We got a right to say goodbye to ’em same as you.”

He was right. They had definitely earned that right, driving ambulances and providing maps and a place to meet in secret, preventing Eileen from reaching her drop, from catching John Bartholomew, from giving way to despair. Delaying Mr. Dunworthy so he could collide with a Wren, delaying the nurses so she could speak to Sir Godfrey, obstructing, interfering, stopping things. As they were stopping Eileen from going now.

She wondered if her rescue and Mr. Dunworthy’s were part of the continuum’s plan, or if there was some other reason Eileen had to stay here, some other part she had to play in winning the war or the larger war that was history. Or if they did.

Even if it was critical to the continuum, it didn’t make parting any easier, and Sir Godfrey’s beloved Bard didn’t know what he was talking about. There was nothing sweet about it.

“Oh, Eileen,” Polly said, embracing her, “I don’t want to leave.”

“And I don’t want you to,” Eileen said.

“This is just like that day at the station,” Alf said contemptuously. “When we put Theodore on the train. ’E didn’t want to go neither. This ’ere’s just like that, ain’t it, Binnie?”

“Except Theodore kicked ’er,” Binnie said. “And the vicar ain’t ’ere.”

No, Polly thought, seeing the pain that flickered across Eileen’s face, the vicar’s not here, and Mike’s dead.

And there were still four years of war and deprivation and loss to be gotten through. “You two take care of Eileen,” she said fiercely.

“We will,” Binnie said.

“We won’t let nothin’ ’appen to ’er,” Alf promised.

“And both of you be good.”

“Him good?” Binnie hooted, looking at Alf, and he promptly proved her point by kicking her in the shins. Binnie began whaling away at him.

“Alf, Binnie,” Eileen said, and moved to intervene, but before she could there was an outraged shout from the stage.

“Alf Hodbin!” Sir Godfrey bellowed. “Binnie!”

“We didn’t do nothin’!” Alf said. “We was—”

“Bramblebushes, onstage!” Sir Godfrey shouted, and Alf and Binnie said, “G’bye!” and tore off down the aisle.

Thank goodness, Polly thought. Now we can—

A deafening thud shook the theater. The chandeliers rattled. “We really do need to go, Polly,” Colin said, looking up at the ceiling.

“I know,” Polly said, pressing the list of raids into Eileen’s hand.

“I told you,” Eileen said, “we’ll be fine—”

“How do you know the reason you were fine wasn’t that you’d memorized the list?” Polly folded Eileen’s fingers over it. “You’ve got to make certain you’re all down in the tube both the nights of the ninth and the tenth. Fifteen hundred people were killed and eighteen hundred were injured. Those will be the last big raids till the V-1s, but you’ll still need to heed the air-raid alerts—”

“Prince Dauntless!” Sir Godfrey shouted from the stage, and Polly looked up automatically, but he wasn’t calling her. He was calling Eileen. “Miss O’Reilly! Onstage! Now!”