Mr. Stokes darted up the front stairs at a pace Grace doubted she could ever grow used to in such pitch-blackness. “Mr. Taylor, put that light out. You know I told you there’d be a fine next time...”

Grace did her best to slink into the shadows. Certainly they felt great enough to swallow her up. She would be at the ready should they be attacked by Germany, but she refused to take such pleasure in fining the people of London for not tightly drawing their curtains.

Over the next month, Grace donned her tin warden’s hat three nights a week to grudgingly accompany Mr. Stokes as he terrorized the well-meaning citizens of London whose blackout efforts weren’t up to snuff.

In that time, Mrs. Weatherford had heard from Colin, who offered multiple assurances he was doing well and succeeding in his training. Grace had also received another letter from Viv. Her friend’s exuberance poured from the page with such vivacity that Grace had the comforting sensation of her friend’s voice in her head as she read. Whatever it was Viv had been assigned was noted in the letter and run through with the thick black band of a censor’s blot. Regardless, everything was right and tight with Viv, and that brought Grace incredible relief.

Through all the letters from Viv, Grace couldn’t help but wonder about George Anderson. In truth, she’d hoped to have received something from him and had been somewhat disappointed when nothing had arrived. Still, she never ceased to peruse the letters received at Primrose Hill Books from the post in the off chance that he might have written.

She was going through the most recent post delivery one afternoon when Mr. Pritchard pushed into the shop with a newspaper clutched in his bony hands. Tabby wound anxious circles around his ankles as he shouted his news into the store. “Evans! The Nastys are in France. Also Holland and Belgium. But, France, Evans—France!”

Fear shivered up Grace’s spine. Hitler hadn’t been so bold as to attack France yet, but now he was in all the countries bordering England. If France fell, there would be nothing but the Channel to keep Hitler away.

A chill crept over her skin and her thoughts immediately went to her friends in the war. Only later did she realize she ought to be equally terrified for herself and everyone else in London.

Mr. Evans came to the front of the store with more haste than Grace had ever seen. He didn’t bother to mark his place in his book as he closed it and set it aside on the counter. “Has Chamberlain resigned yet?”

Mr. Pritchard shook his head. “I can’t say.” He looked helplessly at the paper. It was half the pages now than it’d been in the previous year, another indication of the ration on paper.