“We don’t wish to use violence,” one of the officers declared in a dull tone. “Come along at once.”

The man turned from the woman toward the police as if he intended to go with them. She reached for him, letting out a broken sob.

“What’s happened?” Grace asked.

“It’s none of our concern.” Mr. Stokes indicated she ought to walk onward.

She did not. “They are arresting him?”

“Of course they are,” Mr. Stokes replied with an impatient whine. “The men at least for now. They’re taking all the Tallies out of England so they can’t spy on us for Hitler.”

A crash came from down the street, followed by the tinkling of glass. Together, they rushed toward the sound and found a group of more than twenty men climbing through the shattered window of an Italian café, shouting hostile slurs against the Italians for having sided with the Nazis.

Grace was frozen in stunned shock. She had eaten at the café several times with Viv. The owner and his wife had always been kind, expressing their own fears for London and offering extra biscuits for their tea, even with the ration on. And now the establishment the immigrants had run for more than twenty years was being ransacked.

A man exited the broken window with a chair in his hands.

“A robbery.” She lifted her whistle to her lips.

Mr. Stokes settled his hand over hers and pushed the metal from her mouth. “A retaliation.”

She jerked a sharp look at him, making out his glittering eyes in the semidarkness. “I beg your pardon.”

“Italy staked its loyalty,” Mr. Stokes replied dryly. “And it was not with us.”

She stared at him, appalled. “These are British citizens.”

“They’re Italians.” He lifted his head higher as another man exited with a sack of what might have been flour. “Most likely spies.”

“These are store owners who worked hard to build a business for themselves in London, who love this city as much as we do.” Grace’s voice pitched higher with vehemence even as her thoughts swirled at the madness of it all.

“We must put a stop to this.” She marched forward, but Mr. Stokes caught her arm again and gently pulled her back.

“Miss Bennett, be sensible,” he hissed. “There are more than a dozen men and you are only one warden.”

She glared up at him with tears burning in her eyes. “Only one?”

He slid his gaze from hers.

Another crash sounded from the café, followed by a glow of light as a fire erupted within the building.

“Cease this at once,” she shouted into the night.

Her order was met with laughter and jeers.

“Mind yourself, lest you be seen as a Nazi supporter.” Mr. Stokes’s voice was low and filled with enough caution to give her pause.