“I can’t,” she said and looked even more distressed. “You’re not allowed in the lab.”
“Not allowed? Did Badri-?”
“No. Mr. Dunworthy rang us. He said we aren’t to allow you anywhere near the net.”
I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year, “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied, “Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
– KING GEORGE VI, CHRISTMAS SPEECH, 1939
Warwickshire-December 1939
WHEN EILEEN REACHED THE STATION IN BACKBURY, THE train wasn’t there. Oh, don’t let it have gone already, Eileen thought, leaning over the edge of the platform to look down the tracks, but there was no sign of it in either direction.
“Where is it?” Theodore asked. “I want to go home.”
I know you do, Eileen thought, turning to look at the little boy. You’ve told me so every fifteen seconds since I arrived at the manor. “The train’s not here yet.”
“When will it come?” Theodore asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s go ask the stationmaster. He’ll know.” She picked up Theodore’s small pasteboard suitcase and gas-mask box and took his hand, and they walked down the platform to the tiny office where freight and luggage were stowed. “Mr. Tooley!” Eileen called, and knocked on the door.
No answer. She knocked again. “Mr. Tooley!”
She heard a grunt and then a shuffle, and Mr. Tooley opened the door, blinking as though he’d been asleep, which was very likely the case. “What’s all this, then?” the old man growled.
“I want to go home,” Theodore said.
“The afternoon train to London hasn’t already gone, has it?” Eileen asked.
Mr. Tooley squinted at her. “You’re one of the maids up to the manor, an’t ye?” He looked down at Theodore. “This one of her ladyship’s evacuees?”