Blackout. Part 27

The siren went, making it impossible to talk. Good Good, Mary thought, it will give me a chance to think of an excuse it will give me a chance to think of an excuse, and when it wound down, she said, "I haven't anything to wear. I lent both of my dancing frocks to Parrish and Maitland, and the Yellow Peril makes me look jaundiced."

"The Yellow Peril makes everyone look jaundiced," Talbot said. "You won't need a dancing frock. This is a canteen dance. You can wear your uniform."

"Where's it being held?" she asked, thinking, If it's in Bomb Alley, I'll have to pretend I'm ill on Sat.u.r.day If it's in Bomb Alley, I'll have to pretend I'm ill on Sat.u.r.day.

"The American USO in Bethnal Green."

Bethnal Green. So she could finally go look at the railway bridge and stop worrying over whether she could trust her implant. She should be able to sneak away from the dance easily-Talbot would be busy trying to wheedle nylons out of her Yanks-and it was perfect timing. The only V-1s that had fallen on Bethnal Green on Sat.u.r.day were in the afternoon.

"Very well, I'll go," she said, congratulating herself on her cleverness and wondering if she could persuade one of the soldiers at the dance to take her to Grove Road in his Jeep, but at two Sat.u.r.day afternoon Talbot said, "Aren't you ready, Kent?"

"Ready? I thought the dance wasn't till tonight."

"No. Didn't I tell you? It begins at four, and I want to be there before all the best Yanks are taken."

"But-"

"No excuses. You promised. Now hurry, or we'll miss our bus," and dragged her off to the bus stop.

Mary spent the ride to Bethnal Green listening anxiously for the sound of a was.h.i.+ng machine or an angry hornet and looking for nonexistent street signs. One of the V-1s had fallen at 3:50 in Darnley Lane and the other at 5:28 in King Edward's Road. "What street is the USO canteen in?" she asked Talbot. in King Edward's Road. "What street is the USO canteen in?" she asked Talbot.

"I can't remember," Talbot said. "But I know the way," which was no help.

"This is our stop," Talbot said. They descended on a street lined with shops.

Good, Mary thought. This can't be Darnley Lane This can't be Darnley Lane. Darnley Lane was a residential street. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to four. The 3:50 had already hit.

She looked up and down the street. She couldn't see any sign of a railway bridge, so apparently this wasn't Grove Road either. She hoped it wasn't King Edward's Road. And that the Darnley Lane one had already hit. She didn't hear any ambulance bells, or an all clear.

"It's a bit of a hike, I'm afraid," Talbot said, setting off down the street.

Mary glanced up at the sky again, listening. She thought she could hear something to the southeast.

"What sort of men do you like?" Talbot asked.

"What?" The sound was a hum, rising to a steady wail. The all clear. And seconds later, she heard a fire engine.

"I don't know why they even bother with an all clear," Talbot said exasperatedly. "They'll only have to sound the alert again five minutes from now."

No, not for an hour and a quarter, and by then they'd be at the dance, and she'd have been able to ask one of the USO people the canteen's address and make certain it wasn't on King Edward's Road. And she'd have been able to ask them how she could find Grove Road. "Sorry, what were you saying before?"

"I was asking you what sort of men you like," Talbot said. "When we get there, I'll introduce you to some of the chaps I know. Do you like them tall? Short? Younger men? Older?"

Every man at this dance will be at least a hundred years too old for me, Mary thought. "I'm not really interested in-"

"You're not in love love with someone, are you?" with someone, are you?"

"No."

"Good. I don't approve of people being in love during a war. How can anyone plan for the future when we don't know if we'll have one? When I was posted to Bournemouth, one of the girls got engaged to a naval officer who was on a destroyer guarding convoys. She worried herself sick about him, spent all her time devouring the newspapers and listening to the wireless. And then she was the one killed, driving an officer back to Duxton Airfield. And now with these flying bombs, any one of us might be killed at any minute."

She turned down a narrow lane lined with shops with boarded-up windows. "I tried to tell Fairchild that, the little goose. She's not really in love, you know. Where's my lipstick?" She fumbled in her bag for it as she walked. "Where "Where is my compact? May I borrow yours?" is my compact? May I borrow yours?"

Mary obligingly dug in her bag. "Never mind," Talbot said, walking over to the one shop window which still had gla.s.s in it. She took the cap off her lipstick and twisted the base. "It will never work. He's years older than she is." She leaned forward to apply the lipstick in the window's reflection. "You know the sort of thing, older boy wors.h.i.+pped by younger girl..."

"Mmm," Mary said, listening to the ragged putt-putt putt-putt of an approaching motorcycle coming down the street they'd just left. of an approaching motorcycle coming down the street they'd just left.

Talbot didn't seem to notice, even though she had to raise her voice over its noise. "She has some fairy-tale notion that he'll see her in her uniform, all grown up, and realize he's always loved her, even though she still looks fifteen." She was nearly shouting, the motorcycle was so loud. The sound echoed rattlingly off the shops in the narrow lane. "She's determined to have her heart broken." She pursed her lips as she applied the Crimson Caress. "He's in the RAF, after all, not exactly the safest of jobs."

The sound of the motorcycle grew deafeningly loud and then shut off abruptly. That's not a motorcycle. That's a V-1 That's not a motorcycle. That's a V-1, Mary thought.

And then, It can't be, it's only a quarter past four It can't be, it's only a quarter past four.

And then, What if my implant data's wrong after all? What if my implant data's wrong after all?

And then, Oh, G.o.d, I've only got fifteen seconds Oh, G.o.d, I've only got fifteen seconds.

"And what if he doesn't fall into Fairchild's arms as planned?" Talbot said, leaning toward the window to appraise the effect. "Or his aeroplane crashes?"

Oh, G.o.d, the gla.s.s! Mary thought. Mary thought. She'll be cut to ribbons She'll be cut to ribbons. "Talbot!" she shouted and made a running dive at her, tackling her, flinging her off the curb. The lipstick flew out of her hand.

"Ow! Kent, what do you think you're-?" Talbot said.

"Stay down!" She pushed Talbot's head down into the gutter, flattened herself on top of her, and closed her eyes, waiting for the flash.

The girls won't leave without me, and I won't leave without the King. And the King will never leave.-QUEEN MARY, ON BEING ASKED WHY SHE HADN'T EVACUATED THE PRINCESSES TO CANADA

Warwicks.h.i.+re-May 1940

THE ASPIRIN TABLETS EILEEN GAVE BINNIE BROUGHT HER fever down partway and kept it down, but she was still gravely ill. With each pa.s.sing hour her breathing was more labored, and by morning she was calling wildly for Eileen, even though she was there next to her. Eileen telephoned Dr. Stuart. fever down partway and kept it down, but she was still gravely ill. With each pa.s.sing hour her breathing was more labored, and by morning she was calling wildly for Eileen, even though she was there next to her. Eileen telephoned Dr. Stuart.

"I think you'd best write her mother and ask her to come," he said.

Oh, no, Eileen thought.

She went to ask Alf their address. "Is Binnie dyin', then?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said firmly. "It's only that she'll get well faster if your mother's here to care for her."

Alf snorted. "I'll wager she don't come."

"Of course she will. She's your mother."

But she didn't. She didn't even reply. "Wicked," Mrs. Bas...o...b.. said when she brought Binnie a cup of tea. "No wonder they've turned out the way they have. Is she breathing any easier?"

"No," Polly said.

"This tea has hyssop in it," Mrs. Bas...o...b.. said. "It will loosen her chest," but Binnie was too weak to drink more than a few sips of the bitter-tasting tea and, worse, too weak to refuse to drink it.

That was the most frightening aspect of Binnie's illness. She didn't resist what Eileen did or even protest. All the fight had gone out of her, and she lay listlessly as Eileen bathed her, changed her nightgown, gave her the aspirin. "Are you sure sure she ain't dyin'?" Alf asked her. she ain't dyin'?" Alf asked her.

No, Eileen thought. I'm not sure at all I'm not sure at all. "Yes, I'm certain," she said. "Your sister's going to be fine."

"If she did did die, what'd 'appen to 'er?" die, what'd 'appen to 'er?"

"You'd better worry over what'll happen to you you, young man," Mrs. Bas...o...b.. said, coming in from the pantry. "If you want to get into heaven, you must change your ways."

"I ain't talking about that," that," Alf said and then hesitated, looking guilty. "Would they bury 'er in the churchyard in Backbury?" Alf said and then hesitated, looking guilty. "Would they bury 'er in the churchyard in Backbury?"

"What have you done to the churchyard?" Eileen demanded.

"Nuthin'," he said indignantly. "I was talkin' about Binnie," Binnie," and stomped off, but the next day when the vicar brought the post, Alf called down to him, "If Binnie dies, will she 'ave to 'ave a tombstone?" and stomped off, but the next day when the vicar brought the post, Alf called down to him, "If Binnie dies, will she 'ave to 'ave a tombstone?"

"You mustn't worry, Alf," the vicar said. "Dr. Stuart and Miss O'Reilly are taking very good care of Binnie."

"I know. Will know. Will she?" she?"

"What's all this about, Alf?" the vicar asked.

"Nuthin'," Alf said and ran off again. Alf said and ran off again.

"Perhaps I'd best check the churchyard when I get home," the vicar told Eileen. "Alf may have decided tombstones would make excellent roadblocks when the Germans invade."

"No, it's something else," Eileen said. "If it were anyone but Alf, I'd think he was worried about his sister being"-her voice caught-"buried so far away from home."

"There's no improvement?" he asked kindly.

"No." And if there hadn't been two floors separating them, she'd have laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed.

He gave her a comforting smile and said, "I know you're doing your best."

But I'm afraid it's not good enough, she thought, and went to bathe Binnie's hot limbs and coax more aspirin into her, though she worried she might be making things worse, not better. But the next night when she didn't wake her to give the tablets to her-deciding it was better to let her sleep-her temp immediately shot up again. Eileen resumed giving it to her, wondering what she'd do when the tablets ran out.

I'll have to tell the vicar and hope he doesn't tell Dr. Stuart, she thought. Or tie my sheets together and go out the window after some Or tie my sheets together and go out the window after some, but it wasn't necessary. That afternoon Binnie's temp abruptly went down, leaving her bathed in sweat.

"Her fever's broken," Dr. Stuart said. "Thank G.o.d. I feared the worst, but sometimes, with Providence's help-and good nursing," he patted Eileen's hand, "the patient pulls through."

"So she will recover?" Eileen said, looking down at Binnie. She looked so thin and pale.

He nodded. "She's through the worst of it now."

And she seemed to be, though she didn't rally as quickly as the other children. It was three days before her breathing eased and a full week before she was able to sip a little broth on her own. And she was so... docile. When Eileen read her fairy stories, which Binnie usually despised, she listened quietly.

"I'm worried," Eileen told the vicar. "The doctor says she's better, but she just lies lies there." there."

"Has Alf been in to see her?"

"No. He's liable to give her a relapse."

"Or shake her out of her apathy," he said.

"I think I'll wait till she's stronger," Eileen said, but that afternoon, watching Binnie lying in her cot, gazing listlessly at the ceiling, Eileen sent Una to fetch Alf.

"You look 'xactly like a corpse," he said.

Well, this was a good idea was a good idea, Eileen thought, and was about to escort him out when Binnie pushed herself up against the pillows.

"I do not," not," she said. she said.

"You do so. Everybody said you was goin' to die. You was out of your 'ead and everything."

"I was not." not."

Just like old times, Eileen thought and, for the first time since Binnie had fallen ill, felt a loosening of the tightness around her heart.

"She did almost die, didn't she, Eileen?" Alf said and turned back to Binnie. "But you ain't goin' to now."

Which seemed to rea.s.sure Binnie, but that night as Eileen put her into a fresh nightgown, she asked, "Are you certain I ain't going to die?"

"Positive," Eileen said, tucking her in. "You're growing stronger every day."

"What 'appens to people who die, when they 'aven't got no name?"

"You mean, when no one knows who they were?" Eileen asked, puzzled.

"No. When they ain't got a name to put on the tombstone. Do they still get to get buried in the churchyard?"

She's illegitimate, Eileen thought suddenly. Having an unmarried mother had been a true stigma for children in this era, with the child branded a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

But the stigma hadn't extended as far as tombstones. "Binnie, your name is your name, no matter whether your mother is married or not..."

Binnie made a sound of complete disgust, and Eileen was certain that if she hadn't still been too weak to get out of bed, she'd have stomped from the room like her brother. As it was, she turned over onto her side and faced the wall.

Eileen wished the vicar was here. She racked her brain to recall any customs involving names and tombstones in 1940, but she couldn't think of anything. Alf Alf, she thought. He knows what this is all about He knows what this is all about, and hastily gathered up the dirty linen. "I'm taking these downstairs," she told Binnie. "I'll be back in a bit."

No response. Eileen dumped the linens in the laundry and went to the ballroom, where Alf was wrapping Rose in bandages. "I'm practicin' for the ambulance," he said.

"Alf, come with me," Eileen said. "Now," and took him into the music room and shut the door. "I want to know why Binnie's worried over her name being on a tombstone, and don't say you don't know."

Something in her tone must have convinced him she meant business, because he muttered, "She ain't got one."

"A tombstone?"