“Miss? Are you all right, miss?” A volunteer tried to help her to her feet. Eve’s legs wouldn’t hold her.
“M-my mum . . .” She couldn’t breathe. “Is anyone . . . ? Did everyone get out?”
“They’re digging for survivors.”
“Th-there’s a . . . a shelter . . . an Anderson . . . behind the town house.” Her lips wouldn’t move right, her thoughts wouldn’t form. Oh, God! “People . . . there might be people inside.” Please, God . . . Please, please let Mum be one of them.
“We’ll get to them, miss, as soon as we can get back there. Why don’t you wait over there?” But Eve shook her head and gripped the frame of the fallen bicycle like a life raft.
Cries and moans came from the rubble. Faint calls for help. Workers dug frantically, moving the precarious piles of debris, shoveling, shoveling. Eve wanted to dig with them, but she couldn’t move, watching through a haze of smoke and tears. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Her heart thrashing against her ribs.
Please, God, let them all be safe! Not only her mum, but Tildy, the butler, the housekeeper. Her friends. And Audrey’s mother. For Audrey’s sake, Eve prayed that Lady Rosamunde had gone into the shelter too. But God seemed very far away. He must have turned His face from His creation to allow this death and destruction to go on and on, night after night.
When Eve was sure her legs would hold her, she stood and wandered through the crowd of workers and victims, searching the faces of pajama-clad people. She drew a shuddering breath before looking at the bodies lying in the street. She didn’t recognize anyone. She waited some more, watching the digging, the suspense agonizing. The workers shook their heads. Were they giving up?
Maybe Mum wasn’t even in London. Maybe she and Lady Rosamunde had returned to Wellingford Hall after all. Eve ran to find the nearest phone box, clinging to a thin strand of hope. “You shouldn’t be out, young lady,” a policeman hollered as she sprinted past. “Get to a shelter!”
Eve ignored him and kept running. Good thing she’d remembered her purse. She dug inside it for coins when she reached the phone box. She could barely insert them into the slot, her fingers shaking with fear and cold. She deposited all she had. The operator said it wasn’t enough.
“Reverse the charges, then.”
“Whom shall I say is calling, please?”
“Um . . . Rosamunde Clarkson.”
The operator placed the call. Eve heard it ringing, ringing. “Sorry, no answer, ma’am.”
“Keep trying! It’s a huge house. They need time to get to the phone in the middle of the night.”
At last she recognized Robbins’s voice, thick with sleep. “Hello? Wellingford Hall. Who’s calling, please?” Eve started to reply but the operator interrupted, asking if he would accept a collect call. There was a pause. Then, “Yes, Operator. Yes, I will.”
“Robbins! This is Eve. I’m sorry for saying I was Lady Rosamunde but this is an emergency. Is my mum at Wellingford?” The wait for his reply seemed interminable.
“No, she’s at the London town house.”
A wave of nausea washed through her. She had to lean against the side of the phone box. Surely Mum was safe inside the Anderson shelter even if Lady Rosamunde refused to go. Mum had to be safe. She had to be.
“Hello? Hello?” Robbins said. “What’s going on, Eve?”
“Is Audrey there?”
“She’s asleep.”
“Go upstairs and wake her. She needs to come to London straightaway. A bomb destroyed her London town house tonight.”
“Oh, dear God . . .”
“It’s in ruins. I don’t know if . . . whether anyone . . .” An ambulance raced past in the darkness. It halted near the ruins. Eve’s stomach twisted with dread. Helpless. She was so helpless.
“Hello, Eve? Are you still there?”
“I need to go. Tell Audrey to come to the town house . . . um . . . to where it used to be. I’ll be waiting for her.”
She hung up the phone and sprinted back to where the ambulance idled. The attendants had a stretcher out and were loading someone onto it. Eve pushed past the ARP wardens who tried to restrain her, shouting, “No! Let me through! Let me see my mum!”
It wasn’t her.
Eve was trembling so violently she could barely stand. She had to get around to the back, to the Anderson shelter. Surely Mum was inside it. All of the servants were. They had to be! She tried to make her way down the street, around the chaos, but the workers wouldn’t let her through. She stammered an explanation, desperate to make someone understand, but her thoughts and words jumbled together.