She hesitated where she stood in an attempt to gain her bearings which didn’t seem quite able to sort themselves out. Rain pattered on her umbrella while she remained in place.
She would have to move based on memory in the absence of sight. It was fascinating how only a week of being in London resulted in her being able to picture the path to Britton Street with such ease. Except that had been when she could properly make out her surroundings.
She took a cautious step forward, the scuff of her shoe loud in the empty street. She half expected an obstruction to trip her up. It didn’t. Nor was the next step impacted, or the one after that. She continued with the strange, hesitant shuffle of her feet on pavement that rasped against the bottom of her shoes.
How many steps was it to the street? Her pace faltered and she found herself stretching her free hand in front of her, patting at air.
Maybe she should go back and take Mr. Evans up on his offer to walk her home. But then, how would he return to the shop?
Her nerves felt as though they were uncoiling with each blind step, her senses on wild alert. A rumbling filled the silence of night. It came with such haste, she drew back quickly, stumbling in the process. The whoosh of a car with its headlamps off sped by, dragging her skirt in a gust of powerful wind as it splashed what must have been a bucketful of puddle water on her.
Her dress clung to her, ice cold and drenched with filthy rainwater. She wrapped her arms about herself as she clutched the brolly handle, not that it mattered if rain fell on her now.
Lightning flickered overhead, casting the world in a brilliant wash of light. It was enough to make out what direction she needed to go, as well as confirm there were no more cars making their way toward her.
Drenched, blind and freezing, Grace stumbled her way back to Britton Street one careful footstep and flash of lightning at a time. The usual ten-minute journey took an eternity. Who knew how much time she’d wasted repeatedly walking past Mrs. Weatherford’s townhouse in a fruitless bid to identify the right door.
Finally, she managed to ascertain which was indeed the correct home and carefully climbed up the stairs. Her shoes were so thoroughly soaked, they seemed to weigh several pounds each and squished with each footfall, causing water to well up around her toes. Her free hand patted at the door for the handle. Cool metal met her palm, and she curled her fingers around it. The door clicked open, unlocked, and swung inward.
The light from inside was like an explosion against her eyes, almost as blinding as the complete darkness. She staggered inside, nearly collapsing.
“Grace,” Mrs. Weatherford exclaimed from the parlor. “Goodness, child, what’s happened to you? We’ve been worried sick.”
It was in extreme times such as this that Mrs. Weatherford’s bossy nature held great benefit. Within the short side of an hour, Grace was dry with a fresh change of clothes and a hot cup of tea in her hand before tucking herself into bed.
Safe and warm beneath her quilt, she snuggled deep into her bed and made friends with the dark once more as it pulled her into slumber. But before sleep claimed her, she made a plan to use her time off from the shop to visit Paternoster Row the following morning. If she could see how the displays were set and the books shelved in those stores, she might have a stronger idea of how to properly direct her efforts.
Unfortunately, such well-laid plans dissolved with the news that met her the following day.
FIVE
Britain had officially declared war.
The prime minister made a special broadcast at 11:15 the next morning before Grace could leave.
She sat on the mohair sofa with Viv as Chamberlain’s voice filled the small parlor. Colin was no longer on the floor as Tabby was now with Mr. Pritchard. Instead, the young man perched tensely at the edge of the Morris chair beside his mother’s seat.
A tea tray sat on the center of the small table beside a vase of dahlias, untouched.
The prime minister relayed that Germany had ignored requests to pull free from Poland. Grace held her breath and prayed silently that Chamberlain wouldn’t announce the news they had been dreading.
But all the listeners in London holding their breath couldn’t stop his next words. “…consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”
Even though the declaration was expected, it hit Grace like a blow. How could something so expected carry such visceral impact?
She was not alone.
Viv dabbed at her eyes with a pretty lace-lined handkerchief she’d sewn before they left Drayton, and Mrs. Weatherford sucked in a breath. Colin immediately reached for his mother’s hand.