The last hints of sunlight were fading from the sky when the warden called. He was polite, deferential, but insistent. The woman who answered the door could see several more air raid wardens in the street outside. One was knocking at the next house. She went to find Crowley.
‘We’re hopeful it won’t take long,’ the warden said. ‘Just got to make sure the thing’s safe.’
‘We’ve not had a raid here for months,’ Crowley pointed out. The Blitz was over, and air raids on London were sporadic and infrequent now.
‘God knows when it was dropped. But it’s a big one.’ The warden shrugged. ‘Could take out most of the street, so the UXB lads reckon anyway.’
There was a steady stream of people coming out of the other houses on Jermyn Street now. The warden glanced back over his shoulder at them. ‘We’ve told people if they wait in the pub in the next street, we’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.’
‘And do you have any idea when that might be?’
‘A few hours at least. But before morning, I’m sure. Good excuse for a couple of pints, if you ask me.’
‘And if we don’t feel like a couple of pints?’
‘Then it’s your funeral. Maybe literally.’
Crowley’s head turned from side to side as he considered. Finally, he nodded. ‘You’ll let us know as soon as it’s safe.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to be. Might even join you for a pint if I get a minute.’
‘There’s something to look forward to,’ Crowley murmured as he went back inside. It was inconvenient, but it couldn’t be helped. And the man was right – an unexploded bomb wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
‘What about Jane?’ one of the girls asked as she headed after the others. ‘I haven’t seen her today.’
‘I’ll check,’ he assured her. They didn’t know that Jane was spending all her time down in the cellars now – the price of her attempted desertion. And a safeguard against what she had become. Well, she would probably be safer down in the cellar than anywhere else. The chances of the bomb going off, or causing any damage to the house if it did must be slight. Even so, he collected several of his most treasured books and put them in a leather briefcase to take with him.
* * *
‘Was she with them?’
Miss Manners shook her head. ‘No, Jane must still be inside.’
She and Alban were watching from across the road, hidden in the alleyway between two houses. The people leaving the houses were barely more than silhouettes in the fading light.
‘No way of knowing if everyone’s out,’ Alban said. ‘But at least we know Crowley isn’t there any more.’
‘I didn’t see Rutherford,’ Miss Manners said. ‘He’s a thoroughly unpleasant character.’
‘Yes,’ Alban agreed. ‘But don’t worry about him. He’s…’ He hesitated, choosing his words. ‘He’s no longer involved.’
‘No longer involved in what?’ Miss Manners asked, catching the tone in Alban’s voice.
‘In anything. If you take my meaning.’ He stepped out of the alleyway and checked the street. ‘Looks like it’s all clear.’
It was the work of only a few moments for Alban to pick the lock on the front door. He stepped back to let Miss Manners precede him into the house. Alban produced a torch from his pocket, so they didn’t need to put the lights on. She led the way to the door down to the cellar. The place was in darkness, but Alban’s torch illuminated the stone steps leading down.
At the foot of the stairs, he shone the torch round the chamber and whistled. ‘You could store a lot of wine down here, you know.’
‘This way.’
Miss Manners set off towards the altar. Alban followed, shining the torch ahead of her. Only when he stepped up on to the raised dais did he see that there was a woman stretched out on the stone.
‘Penelope?’ the woman said, raising her head slightly as they approached. ‘Is that you?’ She blinked, dazzled by the torchlight after so long in the dark.
‘It’s all right. I told you I’d come back. We’ve come to get you away from here.’
‘But – Crowley?’
‘Out of the way for now,’ Alban said. He examined the chains and manacles holding the woman down. ‘Hold the torch for me, and I’ll see if I can pick the locks.’
He had expected she would need help standing, let alone getting up the steep steps. But as soon as she was free Jane Roylston seemed to recover her strength.
‘I’ll take you to your room,’ Miss Manners said. ‘If we have time?’ she checked with Alban.
He nodded. ‘Good idea. She can’t go out dressed like that. She’ll need shoes at least, and a coat probably.’
He waited in the hallway. It wasn’t long before the two women were back again, Jane now wearing a Macintosh, buttoned up with the belt pulled tight at her waist.
‘I’ll lock up,’ Alban said, as they left the house. ‘We’ll give it an hour or so, then tell the warden that the bomb’s been defused and everyone can come back again.’ He grinned, suddenly looking like a mischievous schoolboy. ‘Crowley will be livid.’
Sarah was waiting in the car a couple of streets away. Miss Manners opened the door for Jane to get in the back, then climbed in beside her.
‘Do you know Sarah Diamond?’
Jane nodded. ‘I think we’ve met. Or if not, I’ve certainly seen you.’
Sarah smiled a welcome, and put the car into gear.
‘My place is so small,’ Miss Manners said, ‘and if Crowley comes looking for you it’ll be one of the first places he tries. But Sarah has a spare room in her flat.’
Sarah glanced back. ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,’ she said.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Sarah assured her. ‘And don’t worry – you’ll be quite safe.’
* * *
They were getting closer to their prey. They could sense it. They knew that the final key was being dealt with. That just left the key they were seeking, and they crept closer. Every day, their anticipation grew. Soon they would have what they needed.
A dark, bulbous shape clawed its way across a field of rubble. It clambered through a shattered window and into what had been a factory. From inside it stared back out across the devastated landscape, watching the humans picking their way through the debris. There were two soldiers, rifles clutched in their hands, alert for any sound, knowing that death could strike from anywhere at any time. They were probably looking for food.
Behind them, a small shape rose up from the cratered ground, watching the men as they moved cautiously forwards.
The girl was an orphan, her mother killed a few days earlier by men like these. She was too young to tell the difference between Germans and Russians. Too young to care. Men with guns were the enemy. Men with guns had left her alone in this world of death and destruction.
She kept a knife in her boot. Slid it carefully out as she hurried after the men, careful to make no sound. She was only small, but she was strong and every kill made her stronger yet.
The first man turned as she approached. His expression switched from fear to relief to the faintest smile as he saw it was just a child. A girl, no more than maybe nine years old, face grimy with dust and dirt, fair hair lank and darkened by sweat and blood.
Then surprise, and finally fear again as the knife blade gleamed in the pale September sunlight. It was the one thing she kept clean. His grunt of sudden pain as the blade entered his stomach was loud enough for the other man to swing round, his rifle raised.
The girl twisted the knife savagely, her face frowning with the effort. Then she ripped it out again, her hand and arm spattered red.
He had time for one shot. It went wide, hammering into the remains of a wall a hundred yards behind the girl. She hurled herself forwards, catching the soldier off balance, knocking him to the ground. He landed on his back, his head cracked into the rubble blurring his vision.
But he could feel her weight on top of him as he struggled to bring up the rifle again. Could see her unfocused silhouette, arm raised. Could feel the thump of the impact as the blade sliced into his chest, again and again and again.
In the shadows opposite, a dark creature squatted malevolently watching through a single darkened eye. The setting sun caught the mist rising from the soldier’s chest, and stained the ruined landscape red.