Or so she thought.
He suddenly enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I’m fine, just fine. And you?”
“Ouch!”
He looked at Maggie with concern.
“Arm’s still a bit sore,” Maggie said. “But I’m just fine. More than fine,” she said lightly, surprised but pleased by the hug.
“Well, at least Saint Paul’s will be standing tomorrow,” John said. “And the evildoers are taken care of.”
“For now. We’ve got tabs on at least thirty other suspicious groups,” Frain said. “Not to spoil the moment.”
“But today, at least, we saved the world,” David said. “I say, let’s have a drink.”
Snodgrass grimaced. “A tad early, even for you—isn’t it, Mr. Greene?”
As they followed Frain and the others to the cars, Snodgrass piped up: “Do I need to remind you that we all must return to the office? There’s—”
“—a war on, you know,” David, John, and Maggie chimed in without turning around.
Frain stopped abruptly and then turned, causing the group behind him to stop as well. He glared at them all. “While I’m certainly aware there’s a war on, and do commend your work ethic, I believe you are all in a state of shock. Therefore, I suggest at least taking the rest of today off to recuperate. Then you may return to work. Professor Hope, your absence from Bletchley can be covered. We’ll return you to your post after you’ve had a chance to rest.”
“Fine,” Snodgrass amended. “You may have today off. But don’t expect me to tell Mrs. Tinsley.”
He walked past Frain, muttering, “That woman scares me.”
Murphy had eluded the agents tracking him yet again, and was enjoying a congratulatory cup of tea in a café not far from St. Paul’s. The better to get a good view, he thought as he slipped into a table by the window, which afforded a vista of the dome rising over the main streets leading from St. Paul’s. The tea in the dimpled white cup was as thick and brown as shoe polish.
“Would you like anything else?” the waitress asked.
“I’m fine, love,” he replied. “Just the bill, when you have a minute.”
He looked at his watch.
The wireless was on—bloody cricket scores.
He drummed his fingers on the table. There should be something by now. Some news over the wireless of the Prime Minister’s demise. Civilians running in fear from the destruction of St. Paul’s.
But the dome still stood. Inspiring. Comforting. Infuriating.
As his watch ticked out the minutes, there was nothing. The minutes turned to ten and then an hour and then more.
The earth still spun on its axis. People went about their business. Mothers pushed babies in prams, an old grizzled gentleman walked an even more grizzled dog. A young boy holding a chocolate bar sprinted by at full speed, arms pumping, while a middle-aged shopkeeper with a round belly and short legs tried to catch him.
“God damn it,” Murphy muttered, and left some coins on the table. Did he dare make his way back to St. Paul’s?
He slipped out the door, examining faces as he did. No one familiar. He went up the street, then doubled back, trying to see if anyone was following.
Without warning, he ducked into a narrow and dark back alleyway. He ran a few paces, then let himself in one of the shop’s unlocked back doors.
Two agents in plainclothes burst into the alley, then looked around in confusion. “Bloody hell!” the taller one said. “Where’d he go now?”
The shorter one pulled out his gun as he looked behind some rubbish bins. “Damned if I know.”
Before she could join John and David in a car, Edmund pulled Maggie aside. “Margaret—”
“Maggie,” she said. “My friends call me Maggie.”
“Maggie. There’s something more you need to know.”
More? “Yes?” What fresh hell is this?
Frain stepped up to them. “Miss Hope, what your father is trying to say is that your home is now a crime scene.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Sanderson was in Miss Kelly’s bedroom. Apparently, she’d happened unexpectedly upon Miss Kelly and Mr. Murphy as they were adjusting her disguise.”
“So …” Maggie said slowly, realizing. “That’s why Sarah died.”
“Oh, right.” Frain looked just the slightest bit flustered. “Actually, she didn’t die.”
There was a collective gasp from the assembly. “What?” Maggie whispered.
Frain had the grace to let a shadow of guilt cross his face before hardening it into a professional mask again. “I let Claire think that—to humanize the death and destruction she was intent on causing. I believe that’s why she ultimately turned against Devlin.”