Hannah Brook locks her cottage and crosses the main road to the Methodist minister's small house, to be welcomed by Mrs Waters. The two women chat politely over tea in the front room while they wait for the minister.

"Ah, Miss Brook," says Reverend Waters as he enters and helps himself to tea, moving to stand near the empty fireplace. "I'm so very grateful to you for stepping in at such short notice. As you know, Mr Chaplin has taken himself off to serve king and country in the Royal Air Force." He frowns, then recovers quickly. Hannah remembers hearing that the minister is a committed pacifist. "And far be it from me to dissuade him from doing what he considers his duty, but what worrying times we live in. Here." He takes a set of keys from his waistcoat and hands them to Hannah, perhaps partly to hide his own discomfort. "Please feel free to avail yourself of the chapel whenever you see fit. The piano is acceptable, I understand."

"Thank you, Reverend." Hannah puts the keys in her handbag. "Yes, these are dark days, war is always an ugly and distressing thing. I shall miss Greg, er, Mr Chaplin. He is a very fine pianist, we've enjoyed several interesting discussions about music over the last year or two."

Mrs Waters pours Hannah more tea. "You were at the Royal College, I believe, Miss Brook."

Hannah hides a blush by fussing with the milk. "Briefly, about seven years ago, I had that privilege. I was fortunate enough to be accepted there when my original studies elsewhere were...interrupted."

"You studied performance? On the piano?"

Hannah regrets laying herself open to further questioning. She prefers not to talk about her life before London, and fears close enquiry into her circumstances. "My first instrument is the clarinet, I must admit. But it was an exciting time to be at the College, there was such a lot happening in the musical world. We studied much else, besides proficiency on our instruments." She smiles slightly at the recollection. "We all felt so very involved. I found myself filling in on the piano for my colleagues as much as anything else."

Mrs Waters waves a hand and smiles kindly. "I meant no criticism of your skills, Miss Brook. Archie and I have very much enjoyed the couple of organ recitals you've given in the church, and I hear the choir is very much improved from what it was. It is refreshing to have music so well represented in the community again."

Reverend Waters nods agreement. "My wife has a great love of music, Miss Brook, and is much more knowledgeable than I on these matters. So we're delighted to have the opportunity to engage your services in Greg's absence. Delighted and very grateful." He shuffles slightly. "I'm afraid we cannot offer much by way of recompense..."

Hannah shakes her head. "Please, Reverend. I would be happy to help you gratis. I suspect you will need to husband your resources carefully at this time, and there will be far worthier causes."

**

After tea, Reverend Waters accompanies Hannah down the lane to the chapel. "Greg has left his copy of our hymn book, I gather it has his notes on all our little quirks in it. When he suggested we ask you to fill his shoes, he asked me to let you have it. Of course, you'd be welcome to try out the piano immediately, under normal circumstances, but we have some evacuees arriving this afternoon, and the muster point is the chapel. I'm sure Mrs Poppleton has everything quite in hand, though, and it shouldn't take long."

"I'd have thought Ealsby would be more convenient for that, Reverend." And Mrs Poppleton was definitely Church, not Chapel.

"Indeed so, I gather most of them are to be billeted in the village. But some will be coming to us down here." Reverend Waters glances sideways at Hannah and smiles. "Mrs Poppleton is not always as sectarian as one might expect, I have found. And nor are we."

Hannah meets his eye quickly, and decides that the minister is a shrewd and observant judge of people's true selves – which if he weren't a man of the cloth might be dangerous.

As they draw near to the chapel, Hannah notices a small gathering of women from the hamlet near the door, just as a procession of children, led by Mrs Poppleton, descends Ealsby Lane. "Excellent timing," mutters Reverend Waters, winking at Hannah before striding ahead to greet everyone.

As the minister unlocks the chapel and ushers everyone inside, Hannah notices one of the evacuee children – slightly taller, slightly older than the rest – hesitate as she looks around. Almost as if she was looking to escape. The girl catches Hannah's eye, and frowns when she smiles, but Hannah gestures for her to go in to the chapel before her, and the girl has no choice but to do so. She flops down into a pew at the very back, pushing herself away from everyone, and Hannah slides in to the same pew, but stays near the end. "Hello," she whispers, out of the corner of her mouth. "I'm Hannah. Welcome."

The girl looks at her, distrust fighting with something more fragile in her face. Knowing that by letting slip she'd heard Hannah, though, she eventually gives in to the moral weight of common politeness. "Polly," she whispers back. "I an't s'pposed to be here, miss."

"Don't worry, Polly." Hannah smiles at her quickly, then turns back to the front. "Nor am I."

The girl is fidgety, plainly uncomfortable, and Hannah notices that her coat is past its best. Under the tattered coat, the girl's dress is frayed and faded, obviously far from new and possibly even a hand-me-down of some years' standing; her socks are more grey than white, and the sole of one of her shoes is starting to detach. Apart from her gas mask in its flimsy case, she has only a small suitcase. Her fingernails are dirty, and her lank hair is held in two clumsy and roughly-made plaits. After another quick smile – intended to be reassuring – Hannah pretends to ignore her.

The other children, all younger than Polly, all somewhere between five and eleven, are briskly assigned to their respective hosts: mostly in ones or awkward new twos; some (obviously siblings, Hannah thinks with a slight tug of longing) in ready-made pairs, the older child often holding the smaller one's hand in reassurance it could hardly feel itself. The chapel empties as the local women take their new charges to their new homes.

As the last leave, it is plain that only Mrs Poppleton, Mr Waters, Polly and Hannah are left in the chapel. Mrs Poppleton descends on the girl. "Who are you, then? I'm sure you're not on my list."

"This is Polly, Mrs Poppleton," says Hannah simply but firmly.

Mrs Poppleton stops short for a second. "Oh, Miss Brook. Good afternoon." She glances down and frowns. "There's no Polly on my list." She looks the girl up and down quickly. "Are you sure you're with this school, my girl? Are you lost?"

Hannah can sense Polly coiling beside her like a spring ready to release. She is also aware of Reverend Waters hovering behind the bustling churchwarden. "Well, there seems to be some confusion." She raises a hand and places it gently on the pew in front of where she and Polly are sitting, as much to ward off Mrs Poppleton's irritation as motion to Polly to stay where she is. "But Polly is here in any case, whether or not she should be. It is too late in the day now to try to return her to where she belongs. If that is not here." She glances at Reverend Waters and takes some strength from his slight smile. "I had come down with Mr Waters, just to have a look at the piano and collect Mr Chaplin's music book..."

She looks pointedly at the minister, who smiles more broadly and winks, before moving back up the chapel to fetch the book in question. "But, it would seem we need to find somewhere for Polly to stay tonight and I'm sure we can sort out the rest in the morning. If the Reverend and his wife can't put her up, I have a spare room. I'm sure I can manage to fix up a bath and find a change of clothes as well." She turns to Polly, and adds, "I was going to have chicken soup for supper, and there'll be plenty for two of us. And I made a cake yesterday."

Polly frowns at both women, but Hannah can see the girl's hunger flicker in her eyes, even if she hadn't already noticed how Polly is worryingly thin and evidently under-nourished.

"Miss Brook is right," says Mr Waters, returning from the other end of the chapel and handing Hannah an old hymn book bulging with additional slips of paper. He smiles at Polly. "If I were you, dear, I'd take the offer of Miss Brook's soup. It's very good. As are her cakes." He winks at the girl, who rewards him with a very slight smile. "We can address everything else tomorrow, I'm sure."

Mrs Poppleton nods. Hannah can see she is equal parts put out at the irregularity of the situation, and relieved at having a temporary solution presented to her. "Very well. Miss Brook, will you bring Polly up to the schoolroom tomorrow morning?"

"We shall be there first thing, Mrs Poppleton."