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Eliza shouted, Rebecca said nothing. Nor did she move. Eliza grabbed her, tried to push her up the stairs. Eliza did not want to look. All she could hear was her own voice, crying. All she could smell was dust. Dust and marrow liqueur, spreading across the cellar, the brown syrup seeping into the dirt floor. Dust and marrow and . . .
    Her screams became the screeching of the train lurching to a stop. Eliza jolted awake and placed a hand to her throat. It was not bruised. Nor should it have been, she reminded herself.
    â€˜Only a dream,’ she whispered. Rebecca stared at her. Eliza looked away and saw that they had stopped at a dimly lit station.
    Mr Drewry pulled their luggage down from the rack then carried Eliza’s suitcase out of the cabin. Eliza took Rebecca’s case in one hand and Rebecca’s hand in the other then followed him onto the platform. As the train pulled away, Eliza realised they were the only ones to disembark. The tiny station had one sheltered waiting room where a solitary lantern hung above a rotting door. The name Plentynunig was painted in whitewash on an old wooden sign. Mr Drewry led them down a few creaking stairs that led to a patch of grass beside an unpaved road.
    Across the way was a pub, a light still on despite the lateness of the hour. Mr Drewry headed directly for it. He set down the suitcase and rapped several times on the pub door. Eliza heard the bolts being thrown back. The door cracked open. A balding head appeared, saw Mr Drewry and nodded. The door then closed; the bolts slid back in place.
    Mr Drewry picked up the suitcase and walked the girls back to the road.
    â€˜Eliza,’ Rebecca whispered. ‘I’m still hungry.’
    â€˜Me too. I’m sure they’ll have something for us when we arrive.’ She squeezed her sister’s hand. It was colder here than in London, and Eliza found herself pulling her coat tight around her. A chilling wind cut through the stillness of the night and a light mist coated the girls in fine droplets of rain. Eliza remembered when she was evacuated, how the Littletons had immediately filled her with Ovaltine and sponge cake and told her she was going to be just fine as she warmed herself by the fire. And she had been, until her evacuation ended.
    Around the corner of the pub came an open-top carriage driven by the balding publican. He stopped the weary grey horse in front of the trio and hopped down. Mr Drewry handed the man some money then tossed the girls’ luggage into the back.
    When he offered them a hand into the carriage, Eliza climbed up by herself then helped Rebecca in. Mr Drewry ignored her refusal and hoisted himself into the driver’s seat. With a flick of his wrist, the horse moved steadily forward. Eliza glanced behind her, watching the man’s silhouette fade as they disappeared over the first hill.
    â€˜Excuse me, Mr Drewry, may I ask how long till we arrive?’
    â€˜Twenty minutes.’
    A single lantern hanging towards the front of the carriage was all the light they had. Eliza searched around them for something to keep warm and eventually found an old wool blanket under their seats. She tucked it around herself and Rebecca. There was nothing to see in the dark. Eliza began humming to keep her nerves steady. She didn’t realise what song it was until she reached the refrain – ‘We’ll Meet Again’. She stopped mid-phrase. Memories came unbidden into her mind. Memories of that song playing on the wireless when Mr Littleton had handed her the telegram that informed her of Mother’s death.
    Eliza let the journey continue in silence. The biting wind prevented her from falling asleep. She focused on finding signs of life in the unfamiliar landscape. A house, a shop, a stray dog, anything. All she could see was the road they travelled on and the grass either side. The effort drained her and exhaustion tired her body. The increasing pulse of a headache created