A Portrait of Loyalty
Page 34
She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked, smiling as Mama chattered behind them over how ready she was to be able to plant flowers in the garden again instead of vegetables. “I daresay I shall have it positively gorgeous again this spring. We’ll have to host another garden party, Lily Love. Or . . . some sort of reception, anyway.”
“Mama.” Lily laughed, even in the face of the unknowns that remained.
“Mother Effie is not subtle,” Zivon said in a stage whisper. If he was trying to keep from grinning, he was utterly failing.
But then, his willingness to join her family wasn’t exactly in question either.
They climbed the stairs, strode down the corridor toward the admiral’s office, and her mother greeted by name every secretary and cryptographer they passed. When Euphemia Blackwell decided to join something, she did it wholeheartedly.
A lesson Lily had taken to heart. She greeted her colleagues too—and apparently quite a few of them knew what she’d been about in the basement today, because they had a rather long procession by the time Zivon knocked on Hall’s door.
“Enter.”
He pushed open the door with a flourish and bowed. “Ladies first.”
Lily couldn’t laugh now. She could only smile a bit, and then a bit more when she saw Daddy folded into a chair before the desk, clearly waiting for them. “Well, Lily White? Have you managed it?”
“Mama says I have—and you daren’t argue with her.” Her grin soon faded as she held out the photograph for Hall’s perusal. “I hope it will do, sir. Though it’s not a photograph I ever thought to create.”
“Create being the key word, my dear. Not take. Never would you have occasion to take a photo of our boys in revolt.” He sat on the edge of his desk, lifted a magnifying glass, and studied the image.
Praise God for that truth. As much despair as she’d seen in the injured soldiers she’d nursed and as she heard in the voices of men home on leave, they’d never lost their determination to see it through. Just their belief that there was a purpose to it.
She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. That would just have to be their job when this was over—showing those lads through their art that there was still something to live for. Something to believe in. There was still a God in heaven, and He still loved His children . . . even when His children had failed to love one another.
Hall looked up, and the half smile on his face told her she’d done her job—this job—well. “Excellent work as always, Miss Blackwell. You have served king and country faithfully and fully.” He straightened and barked out, “Elton!”
“Yes, sir?” Margot’s husband stepped into the office. Lily hadn’t realized he was back in London, but she could never keep up with his comings and goings.
Hall held out the photo. “You’re going back to the Continent this evening, correct? See this gets into the hands of Agent Twenty-Two.”
Drake nodded and reached for it. “I’ll have it to him by morning, sir.”
“Good. And then report back here.” Hall tugged down his jacket, lifted his chin. “This war is about to end. And I daresay your wife would like you home for the celebration.”
MONDAY, 11 NOVEMBER 1918
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Zivon drew in a long breath as he stepped out of the Old Building, knowing that was a refrain that he’d see plastered in every newspaper headline come tomorrow—some even this evening.
Finally, at long last, peace. The guns would be silent. The trenches left behind.
At least in Europe. According to both the official reports and Evgeni’s letters, the White and Red Armies were still clashing. His brother never said anything about his hopes—the hopes so opposed to Zivon’s—and just related the facts.
Russia remained in upheaval. The Bolsheviks’ power didn’t appear to be waning.
But his brother was safe. Married. With a child on the way. Perhaps they were still set on advancing in the party. Perhaps all mentions of faith still went unaddressed.
But he had hope. And that wasn’t something Zivon would ever take for granted again. Hope for himself, hope for his brother. Hope for his people. The Reds might win now, might stay in control. But Father Smirnov was right—it was in persecution that faith always bloomed. And if he knew anything about the Russian spirit, it was that it could survive the longest of winters. God would see them through it. And when spring came, whether it be in a few months or a few decades, the people would cry out for His touch.
Just as Zivon had done. He strode for the park, winter’s night closing in rapidly. It was cold—or so said the others at the OB, who grumbled as they tugged on gloves and hats.
Zivon thought it felt rather mild. A fine day for a stroll in the park, if the light would just grant him twenty more minutes. He lifted a hand to say farewell to a few colleagues. And then lifted it again as he entered the park and spotted Konstantin and Fyodor exiting. They shouted a greeting but didn’t slow. Fyodor would be hurrying home to his family, and he and Zivon had seen each other at Mass just yesterday.
Shadows were creeping in too quickly. He picked up his pace still more, not slowing until he rounded the bend on the path and saw her there, kneeling among the brown grass, her camera raised and her attention focused entirely upon a squirrel scavenging for a forgotten nut.
A pattern as familiar to him as breathing. He waited until he heard the click, the whir. Then he knelt down beside her and whispered in her ear, “What do you see?”
Lily smiled, turned, stole a quick kiss. “Life. Going ever onward.” She put her hand in the one he proffered and let him help her to her feet. “You’re late. I was beginning to think the admiral had decided to keep you all for an extra shift, just for old times’ sake.”
He chuckled and wove her fingers through his, though he didn’t immediately lead her toward Curzon Street. They had a few minutes of daylight left. He meant to make use of them. “On the contrary. He had several of us in a meeting to discuss the future. Our future—Room 40’s.”
She caught her breath. “Is there one? I thought . . .”
Zivon nodded, squeezed her fingers. “It will dissolve after this, yes. A secret to be kept and protected at all costs. But the work cannot stop, milaya, and the Admiralty knows this. They have decided . . .” He paused, looked about. Drew close enough that he could whisper into her ear. “They are starting a school. A cryptography school. I have been asked to join it as an instructor, along with several of the chaps. And Margot, after she finishes the schooling she desires.”
“That’s wonderful!” She slipped an arm around him. “Right? Isn’t it? Is this what you want?”
“To stay here in London, with the people I most admire, close to the family I call my own, doing the work I love?” He shrugged, held his lips tight. “It will suffice, I suppose.”
She laughed and settled at his side with a happy sigh. “You must be so relieved to know what’s next.”
“Mm. But I confess it is not that next to which I have been giving the most thought.” He lifted her hand—the left one—and dropped to a knee.
She gasped and brought her other hand to her lips. She had to have known it was coming. But he hoped he managed to surprise her in the moment, at least.
Smiling, he slipped the ruby off his finger and onto hers. It was too big, of course. But she’d forgive it. “I offer you all I am, Lilian Blackwell. All I have. All I have ever fought for or stood for or been willing to die for. You already have my heart. I offer you also my life and every most precious thing in it. Will you be my wife?”
“Yes!” She curled her hand to keep the ring in place and then dropped to her knees beside him and pressed her lips to his.
He kissed her there in the twilight, not caring who saw. And he laughed when she pulled out her camera. “I do not know how you mean to capture this one, milaya.”
“It might require your help. But I think we can manage it.” Grin in place, she fiddled with a few of
her dials and levers and then held the camera out as far as her arm would allow, its lens facing them. “You do the push-pin.”
He breathed a laugh. And reached for the cord that led to the pin.
A click. A whir. And a moment he never would have forgotten anyway, now captured forever on her film . . . as she was captured forever in his heart.
Author’s Note
When I began the research for this series and read about all the colorful personalities that made up Room 40, I knew I couldn’t let THE CODEBREAKERS end without highlighting two of the people who most intrigued me—the Russian who fled the Bolsheviks and joined the cryptographers under Admiral Hall, and the unnamed photography expert who kept DID in a supply of falsified photographs to use against the enemy. Both of these characters have their basis in fact. But, of course, I fictionalized as well.
The real Russian cryptographer was Ernst Fetterlein, who was an Admiral-General in the Imperial Navy and head of Russia’s cryptography department, working under the name of Popov (because of the German sound of his actual last name). While he inspired the character of Zivon, I didn’t want to use this historical figure entirely, since he was a decade older than I wanted and already had a family. Instead, I used him as Zivon’s mentor, borrowed some of his stories—like the scene at the bank and the ruby ring he valued above all—and then made a hero of my own. I enjoyed creating a character with his own unique traits and imagining what it must have been like for a man to go from being the well-respected top of his department in Russia to a suspicious nobody among his English counterparts.
Lily’s character is largely fictional. I could find a few mentions of the work done by these staff photographers but not information on the actual people—which meant I was free to make it all up! It was fun (and a bit intimidating) to learn about early cameras and photography and, most of all, to imagine the world through the eyes of someone who sees it best through a camera lens. The photograph used to spur on the mutiny at the end of the war is a true story, which I learned about in Blinker Hall, Spymaster by David Ramsay. The massive bombing in London in May 1918 was factual (though not, so far as we know, a result of false information leaked to the Germans) and is referred to by historians as the first real blitz. All other specific occurrences of photos used for the war effort were my imagination.
The Russian Revolution was a complex and long-lasting civil war that I could only scratch the surface of, but I hope through Zivon, Evgeni, and Nadya that I captured just a piece of the Russian heart. I got lost for hours, trying to determine what would have happened to the embassy staff stranded abroad after the February and October Revolutions—Konstantin Nabokov was indeed the ambassador assigned to London at the time, and he wrote a memoir called The Ordeal of a Diplomat that tells of his experiences during this trying time. I also found a wonderful little pamphlet about the sole Orthodox church in London and enjoyed bringing the real priest, Evgeny Smirnov, onto the page. The idea that the Bolsheviks would have had a vested interest in keeping the war going by halting the mutiny was fictionalized, but the continued attempt by White supporters to draw America and Britain into the conflict on their side is the true inspiration for my added drama.
I also found it very telling that in Hall’s retirement speech not long after the war ended, he not only congratulated his countrymen on the conclusion of this war, but he also warned them to keep an eye on the soviets in Russia, from whom he anticipated a great threat. Insight he’d probably gleaned from many sources, but no doubt chief among them was the Russian on his staff, who did indeed go on to help found the cryptography school that continued to train codebreakers between the two world wars, and whose school eventually led to the founding of Bletchley Park during World War II.
Before I began this story, I’d never given much thought to the Bolshevik point of view, I confess. But in researching it for Evgeni and Nadya, I certainly came to understand the cry for a people’s champion, even if I can’t approve of the way they went about it. I was especially struck by the Russian women’s movements of the day that demanded that institutions like marriage and family be abolished—not just that they no longer be mandatory, but that they in fact be made illegal. But though initial laws were put into effect, I found it rather telling that socialized child-rearing was never really instituted, and marriage certainly persisted too. Because when it comes down to it, ideology can never replace a parent’s instinct and drive to love their child and provide a steady home.
And finally, a note on the Spanish Flu that struck the world such a devastating blow in 1918–1919. The flu reached London in June of 1918 and within months had killed more people than the war had. It’s estimated that more than fifty million people around the world died from this terrible pandemic. Many more contracted it but recovered. Some languished for days or weeks; others were well in the morning but dead by afternoon. What really baffled the doctors was that it seemed to kill people in the prime of life more often than it did the very young or very old, setting it apart from other strains of the flu.
I hope you’ve enjoyed THE CODEBREAKERS and their adventures! Special thanks to my family for their patience with me; to Rachel for taking over all she could while I vanished into my writing world; to Elizabeth for checking for Americanisms; to Kelli for answering my questions on Russian names; to Steve for pretending I’m his only client (ha!); and to Dave, Jen, Elisa, and the rest of the amazing BHP editorial team for always making my words shine! And, most of all, to the readers who greet those words with enthusiasm. You make it all worthwhile.
Discussion Questions
Zivon was forced to flee his homeland in order to preserve his life—and to continue to fight for what he considered the true Russia. How bad would life have to get for you to consider leaving your homeland? Would you determine to settle forever where you landed or would you hope to go home someday?
Lily sees the world best through the lens of a camera and finds beauty “in a thousand silent moments.” When are you most aware of God’s touch in the world around you? Is there anyone in your life who helps you see it when otherwise you might not?
Zivon went from being a man of authority to a man at the bottom of the ladder. What difficulties do you think this presented to him? Have you ever been put in a position where you were more qualified than your superiors?
What did you think of Lily’s early decision to keep her true work a secret from her mother? And about her mother’s reaction when she found out? Would you have acted differently at either point?
Who is your favorite character? Your least favorite? Why?
What did you think of Nadya and Evgeni and their mission? Did you understand their perspective or think them beyond sympathy for all they’d done to Zivon and Alyona?
The Russian folktale that Evgeni tells to Claire (in two parts) is my paraphrase of a real one. What were your thoughts about the story? What do you think it means?
Several themes about art and its purpose, and what “true” really means in some situations, are woven into this story. How do you feel about art being used to influence or even deceive? Do you think a fiction can ever tell a true story (such as the photo Lily created for Zivon in the beginning)?
One of my favorite quotes is that “history doesn’t repeat—it rhymes.” What “rhymes” did you notice between the world of 1918 and our world today?
With the end of this series, this world of thieves, spies, and codebreakers has reached its conclusion. I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have! If you’ve read multiple books in THE CODEBREAKERS, SHADOWS OVER ENGLAND, or even LADIES OF THE MANOR series (which are all interconnected), which story most resonates with you now? Which characters do you most love? Are you satisfied with where everyone ended up?
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award–nominated author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, designing book covers, editing, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna i
s the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books . . . to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary. You can learn more about her and her stories at www.roseannamwhite.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Roseanna M. White
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Epigraph
Prologue
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Author’s Note
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
List of Pages
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