She turned, as if startled, and bowed her head politely – her cheeks pink, as though she was embarrassed to have been caught preening before the mirror. Sir Edwin gave her an indulgent smile and said ‘Good evening’, before disappearing with his friend into the study.
The second the door had closed behind them, Lil lifted the fan, revealing beneath it the painting in its folder.
Really, you never knew when a fan was going to come in handy, she reflected, as she swiftly picked up the folder and darted away down the hall.
She’d already planned her route out of the house, and now she went swiftly through the green baize door that led to the servants’ quarters – knowing quite well that none of the grand party guests would follow her there. With the painting tucked under her arm, she went lightly down the stairs – past a busy kitchen full of steam and rattling saucepans, where Cook was yelling at someone about oysters, past the Butler’s pantry, past a confused-looking boot boy – and then out of the servants’ entrance and into the yard.
She’d stashed an old carpet bag amongst some bushes in the garden. Under cover of the shrubbery, she retrieved it, and a moment later the white evening gown was hidden beneath an ordinary brown coat, and the red roses by a plain brown felt hat. The painting was tucked inside the carpet bag, carefully cushioned by her fluffy fan. Now she was no debutante but an ordinary girl – perhaps a housemaid on her night off – walking briskly, but in no special hurry, down the street towards Park Lane where she could catch an omnibus.
Somewhere behind her, in the yard of Sir Edwin’s mansion, she heard the sound of running footsteps. A voice yelled out; electric torches were flashed into the darkness of the garden. So they already knew the painting was gone? That was rather interesting. Had Rupert cottoned on and raised the alarm – or had Sir Edwin opened his safe and noticed his painting was missing?
Just the same, she forced herself to stroll on towards the bus stop without speeding up. She didn’t even flinch when a motor car came roaring out of Sir Edwin’s driveway, rushing past her at top speed. She knew that hurrying would only make her look suspicious – and besides, there was not the smallest chance that Sir Edwin, or Rupert, or any of the party guests would make a connection between the elegant young lady in white and the ordinary girl in the brown coat, waiting for the omnibus with a shabby carpet bag at her side.
The omnibus rumbled up, and Lil hopped aboard. ‘Good evening,’ she said cheerfully to the conductor, casting a last glimpse over her shoulder at the bright golden lights of Sir Edwin’s mansion, before the omnibus carried her and the dragon painting safely away, into the London night.
Twelve hours later she was walking over the cobbles towards the headquarters of the Secret Service Bureau. Both the evening dress and the old brown coat had vanished, and she was dressed in her own clothes, but the carpet bag was still close at her side. A light rain was falling, but it was warm for September and Lil didn’t bother with an umbrella. She whistled a tune as she walked, making a passing gentleman, with bowler hat and newspaper, throw her a disapproving frown.
Lil did not care a bit for anyone’s disapproval. She was quite used to being thought unladylike. Besides, that morning, she felt more cheerful than she had since she’d returned from Paris three months ago. She’d spent ages tracking down The Red Dragon – and at last she’d found it. She’d discovered the painting; she’d removed it secretly from the Grenville house; and now she was on her way to deliver it to the Chief, who she knew would be jolly pleased with her. She hopped over a puddle and gave a beaming smile to a telegraph boy on a bicycle – who was so startled that he almost crashed into a lamp-post.
Her plan had worked awfully well, she reflected. She’d been spot on when she’d guessed that Rupert would be the best way of getting to the painting. She wondered whether he’d confessed to showing it to a mysterious young lady, whose name he didn’t know. If so, she guessed he would be in rather hot water with his father this morning.
Poor old Rupert. He wasn’t a bad sort, really. Doing this job was a peculiar thing sometimes: it did seem rotten, taking advantage of a fellow like that. Left to her own devices, Lil was really rather a straightforward sort of person. She’d have preferred to have marched up to Rupert, shaken his hand heartily and said: ‘Hullo there, I hear you’ve got a rather important painting – I’m afraid I’m going to have to take it off your hands.’ But of course, that sort of thing would not wash when you were working as an undercover spy.
It still felt odd thinking of herself as a spy at all. It seemed no time since she’d been in the classroom at school, scribbling notes to her chums or playing tricks on the mistresses instead of practising her ladylike deportment. Then a few dull months at home, followed by the blissful escape of running off to London to go on the stage. Although being an actress had been marvellous, of course, somehow it had never been all she’d dreamed. Perhaps it was because she always had to play such idiotic characters – weedy ingénues who wept or fainted away at the first sign of excitement. Or perhaps it was because the work she’d begun doing with Sophie had been so much more thrilling. Working with her best friend was tremendous fun, and detective work was always exciting. She’d soon discovered she loved undercover work: it was rather like acting, but without the footlights or greasepaint, the smoke and mirrors. She had to use all her charm, her instincts and her quick brain – and it satisfied her like nothing else.
Now, here she was: co-owner of Taylor & Rose, the detective agency she and Sophie had founded together. The agency had been in business just over two years, and their most important client was the Secret Service Bureau.
The Bureau was a top-secret government agency, responsible for intelligence work. Since Taylor & Rose had been hired by the Bureau, their lives – which had already been rather interesting – had become very interesting indeed. Earlier that year, Lil had been sent on an assignment to a royal castle, where she’d discovered a plot to kidnap the prince and princess of Arnovia, helped them escape, and then foiled a second kidnap attempt in Paris with Sophie’s help. It had all been as exciting as the plot of a shilling shocker on a railway station bookstall.
Since she’d returned to London, things had been less thrilling – though still very busy. The Chief had put her to work investigating the dragon paintings by the artist Benedetto Casselli, which they now knew contained clues to the location of a mysterious hidden weapon. The shadowy secret society known as the Fraternitas Draconum were trying to find the weapon and use it to kick start a war in Europe – and they must do all they could to prevent them.
Lil knew that Sophie was just as intent on stopping the Fraternitas as she was. It had been Sophie who had encouraged them to form the Loyal Order of Lions, to oppose the Fraternitas and their schemes. The Order had no official leader, but if they had, it would certainly have been Sophie. Lil smiled to herself, thinking that whilst a small, politely spoken seventeen-year-old girl might not be most people’s idea of a strong leader, Sophie would have surprised them. She was unshakeable in her determination to stop the Fraternitas.
Of course, that wasn’t so surprising when you knew Sophie’s history. Not only had the Fraternitas put her in mortal danger more than once, they had also been responsible for the deaths of Sophie’s parents. It was because of them that she had been left all alone in the world.
Lil couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be so alone. She’d never experienced a loss like Sophie’s. She’d spent her whole life surrounded by people: Mother and Father, of course, even if they never did know quite what to make of her; her bossy older brother Jack, who she loved and who infuriated her in equal measure; and dozens of friends. She’d always found it easy to make friends wherever she went – at school, in the theatre, and now even with a prince and princess. But she’d never had a friend who understood her like Sophie did.
It had been three months since she’d waved her off on the airfield in Paris. Three months since she’d been back in London, without her. Three months of
missing her – a horrid feeling, like a stomach ache. It seemed so wrong that she wasn’t here: pacing up and down the office they shared, thinking out an assignment; leafing through the newspapers she read every day; or chatting over tea and cakes at Lyons Corner House, where they talked about everything from their latest cases, to the merits of a new hat.
But Lil knew Sophie was where she needed to be – following the trail of a stolen notebook, which contained vital information about the dragon paintings and the secret weapon. She’d be back in London soon enough, and they’d be together again. Until then, Lil would do everything she could to help with the investigation.
Inside the building, she told the concierge she was here to see ‘Mr Clarke’, and then ran up the stairs, through a door marked with a small card reading: CLARKE & SONS SHIPPING AGENTS. A few minutes later, she was in the Chief’s office, laying the painting before him.
‘Well! Miss Rose, you have outdone yourself!’ exclaimed C, with a delighted chuckle. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable while I admire it. My word – The Red Dragon at last. So full of malevolence – really, quite horrifying!’
Lil took the chair opposite his desk, glancing around her as she always did when she was in C’s office. There were so many intriguing things to look at – the enormous gramophone in the corner, currently booming out a Glinka opera, the big map studded with pins and coloured flags, and the elaborate ink stand, filled with the bright green ink that the Chief always used.
‘Carruthers!’ C called out.
Almost at once, the office door banged open and C’s secretary came in. Captain Carruthers was a tall thin young man, with horn-rimmed spectacles and a rather sour expression.
‘Ah, Carruthers – you’ll like this!’ the Chief went on genially. ‘Look what clever Miss Rose has delivered to us! Isn’t she splendid? Now then – if you would take it, see it’s wrapped properly, and put it into the safe? Very good – careful with it now, there’s a good fellow!’
Carruthers threw Lil a glance that suggested he thought her anything but splendid, nodded to the Chief, picked up the painting and stalked back out of the room. As usual, C did not seem to notice his assistant’s bad temper: he was busy rummaging amongst one of the tottering piles of paper on his desk. After a moment, he found the document he was looking for, and set it before him with a flourish.
C placed a large green-ink tick beside the words ‘The Red Dragon’ and scribbled beside it ‘found in the possession of Sir E. Grenville’.
‘So Sir Edwin must be a member of the Fraternitas Draconum,’ said Lil.
‘It would seem so,’ said the Chief. ‘What about the other fellow – the man you saw him with. Was he anyone you recognised?’
Lil shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ There hadn’t been much to distinguish him – just a smart, middle-aged man with grey hair. ‘But I did wonder if Sir Edwin was going to show him the painting. That might have been how he discovered it was missing so soon. Which would suggest that the other man is Fraternitas too, wouldn’t it?’
‘Very likely,’ said the Chief, scribbling this down. ‘This is most pleasing, Miss Rose. You’ve done an admirable job for us. Now, if you will see Captain Carruthers on your way out, I’d appreciate it if you could give him a description of the second man. Also the location of Grenville’s safe, and the combination of course. You never know when that might come in handy! Then off you go and enjoy a well earned rest.’
A rest? ‘Don’t you need me to do anything else?’ Lil asked, her eyes flicking to the other paintings on the Chief’s list, marked ‘under investigation’ or even more tantalisingly, ‘unknown’.
But the Chief just smiled blandly and said: ‘Nothing for the moment, Miss Rose. You’ll hear from us again as soon as we have a new assignment for you.’
Lil got to her feet, but before she left she had to ask the same question she always asked whenever she came to the Bureau – even though she knew she wasn’t really supposed to. ‘Have you heard anything from Sophie lately? Is she all right?’
The Chief gave her a kindly smile. ‘Miss Taylor? Of course, my dear. Nothing to worry about on that score. Now then – run along. Good day!’
Lil left the Chief humming along to his music. She suspected he thought it was sentimental and a little silly, the way she asked about Sophie; and yet she always felt reassured to hear that all was well. She knew she shouldn’t expect to get letters or messages from Sophie while she was travelling undercover – after all, she herself hadn’t been allowed to send any when she’d been in Arnovia – but it was good to know she was all right and that her assignment was going according to plan.
Outside the Chief’s office door, she found not Carruthers, but instead Captain Harry Forsyth – tall, bronzed and handsome. Forsyth was one of the top agents of the Secret Service Bureau, and it wasn’t long since he and Lil had been on assignment together in Paris and Arnovia. Now he gave her a charming smile: ‘Oh hello, old girl! Didn’t realise it was you in there with the Chief. Ripping to see you, as always!’
‘Hello, Forsyth,’ said Lil cheerfully. ‘Isn’t Carruthers back yet?’ For once, the secretary’s desk was empty.
‘Not in the least idea, I’m afraid. I s’pose he must have popped out on some errand or other. Well, I’d simply love to chat, but I mustn’t keep the old man waiting!’ He gave her a quick wink, then swaggered forward into C’s office, without knocking. Inside, Lil heard the Chief say warmly: ‘Ah, Forsyth! In you come – I’ve a great deal to acquaint you with!’
For a moment, Lil lingered by the door. She knew that the Chief took Forsyth into his confidence, sharing with him many details of the confidential operations of the Bureau. She and Sophie, on the other hand, were kept at arm’s length, knowing nothing of the Bureau’s bigger plans beyond their own assignments. It was frustrating when she knew that she was just as smart and dedicated as Forsyth – who as a matter of fact had spent most of their last assignment in Paris enjoying the city’s night spots. Now, she wondered if she might catch a few words of their conversation, but she could hear nothing except the vague buzz of voices, and the hum of the gramophone. She gave up and wandered to the window: Carruthers would surely be back at any moment, and if he returned to find her listening at the Chief’s door, she knew he would be simply unbearable about it.
She flopped down into Carruthers’ chair to wait for him, glancing around at his typewriter, his notebooks, and the stubs of pencils that littered his desk. She helped herself to a biscuit from his tin, and then leaned back, putting her feet up on his desk in the style of Carruthers’ usual pose. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she practised saying, in what she thought was rather a good imitation of his sardonic manner.
As she did so, she noticed something interesting. On the wall, just beside Carruthers’ chair, there was a small air vent with a slatted metal cover – except three of the screws that should have held the cover in place were missing. Experimentally, she gave it a little push: at once the cover smoothly pivoted to the side. To her amazement, she realised that through the open vent, she could now hear, quite clearly, Forsyth and the Chief talking in the next room.
Well! Lil grinned as she settled back more comfortably in Carruthers’ chair. How jolly intriguing! Perhaps like herself, Carruthers did not care to be excluded from important conversations and had found his own way to listen in.
The Chief was saying: ‘I’ve had a message from our man in Hamburg. His report is ready.’
‘That’s the fellow known as Ace?’ Forsyth asked. There was the flick of pages, as though he was looking at some paperwork. ‘The one who sent all that information on shipbuilding that Admiral Stevens was so keen on?’
‘That’s the one. He’s one of our most valuable overseas agents. But he’s got some concerns about getting the report out of Germany. A couple of Ziegler’s spies have been sniffing around.’
Lil listened intently, as she absent-mindedly crunched another of Carruthers’ biscuits. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesd
ropping, but she was fascinated. She’d had no idea the Bureau had agents stationed in the German Empire – although now she saw that if the German spymaster Ziegler had agents gathering intelligence in Britain, then of course the Chief would want his own agents doing the same in Germany.
‘I can’t risk losing Ace. You know that our top priority is to give the government advance warning when war breaks out – and I’m relying on Ace and his counterparts elsewhere in Germany for that information,’ C was saying.
‘But we don’t know for certain that there will be a war, do we, sir?’ asked Forsyth.
‘Of course we don’t know for certain. But there’s no doubt that war is hanging over Europe like a shadow. It will only take the smallest action to inflame it – one spark to ignite the dynamite.’ The Chief paused for a moment and sighed. ‘The consequences of a modern European war would be unthinkable, so I hope very much that spark will never come. But if it does, we must be prepared, and for that, we will need Ace. I can’t risk him being caught by Ziegler – and yet, Stevens does want that report . . .’
‘Ought I to go out there, sir?’ suggested Forsyth eagerly. ‘We could arrange a handover. I could travel to Hamburg in disguise, collect the report and smuggle it out of the country.’
‘I’m afraid your assignment here must take priority for now, Captain. But just the same, you’re right – I believe I’ll have to send someone to collect it.’
‘What about Brooks? He’s a sharp fellow.’
‘No good – he’s on assignment too. If only the Ministry would see fit to increase our budget, so we could recruit some more agents. We are stretched in ten different directions at present!’ He paused, and then said thoughtfully: ‘No, I rather think I shall give this assignment to Miss Rose.’
‘Miss Rose!’ Forsyth’s tone was incredulous. ‘But sir – are you sure that’s wise? I know she’s a fine girl, but surely she isn’t up to this kind of assignment?’
Spies in St. Petersburg Page 2