The Shadow Queen

by Rebecca Dean

  At last Pamela said, “Everyone was dancing when the maroons went off …”

  “Maroons?”

  “Big guns that signaled a Zeppelin raid was imminent. Freda Dudley Ward and the gentleman friend who was escorting her were crossing Belgrave Square and sought shelter at the nearest house, which, fate being what it is, just happened to be the Kerr-Smileys’ house.”

  They sidestepped a woman walking two poodles.

  “Maud’s husband introduced Freda and her companion to the prince, and the instant he set eyes on Freda he was a lost soul.”

  “But why?” Once again Wallis was bewildered. “Is she stunningly beautiful?”

  “No, though she’s pretty enough. The advantage Freda has over me is that she’s dark-haired—Edward nearly always goes for women who are dark-haired—and even in high heels she’s tiny.”

  Wallis blinked.

  Pamela laughed and gave a shrug of a silk-clad shoulder. “If you’ve seen him in the flesh, then you’ll know how slightly built he is and that he’s no more than five feet five—if that. I’m five feet six and that evening I was wearing heels. If anything was the nail in my coffin where Edward was concerned, it was those high heels. He immediately asked Freda to dance—she barely reaches his shoulder—and he’s been dancing with her ever since. Tarquin says he’s absolutely besotted by her and now he never looks at another woman.”

  “What about you? Does he still speak to you?”

  “Whenever we meet at parties or dinners he simply behaves as if all his adoring letter writing to me had never happened. Which is, I suppose, something to be grateful for, because if he had begun ignoring me completely, John Jasper would have wanted to know why. Have you been following his tours of the empire? In Buenos Aires a choir of fifty thousand children greeted him with ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales,’ all of which they had laboriously memorized in English, and in Delhi he made a speech in Hindustani that he had laboriously memorized, and in South Africa he shook so many hands that his right hand swelled to the size of a balloon and he had to shake hands with his left.”

  “I read about his ticker-tape reception in New York and that the running boards of his car were trampled away by crowds determined to get nearer to him.”

  “It’s the same wherever he goes, Wallis. He is without doubt the most eligible man on the planet.” She gave a wry laugh. “And I let him slip through my fingers. Anyway, that’s enough about Edward. I want to know all about Felipe. You’re obviously going to get a divorce from Win, and when you do, do you think Felipe will step up to the plate and propose?”

  As they neared the green open spaces of the National Mall, Wallis told her that where Felipe was concerned, she certainly had hopes.

  “Though he’s a Roman Catholic and I’m an Episcopalian, which makes things a bit tricky.”

  “You could always convert.”

  Wallis shot her a wry grin. “For a man who looks like Rudolph Valentino, it’s something I’ll certainly consider.”

  They both cracked with laughter—laughter that filled the entire day along with secrets and confidences.

  Pamela told Wallis that before his infatuation with her, the only person publicly known to have been important in Prince Edward’s life was Lady Coke. “Who is nearly old enough to be his mother,” she had added. “And knowing Marian Coke—as I now do—I’d be surprised if there was any bedroom hanky-panky in their relationship. However, I do have a very strong suspicion that there was someone else in his life before Marian.”

  She told Wallis about the Houghton family and of the bust Lily Houghton had sculpted of Prince Edward when he was seventeen and a cadet at Dartmouth Naval College.

  “The thing is, Wally,” she had said as they had stepped out of the elevator at the top of the monument, “according to Lord May, the Houghton girls’ grandfather, who is slightly gaga and probably told me a great deal more than he should have, not only did Edward visit them every time he traveled between Dartmouth and Windsor Castle, but there was no ‘Your Royal Highness’ or ‘Sir’ business with them. To them he was David, the name by which he’s known within his family, and that, Wally, is extraordinary. Even when Edward was writing to me as his ‘Dearest Angel’ he never invited me to call him David—and Marian Coke says she was never given that privilege either.”

  “So which of the Houghton sisters do you think he was romantically involved with?”

  Pamela had looked out at the dizzying view and said without a shadow of doubt: “Lily, the youngest. The one who sculpted his image and whom I’ve never met. Rose is far too schoolmistressy for someone as unacademically minded as Edward, and of her two other sisters, the one who is now the film star Marietta des Vaux would have scared him to death, and the other is far too plain.”

  Ever after that conversation, whenever Wallis saw a movie featuring Marietta des Vaux, she thought of the Houghton family and wondered if Lily Houghton really had been the first love in Prince Edward’s life.

  Felipe had chided her for listening to gossip he doubted could possibly be true.

  It was John Jasper who convinced her that it was. “Mention Prince Edward in front of Rose and she not only goes very silent, she also goes very still. It’s a most odd reaction in a woman as straight-talking as Rose. Of all the friends Pamela made in England, Rose Houghton was the one I liked the best.”

  He also said to her one day when they found themselves alone together for a few moments at a party, “I never meant to hurt you, Wallis. I behaved very dishonorably. The devil of it is, I can’t regret doing so because though Pamela can be exasperating and self-absorbed to the point where I want to shake her till her teeth rattle, there’s something very special between the two of us.”

  “I know.” She had touched his hand with deep affection. “I was hurt. It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t. I got over it, though. Now all I want is for us to be friends.”

  “We’ll always be friends, Wallis.” There was a throb of deep sincerity in his voice, and then he lightened the moment by adding wryly, “That is, of course, unless you hit me over the head with a pencil box again!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  With Pamela and John Jasper in Washington and with an ever-widening social circle, Wallis had never been happier. Everything, especially her love life, was perfect. Felipe was a tender and imaginative lover, and, in a city where such things mattered, as first secretary to the Argentinean ambassador he had entrée to Washington’s most glamorous receptions and balls.

  Always, when he attended such events, she was by his side. Coupled with the high-society parties Pamela and John Jasper gave—and at which she was always a guest—it was a heady mixture, and Wallis loved every minute of it.

  When Henry Mustin was also posted to Washington, bringing Corinne with him, the only thing marring what would have been utter perfection was that she was no nearer to obtaining a divorce. There were two reasons. The first was that in far-off Hong Kong, Win was being mean-mindedly uncooperative about a divorce, and the second was that she simply didn’t have the kind of money that a divorce would cost.

  As she laughed and, with Felipe, loved her way through 1923, her lack of a divorce didn’t seem to matter much. Washington wasn’t hidebound Baltimore. That she was a married woman enjoying a blatant affair outraged some society matrons, but as no one wished to ostracize Felipe or the Bachmans, no one ostracized her. Standards that had been set in concrete before the war were set in concrete no longer. It was now the Roaring Twenties. Pleasure was everyone’s first priority, and it was a priority that suited Wallis perfectly.

  At the end of the year, just as she was making plans for a family Christmas with her mother and Aunt Bessie and a party-filled New Year with Felipe and Pamela and John Jasper, she received a telephone call asking her if she would meet with Harry W. Smith, a chief clerk at naval headquarters. Though she asked for more information, no further information was forthcoming.

  “So, who is Harry W. Smith?” she asked Corinne. “I can�
�t not go in case it’s something to do with the allowance I’m still given as a Navy wife.”

  Corinne raised her hands expressively to show that she hadn’t a clue.

  Henry said he hadn’t a clue either, but when Wallis told him of just whereabouts at naval headquarters the meeting was to take place, he said, “Whatever his reason for seeing you, it isn’t going to be about your allowance, Wallis. The address you’ve been given is that of naval intelligence headquarters.”

  Sure that some kind of farcical error had been made, Wallis set off for her appointment a few days later, more amused than anxious.

  It was an amusement that soon turned into incredulity.

  Harry W. Smith didn’t beat about the bush as to why he wished to see her. Steepling his fingers together, he said, “It is naval custom to occasionally use trusted Navy wives as unofficial couriers, Mrs. Spencer. You would, of course, have to be given intelligence clearing, but a highly placed officer has indicated you are suited for such a task and, as your husband is at present stationed in Hong Kong, you are also ideally placed.”

  Wallis’s head whirled. Was Henry the “highly placed officer,” and what did he mean about her being “ideally placed”?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, trying not to betray how deeply bewildered she was, “but I have no idea what being a courier entails.”

  “In your case, Mrs. Spencer, it would entail carrying classified documents to highly placed personnel in both Hong Kong and mainland China, doing so under the cover of joining your husband—though whether you actually do so is immaterial.”

  “I thought China was too unsafe for Navy wives to be sent there?”

  “It is.” His steepled fingers interlocked and he rested his chin on them, steel gray eyes holding hers. “It is the dangerous situation out there that necessitates the use of couriers. At the present time all telegraph messages transmitted to the U.S. Navy in China are being intercepted and read, and the ciphers broken. It is a difficulty that has to be circumvented. If you accept this challenge, Mrs. Spencer, you will have to travel from Hong Kong to Shanghai and Canton—possibly even to Peking. In a country that is in the grip of a brutal civil war, such travel will not be easy, and your safety cannot be assured.”

  Wallis struggled as to how to make the right kind of reply. The thought of physical danger didn’t daunt her. What daunted her was the knowledge that Felipe would be highly unlikely to remain faithful to her if she left for China—especially since she would be sworn to secrecy.

  Harry W. Smith unlocked his fingers and leaned back in his chair, his gimlet-sharp eyes never leaving hers.

  “Once in Hong Kong you wouldn’t be traveling out to Shanghai alone, Mrs. Spencer. Mary Sadler, the wife of Rear Admiral Frank H. Sadler, will be traveling with you and, when your mission is completed, there is an old friend from your Pensacola days, the former Katherine Bigelow, who is at present living in Peking and would love you to spend time with her and her second husband, Herman Rogers.”

  Slowly Wallis said, “I’m honored that I’ve been thought trustworthy enough to act as a courier, but I intend to institute divorce proceedings against my husband very shortly and, when they are finalized, to remarry. A lengthy mission to China just isn’t possible for me.”

  He hadn’t argued with her. He had merely walked her to the door and bidden her a clipped good-bye.

  She’d returned home deeply bemused. It wasn’t every day a woman was asked to act as an intelligence agent. She wished she could tell Felipe about it. That she couldn’t, and couldn’t tell anyone else about it either, was something she was going to find intensely annoying.

  When she arrived home, Corinne was waiting for her.

  “Hi, Skinny,” she said to her even before she had put her handbag down. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She stubbed a half-smoked cigarette out into a cut-glass ashtray. “You’re not goin’ to like what it is.”

  Wallis took off a hat that perfectly matched her navy silk dress. “Tell me the worst. It can’t be so bad.”

  “It is.”

  At the tone of Corinne’s voice, Wallis frowned. “What is it about? Henry hasn’t been taken ill, has he?”

  “No. It’s not about Henry. It’s about Felipe. There’s no easy way of saying this, Wally. He’s seeing someone else. He’s dating Courtney Letts Stilwell, and according to Courtney he’s asked her to marry him.”

  For a second Wallis felt as if her heart had ceased to beat, and then realization as to the absurdity of what Corinne was telling her kicked in. “Never in a million years, Corinne. Courtney Letts Stilwell has been divorced twice.” There was amusement in her voice. “Felipe is a Catholic. He might, with a lot of persuasion, overlook one divorce, but he’d never overlook two!”

  Corinne didn’t share her amusement. “Courtney Letts Stilwell is a wealthy woman, Skinny. You might find that counts for a lot where Felipe is concerned.”

  At the certainty in Corinne’s voice, Wallis’s own certainty began to ebb. With legs that were suddenly weak, she sat down.

  “When are you due to see him again, honey?”

  “Tomorrow night. There’s a party at the Brazilian embassy.”

  “Don’t confront him at the party, Skinny. Even if what Courtney is saying isn’t true, Felipe would never forgive you for creating a public scene.”

  Wallis’s violet blue eyes flashed fire. “If it’s true, Corinne, it’s something I’m never going to forgive. Not ever!”

  When Felipe called for her the next night in his six-cylinder Buick, she was as tightly wound as a coiled spring. Alice was present and so he didn’t kiss her in the house, but the instant they were together in the car he did so.

  As her hand curved around the back of his neck and her mouth parted beneath his, she was taut with fear as to what the next few moments were going to bring.

  Sensing her tension, he lifted his head from hers. “What is it, mi querida? Is something wrong?”

  Her heart began beating in sharp, slamming little strokes she could feel even in her fingertips. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  He shot her a down-slanting smile that turned her knees to water. “Then if you don’t know, it cannot be too serious.”

  He put the Buick into gear and eased it away from the apartment block.

  Her hands tightened on her beaded evening purse. “Corinne passed on some gossip to me yesterday that she says is quite widespread.”

  “Washington is a city of gossip,” he said, his voice lightly dismissive. “What is the latest rumor going the rounds?”

  Feeling like a vertigo sufferer on the edge of an abyss, she said, “That you’ve proposed marriage to Courtney Letts Stilwell.”

  The Buick veered violently to the left. He righted it, a nerve pulsing hard at the corner of his jaw.

  Her whole life felt as if it were on the line as she waited for him to rant at the stupidity of the gossipmongers, to vehemently deny that he’d ever been anything more than socially polite to Courtney Letts Stilwell.

  He didn’t do so.

  Instead, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, he said explosively, “Jesucristo! Can people never mind their own business in this town?”

  He swerved the car to the side of the road, slamming his foot down on the brake. “It was something I wanted to speak to you about in a reasonable way, Wallis. That you should have heard like this … It’s despicable. Absolutely unforgivable.”

  “Are you telling me that it’s true?” She was over the edge of the abyss now, falling into a bottomless pit.

  With the Buick at a halt, he turned around in order to face her. “We couldn’t have gone on together indefinitely, mi querida. I’m thirty-five. I’m getting to be a bit too old to remain a bachelor any longer.”

  “Then marry me, not Courtney! It’s me you love, isn’t it?”

  “You are married, Wallis. How could we marry? You would have to get a divorce, and I’m a Roman Catholic …”

  “Cou
rtney Letts Stilwell has been divorced twice!” Wallis was blind, deaf, and dumb with pain. “Why her? Why her and not me?”

  He ran a hand over slickly sleek straight hair. “Courtney comes from a famous political and military family …”

  “I come from one of the oldest families in America! William the Conqueror was one of my ancestors! I’m related to the Dukes of Manchester and the Earls of Sandwich! You’re not marrying Courtney Letts Stilwell because of her family background! You’re marrying her because she’s wealthy!”

  He flinched, and she knew her guess was right. Something inside her snapped and broke. Where matters of the heart were concerned she’d been let down too hard, too often. That she was now being let down again, simply because she didn’t have the wealth her Warfield cousins enjoyed, was something so hurtful she couldn’t even begin to deal with it.

  “Bastard!” she sobbed, her hand shooting out clawlike toward his face.

  He tried to duck but wasn’t fast enough.

  Her nails made contact with his cheek and raked downward in a bloody trail.

  “Perá!” he screamed disbelievingly as he scrabbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to stanch the blood. “Puta!”

  Wallis wasn’t listening. Blinded by tears, she stumbled from the car and, with the door swinging open behind her, began running as fast as her narrow-skirted evening gown would allow.

  He didn’t come after her, and she didn’t need a fortune-teller to tell her that he never would.

  A cab turned into the street, and she flagged it down. The address she gave the driver was Pamela’s. Sinking back against the cracked leather seating, she prayed she would find Pamela at home, certain that if she didn’t she’d be tempted to throw herself into the Potomac from the highest bridge she could find.

  At the elegant town house Pamela and John Jasper had moved into, an English butler opened the door to her. “Good evening, Mrs. Spencer,” he said cordially. “I will tell Mrs. Bachman you are here.”

  When she was told who had unexpectedly arrived, Pamela, who was in her bedroom dressing for the evening, didn’t ask that Wallis wait in the drawing room for her. Severing the in-house telephone connection, she ran, still shoeless, out onto the landing and from the top of the wide sweeping staircase called down, “Come on up, Wally! John Jasper isn’t in. I’m due to meet him at the Brazilian embassy party in half an hour. Are you on your way there as well?”