The 9

by Madalyn Morgan

  Work orders came in from Bletchley and Beaumanor as normal. The work was done and delivered on time as it always had been – Mr Silcott and Ena by train to Bletchley, Freda by car to Beaumanor.

  The day-to-day production of discs and rotors, wires and X-boards, carried on as usual. It was important that nothing appeared to be different. To all intents and purposes, nothing had changed – and yet everything had changed. Freda was no longer the last person to check her work; that was done early on Friday morning by Ena, when she had finished reading Freda’s correspondence.

  At the beginning of Freda’s second week back at work after she’d been ill, a letter arrived for her in the second post. ‘It’s from Walter,’ she said. ‘He’s coming home on leave. After all this time fighting in France, he’s coming home,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion.

  As she read on in silence, Ena watched the colour drain from her face. ‘I need to take a day off next week. Do you think Herbert will agree to it? He must.’ She leapt from her chair and went over to his desk to check the work diary.

  Ena followed, and standing at Freda’s shoulder, looked at the diary with her. ‘I’m sure he will if you tell him how much it would mean to you to see your brother.’

  Every nerve-end in Ena’s body tightened. Was this what she and Commander Dalton had been waiting for? Did it mean Freda, her brother, and the Villiers character were on the move? ‘What date will he be arriving, exactly?’ Freda didn’t reply. ‘Be nice if you were there when he got home, wouldn’t it?’ Ena held her breath fearing that she had said too much, asked too many questions.

  ‘Yes,’ Freda said, ‘it would be nice. I’ll ask Herbert if I can have next Friday off.’ Freda returned to her seat and put the letter in her handbag. ‘I’ll write and tell my uncle later. He’ll be so pleased. Walter is his favourite.’

  Before she went home that evening, Ena telephoned Commander Dalton. She told him about the letter from Freda’s brother, relaying verbatim what Freda had told her. ‘Which,’ Ena said, ‘I didn’t believe was true. I think Freda only told me what she wanted me to know, so I’ll help her to get next Friday off. She said she was going to write to her uncle in Northampton. If she does, and if she brings the letter in to post with the factory’s mail, I’ll get my friendly postie to let me have it. I’ll say it’s mine, and I need to amend something.’ The commander didn’t reply. ‘I’ve done it before, sir.’ There was a long pause. ‘Are you there, Commander?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was another pause. ‘Don’t intercept the letter. I agree that she didn’t tell you the truth about its contents. For a start, her brother isn’t coming home on leave after fighting in France, or anywhere else, because he has never been in the armed forces. According to our intelligence, neither of them have crossed the Channel since arriving in England five years ago.’

  ‘Perhaps the letter wasn’t from her brother. If it had been, wouldn’t she have put it in the drawer with his other letters?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I’m sure it was from Walter King. She is too canny to leave it where you, or anyone else, could read it. And I don’t believe she will write to her uncle. News as important as your long lost brother coming home from the war, you’d want to share more quickly; you’d telephone or send a telegram. No, all that was to make the story more feasible. Sounds to me as if she’s feeding you misinformation.’

  Ena suddenly felt very hot. ‘Do you think she’s on to me?’ she asked, trying not to panic.

  ‘No. She hasn’t done or said anything to make me think that. Something in that letter has got her rattled. She’ll be on her guard with everyone, so be careful what you ask her. I’m sure she still trusts you, she has no reason not to, but I expect she’ll only tell you what she wants you to know; what she wants you to tell Herbert Silcott.’

  ‘Like which day she wants off?’

  ‘Exactly. Which makes me wonder if it really is this weekend that she plans to leave.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to look at the letter? If she does write to her uncle, she’s bound to tell him the real date.’ A thought hit Ena and she groaned loudly. ‘How could I be so stupid?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘H. Villiers. He’s Freda’s uncle. Don’t you see, sir? If I could see that letter--’

  ‘No! And that’s an order! It’s too dangerous, Ena. You’ve done enough. Go about your business as normal. If she asks you to go to lunch, a dance, or to the damn cinema, go with her. You are her friend; someone she trusts. Don’t do anything to make her think that has changed. And be careful. Freda King is a dangerous woman. Dangerous!’ Commander Dalton, repeated. ‘I’ll telephone in a couple of days. By then I’ll know what MI5 plans to do to catch these vermin.’

  Vermin? Was Freda vermin? Ena supposed the commander had every right to call her so, if she were a German spy. And dangerous? After being given drugs on the train, which could have killed her, Ena felt sick just thinking about what might happen if Freda found out she was spying on her and, through the commander, reporting back to MI5.

  Ena put the telephone receiver on its cradle and went over to her chair. She sat down, put her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on linked fingers. It was hard to think of Freda as a spy. She had led a double life for as long as Ena had known her, longer. And German? Everything about Freda was so English. She spoke perfect English. Her clothes and identity papers, even her engineering qualifications were English.

  Ena looked across at Freda’s empty chair with a heavy heart. They had been friends for almost as long as they had worked together – and their friendship had extended beyond the factory gates. Tears pricked the back of Ena’s eyes as she brought to mind the times they had been shopping together, been to dances, to the pictures. And now it all counted for nothing, because everything about Freda was a lie.

  Suddenly Ena’s hands flew to her mouth. Freda had been with her when she killed the man on the train. She had dealt with the man’s corpse, positioning it to look as if the man was asleep. She had been kind and understanding, helping her to come to terms with what she had done. Ena took a shuddering breath. Freda had kept her terrible secret, but under interrogation it was bound to come out.

  Ena banished all thoughts of the man she had killed from her mind. She would face the consequences of her actions, of that fateful day, when the time came. Until then she must focus on the job she had to do, which was to expose Freda King, her brother Walter, and the man they called H. Villiers as spies.

  Their friendship, if there had ever been any substance to it on Freda’s part, was over and Ena was not going to let fear nor sentimentality stop her from playing her part in getting Freda King, her brother and uncle arrested for treason.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Wondering if she could pull off the deception, Ena walked into Bletchley station amidst a gaggle of young women who, by their excited conversation, were going to London to celebrate one of their birthdays. Ena followed them along the southbound platform, hanging back as they neared the buffet. Two elderly women were leaving. Before the door closed behind them, Ena slipped inside.

  Crossing the room, she saw a man look up from his newspaper. She glanced at him briefly. He gave a short nod. Ena didn’t acknowledge him but opened the door leading to the northbound platform and made her exit.

  Outside, she turned right, ignored the Out of Order sign on the door of the Ladies Toilet, entered, and was greeted by Commander Dalton and the two intelligence officers who had briefed her earlier. She let out a long shuddering breath, closed the door, and leant against it.

  ‘Freda’s clothes, or as good as,’ one of them said, handing Ena a brown leather hanging suitcase, the kind used for transporting military uniforms. Ena took it and went into the nearest cubicle to change.

  The grey suit was the same fabric and colour as one she had seen Freda wear but not quite the same style. The seamstress who had copied it had nipped the waistline in a little too much, making the bottom of the jacket flair more t
han was fashionable. Ena tugged gently on the lapels of the jacket. It fitted perfectly.

  She took her feet from her own shoes one at a time and slipped them into a pair identical to Freda’s. They were an inch higher than Ena was used to wearing, and narrower. She wiggled her toes. They were a snug fit but not uncomfortably tight. It didn’t matter, she would be sitting down in them.

  ‘Hat?’ one of the security men said as Ena opened the toilet door, and handed her a red beret.

  ‘She was wearing the beret then?’ Ena asked. Putting on the hat, she pulled it slightly, so it tilted over her left eye, the way she remembered Freda wearing it.

  ‘Yes. We brought a selection just in case, but she was wearing the one her brother asked her to wear.’

  ‘We’re not sure that they are brother and sister,’ Commander Dalton said. ‘There were only two bedrooms in the uncle’s house – one not much bigger than a box room – and by look of the clothes in the small wardrobe, it was her uncle’s bedroom. The other room, much bigger, had a double wardrobe with men’s and women’s clothes in it, and a double bed.’

  ‘How do you know all this? More importantly, how do you know Freda won’t be on the train?’ The second she asked the question, Ena regretted it. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘Best you don’t know,’ the commander said with a wry smile. ‘Right! Are you ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ Ena said. Pulling on a pair of pale grey gloves, she took a black handbag from the security officer. ‘Don’t forget these,’ he said. He handed Ena an umbrella and laid a light grey coat over her arm.

  When the officer stepped back, Commander Dalton stepped forward. He put his hands on Ena’s shoulders and bent down until his face was level with hers. ‘You’re sure you want to do this?’ Ena nodded. ‘That’s the ticket. You won’t be on your own,’ he assured her. ‘Someone will be with you every step of the way. You may not see him or her but they’ll be there.’

  ‘And,’ the security officer said, ‘We are ninety-nine percent sure that the spies in Freda and Walter King’s cell system would have gone to ground as soon as she told them her cover had been compromised. And she must have thought she’d been found out, or why would she leave so suddenly for Ireland?’

  Ena looked from one to the other of the men standing before her. ‘And the one percent? Freda bought three tickets for the ferry, so presumably she’d have bought three tickets for the train. Doesn’t that mean someone, maybe two members of the spy ring, will be joining her at some point?’

  Commander Dalton nodded. ‘It looks that way. There was a lot of conflicting correspondence after you found the ferry tickets. We’re not sure how much of it was real and how much was a smokescreen. MI5 intercepted what they think was Freda’s last letter to Walter. She changed the travel arrangements, telling him that she wouldn’t be on the train, she would see him in Liverpool.’

  ‘He didn’t receive that letter,’ the security officer said. ‘Whether she telephoned him…’

  ‘But as far as we know,’ Ena said, ‘Walter thinks Freda will be on the train wearing the red beret he asked her to wear, the last time he wrote to her?’ The three men nodded. ‘And what about Villiers, the man the third ferry ticket to Ireland is for?’

  The second intelligence officer looked at the commander who nodded. ‘We’re not concerned about him. If Freda King wrote to Walter telling him to meet her in Liverpool, chances are she’d have written to Villiers too. But we don’t have his address, so we don’t know.’

  When the train pulled into the station, Ena shook hands with Commander Dalton and the intelligence officers. They wished her luck. ‘From now on you are Freda King, looking forward to seeing your brother Walter,’ the commander said.

  ‘If you’re ready, Miss King?’ the officer said, to which Ena smiled and, holding the umbrella as Freda always did, she walked purposefully out of the Ladies toilet and along the platform. She wobbled once on Freda’s high-heels, but recovered immediately.

  In case she was being watched by any of Freda’s co-conspirators, Ena kept her head down and boarded the train without looking back. If Freda’s brother, lover, or anyone else was looking out of the train’s window, Ena was not going to make it easy for them to see that the elegant woman in the charcoal grey suit and red beret was not Freda.

  Squeezing past several soldiers in the crowded corridor, she finally arrived at the last compartment in the first class carriage. She pulled open the door. There was an empty seat on the right of the compartment, by the window, and two on the left. Ena took the seat nearest the window on the left.

  Without acknowledging the other passengers, she stood her umbrella next to the window and put her coat and handbag on the seat next to her.

  After a short time, Ena heard the hiss and clunk as the train’s brakes released, and felt the locomotive jerk as it began its journey north. She watched the steam and smoke clear as the train left Bletchley for the Buckinghamshire countryside. She began to feel sick and opened the handbag. There were no pear drops, but there was a thin book that Freda had left at Silcott’s, which Ena took from the bag.

  Leaning sideways, so her back was to the door, Ena held the book towards the light from the window and pretended to read.

  Some minutes later, she heard the compartment door slide open. Someone had entered. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, and daren’t lift her head to look. As the new passenger came further into the compartment, Ena glanced at the floor. Men’s shoes. Giving the book her full attention, she heard him drop onto the seat opposite. She breathed a sigh of relief. The seat next to her was still empty. If he had been joining Freda, he would have sat next to her. She relaxed a little. The chances of anyone entering the compartment before the next station were slim.

  The train slowed as it approached Northampton. Ena leant back in her seat. She didn’t want anyone on the platform to see her if they looked into the carriage, in case they saw she wasn’t Freda.

  Ena’s heart drummed with anticipation, but no one left the carriage and no one entered. Putting the book back into her handbag, Ena glanced at the man sitting opposite. Ben? Panic struck at her like a hammer. She couldn’t breathe and felt sick.

  ‘Excuse me, miss? I believe this is yours,’ he said, holding a bookmark in his hand.

  Ena took the narrow piece of card and whispered, ‘It must have fallen from my book when I put it in my handbag. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Ben said politely.

  With her heart pounding, Ena smiled fleetingly at the man she was walking out with, before turning her attention back to the window. As the train sped north and the fields and meadows of Warwickshire melted into the distance, Ena heard someone take a cigarette from a packet, light it, and inhale deeply. Someone else opened a newspaper and a third person left without closing the door.

  Conscious that what happened in the compartment was not her concern unless someone took the seat next to her, Ena continued looking out of the window. Her eyes began to feel heavy and she closed them. Aware that she had slumped sideways and her forehead was touching the window, she began to drift off.

  Somewhere between being awake and being asleep, Ena felt someone tap her on the shoulder. ‘Hello, darling.’

  Opening her eyes, Ena turned towards the voice and gasped with horror.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The man sitting next to Ena, looking at her with blue piercing eyes, was the man who had drugged her and stolen her work, who had attacked Freda, and who Ena had believed for more than two years she had killed.

  The colour drained from the man’s face. He was clearly as shocked to see her wearing Freda’s clothes, as she was to see him alive.

  ‘You look surprised to see me, darling,’ he said. Then, lifting Ena’s hair away from her neck, he put his mouth to her ear. ‘Do you think you can make a fool of me, play me as if I were an imbecile? Where is my sister?’

  ‘Walter?’ Ena stared at Freda King’s brother i
n in disbelief. Make a fool of him? Play him like an imbecile? It was him and Freda who had made a fool of her, setting her up to think she had killed someone. Ena clenched her fists. She was angrier than she had ever been, but she knew she had to stay calm. ‘Let go of my arm or I will scream the place down.’

  ‘Somehow I don’t think you will,’ he said, pulling a knife from his pocket and jerking it in Ben’s direction. ‘Because if you do, you won’t have a heart to give your Yank lover.’

  Ena shot Ben a look. He was miles away gazing out of the window. She glanced at the man sitting next to him, who she thought was military intelligence, he was still reading his newspaper, and the woman next to him had her head down looking for something in her handbag. Not one of them had noticed the man sitting next to her had a knife pressed against her ribs.

  ‘Get up,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’ The muscles in Ena’s body had seized. ‘I can’t…’ Her voice was hardly audible. Then she saw the MI5 man lower his newspaper slightly and nod, once. She was to do as Walter King said.

  ‘I said get up!’ he hissed. ‘If you do not do as I say, I shall stick this knife into your heart.’ Then in a normal voice, ‘You will not feel so sick if you walk around a little.’

  Ena glanced down at the knife. He jabbed it towards her and her stomach churned. Pulling her roughly to her feet, Walter King pushed her towards the door and she stumbled. He put his hand on her shoulder, as if to steady her, and squeezed. The pain was excruciating. Without taking his eyes off her he said, ‘Pick up your bag.’

  Ena did as she was told and took another step. Her mind was racing, thinking of ways to escape. When they were sitting down, the knife was in Walter King’s left hand, visible to Ena, but not to anyone else in the carriage. Now they were standing, surely the people opposite could see it. She looked down at King’s left hand. It was in his coat pocket.