Too Hot for a Spy

by Pearl Wolf

The trainee next to her offered his hand. He was small-boned—mid-twenties, Olivia thought—his high forehead exaggerated by sparse hair. “Name’s Harold Perkins. Well done in fencing, Fairchild. Fourier’s an exacting taskmaster. Praise from him is praise indeed.”

  “Good show, Fairchild. We’re the Reeds. He’s Billy and I’m Bobby. No one can tell us apart so they call us BillyBob.”

  Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Olivia thought, swallowing a giggle. She could look them in the eye, for they were not much taller than she was. They had mischievous eyes as blue as the sky on a cloudless day.

  “Carter here,” said the last man. Well-groomed in spite of the unflattering uniform, Olivia sensed there was something arrogant about him. He seemed to have a smirk on his thin lips when he spoke, as if to underline his superiority. His abundant head of hair was always in place, as was a thin mustache. How old was he? she wondered. She couldn’t tell his age, though he acted as though he was far wiser than the other lads. “You’ve fenced before, haven’t you, Fairchild?”

  Startled by the hostility in his voice, she said, “Yes, it’s true. Do you find fencing difficult, Carter? I find push-ups far more difficult. Tell you what. I’ll fence for you if you do push-ups for me.” The other trainees laughed in appreciation at what they took for a set-down.

  The door to the library opened and the spymaster entered, putting an abrupt end to the laughter and the cameraderie, but not to the loud grumble emanating from Olivia’s stomach.

  “What’s that sound? Did you miss breakfast, Fairchild? Ah, you overslept in spite of my warning, didn’t you? No matter. Have the goodness to silence your rebellious stomach for the next two hours.”

  No one laughed as he’d intended. “That was a jest,” Sebastian said in exasperation.

  Carter laughed, but the others did not join him.

  Olivia’s face burned with shame at what, in her mind at least, clearly amounted to an insult. In a voice full of scorn, she said, “Kind of you to take such an interest in my welfare, sir.”

  If the spymaster felt chastised by the bitterness of her response, he did not show it. He cleared his throat and began. “The gathering of intelligence is an important key to the success of a spy. Another term for this process is espionage, the accumulation of secret information designed to help you forge a suitable plan of action against the enemy.”

  At the spymaster’s dry explanation, Olivia swallowed the laugh threatening to bubble up from within. Hmmph! He has the gall to call “the accumulation of information” intelligence gathering? What nonsense. It’s nothing more than just plain gossip. If he expects me to fail this class, he’ll be terribly disappointed. Intelligence gathering, indeed! I’ve been gossiping ever since I learned to speak the King’s English.

  At noon, when class was dismissed, Olivia followed her classmates to the trainees’ dining room for a hearty meal of mutton stew, bread and cheese, warm apple pie and tea. They served themselves from the sideboard against the far wall and took their seats at a long table in the middle of the room, one or the other rising occasionally to refill their plates.

  Not only did Olivia clean her plate, she rose for a second helping, suffering teasing comments for her pains.

  “Jolly good appetite, Fairchild.”

  “Easy does it, Fairchild. Leave some for us.”

  “That’ll teach you not to miss breakfast, lass.”

  She grinned, pleased, for their good-natured jests signaled acceptance. But what was eating Carter, she wondered when he hadn’t joined in.

  Their first class after the noonday meal was housekeeping, taught by Mrs. Hunnicut. She took the entire group on a tour of the building, from the storage cellar to the attic and above that to the chimneys on the roof. She explained in detail the workings of a large country house, something she knew well, for she had been housekeeper at an earl’s estate in Leeds before she married.

  Heatham was much larger than Wilson Academy, Olivia noted. The procedures were familiar to her, but not to the other men.

  “You will be expected not only to learn the function of every servant in this house, but also to practice their roles. Male trainees will be assigned to spend time as footmen dressed in proper livery, performing tasks such as carrying coal to the chambers, cleaning out the ashes, trimming the lamps, serving meals and the like. It will stand you in good stead should you be required to infiltrate a household for the purpose of espionage.

  “As for you, Fairchild, you will learn to perform the various duties of maids. Their task is to keep the house clean, supply the chambers with water for washing and bathing, and keep the fires going. As a kitchen maid, you will be required to help the cook and as a scullery maid, you will wash dishes, pots and pans, and scrub the floor at the housekeeper’s request. All outdoor tasks will be described to you by the stable master. You may proceed to his class now. Good afternoon.”

  As they filed out, she put a restraining hand on Olivia’s arm. “Fairchild? A moment please.”

  “Yes, ma’am? What is it you wish?”

  “The spymaster has requested that I arrange for you to be clothed properly. Come to my sitting room before you retire this evening, and I’ll take your measurements for the seamstress. She’s one of our under maids and she’s very handy with a needle. Our tanner will measure your feet as well. Those boots are far too large for you.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hunnicut. Thank you, ma’am.” As she hurried off, she couldn’t help but wonder. Could this order mean something more than merely to provide her with suitably fitted clothing and boots? Could the spymaster be softening toward her? Could he have relented and accepted her role? If that were so, she’d have to work hard—harder than the others, perhaps—to reinforce that view.

  The day turned warm and sunny by the time Olivia reported to the stables. The lads were already busy brushing the horses down, feeding them and cleaning their stalls.

  Stable master Tom Deff, a gray-haired, Irish gentleman with a brogue to match, had been an accomplished circus rider in his youth. His innocent blue eyes belied the fact that he could be stern when necessary. “Afternoon, Fairchild. What kept ye?”

  “Mrs. Hunnicut detained me, sir.”

  He looked her up and down as if she were a filly he planned to purchase. “Any experience w’horses?”

  “Yes, sir. My father believed that a rider could not be considered accomplished unless said rider knew how to care for a horse properly. I know how to brush my horse down, feed him, apply a hock when necessary, and clean his stall. My father says I have a good seat—for a woman, that is.”

  Deff laughed heartily. “Yer da’s a man’s man, fer all that he’s a duke. You won’t embarrass him here, I expect. I have a horse for you in mind, lass. He’s young and frisky. Think you can handle him?”

  “What do you think, sir?” she challenged with a smile.

  “I think I’ll wait and see, but if you can bring this fidgety colt to heel, I’ll take me hat off to you.”

  After dinner, the trainees repaired to study hall. There they concentrated on studying the day’s work they were expected to master. The twins put their heads together, but Carter and Perkins sat by themselves.

  Riggs asked, “Shall we study together, Fairchild? Learning’s easier that way. At least for me.”

  “I’d be honored, Riggs. Let’s take that corner so we don’t disturb the others.”

  The two opened their manuals and set to work, turning to one another for explanation over one puzzling point or another. Most questions involved decoding, the most difficult of topics.

  At half past the hour, Olivia said. “I have to leave you now, for I promised to report to Mrs. Hunnicut.” Olivia paused. “A question, Riggs. It’s about fetching wash water in the morning. It took me too long today. That’s why I missed breakfast.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said kindly. “Here’s the trick to it, lass. Fetch the water from the well just before bedtime and heat it to a boil in a kettle in the kitchen—no one’s working there at tha
t hour. When you return to your room, cover it well with a washing cloth. It may not be as hot as you would like by morning, but it will still be comfortably warm.”

  “Good advice. I’ll try it tonight.” She gathered her manuals and began to rise, but Riggs stayed her hand. “What is it?”

  He half rose to whisper in her ear. “Carter’s a toadeater. He reports everything to the spymaster. Be careful what you say in his hearing.”

  “You saw Livy off all right? Where’s she gone to?” the duke demanded of his daughter Helena when she and Edward arrived at Heatham.

  “I don’t know her exact location, Father. A coach came to fetch her away.”

  “So she’s got her wish. In training to be a spy, is she?” he asked bitterly, without expecting any answer. “Much against my wishes.”

  “Don’t raise your voice dear,” said the duchess calmly.

  His Grace bit back a sharp retort. “I’m sorry, Helena, my love. Not your fault. Tell us all you know.”

  “It was all very hush-hush, I fear.” Her eyes lit with amusement.

  “What do you find so funny, child?”

  “My dear parents, if you only knew the half of it. Her new wardrobe filled two coaches, but when a driver came for her, he wouldn’t allow her to take more than one small portmanteau.” She and her mother burst out laughing, for Livy’s fondness for new clothes was well known.

  “Extraordinary,” grumbled her father. “Did she send for them?”

  “They won’t allow it. You can’t see her bed for all the clothing and the trunks she was forced to leave behind. Her chamber resembles an elite shop in Bond Street. She tried to leave you each a letter saying good-bye, but the driver took them. She’s not to be allowed to communicate with the outside world during the twelve weeks of her training.”

  His Grace held his head in his hands. “That long?”

  “It’s the path she’s chosen, Father.”

  “Chosen? Chosen? What gave her the right to make such a dangerous choice? She forced me to approve, but in truth I never wanted this for her and well she knows it. Am I not her father?”

  “Stop it, Tony!” Her Grace warned in a sharp voice. She turned to her daughter and added kindly, “Leave us, dear. Your father and I need to talk.”

  “Of course, Mother.” She rose and kissed first her mother’s forehead, and then her father, crossed the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

  “Livy must be allowed to follow the path she’s chosen. You must accept that, Tony,” said Her Grace.

  “Why should I, Ellen? Tell me that, will you?”

  “Because if you don’t, we’ll lose her.” She went to him and held his head in her hands. “I won’t lose my firstborn, Tony. It is you who must give in. Put your mind at ease, dearest. It’s a government program, which means she is in capable hands and no harm will come to her. If she fails, you will see her home soon enough. Besides, you did agree to let her go, didn’t you?”

  The duke ignored this reminder of a weak moment. “What if she succeeds? We lose her to her success. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Oh my foolish, foolish darling. If Livy succeeds we shall rejoice for her, for that will be our daughter’s finest achievement.”

  Chapter Five

  Wilson Academy—Friday, The Fifth of July

  “There we are, miss,” the young girl said, as she finished tying the apron in a neat bow. The plump, round-faced scullery maid adjusted the starched white cap over Olivia’s curls and added, “Me cleanin’ gown fits you right well.”

  Olivia nodded and with some hesitation asked, “Thank you for helping me. What’s your name, lass?”

  “Jenny, miss.” She curtseyed, reached to the floor, and handed Olivia an empty pail, a hard-bristled scrubbing brush and a large soft cloth. “Here you are, miss. You’ll need these.”

  Olivia frowned, but took the offering. “What must I do with these?”

  Jenny’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you know how to scrub a floor?”

  “I’m sorry, no. I’ve never done it before. Can you tell me how?”

  Jenny cast her eyes down. “It’s a lowly task fer a fine lady like yourself, miss, but on Fridays, I scrub the kitchen floor tiles. You’re to do it ’stead o’ me today. Mayhap Mrs. Hunnicut told you how it’s done?”

  Olivia’s eyes pleaded as if she were begging for alms. “Please. Tell me how you do it, Jenny.”

  “Why, on me hands and knees, o’course. I do one small piece o’ floor at a time, see? First, you fetch the water from the scullery sink, see? Then heat it. Not too hot, mind, or you’ll burn y’self. Dip your rinsin’ cloth in and wring it out afore you add a bit ’o soap—it’s in that bin next to the sink. Scrub hard with the brush and use the cloth to mop up the suds. You start in the hall from the back stairwell landing, see, and work your way all the way to the galley. Take special care in the galley, miss. Chef Fourier carries on somethin’ fierce if there’s dirt on the floor where he does his work.”

  Olivia tried to look cheerful. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Jenny tapped her finger to her cheek. “No need to scrub any of the rooms down here that has a door. Them that’s in charge of ’em do that theyselves. Change the water often, mind. Once you empty the final pail outside in the yard, you’re done.”

  Olivia bit her bottom lip. “How long should it take me?”

  “I’m allus finished by noon, in time for me lunch.” She noted the look of terror in Olivia’s eyes. “Don’t fret so, miss. It’s not hard. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. ’Sides, you’re better off scrubbin’. T’other lads do much dirtier work. They’re made to clean the muck from the chimneys or the ashes from the fireplaces or the horse droppins in the stables. I’m off now. Got to help Mrs. Hunnicut mend the linens.”

  When Jenny was gone, Olivia filled the pail, heated the water, dipped the rinsing cloth in and wrung it dry, then added some soap. At the stairwell entrance, she lifted the hem of Jenny’s uniform, fell to her knees, dipped the brush and began to scrub the tiles. It was tedious work, but she managed to make a game of it. She scrubbed hardest when she pictured the spymaster’s face on the floor.

  By the time she reached the wider kitchen galley where all meals were prepared, her eyes burned from the strong soap. She had no notion it was laced with lye. Her back was sore, her arms were heavy, her hands were red and raw, Jenny’s gown was soaked, and worst of all she’d torn three fingernails.

  At last, she scrubbed up to the kitchen door that led to the yard. She opened the door and emptied her final pail. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed from the smell of lye when she returned the pail, the brush and the rinsing cloth to the scullery room and dragged herself up the back stairs to the attic to change for lunch. But when she glanced at the clock on her wall, she heaved a sigh of defeat. She needn’t hurry. She’d already missed lunch.

  The spymaster presided over staff meetings in the library every Friday afternoon. His instructors arranged themselves on either side of the library table in the middle of the room, seated in comfortable chairs designed for reading and study as well as for staff discussions. Sebastian sat at its head, his secretary Hugh Denville opposite him, quill in hand, ready to record the proceedings. The only one missing was Harry Green, archery and rifle instructor, for he was out on the archery range supervising the trainees.

  Sebastian surveyed his staff with a great deal of pride. He’d selected well—the best he could find in each field. Except for long holidays at the end of each training session, the men lived in comfortable quarters at the academy, took their meals together and developed an easy camaraderie among themselves.

  Mrs. Hunnicut lived in a well-appointed suite of rooms on the attic floor where Olivia and all the maids had their quarters.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he began with little ceremony. He glanced at Mrs. Hunnicut and added, “Ma’am. Reports, please.” On his right sat Aaron Foster, codes and ciphers instructor. Sebastian nodded for him
to start.

  “Not much out of the ordinary to report, except for Carter. He seems to rub the others raw with his superior pose, but as a group, they’ve acquitted themselves well during this first week. Fairchild shows promise, sir.” He chuckled.

  Sebastian looked startled. “What?”

  “Fairchild doesn’t like your class, Spymaster. She told me she thinks intelligence gathering is nothing more than gossip.”

  It was clear the spymaster didn’t appreciate the jest for, when everyone else laughed, he did not. “It is no secret that I was dead set against a woman in our program. How does she fare in martial arts, Sensei?”

  Sensei Yukio Nori, the Japanese martial arts expert, whose grasp of the English language was limited, sucked air through one side of his mouth. “Faihchil’ velly good in tai chi. Bettah than othahs.”

  “Fairchild eez my star fencing pupil. Ze others? Pooh! Zey cannot compare, but zey do try to learn,” said Fourier.

  Sebastian grinned at him. “I understand Fairchild also speaks fluent French. Might that influence your glowing report, Andre?”

  “Oui!” Given to Gallic exaggeration, Fourier kissed his fingertips and threw them into the air, which caused his colleagues to chortle. He was well-liked, not only for his fencing skills, but also for the excellent cuisine he arranged day in and day out.

  Stable master Tom Deff said, “I’ve no complaint with Fairchild, either, sir. She’s become accustomed to riding astride like the others, rather than sidesaddle, the way she was taught. She’s fearless. Takes hedges and fences like a gazelle.”

  “Take care she isn’t also reckless. I don’t want her to break her foolish neck, Tom. That advice goes for the rest of you as well.” He shook his head. “I cannot impress upon all of you more forcefully than this. She must not come to harm under any circumstance. We shall all have to answer for it if she does. Do I make myself clear?”

  Tom Deff grinned. “I’ll take care she doesn’t fall off her horse, sir.”

  “She’s a right one, she is. For a woman, that is. She determined to master push-ups on her first day and refused to give up, though she appeared ready to sink from the effort,” Hugh Denville added.