The Secret Life of Kitty Granger

by G. D. Falksen

  “Possibly,” Mrs. Singh said. “I’ll have a much better idea of it after I tap his phone. But,” she added, “it’s neither of your assignments, so the two of you keep your noses out of it.”

  “Yes, missis,” Kitty said, echoing Verity.

  After Mrs. Singh departed, Verity gave Kitty a grand tour of La Mode. Even though the job was only a disguise, Verity made it all seem very official and convincing. Once that was done, she led Kitty outside to a nondescript sedan parked by the road. Verity gave a dramatic sigh as she unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat.

  Kitty climbed in on the opposite side and sat with her hands resting on her knees, trying not to fidget. “Somethin’ wrong?” she asked.

  “I never get to drive the Jaguar,” Verity replied mournfully. “Mrs. Singh says it’s too conspicuous. That, and I tend to go racing.” She smirked and gave Kitty a wink.

  Kitty laughed, but she gripped the edges of her seat to be safe. “We’re not goin’ racin’ now, are we?” she asked nervously.

  “In this thing? Perish the thought. No, I’m taking you to meet the rest of the Orchestra.”

  “What’s the Orchestra?”

  “Our little spy network.”

  “Oh, I see. Odd name, innit?”

  Kitty had always imagined spy networks would use fancy names like The Brotherhood of Spies or complicated acronyms so that they could go around calling themselves GHOSTS.

  “It comes from a saying of Pryce’s,” Verity explained. “An orchestra cannot play without diverse instruments. We recruit people with valuable skills who might otherwise go overlooked by the intelligence agencies.”

  “Like workin’-class girls from the East End,” Kitty said.

  “Exactly.”

  Verity pulled the car out into the street and drove toward central London. Despite her talk, she kept to the speed limit and obeyed the driving laws to the letter. Their nondescript car had soon blended into the flow of ordinary traffic. Kitty waited in silence for a little while, but she had questions and eventually she decided to ask them.

  “Mrs. Singh said I’m to be tested?”

  Verity nodded. “Nothing to worry about. It’s what we do with everyone. Over the next few weeks, the team will show you how to do the sort of work we do, and they’ll decide what you’re best at.”

  “Will I ’ave to do somethin’ to prove me loyalty?” Kitty asked.

  “Prove your loyalty?” Verity exclaimed, astonished at the question. “No, of course not. We’ve already vetted you.”

  Kitty didn’t recognize the word. “You’ve what?”

  “Vetted you. Verified who you are, made sure there aren’t any dangerous attachments in your family. Mr. Price and Mrs. Singh started looking into you right after you met the first time. You’d never have been offered the job if they didn’t believe you were reliable and trustworthy. We take our security very seriously.”

  “Oh gosh, I didn’t realize.”

  Kitty narrowed her eyes and stared out the window, working over how she felt about having been spied on for weeks. Eventually she accepted it with a measure of caution. Mr. Pryce and Mrs. Singh couldn’t start revealing state secrets to her without being sure she was who she claimed to be. That man Higgins had been trusted with information from the Ministry of Defense, but he’d turned around and given it to the Russians. Who knew how many people had been hurt because of him?

  Besides, that was what spies did, wasn’t it? They spied on people. And Kitty was going to be spying soon too. She couldn’t very well complain about something she herself was doing. There couldn’t be one rule for her and another for everyone else, that wasn’t fair. As long as the spies were trying to keep people safe, spying was all right. If the spies were trying to hurt people, it wasn’t right. That felt like a very clear line to Kitty, and she didn’t intend to cross it, no matter what.

  Kitty was pulled out of her thoughts as the car slowed. Verity drove around the back of a nondescript gray building belonging to an import-export business. If Kitty had only passed it on the street, she never would have given it a second look.

  “Where are we?” Kitty asked as they got out of the car. She suddenly felt apprehensive again. The walls loomed over her, blocking her in. She brushed at her sleeve and tugged the cuff to make it look like she was straightening it.

  “I’ll explain once we’re inside,” Verity replied, “but we’re going to see Mr. Pryce.”

  She led Kitty into the building, which was just as nondescript inside as it was outside. The doorway led into an open office area, with some desks arranged in neat rows. There were only a few people around, either typing or looking over paperwork. A couple of them greeted Verity, and everyone noticed Kitty, but they didn’t seem surprised that she was there.

  “Do they recognize me?” Kitty whispered to Verity.

  “Everyone here was shown your photograph and told that I might bring you over today,” Verity explained, as she led Kitty through the office and down a flight of stairs into the basement. “The building’s just a cover for our real work.”

  “Like at La Mode?” Kitty asked.

  “Sort of, except that everyone here is in the know. Most of the ‘secretaries’ are actually security.”

  At the bottom of the stairs they entered a short hallway ending at a closed metal door. A man in overalls and a long brown coat was seated next to it, reading half of a newspaper. He looked like a janitor, but Kitty spotted a gun on the crate next to him, mostly hidden beneath the other half of the paper. Kitty suddenly realized she was in a building full of armed people who were all pretending not to be armed. This was going to take some getting used to.

  “Mornin’, Miss Chase,” the janitor said, tugging on the brim of his cap.

  “Good morning, George!” Verity exclaimed. She motioned to Kitty. “This is Kitty Granger, the new girl. Kitty, this is George Harman. He helps look after the place. Keeps it nice and safe for the rest of us.”

  “How d’you do,” Kitty greeted him. She bobbed her head politely and tried to keep her eyes focused on George rather than the weapon hidden under his newspaper.

  George gave Kitty an appraising look, then grunted softly and answered her with another tug on his cap. “Miss.”

  “Is Mr. Pryce in?” Verity asked.

  George pointed his thumb at the door. “With Saul in the armory, last I heard.”

  “Then off we go!” Verity said. She opened the door and led Kitty through. Once it had shut again, she chuckled. “Don’t mind George. He’s a dear, he really is. It’s just part of his job to be cautious about strangers, even ones Pryce brings in.”

  “Oh good. I thought I’d done somethin’ wrong.”

  “If that happens, I shall tell you,” Verity promised.

  Chapter 9

  Beyond the door lay a long corridor with concrete walls. They were painted a shade of dull white to make them less unbearable to look at, but the place was a far cry from the glamor of La Mode. Glancing into the rooms on either side of the corridor, Kitty saw a few scattered people, all of them busy with an assortment of tasks that made no sense to Kitty.

  “That’s the analysis department,” Verity said, pointing. “Armory’s down the hall, signals room over there, and the workshop is this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Young Bloods.”

  “The who?”

  “Us under-twenty-fives. The other agents are older, so we stick together. Sometimes the oldies have to be reminded that we’re perfectly capable of getting things done ourselves.”

  They turned down the side passage, and Kitty heard voices from a nearby room.

  “Christ, Faith! The bloody thing’s on fire!” exclaimed a boy with an Irish brogue.

  “It’s not on fire, Liam!” protested a girl whose accent sounded Jamaican.

  There was a popping noise and then the faint crackle of something burning.

  “Now it’s on fire,” Kitty heard Faith and Liam say in unison.

  Verit
y dashed into the room, with Kitty close at her heels. It was a large workshop filled with machinery and benches and scattered tools. The air smelled like oil and metal, and there was a distinct odor of char to go with it.

  A girl and a boy in their late teens were seated at one of the workstations, looking strangely calm given the circumstances. The girl had large horn-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose, and tightly braided hair that was tied off into a bun. The boy was heavyset, and his mop of ginger hair looked like an animal that had taken purchase atop his head. Neither of them seemed troubled by the flaming tin can the girl was holding with a pair of metal tongs.

  “Good God!” Verity cried. “What have you done?”

  Faith, the West Indian girl, looked at Verity with an astonished expression. “We’re miniaturizing a flamethrower,” she said, like it was the only possible explanation.

  She dropped the burning can into a metal bucket on the floor, and Liam, the Irish boy, dumped a pile of sand in after it.

  “Well, that’s a bust, and no mistake,” Faith grumbled. “I thought we had it, that time.”

  “What’s this we nonsense?” Liam asked. “It’s your idea.”

  “That it is, and it’s a good idea,” Faith replied. She snatched up a pencil from the workbench and began spinning it around her fingers. “I shortened the fuel pipe and everything,” she mused. “Must be a problem with the pressure.”

  Verity cleared her throat. “This is Kitty Granger, Mrs. Singh’s new hire. Kitty, this is Faith, our technical wizard. Half the equipment we use is either invented or improved on by her. If she had twenty more years on her, she’d be our quartermaster, but she isn’t, so she just sets things on fire when she’s bored.”

  “Can’t make discoveries without experiments,” Faith said sagely.

  “Aye, what’s a little accidental fire between friends?” Liam agreed.

  “And that’s Liam,” said Verity. “He works with the surveillance boys, but he has a good head for electronics, so he’s always in here finding new ways to help Faith blow us all to Kingdom Come.”

  “Pleased to meet you both, I’m sure,” Kitty said.

  Faith reached out to give her a handshake, which caught Kitty off guard. Why was everyone always so interested in shaking hands? There was an awkward pause, but before Kitty could force herself to move, Faith retracted her hand and gave a little wave instead. “Welcome to the Orchestra.”

  Liam tapped his fingers to his temple and gave a little salute. “Glad to have ya here.”

  Just as Kitty was about to feel relieved that she hadn’t botched these introductions, someone appeared in the doorway behind her. She turned around and saw a black boy of about her age, dressed in oil-stained overalls. He was middling-tall and lanky, and there was a smudge of grease across one cheek, like he had brushed his thumb against it in passing and not realized it was there.

  As the lad leaned in through the doorway, he shouted across the workshop, “Oi! Faith! I need them injectors! What’s takin’ so long, eh?”

  He spoke with a noticeable East End accent, one that could easily have come from Kitty’s father or one of the neighbors. It was very pleasant to hear, and it made Kitty feel a little more at ease.

  Faith turned in her chair and waved the young man away. “They’ll be ready when they’re ready, Tommy. I can’t be rushed like this.”

  “You gone mad?” Tommy demanded, stepping into the workshop. “I’ve gotta get the bloody instillation done by three . . .” He trailed off as noticed Kitty. “Oh, ’ello.”

  “’Ello,” Kitty answered, giving a small wave.

  Verity clapped her hands together. “Ah, Tommy, just the fellow I wanted to see. Saves me a trip to the garage.” She put an arm around Kitty’s shoulders and said, “This is Kitty Granger, who just joined the cause today. She’s smart as a tack and an absolute delight, and I just know we’re going to get on. Isn’t that right, Kitty?”

  Startled at being addressed in the middle of someone else’s conversation, Kitty just stammered, “Oh, yes, I ’spect so.”

  At hearing Kitty’s accent, a smile tugged at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “You from East London, eh?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” Kitty said, returning the smile.

  “Tommy here is one of the mechanics who keep our cars running,” Verity explained.

  “Right, an’ it’s an uphill struggle, with how you treat your vehicle, Verity,” Tommy retorted. He turned back to Kitty. “It’s good to meetcha, Miss Granger. Glad to ’ave an East Ender round ’ere.”

  “Likewise,” Kitty agreed.

  “So . . . injectors, you said?” Verity asked, looking first at Tommy, and then casting her gaze toward Faith. “Not miniature flamethrowers?”

  “Aye,” Tommy answered. “Nitrous oxide injectors for the engine. Wait, did you say miniature flamethrowers?”

  Verity chuckled. “I think that is our cue to leave,” she said, taking Kitty by the arm. “If you’ll all excuse us, I’ll let Faith explain why she and Liam are trying to burn the building down, while I introduce Miss Granger to Debby.”

  “Signals room, last I saw,” Tommy said. “Nice meetin’ you, Miss Granger. See you again soon, I ’ope.”

  “Well, I work ’ere now, so . . .”

  Kitty hadn’t meant it as a joke, but everyone laughed anyway.

  She followed Verity back to the main hallway and into a wide room filled with all kinds of complicated-looking radio equipment. Two men and a woman were seated at a long desk, listening through headphones and sometimes speaking to one another. There was a dull hum in the air, and it made Kitty twitch.

  Verity leaned against the doorframe and waited silently until the woman at the desk happened to glance in their direction. Verity waved, and the woman flashed a grin in reply. She scribbled something on a notepad, whispered a few words to one of the men, and joined Kitty and Verity in the hallway.

  “Well, well, Verity Chase,” the woman said sternly, trying not to crack a smile. “Got bored with the French Riviera and decided to join the rest of us back here in dreary old England, I see.”

  “Two days in Monaco!” Verity protested. “Two!”

  “And not doing a spot of honest work there, I imagine.”

  Verity snorted to cover up a laugh and slapped the woman’s shoulder. “Honest work? Not on your life.” She motioned to Kitty. “Debby, this Kitty. Kitty, Debby. Kitty’s the—”

  Debby interrupted, “The new girl. I know. Pryce told us to expect her.” She turned to Kitty and offered a friendly hand. “Hi, I’m Deborah. I’m one of the Orchestra’s cryptographers.”

  Kitty forced herself to accept the handshake. She suspected there were going to be a lot of them, so she’d better get used to it.

  “Debby’s also the oldest member of the Young Bloods, so she’s unofficially mother,” Verity interjected, a mischievous giggle hiding behind her words.

  “I never agreed to that,” Debby said severely.

  “See?” Verity said to Kitty. “Isn’t she just perfect?”

  Debby tapped Verity on the nose. “You’re bloody incorrigible, you know that?”

  “And you love it!” Verity retorted. “Anyway, we should let you get back to work. I’m just showing Kitty around the place before I take her to meet Pryce. George said he was in the armory with Saul. Think he’s still there?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Debby replied. “If I know Pryce and my uncle, they’ll be trading old war stories until sundown, unless a crisis rears its head.”

  “All quiet on the intelligence front?” Verity asked.

  Debby shrugged. “Quiet as it ever is. There’s always something that needs decrypting.”

  “Apparently Kitty is very good with puzzles,” Verity said. “She might end up working with you.”

  Debby gave Kitty a pleasant smile. “Well, that will be fun. We can always use an extra hand cracking the intercepts.” From inside the signals room, one of the radio operators started waving at her. “Ah, that�
��s my cue. Best get back to it.”

  “Cheerio!” Verity called after Debby as the woman rushed back to her workstation.

  “She seems nice,” Kitty said.

  “As I said, we Young Bloods stick together,” Verity explained. “There’s a fair bit of teasing, but when it comes down to it we back each other up. We’re plenty used to people not taking us seriously, so there’s no point in doing that to each other.”

  Verity took Kitty to the very end of the main hallway and down another side corridor to the armory. This proved to be a grim concrete room with a heavy metal door and countless shelves of guns and ammunition, all securely locked behind bars. The sight of the weapons made Kitty very uneasy, but at least they weren’t lying around out in the open.

  Mr. Pryce was there, once again dressed in a fancy suit, and with a purple carnation on his lapel. He was talking to another man, who was short and broad-shouldered. The man was probably nearing sixty, but he looked very robust. Kitty assumed he was Debby’s uncle Saul. Either he or Mr. Pryce had evidently just said something very amusing, as both men were laughing uproariously.

  “I’ll never forget the look on that colonel’s face . . .” Mr. Pryce trailed off as he looked toward the door. “Verity! And Miss Granger!” he exclaimed. “Come in, come in. I’m so pleased you’re joining us.”

  “’Ello, Mr. Pryce,” Kitty said timidly. “I, um, I’ve decided to take the job.”

  “Well, of course you have,” Mr. Pryce said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He motioned to his companion. “This is Saul, our armaments master.”

  Saul nodded to her. “Welcome, young lady. When it’s time for you to start shooting guns, I’m the one you see.”

  “Saul’s an excellent teacher,” Verity said. She added ruefully, “He won’t even let you pick up a loaded gun until he’s certain you know how to use it safely. A bit of a spoilsport, that way.”

  Saul just chuckled.

  “Of course, weapons handling will come later in your curriculum, Miss Granger,” Mr. Pryce said. “The rest of today will be nice and quiet. Just a few exams for us to start determining your aptitudes.” He turned to Saul and gave a quick salute. “Be seeing you, Saul.”