Melanie turned away, seeming to struggle with some strong emotion. For a moment, I thought I’d misjudged her. Perhaps she had cared for the medium in some way. Perhaps she considered her a friend. I began to lean forward to offer her my sympathy when she spoke.
“Well, that was a waste.”
CHAPTER 6
I was taken aback by the anger that flashed in Melanie’s eyes.
She tossed aside one of the pillows cradled in her lap in a huff and glared at me. “She asked me to give Daphne the session. Promised me three sittings in exchange.” She sniffed. “Well, she offered two, but I insisted upon three.”
I stared at her, finding it difficult to believe she’d coughed up this information so quickly after denying it. Almost as difficult as I found it to believe how selfish and insensitive she was.
“I suppose now I shall have to find a new medium. And I tell you, it will not be easy. There are far too many charlatans in this city, eager to cheat you.”
Ignoring the fact that Madame Zozza had been one such woman, I returned to the matter at hand. “What of me? Whose idea was it to suggest Daphne invite me?”
Melanie twirled the tassel on one of the pillows, answering me distractedly. “Hers, I believe.” She sighed as if my question was tedious. “That assistant of hers said Madame Zozza had received a message she wished to deliver to you. One from beyond the grave.”
I frowned. “Her assistant told you this?”
“Well, yes. She always arranged such things.” Melanie huffed. “You don’t think someone of Madame Zozza’s prestige would concern herself with such trivial matters, do you?”
I took her point. “Did you not wonder why?”
She stared at me blankly.
“Why she wanted you to give last night’s session to Daphne and me?”
“I assumed she wanted to prove her worth.” She shook her head as if I were a simpleton. “Genuine mediums are always looking for respectable, new clients. I imagine they encounter far too much of the riffraff.”
Somehow, I was surprised to find she hadn’t lumped me into the latter category.
I allowed her to rant several minutes longer without truly listening.
So Madame Zozza, through her assistant, Miss Laurent, had made the arrangements so that I would attend. But I still didn’t understand why? Had she been attempting to con me of her own accord? With insufficient information?
From everything her assistant had told us, this seemed to be out of character. She kept careful notes and did thorough research on all of her clients. She must have had more than enough data to use on Daphne, so why instead had she chosen to “summon” Emilie?
Unless she’d been convinced to do so by someone else. Someone who would not have been pleased if she neglected to try solely because of inadequate research. Whether they’d used threats or merely the allure of money to persuade her was unclear, but everything seemed to point to the existence of a third party. Perhaps even the suspicious man who’d evidently wished to remain unidentifiable.
There was only one thing for it. If I was going to get answers, I would have to approach my former colleagues at the Secret Service. And I knew just where to start.
Deciding I’d remained long enough, I made my excuses. But rather than ask Melanie’s footman to hail me a cab, I set off down Chapel Street. George was currently staying nearby, occupying his aunt and uncle’s town house while they spent the summer at their country estate. The rest of the year he kept to his set of rooms at the Albany on Piccadilly.
The footman tried to lead me into the drawing room, as would be proper, but I breezed past him, telling him George and I never stood on such ceremony. At least, not since the night we sat huddled together in a cold cellar during a Zeppelin raid. I expected to find him ensconced in the library, and there he sat beside a window, puffing away at a cigarette.
“It’s a glorious day, and yet here I find you with your nose stuck in a book.”
He glanced up with a smile. “Hullo, Ver.”
“Move a little closer to that window,” I urged him as I dropped my handbag onto the settee cushions and began to remove my gloves. “That way you’ll at least get some fresh air and indirect sunlight.”
His expression turned puzzled. “I didn’t forget we’d made plans, did I?” He stubbed out his fag and flicked open his pocket watch. “Were we supposed to meet for tea?”
“No, no. But I wouldn’t refuse a cup.”
He nodded to the footman still standing in the doorway behind me. “Send some up.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door shut behind him and I collapsed into the chair across from George’s in a rather unladylike sprawl. His brown eyes warmed with humor. By any standards, my friend would be considered attractive, if not quite to the degree of Sidney or Max. His height was slightly above average and he possessed a wide pair of shoulders and a sturdy frame.
Enviably, his skin remained a lovely shade of caramel, courtesy of his Indian grandmother, even though he rarely spent time outdoors. The top of his head was covered in rich black hair which curled into tight whorls that defied being straightened, even with the aid of copious amounts of pomade.
“So what brings you to my uncle’s humble abode?” His fingers tapped the spine of the book he’d been reading. “Still avoiding Sidney?”
I scowled at him, hating how perceptive he was. It was true. When trouble was brewing, my preferred method of dealing with it was either avoidance or distraction. Both tactics which had served me surprisingly well as a field agent. I avoided most people and situations I’d sensed might cause me trouble and learned to distract those I could not. But in confronting my own emotions, as well as the strains in my intimate relationships, these strategies had proved to be less than effective.
“You can’t sidestep him forever,” he reminded me not ungently.
I sighed in exasperation, not wishing to discuss it further. “Yes, I know. But actually, that’s not the most pressing issue at the moment.”
His eyebrows arched doubtfully.
“I allowed Daphne to drag me along to that séance yesterday evening,” I hastened to say, knowing this would distract him.
His brow lowered in displeasure. “Such utter nonsense!” he began. “Why, it defies explanation why so many people allow themselves to be taken in by such charlatans.” His eyes flicked over my face. “Why on earth did you agree to go? I told her it was all hogwash.”
I held up my hands, forestalling him before he could descend into a full-fledged rant. “I told her the same thing. But you know Daphne. She was determined to attend and if I didn’t go, she was going to take her sister.”
George’s face tightened in disfavor.
“But that is neither here nor there. The real issue is what happened during the séance.” I relayed the details of how Madame Zozza had pretended to summon Emilie. His face puckered like he’d bitten into a sour grape. Until I informed him of this morning’s fire and everything her assistant had to say. Then his expression turned troubled.
I paused as the footman returned with the tea tray. As soon as the door closed behind him, I leaned forward. “Is it possible?” I asked, having shared Sidney’s theory. “Could Madame Zozza have worked for the Secret Service in some capacity?” I lifted the teapot, automatically preparing his tea how he liked it while he ruminated over my question.
“I suppose it’s possible,” he acceded. “Heaven knows the service employed any number of strange characters.” He scoffed. “Knox had to have his own private bathtub to soak in while he deciphered codes. It was undoubtedly effective but dashed awkward to confer with the sap.”
I sat back to sip my tea. “Mmm, yes. I heard he and Miss Roddam are to be wed.” When Miss Roddam lost her fiancé early in the war, her parents had used their connections to find her a clerical position they hoped would help her overcome her grief. They’d believed, erroneously, that their gently bred daughter would remain sheltered in such a place as the Admiralty, where t
he codebreaking department was housed in the Old Admiralty Building, Room 40. Hence its code name, 40 OB. Little did they know she would become secretary to the brilliant, but eccentric, Dilly Knox, with his penchant for bathing.
George snorted. “Well, that’s not surprising. But back to this Madame Zozza.” He paused. “That cannot be her real name.”
“Mona Kertle.”
“That’s more like it.” He took a drink of his tea, his mind processing the name and searching for any possible connections or permutations. At this point, I knew how his brain worked. “Never heard of her,” he declared, setting his teacup back in its saucer. “But I was mostly holed up in 40 OB. Daphne’s the one who was friendly with half the workers on Whitehall. She’s more likely to know than I.”
“Yes, but you still work for Military Intelligence,” I pointed out. “We don’t.”
There were some women still employed by the departments of the Secret Service, but large swathes had already been demobilized, including Daphne and me.
He set his teacup on the table next to him, the careful attention to his movements telling me how conflicted he was inside. “It’s only a matter of time before I’ll be cut loose as well.”
“But surely they’ll wish to keep a staff of cryptologists. And you’re the best,” I protested, surprised by this bit of news.
He shrugged. “They didn’t before the war. And I suspect it will go back to being much the same as before.”
I doubted that. Not if C, my former chief, and Kell, the head of MI5, had anything to say about it. But I didn’t argue.
“I’d planned to ask Daphne now that I know the medium’s real name. But can you sniff around among your colleagues, see what you can uncover?”
He turned to stare down his nose at me.
“I’m not asking you to betray your country,” I retorted impatiently. “But I need to know how Mona Kertle came to possess such classified information.” I leaned forward, ticking items off on my fingers. “If she wasn’t an agent, then she learned about it from someone who either did or still does have access to that knowledge. I want to know who, and why they shared it with a fraudulent medium. And whether they’ve been sharing their information with anyone else.”
He rubbed his chin as he considered my request and then nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
I sank back. “Thank you.” I glanced out the window where a pair of sparrows hopped along the branches of a holly tree. “I’m certain the report on La Dame Blanche has been filed by now, but it hasn’t been declassified, has it?”
His expression told me what a foolish question he thought that was. “They would never willingly declassify something they don’t have to. And given the fact that only about a dozen people in all of Britain even know it existed, I highly doubt it.”
I nodded.
“But that should be easy enough to verify,” he added. “For the sake of thoroughness.”
I took another sip of tea, wondering where Emilie was now, whether she had any inkling that something unsettling was going on. She’d always had such a keen instinct. It was one of the things that made her such a good courier. Her work as a midwife had given her an excuse to travel at odd hours, but her instinct had been what told her when to leave the road rather than risk being questioned by a German patrol. Or when to lie and when to try to brazen out the truth.
Because she was often so much more familiar with the territory and the people involved than I was, I usually followed her lead, for good reason. One night, when we were traveling further outside of the area where Emilie normally practiced her midwifery, we were stopped at the edge of a village by a pair of German sentries. They demanded to see our papers, which we swiftly handed over. When I accompanied her, our normal story was that I was her young niece, who she was training as her apprentice. But this time, for whatever reason, Emilie varied from this bit of fiction.
Instead, she told them she believed that the woman she was on her way to care for would not survive the childbirth. That she was too ill and worn down by grief over the loss of her husband. So Emilie had begged her neighbor to allow me, his daughter, to come with her, so that should the worst happen, she would have help in bringing the woman’s four young motherless children back to the village.
At the time I had been horrified by this deviation from our plan, especially after hearing her concoct, what seemed to me, a rather convoluted story. But then the German soldier admitted to us that they’d had instructions to stop two women traveling together as midwives. That they were wanted for questioning. And apparently satisfied with Emilie’s explanation, they let us pass.
Her sharp instincts had likely saved my life that day. And I had never forgotten it.
“Verity.”
I glanced up to find George studying me intently.
“I’m not certain there’s actually cause for concern, but . . . be careful.”
Given my ruminations, the seriousness of his tone made my insides turn cold. “Aren’t I always?” I quipped, forcing a jovial tone.
“No,” he answered bluntly. “You’re not.”
I frowned, resenting his saying so, even if he was right.
“You may have made it through the war unscathed, at least physically, but if you keep placing yourself in dangerous situations, your luck won’t last forever.”
“Then I suppose all I can promise is that I’ll try.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” he muttered into his cup.
I pushed up from my chair. “Go get some fresh air,” I leaned over to murmur before giving him a swift buss on the cheek. “The sun does produce this little thing called light. So you can read your books out there just as well as in here.”
“Yes, but the books are already here,” he replied dryly, not appreciating my wit.
I bent to retrieve my things. “Hopeless. You’re simply hopeless.” I smiled over my shoulder.
* * *
Though I trusted George had been honest with me and would do his best to uncover what he could, I had no intention of leaving the matter entirely in his hands. Not when my former employment in the Secret Service should afford me some access to the information I sought, particularly as it pertained to me. As such, I decided a visit to C was in order. I hadn’t seen him since I’d been released from the service some months before, but I felt certain he would agree to talk to me.
But first, I needed to change into something a bit more subdued than my mauve taffeta summer frock. So, I directed the taxicab to take me back to our flat.
We passed a group of young children playing under the cool shade of the tall trees at the middle of the square, as the cab swung around to the north side, where our building dozed in the sun. Formerly a fashionable hotel, it had been converted into a six-story block of luxury flats at the turn of the century. Fashioned with Portland stone elevations, Neo-Grec detailing, and Parisian-style ironwork, it was quite a desirable address for those not wishing to take on all the hassles and expenses of a town house. And since the war, the number of upper-class people capable of affording such expenditures was rapidly dwindling.
Upon entering our fourth-floor flat, I thought I heard a voice coming from the drawing room. “Is that you, Sidney?” I called, dropping my things on the bureau in the entry hall. “Back from your ‘appointment’ so soon?”
My teasing smile froze on my lips at the sight of Max standing next to my husband.
CHAPTER 7
They flanked the console table where our photographs were displayed. The image captured on our wedding day stood in pride of place at the center, with me in my lace-edged dress and Sidney looking impossibly handsome in his uniform. We both appeared young and happy. And oblivious to what was to come.
“I see you decided to finally pay us a call?” I jested, recovering with what I thought was admirable speed. Especially given the look Sidney had cast my way. To any casual observer, it would have appeared perfectly amiable and indifferent, but there was a sharp glint in his eyes tha
t told me he wasn’t pleased. And I could guess why.
I pressed a kiss to Sidney’s cheek before bussing Max’s.
“I told you I intended to,” Max replied. “And after last night’s debacle, I decided I’d best do so sooner rather than later.” His gaze flicked over my appearance. “But you look as if you’ve suffered no ill effects.”
“Yes, well, as you know, I don’t take kindly to someone pretending to conjure someone who’s not dead.”
Sidney paused with his drink lifted partway to his lips. I remembered too late that I hadn’t yet told him about that cruel bit of amateur table-turning that had been done just hours before he revealed he was alive to me.
I fanned myself, finding the drawing room to be quite stuffy despite the windows being open. “I take it neither of you wants tea,” I remarked, staring pointedly at the beverages in their glasses. “But how about some sandwiches,” I suggested as I crossed to pull the cord to summon Sadie from the kitchen. “I don’t know about you, but I’m simply famished.”
“Your husband was telling me you plan to retire to the country after the Duchess of Northumberland’s ball, and just in time, it seems,” Max said, as I moved to the sideboard to mix myself a drink heavily iced. “I’d forgotten how stifling the city can feel during the summer.”
I flicked a glance over my shoulder to find Sidney’s lips quirked in amused challenge. He’d warned me that, while he liked Max well enough, he wasn’t about to give me up without a fight. But given the fact that Max was hardly here to stake a claim, it was wholly unnecessary.
“What brings you to London then?” Sidney asked casually enough, draping one arm across the back of the sofa he sank into.
Max dropped into the chair across from him, forcing me to sit next to my husband with his fingers brushing my shoulder. Not that I normally would have minded such a thing, but I resented being made to feel as if this was some move on an invisible chessboard.
“My aunt,” Max said. “She lost her son to the war, so I feel it’s my responsibility to look after her. And when her daughter telephoned to tell me she was consulting a Spiritualist, I thought it best to intervene.” He paused as Sadie slipped in quietly to set a tray of sandwiches and other tidbits on the table, but his eyes were troubled. “She’s also insisting on taking one of these guided tours of the battlefields. Have you heard of them?”
Treacherous Is the Night Page 7