The Rose Code

by Kate Quinn

  The usual compensation.

  Beth’s stomach churned sickly.

  She looked at the safe’s key, then slipped it into her pocket. Dilly had often joked that he really should have more than one safe key; if he ever lost this one he’d be up the spout. The Rose file could sit there until Beth could bring it to Commander Travis, whenever that might be. If he won’t see me tonight, then he’ll see me the hour the invasion is over, for better or worse. No later. Beth didn’t care if she had to hack her way into his office with a fire ax; he was going to give her a hearing.

  “Finished, dear?” Mrs. Knox asked as Beth slipped out of the library.

  “Yes. Please don’t tell anyone I was here. I left something in the library . . . don’t look for it.”

  “Of course not.” Dilly’s wife looked unfazed.

  Beth hesitated, then reached out and gave Olive Knox a hard, brief hug. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Knox’s elderly man-of-all-work nodded at Beth as she came out to the front drive. “Where to, miss? I’m to give you a lift.”

  Beth was about to say Bletchley Park, but a familiar dull ache had bloomed low in her belly, and she felt a dampness on the back of her skirt—her monthly had begun. If she was going to be working a double shift starting midnight, then she’d need a sanitary towel. “Aspley Guise,” Beth told the driver, and battled a wave of utter weariness. How much she hated being a woman sometimes: underpaid and underestimated and betrayed by your own body. She wanted to storm into BP and shout at the top of her lungs that they had a traitor, damn it, and everyone had better listen—but would they listen to a woman with blood on her skirt? So many men seemed to think women were crazy when they were bleeding.

  She dragged herself up the stairs at Aspley Guise, fighting off the cold waves of suspicion as her mind turned from one ISK colleague to another—It can’t be you—Could it be you?—How could it be you!—and let herself into her shared room. Osla was at the washstand scrubbing her face, and Boots looked up from his basket with a yawn. “Beth,” Osla greeted her, “is something going on? I had a telephone call, something about Mab and Coventry . . .”

  Beth was rummaging for her little bin of sanitary supplies, but she straightened with a sudden surge of nerves. “Coventry?”

  “I couldn’t really make sense of it—”

  Mab stalked into the bedroom that she had once shared with the two of them, and not set foot in since her husband and daughter had died. Beth turned, barely in time to notice Mab’s blazing eyes before her friend struck her savagely across the face.

  Chapter 64

  You knew.” Mab threw Beth back against the wall. The rage was choking her, rising in her throat.

  “Mab—” Beth tried to fend her off, but Mab was head and shoulders taller, fueled by fury. She banged Beth into the mirror, setting it rocking, and Boots leaped out of his basket barking. Then Osla seized Mab by the shoulders and wrenched her away.

  “Mab, stop. What’s this about?”

  Beth hunched frozen, arms about herself, Boots pressed to her ankles. Mab stood on the hooked rug, shuddering with anger. Osla poised between them, tiny and determined. For once, Mab felt no tangled confusion of anger and pain, looking at Osla. In Coventry, Osla had made a mistake—that mistake had let Lucy slip into the void, and Francis after her, but it had been a mistake.

  Beth had made a choice.

  “Tell her,” Mab rasped, looking at Beth. “Tell her about Coventry.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Beth begged, hands twisting. “I have to get to BP.”

  She made a move toward the corridor. Mab crossed to the bedroom door, slamming it shut and standing before it. “What is happening here?” Osla demanded.

  Mab waited, but Beth stayed silent, huddled in on herself. “I was told Beth broke a report about the Coventry raid. The one that killed—” She couldn’t force the names out. “She knew the attack was coming, hours before you and I left to meet Francis there with Lucy. She let us go without a word.”

  The accusation sank into the room like a stone in a pool, spreading ripples.

  “Beth wouldn’t—” Osla said, at the same time Beth whispered, “How did you find out?”

  “Your friend Peggy, why does it matter? Is it true?”

  Beth’s head jerked up. “If I’d told you it would have compromised—”

  “No, it wouldn’t!” Mab cried. “We said goodbye to you at the BP canteen that same morning—no civilians in earshot, safe Park ground. You didn’t have to give details. All you had to say was ‘Please trust me and call off the visit.’” Mab would have telephoned Francis, asked him to meet them elsewhere. He’d be alive today. Lucy would be alive.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Beth repeated, pleading. “How could I put you ahead of everyone at Coventry who would have to sit the raid out, unknowing?”

  “Because in a war, Beth, you save who you can. Whenever you can. You couldn’t have safely warned Coventry, but you could have safely warned us.”

  “And you’ve done that before.” Osla’s voice was very quiet. “Autumn of ’Forty, you let us know when the German invasion was postponed.”

  Beth flinched. “That’s why! I told you about the invasion, and I shouldn’t have. I swore I wouldn’t ever do it again. Besides, that’s different—you knowing the invasion was canceled changed nothing. But if you knew about Coventry, you’d tell Francis not to come, then he might tell his neighbor, they might warn someone else, then before you know it—”

  “We wouldn’t have done that, Beth. Because we’d have lied to Francis. We lie to everyone—just not each other.” Osla was arrayed beside Mab now, arms folded like a shield. “Our knowing would have changed nothing, except that Francis and Lucy would still be alive.”

  “I didn’t know that. I just hoped it would all turn out all right—”

  “And my daughter died,” Mab spat. Perhaps she was being unfair to Beth, who had only tried to keep faith with an uncompromising oath. Even in the scarlet rush of rage, Mab knew that. But she didn’t care. Beth had made a choice, and Mab’s daughter was dead. Her husband was dead.

  Beth was shaking her head stubbornly. “I took an oath.”

  “You expect us to break our oaths when it’s convenient to you.” Osla’s ivory complexion had gone red. Mab realized, distantly, that she’d never seen Osla Kendall furious before. “You were just begging me to give you information on the Fleet Air Arm, because of Harry, and I did it.”

  Beth’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything.

  “You sad little hypocrite,” Osla said.

  “I shouldn’t have asked you.” Beth’s eyes were locked on the floor. “You should have told me no.”

  “I did it because our oath isn’t as black and white as you’re making it out to be, and we’ve all worked at BP long enough to know it. There are ways to share discreetly without ever, ever compromising secrecy.”

  “I couldn’t think of a way—”

  “You could have. But you didn’t try. You told yourself it would be all right. And when it all went to hell, you still let me keep calling you a friend.” Mab shivered with rage, thinking how much she had relied on Beth this past year. Trusted Beth, while blaming Osla.

  “It was one raid!” Beth’s voice rose. “Should I have warned you every time there was a raid over London, when you two were hopping up there every night you had free?”

  “Everyone who goes to London knows it’s a risk,” Mab snapped. “London, Birmingham, Liverpool—they’re constantly targeted; everyone who reads a newspaper knows that. You go to little places like Keswick or Coventry to be safe. You know we thought we were safe there—”

  “You shouldn’t have. You went to enough places that had been hit before. It finally happened and you’re blaming me because you rolled the dice and lost. Coventry had been hit so badly already—”

  “But no one anticipated it being targeted again. Not another big raid like that . . .”

  Beth’s hands twisted aro
und each other. “I couldn’t do it.”

  Mab lunged at Beth, or would have if Osla hadn’t shoved her back. Mab inflated her lungs to shout, Boots circled barking and growling before his mistress—then a knock at the door froze them.

  “Girls?” Their landlady’s voice floated through. “Bletchley Park’s transport pool sent a car for Miss Kendall and Mrs. Gray—it’s waiting out front. You’re being called in at once.” Pause. “Is everything all right?”

  “Quite all right,” Osla called. Mab thought her voice scraped like a handful of pebbles.

  They listened as their landlady’s footsteps pattered away. Osla and Mab looked at each other, then at Beth.

  “Let’s go,” Mab said. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say here.”

  Beth’s lips trembled. “I’ve done nothing but what I thought was best.”

  “That’s right. You did nothing, you Judas bitch.” Mab yanked the door open. “Are you coming with us in the damned car or not?” Because even if she would rather have run Beth over than share a backseat with her, Bletchley Park was going to need her today.

  But Beth sank down on the bed, laughing on a note that sawed across Mab’s ears like nails. She was laughing but she was crying too, hands pressed to her temples, head shaking back and forth. Boots whined again, but she ignored the dog. “You have no idea,” she said between the bubbles of laughter, as tears dripped down her chin. “No idea what’s happening, none, none. My God. Dilly, why did you go, why did you have to go . . .”

  “Girls,” their landlady called from downstairs. “The car—”

  They waited a moment, but Beth kept rocking, crying, bubbling with that strange bleak laughter. And finally, Mab and Osla had to leave her behind.

  Chapter 65

  Miss Kendall. Mrs. Gray.” Commander Travis sat weary and upright behind his desk, his office crowded with blandly suited intelligence swots. “You’ve been asked here to provide corroborating information. We’ll be quick; we’ve all more important things to do tonight.” He leafed through a personnel folder, and even upside down, Osla had no trouble reading the name on it. Osla’s roil of anger and exhaustion gave way to confusion—why, a matter of hours until the attack launched on Normandy and all Bletchley Park was plunged into madness, was Commander Travis nose-deep in a file on Beth?

  “I understand you two ladies have billeted with Bethan Finch for the past four years,” he said. “What can you tell us about her?”

  Osla and Mab exchanged looks. Mab clearly had no idea what to say, either. However angry either of them were at Beth, outpourings about new grudges and old griefs were not relevant.

  He clicked his tongue, impatient. “When did you last see her, and how would you describe her emotional state?”

  “We saw her just before coming here,” Mab said at last, voice crisp, “and she was completely hysterical.”

  A man behind Commander Travis made a hmm noise. “Would you agree with that, Miss Kendall?”

  Osla didn’t really want to, but yes—hysterical was an accurate way to describe Beth’s laughing-crying jag. “I suppose so. She doesn’t normally flip her wicket like that,” Osla felt compelled to say. “She’s very level.”

  “What did she say when was she hysterical?” That was one of the intelligence men. Osla recognized him—the smarmy fellow who had hinted she’d stolen files outside her hut. “Did she spout any wild theories? Talk about someone from her section?”

  “No.” Mab had drawn herself up cool and correct. You would have to know her very well, Osla thought, to know that she was still boiling with fury.

  “Did she say anything about messages she’d broken?”

  Osla pushed a curl behind one ear. “No.”

  “We understand she had a rather long-term liaison with a colleague in Hut 8.” Pinstripes put a nasty edge on liaison. “A married colleague—Harry Zarb? The wog.”

  They both nodded reluctantly. No point denying it; everyone at BP knew.

  “I understand he broke it off when he enlisted, and she became upset.”

  “The break came more from her than from him,” Osla said.

  Mab shrugged. “Yes, she was upset.”

  “She was already behaving erratically before this romantic disappointment, I believe? The death of her mentor Dilly Knox—did it make her unreliable? Unstable?”

  Mab and Osla looked at each other. “That was part of her work, so it never came up.”

  Pinstripes bent over, murmuring. “We already had the other girls in, Miss Rock and what was the other one?”

  “—Phyllida Something—”

  “—and they said Miss Finch used to talk to Dilly after he was dead, as though he was still there in ISK working. Miss Rock said it gave her the shivers.”

  “Talking to people who aren’t there—that’s not the strangest thing you’ll see in this place by a long shot,” Osla began, but Commander Travis waved her off. He looked like a man who wanted nothing more than a few hours’ sleep before the invasion, who had instead been dragged backward out of bed through a thornbush to be at this desk. What is going on? Osla thought in mounting unease. Beth couldn’t possibly be in trouble over the Coventry raid; she’d get nothing but approval if her superiors knew she had kept the raid secret even at the risk of her friends’ safety.

  “I think we have more than enough evidence of worsening erratic behavior,” Pinstripes said. “The real question—”

  Commander Travis looked at Osla and Mab. “Did Bethan Finch ever violate the Official Secrets Act by repeating secret information outside Bletchley Park?”

  Osla looked at Mab, who looked straight ahead and said, “Yes, she has. Once.” Three women in a pitch-dark room, whispering classified information among themselves to feel safer in a cold, violent world.

  Travis turned to Osla. “Miss Kendall, can you confirm this?”

  An hour ago, Osla had flung the postponement of the German invasion in Beth’s face. There was still the rock of anger in her middle about the Coventry raid, but she would never have chosen to tell Bletchley Park’s higher-ups about Beth’s single incident of indiscretion. She still wouldn’t have. But now they were all staring at her cold-eyed, and Osla knew she couldn’t lie. They might have very critical reasons to need the information—and if she lied, she could be charged with a crime. “Beth disclosed secret information once,” Osla said reluctantly. “It was off BP grounds, but only to the two of us, in private, no possibility of eavesdroppers. She never did anything like that again.”

  “Irrelevant,” Pinstripes snapped, and someone else began to lecture, “You two girls should have—” But Osla cut him off.

  “Why is everyone getting hacked off about Beth and her moods?” Something here smelled off, all this information suddenly cascading down over Travis’s desk at once. On Mab and me, too, Osla thought. “Beth’s one of the best people we’ve got—now is not the time to put her out on the tiles.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kendall, Mrs. Gray.” Travis cut her off. “You may return to your posts. I imagine you’ll both be needed.”

  Osla tried again. “Sir, this frankly looks like someone trying to nobble Beth. I don’t think—”

  “Just don’t think, you silly deb,” one of the MI-5 swots snapped.

  Osla’s eyes stung, but she would have kept arguing. Only it wasn’t going to do any good. Travis was pivoting in his chair, saying, “Can we close this matter, gentlemen? We’ve heard from the girl’s billet-mates; we’ve called in her section colleagues and her mother. You may have noticed that there is considerably more to do tonight than deal with one broken-down—”

  The office door swung shut, cutting off his voice. Osla drew breath, puzzled and angry and full of foreboding, but a buzzing sounded overhead, outside. She looked at Mab, and they both bolted for the entrance hall and out the door. They stood, faces turned toward the rainy black sky, as codebreakers began spilling out of the mansion and blocks. Osla’s ears pounded as the shadows passed overhead under the cloud
s: hundreds and hundreds of RAF bombers towing gliders behind them, winging toward the channel.

  “It’s started,” someone whispered, and then they were all shouting. “It’s started—it’s started!”

  Nothing for it now. Osla ran for her block, Mab ran back into the mansion, and everything was forgotten except the fact that the invasion had at long last begun.

  Chapter 66

  Beth had no idea how long it took to pull herself together. When she stopped hiccupping and laughing and weeping, she lifted her swollen face from Boots’s neck and looked at Dilly Knox standing in the corner. He wasn’t really there, but it soothed her to pretend he was. “I know,” she said. “I have to go.” No time to go to pieces, no time to grieve for her broken friendships, no time for anything.

  She scrubbed her eyes, fixed herself up with a sanitary towel, then put Boots on his lead and took him with her—who knew how long the invasion would keep her chained to her desk at ISK. Dear God, how was she going to work a double shift breaking Abwehr intercepts, knowing someone she trusted—maybe someone in the room—was selling information?

  Put that away, she told herself, heading out under a dark, rain-lowering sky. Lock it in its own separate iron safe behind a wall panel, like the one in Dilly’s library.

  She hoped to flag a ride to Bletchley Park, but no cars passed by. Beth was nearly howling with frustration by the time the transport bus arrived, full of codebreakers she didn’t know. How much had changed since she’d been recruited! The sleek triple-shifted operation of thousands merging seamlessly in and out of the new concrete blocks was nothing like the cheerful, frantic, slapdash days of the green huts. She climbed off the transport bus at the gates, determined to make her report to Commander Travis before losing herself in Abwehr until the invasion was over. Right now, the knots and byways of Abwehr looked like a haven. Beth hurried forward, fumbling for her pass.