The Lost Mata Hari Ring

by Elyse Douglas

  Bryanne was given the unpleasant task of introducing Trace and Miss Pemberton. Miss Pemberton was a thin, fragile-looking girl in her late twenties, with dark thin hair, an upturned regal nose, and large blue eyes that seemed lost in a kind of lofty wonder.

  Miss Pemberton offered Trace a sweet, worried smile. “I am so happy we can meet at last, Mrs. Bishop,” she said in a light, feathery voice. “I have heard so many pleasant things about you.”

  The two ladies held limp hands, briefly, as if hands were fragile and could break.

  Trace said, “It is my pleasure, Miss Pemberton. I am so glad you could come.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Pemberton said, as her smile faded, and her eyes filled with a dreary, dreamy melancholy. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Bishop, for your loss. I am sure this has not been an easy time for you, nor for the entire Bishop family. Please accept my deepest condolences. Edward was a dear man and a good, agreeable friend. If at any time you wish companionship, please consider my company, Mrs. Bishop. I do not live so very far away, and near our home at Gatewood, there are several lovely gardens and woodlands to stroll in for exercise and restorative contemplation.”

  Trace perceived that Miss Pemberton’s offer was genuine, and she was touched by it.

  “Thank you, Miss Pemberton. You are very kind.”

  Miss Pemberton took Trace’s hand again. “We have all felt Edward’s passing very keenly, Mrs. Bishop. These have been difficult days for us all.”

  After she had drifted away, Thomas leaned in again. “Like I said, not a bad girl at all. Between you and me, Trace, I don’t think she was in love with Edward.”

  Trace turned slightly, her lips close to his ear, so he could hear her whispering voice. “And you, Thomas, are you in love with Miss Pemberton, and her Dickens, Christmas crackers and Walkers shortbread?”

  After a startled moment, Thomas grinned with a boyishness that reminded her of Edward.

  “I can see why Edward fell in love with you, Mrs. Bishop. As my old Scottish grandmother used to say, “Yair a cheeky lass, me darlin’.”

  In the grand dining room, Trace was relieved to be seated next to Thomas, who kept her entertained with irreverent stories about the Bishops’ various colorful neighbors. They feasted on roast turkey, beef, goose and vegetables, along with mince pies made of meat, fruit and spice. Trace especially liked the colorful dishes filled with candied fruits. They sipped red and white wine, and they finished the meal with plum pudding and a glass of fine Port.

  The Christmas Eve party moved to the ballroom at 9:30, and it was soon alive and soaring with waltzes and the delicious aroma of pine, spice and vanilla.

  Trace watched the dancers from the sidelines as they took turns around the floor, whirling in delightful motion, rounding the space. Her dancer’s spirit lifted as she imagined joining them. For the first time in months, she smiled freely, watching the blurring elegant room blossom in celebration.

  Thomas drew up to Trace. “I can see it in your eyes that you’d like to be out there dancing, Trace. Do you dance well?”

  “I like to think so. Yes, I would like to dance, but not here and not tonight. I think Edward is missed. I hear it in conversation. I can feel it in the rooms.”

  Thomas nodded. “Yes, Edward was always the life of the party, and everyone loved him.”

  “Were you jealous of Edward?”

  Thomas smiled. “No, Trace. Oddly enough, we were very close. He was always very supportive of me, and we were different kinds of men. He an extrovert and me, well, I like my privacy. Edward and I got along very well, and I miss him greatly.”

  Trace sought to change the subject. “You should go dance with Miss Pemberton, Thomas.”

  “Not proper, Trace, just as it isn't proper for you to dance because you're in mourning. We all know the rules, Mrs. Bishop. I must wait for the appropriate time. Everyone in this room knew Edward and Miss Pemberton were engaged.”

  Trace looked around. “I wonder what all of Edward’s friends think about me and our sudden marriage?”

  “I dare say some were surprised. Some no doubt disapproved. But on the whole, this war has changed all of us, and it is changing society and the way we look at the world. I think most now see you, Mrs. Bishop, as a lovely girl, and if Edward loved you and married you, then, in time, they will accept you.”

  Trace looked at Thomas and smiled. “As we say where I come from, you’re a cool dude, Thomas.”

  Thomas grinned. “Cool? I like that expression. A cool dude,” he said, repeating it with a shake of his head. “It sounds very slang and delightfully informal, doesn’t it? But I like it. I must try it on the chaps at the war office.”

  “And I still say that Miss Pemberton would love to dance with you.”

  “A rebel you are, Trace. A true rebel, and I approve. Perhaps I shall dance with Miss Pemberton and see if the room shatters into disapproval.”

  When the musicians took an intermission, a young soldier scrambled up onto the stage, slid in behind the piano, and began to play O Come All Ye Faithful. With punch glasses raised, the room erupted into boisterous song.

  Around 11:00, Charles entered the ballroom and walked purposefully across the floor to Sir Alfred. Sir Alfred bent toward the butler to hear his message, and Trace watched Sir Alfred’s expression move from mild surprise to concern. He thanked Charles and stepped over to Trace.

  “Well, my dear, it seems you have a visitor.”

  “Me? How can that be? Are you sure?”

  “Charles said a Captain Vadime Masloff is waiting for you in the drawing room. He wants to speak with you.”

  Trace was stunned. “Vadime?” For nearly five weeks, she’d successfully shut out thoughts of Mata Hari and Vadime. How had he found her? What did he want?

  Lady Gwendolyn drew up, her expression curious. “Is everything all right, Alfred?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Trace has a visitor.”

  Lady Gwendolyn grew anxious. “Do we know who it is?”

  “A friend,” Trace said, evasively. She did not want Lady Gwendolyn to accompany her.

  Sir Alfred rested his tender eyes on Trace. “You suddenly look a bit pale, my dear. Would you like me to come along?”

  Trace considered it. “Yes, Sir Alfred. Yes, I would.”

  They left Lady Gwendolyn staring after them, worried.

  CHAPTER 34

  Vadime was standing before the fireplace, hands locked behind his back. He turned sharply when Sir Alfred and Trace entered. After Sir Alfred closed the doors behind them, Trace introduced the two men. Vadime, wearing an impeccable royal blue uniform and high black boots polished to a fine gloss, offered Trace a courtly bow and a handshake to Sir Alfred.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Bishop,” he said in his thick Russian accent. “Forgive me for arriving so late. I hope I am not intruding.”

  Trace took a few steps forward. “What are you doing here, Captain Vadime? How did you know I was here?”

  He gave her a quick, tight smile as he glanced about at the extravagantly decorated room. He indicated with the sweep of his arm. “If I may say so, Sir Alfred, your home is impressive. I am glad to see that you, Mrs. Bishop, are looking so well.”

  Trace stood in a tense, guarded silence. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why he had come.

  “Captain Masloff, Trace said you knew my son.”

  “Yes, Sir Alfred. Captain Bishop and I were good friends and we flew many sorties together. They called us the modern knights,” Vadime said, with a reflective smile. “But those days are gone now for us. Yes, those days are over.”

  Captain Masloff stared pointedly at Sir Alfred. “Your son was a good man, sir. The best man I ever knew, and the finest pilot I ever flew with. I say that in all honesty, Sir Alfred. I say that truthfully and from my heart. You should be very proud of your son. We flyers loved him as our brother.”

  Sir Alfred’s mouth firmed up, and he stared at Vadime with gratitude. “Thank you, Captain Masloff. Thank you for your fri
endship to my son. If there is ever anything you need, I hope you will let me know.”

  Captain Masloff snapped a bow. “You are most kind, Sir Alfred. Thank you.”

  They stood in a respectful silence for a time, before Sir Alfred glanced back toward the door.

  “I will go now and leave you two alone. I am sure you have private issues to discuss.”

  After Sir Alfred’s footsteps faded, Trace offered Vadime a chair. He declined. Instead, he stood stiffly, and Trace wondered if his leg pained him.

  “As to how I knew you were here, Mrs. Bishop, that was easy. I was flying with the French, and the word about you spread very quickly. At first, I didn’t know you were in Saint-Lazare Prison, and neither did Mata Hari. But then we heard that Sir Alfred had come for you. That is news that moves fast, Mrs. Bishop.”

  Trace gestured toward the black eyepatch over his left eye. “And how is your eye, Captain Vadime?”

  He shrugged. “That eye is blind, Mrs. Bishop. Yes, it is, and always will be. No matter. It is not a serious thing.”

  “But how can you fly with a blind eye?”

  He gave her a sad smile. “I am not to fly any longer. Flying is over for me. It is over for my good friend, Edward, and it is over for me.” He tapped his right leg and smiled, ruefully. “My leg, too, is not so good. I’m afraid I am an old man before my time, Mrs. Bishop.”

  Trace stared into the fire. “I’m so sorry, Vadime.”

  “May I smoke, Mrs. Bishop?”

  “Of course.”

  Captain Vadime removed a cigarette from his silver cigarette case, a gift from Mata Hari, placed it between his lips and found a match on the table. He struck the match and cupped a hand to light his long cigarette, blowing a feather of smoke toward the high ceiling.

  “And how is Mata Hari, Captain Vadime?”

  He slipped a hand inside his tunic, like Napoleon, staring at his cigarette as he spoke. “Mata Hari is in Madrid. She will return to Paris in January.”

  Trace felt a restless stirring. “Why doesn’t she go to the Netherlands, Vadime? Can’t you convince her?”

  “She will not, Trace. Yes, I have tried to tell her that. She is in danger.”

  “I know she’s in danger. Captain Ladoux of French Intelligence is out to trap her, and he will trap her, just as he trapped me.”

  Captain Vadime nodded, sadly. “I, too, tried to warn her. So she told me she needed money for me. Can you imagine her doing these things for money, to give to me?”

  He shook his head and took a long drag from his cigarette. “I must go to Russia now.”

  “Russia? Why?”

  His single eye widened. “Why? Surely, you know what is going on in Russia, Mrs. Bishop. Haven’t you heard that my country has had many hardships, with riots and rebellions? With Czar Nicholas away at the front, there is no authority. He is not a military leader, you know. Russia has fallen into chaos. Its people and its soldiers are rebelling against these hard times. I must go and do what I can for my poor country. I fear, Mrs. Bishop, that things have gone too far. I fear, Mrs. Bishop, that the entire world is coming apart. Will any of us survive it?”

  He turned, and angrily flicked his cigarette into the fire. “Mata Hari has pleaded with me to stay in France and wait for her, but I cannot. I must go and help my country. Maybe I will fight and be killed, but I must go and help, and do what I can for my family and for my country. Yes, I must do this, or I am not a soldier, not a man, and not a good Russian.”

  He scratched his cheek, his troubled eye moving for a time. It finally settled on Trace.

  “You know, Trace, Mrs. Bishop, I loved Edward like a brother. Yes, I did love him that way. He was my good and true friend. He was a good and true soldier, who would fly into a storm of enemy planes, no matter what the danger. He never said no to any mission, and he could have. He was a… what is the word… Okay, I don’t know this word…”

  “Inspiration?” Trace said.

  Vadime jabbed a sharp finger at her in recognition. “Yes. Inspiration he was. Edward was brave, and he was, as you say, an inspiration to all who fly and fight over France.”

  Trace looked down and away, releasing a sigh. “Why have you come, Vadime? If you are on your way to Russia, why have you come all this way to see me?”

  Vadime nodded, staring down at the rich gray, blue and burgundy patterns of the carpet.

  “When I saw Mata Hari last, just before she was leaving for Spain, she handed me something to give to you. She was very insistent that you receive this. She said, ‘Give this to Trace, and make sure you give it to her as soon as you can.’”

  He paused, lifting a hand to the right pocket of his tunic. He released the polished brass button, reached in and tugged out a red velvet cloth, wrapped by a gold elastic band.

  Trace watched him closely, breath trapped in her throat.

  “Mrs. Bishop, Mata Hari said she had a dream about you some weeks ago. She said in that dream you begged her for this. For this ring. She said it was the same ring you were wearing when she first saw you in the chateau back in late June.”

  As Vadime slowly unwrapped it, Trace’s wide, round eyes fell on the velvet cloth. Vadime dramatically lifted his hand and presented the ring, holding it into the light.

  Trace was transfixed, staring. There it was—alive—glittering emerald magic.

  Vadime bowed, offering it to her. “Mata Hari said she wanted you to have it. It is her gift to you. Call it a Christmas gift.”

  Trace stared at the ring, feeling the magnetic pull of it as it emanated a strange beckoning energy.

  “You may have it,” Vadime said, waiting for Trace to accept it.

  Holding Vadime’s stare, she reached, gently taking the cloth with the ring at its center.

  “It seems to hold much value for you, Mrs. Bishop.”

  “Yes, it does. Will you please thank Mata Hari for me, Captain Vadime?”

  “I will write to her. I will tell her. Perhaps you will write her too, Mrs. Bishop? She was fond of you, you know. A bit frightened of you, for reasons I don’t understand, but very fond.”

  Trace reached for his hand, and she held it for a while. They said nothing, as the silence lengthened, and they thought of old times.

  When Vadime was leaving, Charles held Vadime’s greatcoat, and Trace helped him shoulder into it. They shook hands once more.

  “Take care of yourself, Captain Vadime.”

  He clicked his boots together and snapped a crisp salute. “It has been a great pleasure knowing you, Mrs. Bishop. Я верю в тебя, which in Russian means… I believe in you. You will be fine… yes?”

  Trace stepped outside under a light snowfall and waved, as he drove away in a waddling old car, with exhaust puffing out clouds of smoke. After the car had faded into the snowy night, Trace turned back to the house to see Sir Alfred waiting for her.

  Charles closed the door behind them, bowed to Sir Alfred, and started back toward the ballroom.

  “Is everything all right, my dear?” he asked with apprehension.

  Trace clasped the wrapped ring tightly in her right hand. “Yes…He’s leaving for Russia. He stopped by to say goodbye, and to offer his respects and condolences. He was Mata Hari’s true love, you know.”

  Sir Alfred studied Trace. “Was he? And do you know Mata Hari, Trace?”

  Trace avoided his eyes, smiling to herself. “Yes, Sir Alfred, I know her.”

  “Thomas tells me that she is heading into a world of trouble. She seems to be involved in some sort of spying for the Germans and the French.”

  “Yes… I’ve heard that too.”

  “I’m afraid our unpleasant friend, Captain Ladoux, is out to trap her.”

  Trace could feel an inner darkness forming. She willfully pushed it away. She didn’t want to be living in this time, when Mata Hari was about to be arrested and shot for treason. Would the ring she was holding take her home?

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “I hope, my
dear, that you will not return to France to see her.”

  “No, I will not. I have other things to think about.”

  Sir Alfred offered her his arm and she linked hers in his. “Well, don’t think too hard, Trace. I have come to the startling conclusion of late that thinking is highly overrated. On the other hand, dancing and a good glass of Port are just the right way to go.”

  Trace laughed a little. “Yes, I like that. But if we dance, won’t people talk?”

  “Yes, of course, they will talk, Trace, and gossip for days. I say, let them. Edward would want us to dance… especially now, at Christmas. So, let us have one turn around the ballroom floor, Mrs. Bishop, and enjoy ourselves.”

  CHAPTER 35

  After Christmas, Trace spent most of the next two days in her room, saying the party had been wonderful but exhausting, and she needed rest. Thomas and Sir Alfred went to London, Thomas to work, and Sir Alfred to attend Parliamentary business. Trace was composing a letter to Nonnie, determined to finish and mail it before the New Year. Now that Trace had the ring, everything had changed, and she was excited by all the possibilities.

  She began the letter by apologizing to Non for not writing sooner, and then proceeded to tell her about Edward’s death and her own long illness. Trace did not mention anything about her time in Saint-Lazare Prison or how she’d wound up in England. She wrote briskly and enthusiastically, every cell in her body alive with the possibility of seeing Non again. In the final paragraph, she was very direct.

  My dearest Nonnie, I must see you again. Will it be possible for you to come to England for a visit? If that is not an option, then I will come to you, if you wish it. Please let me know how you are and if our meeting is possible. I have missed you greatly, and long to hear your voice and walk with you again. Please write as soon as you can and let me know your thoughts.

  Yours, affectionately,

  Trace

  P.S. I hope your father is well. Please give him my warmest regards.

  On December 30th, Sir Alfred returned from London and invited Trace to walk with him through the woodland paths which led to the quaint, Tudor-style stone house Edward had willed to her. She admired its textured stone exterior walls and dark brown window frames. This house was hers if she wanted it. She’d visited it only once before, not venturing in or even exploring the area, finding it too depressing.