The Secret Life of Kitty Granger

by G. D. Falksen

  Instead, she turned her mind to the problem of the hidden room. Verity believed it existed, so Kitty assumed that it did. Where, then, would it be? She’d already ruled out the two main floors. The attic, perhaps? But that was where the servants’ quarters were. Even good servants would get curious if their employer was always rushing to the top floor.

  The only place the room could be was underground, where there would be no tell-tale signs of its existence.

  As Kitty pondered this, she saw Verity slip away from the others and fall into step beside her. Kitty blinked a couple of times to get her whirling thoughts together.

  “I think the hidden room is in the basement,” she said quietly, forgetting to let Verity speak first.

  Verity paused with her mouth half open, interrupted a moment away from saying something. “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “You think so? I assumed there would be some sort of hidden passage near Lowell’s office.”

  “I can’t find any space large enough for it on the main floors,” Kitty explained. “The basement is the only possible place. Question is where exactly.”

  Verity considered the problem. “Below stairs is the servants’ domain. Lowell can go down there if he chooses, but not without attracting attention. And if he’s meeting with people in secret, they can’t go wandering through the servants’ hall . . .” Her eyebrows arched suddenly and she gasped. “Oh God, I’m a bloody idiot. Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “What?” Kitty asked.

  “It must be in the wine cellar.” Verity looked almost angry. Kitty decided she must be frustrated with herself. “It’s deep underground, and Lowell can go there whenever he wants. I’ve been down there briefly, and absolutely nothing stood out to me as suspicious, but . . .”

  “I should take a look,” Kitty said, hoping she sounded decisive. “I shall go late at night, when everyone else is in bed. If I’m seen, I’ll just pretend I’m going to the kitchen for a glass of milk.”

  Verity frowned. “It’s risky. If you’re caught wandering the halls and claim you’re going to the kitchen, that’s one thing. But if you’re found in the wine cellar ‘looking for some milk,’ there will be trouble.”

  Kitty felt her face twist into a sour expression. Things never lined up easily when they needed to.

  “What were you doing in the wine cellar when you went?” she asked Verity.

  “I went with Diana to steal a bottle of wine,” Verity answered matter-of-factly. Her eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s how we get you down there.”

  “I steal some wine?” Kitty asked, bewildered. Getting caught stealing seemed almost as bad as getting caught spying.

  “I suspect Lord Lowell’s used to Diana and her friends raiding the wine cellar. He’ll forgive Diana just about anything, so as long as she gives you the order to go down there, we’re in the clear.”

  “Then how do we get Diana to send me?”

  Verity grinned. “That’s the easy part. I’ll just wait until it’s late and Diana starts bemoaning something, and I’ll say ‘Why don’t we crack open a bottle of wine to make up for not being in London?’ Diana will agree, of course, and then you can jump in and volunteer before Ivy or Phyllis does.”

  As she absorbed this, Kitty took a breath and exhaled to steady herself. “All right, it’s a plan.”

  Chapter 19

  It wasn’t a long walk to the manor, but Kitty was feeling overheated and annoyed by the time they got back from town. As they neared the driveway, she noticed a new car standing in front of the house. It was a very expensive-looking Aston Martin. Whoever owned it had just arrived.

  Diana gasped at the sight of it and exclaimed in delight, “No! It can’t be!”

  “What?” Kitty asked. She looked at Verity for an explanation, but Verity seemed just as confused as Kitty.

  Kitty followed Diana into the foyer, only to freeze in place. The owner of the car was standing there, handing his driving gloves to the footman and exchanging a few pleasant words with Lord Lowell.

  Sir Richard Smythe turned toward them as he heard the front door open. His face lit up at the sight of Diana and he held out his arms.

  “Diana! My favorite niece!” Smythe exclaimed, speaking in a tone of tenderness that such a horrible man didn’t deserve to use.

  Diana clapped her hands in delight and rushed to embrace her godfather. “Uncle Richard!”

  Kitty immediately looked at Verity, but Verity’s guarded expression offered her no reassurance. Smythe was there. Smythe was at Lowell’s house. The Orchestra already knew that the two were in league with one another, but Smythe was actually there!

  “And who are all of you?” Smythe asked, casting a glance at Kitty and the other girls. “Ah! Ivy MacIntyre. How are you? Been ages.”

  Ivy bobbed her head at Smythe. “Oh, quite well, Sir Richard, thank you. Papa sends his best wishes.”

  Smythe chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me, Ivy. I had lunch with your father just this morning. He didn’t mention you were up here visiting Diana. And who are the rest of you?” He waved his hand at Kitty, Verity, and Phyllis. “Diana’s friends, I assume.”

  “Of course they are, Uncle Richard,” Diana said. “Who else would they be? This is Phyllis. She’s a friend from school. And Vera. We met abroad. She’s very stylish when she means to be. And Vera’s cousin Kate. She’s Canadian, but we are doing our best with her.”

  Kitty bristled at the implied insult, but Smythe only laughed. “Don’t be silly, Diana. Stalwart fellows, those Canadians. Well, the ones who don’t vote Liberal at least.” He exchanged a hearty laugh with Lord Lowell. Kitty pasted on a smile, though nobody was looking very closely at her. Everyone was focused on Smythe.

  “What are you doing here, uncle?” Diana demanded. She seemed far happier than Kitty had seen her in the past few days, which jarred with the facts Kitty knew about the man.

  Smythe patted Diana’s hand. “What? Can’t a fellow visit his favorite goddaughter?”

  “Parliament’s still seated,” Diana said. “You never miss it.”

  “I’m just visiting my old friend,” Smythe insisted. He clapped a hand on Lowell’s shoulder. “With Labour in charge, we true Englishmen have to stick together.” He laughed at his own words, and again Lowell joined him. Diana giggled. Kitty forced herself to smile. This was all in fun, or at least it was supposed to be, and Kitty couldn’t let on that she knew otherwise.

  “Are you staying awhile?” Diana asked eagerly. “Do say you’re staying!”

  “I’m here through the weekend,” Smythe said. “Come Monday morning, it’s back to London to work.”

  Diana scowled. “Work. You’re just like Daddy.”

  “England can’t manage itself to suit one girl’s wishes,” Smythe said indulgently. That patronizing tone made Kitty want to grind her teeth. “Your father and I must keep things in order, whatever those stupid Labour ministers think.”

  “Leave them at the reins much longer, and they will surely drive the country to ruin,” Lowell agreed. He motioned in the direction of his office. “Now then, I don’t mean to deprive you of your godfather, Diana, but Richard and I have some business to discuss before dinner. You girls run along and don’t disturb us, all right?”

  Smythe and Lowell retreated from the foyer. As the girls passed through on their way to the sitting room, Kitty glanced down the hallway and caught a glimpse of the two men just before they disappeared into the office.

  “Do you have the papers?” she heard Lowell ask.

  Smythe patted the briefcase he was carrying. “Yes. Better put them in the safe.”

  Kitty made a note of that as Smythe closed the door behind him. So, either they weren’t visiting the hidden room yet, or it really was accessed through Lowell’s office. Kitty thought about the latter possibility but quickly discarded it. More likely, Smythe and Lowell would visit the secret room when there was no risk of discovery.

  In the meantime, Smythe’s presence meant something was
definitely going on. All the more reason to work quickly and finish the mission as soon as possible.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur for Kitty. She followed the other girls around, doing whatever they were doing as convincingly as she could. Half the time, she found an excuse to just sit quietly, staring into the distance or nodding while they talked. All the while, ideas were circling in her mind. Dozens of dramatic possibilities surfaced, only to be tossed away as rubbish.

  Smythe had murdered people. Maybe he and Lowell were going to murder the Prime Minister. Or maybe they planned to assassinate the Queen!

  Ridiculous.

  Perhaps it wasn’t murder after all. Maybe they were really gangsters only pretending to be upstanding members of Parliament. Perhaps there was a heist afoot! They were going to defraud the government, or steal the crown jewels!

  An absurd idea.

  No, this was about politics. Kitty thought about Smythe’s words to Diana. Your father and I must keep things in order. Smythe was in the opposition and Lowell was a lord, so neither of them had any direct control over the government. Maybe they were plotting blackmail to force the Labour ministers to do what they wanted.

  Or . . . what if they were planning to force an election and ensure that the Conservatives won? Kitty didn’t understand politics very well, especially since she was too young to vote. It had never really concerned her. How was she to know what kind of scheme was plausible, and what kind would be farfetched?

  She would have to ask Verity when the opportunity arose. In the meantime, she kept pondering in silence.

  Smythe and Lowell emerged from seclusion in time for dinner, both looking very pleased about something. The meal was far livelier than previous evenings. Smythe was very conversational, asking Diana about what she was doing lately and making small talk with the other girls about their families. Kitty was forced to invent a number of small details about her fictional background to fill in the gaps that her file hadn’t included. It wasn’t difficult to do, but she had to be precise about what she said so those details remained consistent.

  After dinner, Lowell and Smythe stayed in the dining room to enjoy brandy and cigars, while the girls went with Diana into the parlor. Diana was brimming with excitement at all the attention she was getting. Suddenly, her annoyance over being confined at home was gone, although Kitty suspected that the novelty of her godfather’s visit would wear off soon enough.

  As they listened to some music on the record player, Diana suddenly exclaimed, “I feel like a drink. Who’s with me?”

  “Oh, I’m absolutely dying for a glass of wine,” Verity agreed.

  “Yes!” Phyllis chimed in. “Let’s make this a real party!”

  “Are we allowed to?” Ivy asked nervously.

  Diana scoffed at her. “It’s my father’s wine, stupid. I can have some if I want.”

  “So we should go ask His Lordship if he minds you raiding his cellar?” Phyllis teased.

  Diana glared at her, and Phyllis turned quiet.

  “No, someone will have to go sneak it,” Diana admitted. “You go, Phyllis. Serves you right for being so snide.”

  Phyllis made a face at her. “I just lit my cigarette! Give me a few minutes!”

  Kitty caught Verity glancing at her with a knowing look in her eyes. This was a perfectly innocent opportunity to visit the wine cellar.

  “I’ll go,” she said. At first, her voice was too soft and uncertain, but she cleared her throat and repeated the offer. “I’ll go, Diana. I don’t mind.”

  “Attagirl, Kate!” Diana said. “You’re a good sport. You know the stairs down to the kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a right at the bottom instead of going straight. The cellar is right there. Just grab something new. Daddy will be furious if he finds out we’ve gotten into his good wine.”

  Kitty bobbed her head. “I can do that. I’ll—um—I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t get caught!” Diana called after her, as Kitty hurried out of the room.

  Kitty crept toward the main hallway and the kitchen stairs. The path took her past the dining room. Smythe and Lowell were still inside, talking over their brandy and cigars. Kitty paused near the doorway in case they were discussing anything important.

  “See, that’s always been the problem with old Mosley,” Smythe said, jabbing his cigar in Lowell’s direction to emphasize his words.

  “The problem?” Lowell asked with a laugh. “Oswald’s a dear friend, but even I know he’s a bloody fool.”

  Kitty stayed put. From this angle, she had a good view of them both, and she was fairly certain the darkness of the hallway would obscure her from view if either of them happened to glance toward the door.

  “Just look at ’59,” Smythe continued. “He returns to Britain ready to be swept into office on a wave of anti-immigrant sentiment, and what does he do? He runs on his bloody Union Movement ticket and loses, of course.”

  “Foregone conclusion,” Lowell agreed.

  “And he was surprised when it happened again last year! You can’t win in national politics by running as a minor party. The votes just aren’t there. Now, the only way that fascism can save Britain from itself . . .”

  Lowell waved his hand at Smythe and shushed him angrily. “Watch your words, man! We talked about this. Not in the house, not while there’s company.”

  “Don’t be such an old hen, Henry,” Smythe replied. “No one’s listening. Anyway, like I’ve always said, infiltration is the only way to fix this country. I told Mosley, you know. I said, ‘Oswald, the only way we’re going to get a strong man at the reins of Britain is if we have our men—good, loyal men—join the Conservatives, stand for election as Conservatives, and eventually take over the party.’ Damn fool didn’t listen.”

  Lowell said, “It was a good plan. It still would be, if it weren’t taking bloody long.”

  “Ten years and only twelve men to show for it,” Smythe agreed bitterly. “In my youth I might’ve had the patience to see it through, but now . . .”

  Lowell nodded. “I spoke to our mutual friend the other day,” he remarked, mulling over his brandy. “He said we should consider waiting, giving infiltration more time to run its course.” Even as he spoke, Lowell scoffed at the idea.

  “Not getting cold feet, is he?” Smythe asked.

  Lowell shook his head. “No, he’s with us. Just thought he should give his honest advice before—well, before it’s too late to reconsider.”

  “Unsurprising,” Smythe mused. “Left to his own devices, he’d probably stay hidden in a back room, looking at poll numbers and calculating the likelihood of winning marginal constituencies until Kingdom Come!” The two men shared a laugh at the idea. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’m tired of waiting,” Lowell replied. “I’m not a young man anymore and I would like to taste the fruits of victory myself, not toil for years just to pass the torch to a new generation of fa—” He caught himself. “Nationalists.”

  Smythe chuckled at the euphemism. “I know exactly how you feel, Henry. Now is not the time for hesitation, it is the time for decisive action.”

  Lowell raised his glass. “To a better Britain risen from the ashes.”

  “A better Britain,” Smythe echoed.

  Kitty quickly hurried past the door. Her hands were trembling. She had no idea what the two of them were plotting, but it was something troubling. Probably something violent.

  She hurried to the basement and turned right into the cellar to avoid being spotted by any of the servants. She found herself in a grim brick-walled room that smelled musty and stale. It was probably hundreds of years old, old enough that the lights hung from the ceiling on strings because their wires were on the outside of the walls. The room was also surprisingly squat, and even though Kitty was small, she kept glancing upward at the ceiling, certain that she was going to smack her head against it. Something about the layout made her feel uncomfortable, and she turned in circles
a few times, unable to fix on exactly what it was.

  She crept past the rows of wine racks, which were only partly full but had an impressive display of bottles. Well, at least they looked impressive to Kitty. She knew nothing about what made wine good or important, but just the quantity astonished her. A lot of bottles were covered in dust, which drifted into the air as Kitty passed and tickled her nose. Kitty sniffled and snorted a couple of times to make sure she didn’t sneeze.

  First things first: find the hidden room. Then grab a bottle of wine and get out. Diana probably wouldn’t care what she picked as long as it wasn’t expensive enough to be missed. Kitty made a note of one rack of bottles that looked very new and not at all dusty. She’d grab one of those on her way out.

  Ah, but the cellar. Something was wrong with it, and Kitty couldn’t decide what. The dimensions were off somewhere, but she was noticing it subconsciously. It was gnawing at her, making her feel anxious. Where was it?

  Kitty started pacing the length of the cellar, keeping her gaze focused on the nearest wall, waiting for the troublesome irregularity to reveal itself. On her second pass, she realized something else was bothering her. It wasn’t just that the room’s shape was odd. There was a breeze.

  Kitty held out her hands and felt the air gently flow through her fingers. It wasn’t strong, but air was definitely moving from one end of the room to the other, which it shouldn’t be in such an enclosed space.

  Follow the breeze, find the door, she thought.

  She turned until she felt the breeze flowing against her face and slowly advanced toward it. The path was taking her in the direction of the far corner. Nothing about the walls looked particularly suspicious and they all had wine racks in front of them. Kitty stopped and let her eyes dart around freely, looking for inconsistencies. She could do this. There was something hidden here, she just needed to find it.