The Secret Life of Kitty Granger

by G. D. Falksen

  After almost a hundred combinations, Verity groaned softly. “This is taking forever! This was a bloody mistake. I knew it wasn’t possible to guess.”

  “I’m doin’ me best,” Kitty snapped back. In her frustration, her East End accent began slipping through. Even as she spoke she kept running through the number combinations almost automatically. Her hand twisted the dial from place to place rapidly, acting on numbers her brain produced before she was even conscious of them. “I know roughly what it is, just not exactly, a’right?”

  “Accent,” Verity whispered.

  Kitty didn’t even stop working. “What’s it matter?” she demanded. “If they catch us ’ere doin’ this, it won’t matter what me bloody accent is, will it?”

  “Sorry,” Verity mumbled and fell silent. She clearly knew Kitty was right.

  “You needn’t bloody apologize, just let me work,” Kitty replied. “I’ll be fine talkin’ posh again once we’re done, but right now I can’t do this an’ be a bleedin’ Canadian!”

  “I’m amazed you can do that at all. How are you keeping track of which combinations you’ve done?”

  “I just am, a’right? It’s what me ’ead does.”

  And then the safe clicked. Both girls fell silent and stared at each other.

  “You did it,” Verity gasped.

  “Of course I did,” Kitty said, settling back into the Canadian accent. “I’ve a good head for numbers.”

  She tried to make it sound like it had been easy, but that was a lie. Her fingers were sore from the number of times she had turned the dial, and her head felt unpleasantly foggy and hot. It was like how she felt after running a few miles, only it was her brain and not her legs. But she gave Verity her most convincing smile.

  “Great work!” Verity exclaimed softly. Without warning, she gave Kitty a tight hug. Kitty froze in place, startled and unsure how to respond. After a second, Verity released her and asked, “What was the combination?”

  “Um, one, ten, thirty-two.”

  Verity’s brow furrowed. “I’m a bloody fool.” She smacked herself in the head. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  “I don’t understand,” Kitty said. “Is the number important?”

  “Only to someone like Lowell or Smythe,” Verity answered. She made a disgusted face. “The first of October, 1932. The founding of the British Union of Fascists. Trust a man like Lowell to use that.”

  They shared a mutual grimace and turned their attention to the contents of the safe. There was some money in neat stacks of bills, and lots of papers. As they moved the money out of the way, Kitty made a note of where it had been stacked and how the stacks had been placed. She would make certain there was no sign of their intrusion once they left—unlike Lowell’s attempt to search her things.

  Verity flipped through the paperwork hastily. “Some bonds . . . insurance documents . . . business paperwork . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t tell if any of this is important. We’ll have to come back later with a camera, now that we know the combination.”

  Kitty spotted a diary in the back of the safe, and she quickly skimmed the pages. It was a list of Lowell’s daily schedule for the past year. Very quickly, certain names and entries began to repeat themselves.

  “Look at this,” she whispered to Verity. “Over and over again, he’s meeting with someone called SRS.”

  “Sir Richard Smythe,” Verity said, voicing Kitty’s own thoughts.

  “And look here, other names and initials. Tom, Jim, HMR, JEP. Are these people in on the plot too? There are dozens of them!”

  Verity took a look. “Most of those are probably ordinary people he’s meeting with—politicians I expect—but at least some of them must be conspirators. It seems Lowell likes to list everyone by their initials as a shorthand.” She arched an eyebrow. “What about this Tuesday? What’s on the schedule while his family is away?”

  Kitty flipped forward until she found the date. It was a short entry, scribbled quickly in sharp, slashing letters that covered both Tuesday and Wednesday as a single entry.

  SRS.

  TOM.

  JIM.

  LONDON.

  Kitty gasped in relief at the unexpected windfall. She Verity’s face light up with a similar reaction.

  “He’s going to meet the other conspirators in London tomorrow!” Verity said. “We can sneak back at night while Lowell is out of the house. If we arrive late, the servants will all be in bed, and no one will be down there for us to walk in on. We’ll have plenty of time to bug the room and search it for useful evidence.”

  Kitty grinned. “Until tomorrow night, then.”

  Chapter 21

  Tuesday’s trip to the seaside was more enjoyable than Kitty had expected. She rode in Verity’s car while the others drove separately, which gave her a welcome respite from their chatter. It was also a relief not to be Kate Greenwood for a little while. She spent most of the drive gazing at the countryside, letting her mind relax.

  Kitty had never been to the beach before, not a proper one anyway. Her experience with the shore was the edge of the Thames, and that was a far cry from the pleasant, sandy expanse of this holiday beach with its dark blue waves, and its boardwalk and pier stretching out into the water. It was a beautiful sight, and the hotel they were staying in was more luxurious than she had ever imagined possible.

  Perhaps she just needed a better imagination. Verity and the other girls took it all in stride, and Ivy even remarked that she loved this place because it was so rustic. It astonished Kitty to hear that, but then again, these girls were used to the south of France, and cruises, and wintering abroad, and all sorts of expensive things that Kitty had never encountered before. It just served to remind her of the tremendous gulf between her and them. If they knew who she really was, they’d hate her just for being poor. And that made her angry. It wasn’t fair, but it was the world she had to live in.

  Still, the day was a lot of fun. The girls went swimming and sunbathing, and looked at the shops along the pier, and had some lovely ice cream at a charming little place near the hotel. Kitty bought a camera and tried not to show how extravagant the purchase felt to her. She allowed herself to be drawn in by her surroundings, and for a few hours she even pretended that this could be her life someday, and not merely the side-effect of working undercover. How horrible that she had to pretend to be somebody else just to enjoy simple things that certain people could take for granted.

  By the time evening arrived, Kitty had come back to reality. Tonight, while Lord Lowell was in London and the rest of the group was down here, she and Verity were going to sneak into the Lowell house.

  “Clever of you to bring your own car,” Kitty noted as Verity pulled them out onto the main road. It was after midnight, and she and Verity had just sneaked out of the hotel.

  “I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” Verity replied, smirking at her.

  Kitty grinned back. “I know.”

  She rested her hands protectively on the camera in her lap. She had already made a show of using it to photograph the sights with Diana, so if it was found in her luggage later, no one would think anything about it.

  Verity glanced at Kitty. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little bit,” Kitty admitted.

  “Good. That’ll keep you on your toes. But don’t worry: the only people at the house will be the servants, and they’ll all have the good sense to be in bed when we get there. We’ll be in and out and back to the beach long before sunrise.”

  Kitty nodded and settled back into her seat. It was an hour’s drive to the manor, so she closed her eyes to rest them a bit longer. Despite Verity’s reassurances, she feared she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.

  She woke again as Verity slowed the car and parked it off the side of the road a short distance from the house, hidden from view by a small stand of trees. Kitty rubbed her eyes and grabbed the camera.

  “Something’s wrong,” Verity whispered.


  “What?”

  Without answering, Verity led Kitty to the edge of the property, where they could see the house and the front driveway clearly. Some of the lights were on in the house, which was strange given that it was after midnight. Kitty realized that there were several cars in the driveway, when there shouldn’t have been any at all.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, still in Kate Greenwood’s accent.

  “Something tells me the meeting isn’t happening in London,” Verity replied. “It’s happening here.”

  “But it said London in the diary!”

  “That must be referencing something else,” Verity said.

  “Are we giving up the mission?” Kitty asked.

  Verity shook her head. “We’ve come this far. At least we can take a look. We can’t bug or search the meeting room while they’re here, of course, but we have the camera, so if we get a photograph of the conspirators together, even better.”

  Kitty nodded. She followed Verity across the grounds and through the garden. The French doors leading into the sitting room were locked, but Verity had brought her lock picks and had the door open in no time.

  As they crept through the house, Kitty heard the floorboards creak under the footsteps of people all around them. A couple were upstairs, and at least two were on the ground floor with them. Who knew if any more were downstairs?

  She noticed movement at the end of the hallway before Verity did, and pulled Verity into the library just as two men dressed in black turned down the hallway toward them. Kitty waited until the men had passed before returning to the hallway and making for the cellar stairs.

  “I didn’t know Lord Lowell had bodyguards,” she said to Verity.

  “He doesn’t,” said Verity grimly. “Those aren’t bodyguards, those are soldiers.”

  “Soldiers! From our army?”

  “I don’t know. Military-trained, though, I’d bet my life on it.” Verity gave her a very intent look. “Kitty, if this goes bad, you get out of here, find a phone, and call for help. Understand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. Don’t worry about me. If something happens, you run.”

  Kitty bobbed her head and tried not to look upset. She didn’t want to abandon Verity if something went wrong. The very idea made her feel horrible.

  There was no one in the cellar when they reached the bottom of the stairs, though Kitty did spot another guard in the kitchen, stationed by the door that led outside. Lowell obviously didn’t expect anyone to know about the meeting, so this level of security made it clear he was a man who took every possible precaution.

  “All right, Kitty,” Verity whispered. “Do whatever it is you do. Find that door and get it open.”

  Kitty nodded. She went to the far corner of the cellar, where she had felt the breeze the other night. It was there again. Kitty rubbed her fingertips together as she looked at the two walls, trying to figure out which one the airflow was coming from. The right side, she thought. She knelt on the ground and peered at the base of the wall behind the wine rack. There was a thin sliver of light along the very bottom, and a stronger breeze forcing its way through. That was the door.

  “It’s here,” she said.

  “Good! Now how do we get it open?” Verity asked.

  Kitty stood again, pondering. There would have to be a latch or something—a mechanism that would be easy to activate, but would go unnoticed. Peering at the wall in front of her, she reached past the shelves of the rack so that she could feel the bricks. They felt real enough, and none of them moved under her touch.

  “Not there,” she murmured.

  Then the realization hit her. The latch wouldn’t be at eye level. Lowell knew it was there. It would be something he could just reach for without looking.

  Kitty positioned her hands at about the level she assumed Lord Lowell’s would be at and reached forward.

  “What are you doing?” Verity asked.

  “Shh!” Kitty hissed.

  She ran her fingers along the bricks, gently pushing against each one. After a few tries, a brick gave under her hand and she heard a gentle click. The door swung outward and Kitty caught it with both hands.

  Verity shot her an astonished look that turned into a grin. “You did it!”

  Kitty scrunched up her face at her. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  Together, they pulled the door the rest of the way open. Behind it was a long tunnel lit by a string of electrical lights, just like the cellar. Kitty heard voices coming from the far end, and she led the way forward, keeping to the shadows as best as she could. If they were seen now, they were in real trouble.

  After a few dozen feet, the tunnel ended in a large room with a low ceiling, built like a bunker. There was a table in the very middle, along with some desks and cabinets covered in documents, maps, and various kinds of equipment. Kitty saw a weapons rack against one wall, each shelf holding an automatic rifle. She shivered at the sight.

  Four men sat around the central table, looking over a set of maps. Kitty immediately recognized Smythe and Lowell. The next man was unfamiliar to her, but he had a grim, military bearing and he wore a pistol in a shoulder holster. The fourth man Kitty did know, but he wasn’t supposed to be there, and it took a few moments for her mind to reconcile that knowledge with the fact of his presence.

  The Old Man tapped one of the maps and spoke in the same soft, calm voice that he’d used in Mr. Pryce’s office.

  “So, we are agreed. Richard will oversee the placement. James will handle security. Henry and I will set the remaining wheels in motion so that order can be restored immediately after it’s done.”

  “Agreed,” said the man called James.

  “Have our supporters been notified to avoid the building this morning?” Lowell asked.

  Smythe nodded. “There will be a series of convenient mishaps preventing their arrival. Illness, family concerns, traffic, a faulty alarm clock. Not that it makes too much difference. Once we are in control, the reasons why our men survived won’t be important.”

  Kitty stared blankly ahead, still trying to understand what she was seeing.

  “My God, that’s James MacIntyre, Ivy’s father,” Verity whispered.

  A wheel clicked into place in Kitty’s head. Those weren’t names in the diary, they were all initials. JIM. James MacIntyre. TOM . . .

  “And that’s the Old Man,” Kitty murmured. Her voice came out hoarse and trembling.

  Verity slowly shook her head, as if trying to convince herself that Kitty was wrong. “I don’t know what he looks like all that well, but it can’t be him,” she insisted.

  “It is,” Kitty said. “I never forget a face.”

  “But he’s on our side.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kitty replied.

  She watched as Lowell poured four glasses of Scotch and handed them out to the men. He raised his glass into the air and proclaimed, “Gentlemen! Hail victory!”

  “Hail victory!” the others echoed.

  “Tomorrow will be a long day,” Lowell continued. “The longest day in British history. But when the dust settles and all is done, the sun shall rise on a new England and a new Empire!”

  “To England!” Smythe cried.

  “To England!” came the response, and the four men drank.

  Kitty shook her head to make herself come to her senses. She couldn’t just stand there being stunned.

  She pulled out the camera and started snapping pictures of the room. She winced as the camera shutter clicked with each photograph, but the noise was soft and the conspirators were distracted by their self-congratulation. Besides, getting proof of the conspiracy was the most important thing now. Kitty knew it was a risk she had to take.

  The four men finished their drinks and stood. Verity grabbed Kitty’s arm and pulled her deeper into the tunnel. “They’re leaving,” she whispered to Kitty. “We have to get out of here.”

  As the conspirators entered the tunnel, Kitty f
ollowed Verity back toward the cellar, scrambling to keep ahead of the men without making any noise. Kitty winced each time her shoes scraped against the floor. It sounded horribly loud to her, a monstrous sound that reverberated through the tunnel and would surely draw the men’s attention.

  As soon as she was in the cellar again, Kitty shoved the door shut.

  They made for the stairs. Kitty went ahead, clutching the camera for dear life. She absolutely had to keep it safe until they could get the film back to Mr. Pryce and Mrs. Singh.

  Halfway up the stairs, Kitty heard the guard in the kitchen shouting after them. “You there! Stop! Who are you?”

  Kitty and Verity looked at each other. Verity was still at the bottom of the stairs. She mouthed the word, “Run!” and turned to face the guard. Kitty hesitated, torn between protecting the film and protecting her partner. She couldn’t just leave Verity there, could she?

  She slowly crept back up the stairs, feeling a crushing pressure of self-loathing at the thought of abandoning Verity. She couldn’t just run away!

  But it wasn’t only the mission. Kitty was terrified. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and the familiar notes of panic swarmed inside her head. She wanted to scream and run, and it was only with great effort that she settled for just running.

  At the top of the stairs, she forced herself to stop and peered back into the basement. She saw the guard grab Verity. There was a struggle, but he was quickly joined by the man called James, who subdued her with a vicious blow to the head. Verity sagged in the guard’s arms, on the verge of unconsciousness.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” mused the Old Man. “Security not up to snuff, Henry.”

  “My God!” Lowell exclaimed. “That’s Diana’s friend Vera. What is she doing here?”

  “I think you’ll find that she is an enemy agent,” the Old Man replied. He sounded amused. “I did warn you that Pryce was getting curious.”

  Smythe grunted in annoyance. “You said he was getting curious about me, not Henry.”

  “It seems he doesn’t tell me everything.” The Old Man sighed. “Well, there’s nothing for it now. James, go and deal with the problem. I want to find out how much Pryce knows.”