I exhaled, relieved to be past that part of my explanation. “Then the man in charge of the military section at our Rotterdam station cabled, needing assistance. He’d been sent there to reestablish connections with our agents inside the German-occupied territories who had been cut off for some months by a series of arrests by the Germans’ Secret Police. He was attempting to resuscitate or re-create some of the old intelligence gathering networks at work earlier in the war. And C asked me to go.”
“Because you’d already proven yourself capable of gathering intelligence?”
“That, and because I’d been handling most of the reports coming out of Holland with the information our contacts in Belgium and northeastern France had been able to gather. So I was already familiar with the situation there.” I shrugged one shoulder. “And I spoke a little Dutch.”
Sidney’s expression was infuriatingly impassive, telling me nothing about what he was thinking. Only the manner in which he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the rail told me he was not seething or disgusted, though inside he might have been churning with resentment.
“I’m surprised they didn’t send a man,” he remarked evenly. “Or was there not one capable enough to send?”
“It’s true a number of our male staff had been invalided home from the front because of various injuries, but not all. There were plenty of colleagues still whole in body. However, many of them didn’t speak the necessary languages. And in these instances, being a female actually worked to one’s benefit. The Germans were far more suspicious of men in general, especially young, hearty ones. But a young woman who dirtied her hair and skin with dirt and soot to mask her health and make herself look ordinary could pass by relatively unnoticed.”
He looked up at me at this revelation, his eyes registering some alarm. “I suppose beauty wouldn’t be an advantage.”
I shook my head. “It was best to be unexceptional. Not smart. Not stupid. Not tall. Not short. And certainly not beautiful. Or ugly,” I added. “That invited too much interest. And you did not want to draw interest,” I muttered under my breath, suppressing one particularly unpleasant memory.
Too late, I remembered who I was talking to. His expression was nothing short of forbidding, his mouth clamped in a thin line. And even though I didn’t think it was directed at me, I couldn’t be sure. So, I decided a change of subject was in order.
“And that’s how I came to be sent into the field, so to speak,” I announced with aplomb, affecting a lighter tone. “I certainly wasn’t the first female to undertake such work, nor the last.”
“Dangerous work,” he protested. From the glint in his eyes I could tell he wasn’t pleased.
“Yes, well, someone had to do it,” I replied, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my tone. “Many of our agents at work early in the war had been caught by the German Secret Police as their methods improved. Our posts had broken down completely and nothing was getting through. Yet the Allies were relying on us to get as much accurate intelligence from behind enemy lines as possible. It was absolutely essential to know the German troop movements; when and where they were massing troops and moving armaments and supplies; and if they’d developed any new weapons with which to attack.
“I couldn’t exactly say no, could I?” I rounded on him to ask. “Thanks, but I’ll stay here in my cozy bed while our men overseas are killed by the tens of thousands. You forget, I’d already made brief trips to northern France behind our lines to relay reports or gather additional information for C. I saw what was happening.”
“I suppose not,” he conceded.
I turned to scowl out to sea. “Besides, my job wasn’t nearly as dangerous as it was for those in Belgium and France who had to live under the Germans’ thumb and never leave. They couldn’t let their guards down for one minute, for when an agent was caught, it was more often than not their own fault. At least I got to leave. And as long as I knew what I was doing while I was there, as long as I followed my training, I was relatively safe.”
The last was a lie. The Germans were a rather predictable lot, but all it took was one instance where they deviated from routine for you to be found out. I knew this well, for I’d had a number of near misses.
“Wasn’t the border between Holland and Belgium blocked by an electric fence?” Though his movements were calm and steady as he pulled his cigarette case from his pocket again, I could hear the tension crackling behind his voice.
“Yes, but rubber gloves and socks took care of that. The sentries and searchlights were harder to circumvent.”
This, it seemed, had finally served to unnerve him when all the rest had not. His hands froze in the act of extracting another cigarette, his eyes riveting to my face. “How can you be so dashed sangfroid about it all?” He snapped the case shut, turning away as if he couldn’t look at me. “All this was going on. You . . . crawling . . .”—he almost couldn’t get the word out—“. . . through electric wire and trudging through a countryside swarming with Jerrys, who may or may not have pestered you.” He glared at me, letting me know he hadn’t missed the implications of my oblique statement about not drawing interest. “And I hadn’t the faintest idea. I foolishly believed you were safe in your bed, just as you said.”
“Do you know how many times I wanted to tell you about it, how many times I wanted to ask your advice?” I pleaded, trying to make him understand. “But the Official Secrets Act prevented me from being able to do so.” I scowled. “I saw what the war was doing to you, to all the men I cared about, and yet you wouldn’t share that burden. And I couldn’t share mine.”
I inhaled a shaky breath of salty sea air, trying to compose myself. The couple next to us was now staring at us.
“I knew the assignment was dangerous,” I continued in a softer voice. “But I decided that if it would end the war sooner, if it would bring you home from that hell, then I would do it.” I paused, gazing into the haze where the shores of Britain had disappeared, leaving our ship floating alone in the endless sea. “And then you died, and it didn’t matter anymore what happened to me.”
CHAPTER 13
I hadn’t planned to say that, but I realized if he was to really understand, then he had to know it all. Even the sordid bits I would rather hide.
He didn’t speak for a moment, the weight of my revelation heavy between us, and I began to wonder if he meant to gloss over it, to ignore it as many men would have done. But then I felt his hand on my back as he gathered me closer to his side. His warmth and scent assaulted my senses, making me fight back the tears I’d only recently stifled.
“No wonder you’re still furious at me,” he murmured into my temple, his lips brushing my skin there. “I never thought beyond what I had to do. I never imagined it would affect you so. I’m sorry, Ver.” His words were anguished. “If something had happened to you . . . because of me, because you believed me dead . . .” He breathed in sharply. “I would never have forgiven myself.”
I pressed a hand to the dark wool of his coat. “Well, nothing did. At least, nothing insurmountable.”
I lifted my face to look up at him and his fingers gently touched my cheek. His eyes darkened, and I could tell he wanted to kiss me, even though doing so would be terribly indecorous. Despite that, I thought he might shock the other passengers anyway, but he restrained himself. I’m not sure I didn’t feel more breathless from longing him to do so than I would have had he actually done as he wished.
“Your cheeks are cool. Perhaps we should go inside.”
I swallowed. “In a moment.”
He nodded, and I rested my head against his chest.
We stood silently side by side as the ferry sliced through the water, the choppy waves of the channel slapping against its hull. Sidney widened his stance to steady us as the boat dropped over a rolling wave.
“What’s the plan once we reach Belgium?” he asked. “Where are we going?”
“Brussels first, I think. Then perhaps Liège. We’ll have to see what
my former colleague can tell us.” I lifted my head as he flicked open the cigarette case he still clutched in his hand. “Another?” I was hesitant to pester him, but something had to be said. “Don’t you think perhaps you smoke too much?”
He grimaced. “Probably. I got used to doing so in the trenches. It was the only thing that dampened the smells.” He exhaled a long breath and closed the case before sliding it back into his pocket. “Ready to get out of this wind now?”
“If you can find us a place to sit in that crush.” I nodded over my shoulder toward the packed cabins.
That’s when I saw the gentleman standing a few feet to our right along the rail. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, but that did not conceal the fact that he was wearing a copper mask. As if sensing my notice, he pushed away from the rail and retreated toward the cabins.
Though he’d done nothing more suspicious than walk away, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled in alarm. Madame Zozza’s warning echoed in my head, and whether it was nonsense or not, I’d decided to heed it.
“Excuse me, sir,” I called after him, swiveling to follow.
But rather than pause to address me, he lengthened his stride.
“Excuse me,” I tried again, lifting my hand.
However, he never turned to look, merely disappeared around the side of the cabin.
“Darling?” Sidney inquired in confusion.
By the time I rounded the corner after the man, there was no one there but a pair of older ladies in dark hats covered in a profusion of netting. I clenched my hands in frustration, wondering where he could have gone, and if I should continue to pursue him.
“What is it?” Sidney asked, catching up to me.
“There was a man. He seemed to be listening to us. And when he realized I’d noticed him, he darted around this corner.”
“The fellow in the mask?”
I nodded.
His eyes surveyed the deck. “You’re thinking of Madame Zozza’s caution to beware a man in a mask.” He frowned. “And you think that was him?”
“I have no idea. But it could be.”
“Maybe this fellow was just embarrassed to be caught looking,” he suggested, though I could tell he wasn’t convinced of that himself. “After all, most of those poor chaps who have to visit the Tin Noses Shop simply want to blend in, not be noticed.”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “But there was another incident yesterday. A man who was at the séance in Madame Zozza’s parlor—I never learned his name—was seated nearby on a bench in St. James’s Park while I conferred with George. And I swear he was following me away from Charing Cross the day before that after I’d spoken to another former colleague.”
He nodded toward the empty deck. “Was this the same man?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it could have been. This man was taller, and he moved differently.” I narrowed my eyes. Except there had been something about this fellow that seemed familiar. Something I couldn’t quite place.
“Well, then, I doubt they’re connected.” He arched his eyebrows. “Unless you think your admirer hired an assistant.”
“That does seem rather farfetched.” Except I felt certain that whatever about the man was tugging at my memory, it had something to do with my time spent in German-occupied Belgium.
Maybe it had been a German officer I recalled who lurked in much the same manner. I’d assisted Emilie in delivering the baby of a local woman the officer had taken up with. Or forced himself upon. The line between such distinctions was very thin during the war. Many times, the women who had been raped had no choice but to welcome the attentions of their aggressors, especially if they already had hungry little mouths to feed.
It was nothing but a fleeting impression. With the man on the boat wearing a mask, I hadn’t seen enough of him to know if he was that German officer or someone else. But it unsettled me nonetheless.
“Come on,” Sidney urged me. “I could do with a warm cup of tea.”
“Yes, that does sound lovely,” I replied, allowing him to lead me away. Perhaps we’d find the man in the mask doing the same, though I doubted it. I suspected he would remain hidden until we docked. Regardless, I vowed to keep my eyes peeled. For if a former German officer was following me, one who had a connection to both Emilie and me during the war, he could hold the answer to this mystery.
* * *
Before the war, Ostend had been a popular holiday destination, chiefly during the summer months when tourists flocked to its beaches, and filled its casino and theaters to capacity every night. However, it had been heavily shelled by the Allies during the war as they attempted to drive out the German invaders, reducing many of its buildings to rubble. Now eight months after the armistice, the work of restoration and rebuilding had begun.
As such, though most of the debris had been cleared away, the various construction projects blocked streets and created a maze of roadways. I had thought to avoid this by traveling to Brussels via the canals and rivers that ran through Belgium, but Sidney had other plans.
I’d been surprised to discover his prized Pierce-Arrow in the belly of the boat and had warned him the thoroughfares would still be in a state of disrepair. He’d brushed this off, unconcerned, so I’d happily settled into the passenger seat as he navigated his way out of the harbor town onto the road that would take us through Ghent to Brussels. In truth, it would be easier to have our own mode of transportation, particularly when we left Brussels and headed into the countryside. The number of private vehicles had been scarce during the war, confiscated by the Germans, and the country was still struggling to replace such motorcars. As such, there was no guarantee we would have been able to find one to borrow.
I glanced behind us as we made a sharp right turn to avoid a blockade. The motorcar would also make it more difficult for anyone to follow us, if in fact someone was.
Irrespective of the advantages, I was relieved to see he’d elected not to take any chances with the limited provisions Belgium might have to offer. Several extra petrol tanks were strapped to the car, as well as a spare tire.
“Is that where you were all night? Outfitting the motorcar?” I raised my voice to be heard over the roar of the engine, as we gathered speed when the road began to widen and the old buildings in various states of disrepair began to fall away.
“Once my temper cooled and I could view things a little more objectively, yes.”
I hesitated to ask, but I was curious what exactly had changed his mind. “Objectively?”
He sighed, reclining further back in his seat. “I realized you were right. That this situation isn’t so very different from the one we faced on Umbersea Island.” His brow furrowed. “When you discovered I was alive and that I’d lied, luring you there under false pretenses, you could have told me to go to the devil. But you didn’t. You leapt right in to help me. Partly because I asked, and partly because it’s in your nature.” He flicked a glance at me. “I know you. You have to uncover the truth, in everything. I believe I even said as much. And if it was true then, then it’s still true now. I can’t expect that to change simply because it’s not convenient.”
I felt a little stunned to hear him state it so succinctly. I wanted to argue that my motives were not so simplistic, but in essence, they were.
Sidney yawned and blinked his eyes wide several times.
“Then did you get any rest at all last night?” I asked in concern.
Having only snatched a few hours myself, I felt fatigue dragging at my bones. I could only imagine how tired he must feel, dashing about all night and then motoring south from London to Folkestone.
“I’ll be all right. It’s just a few hours to Brussels. Why do you wish to go there first?”
“Don’t try to distract me,” I chided. “You look as if you’re about to fall asleep at the wheel. Why don’t you pull over and let me drive?”
He smiled as if he found my surly tone amusing. “Truly, Ver. I’m fine. I survived many a battle on less
sleep than this. I can get us to Brussels in one piece. Just . . . keep me talking.”
I rolled my eyes at the foolish obstinacy of men. The soft green hills of the Flemish countryside now opened before us and I was relieved to see that many of the fields that had lain fallow were now sown with crops. Stalks of wheat, barley, and hops swayed in the summer breeze, separated here and there by narrow canals. Rustic farms dotted the landscape, with their traditional red roof tiles and pale clay-finished Kalei brick walls. Further to the west stood the remains of an old windmill, its roof and sails damaged by a shell.
I shifted in the seat to see Sidney better, casting another glance over my shoulder at the road behind us. Far in the distance I could see the shiny fender of another motorcar cresting a hill, but nothing close enough to suggest we were being tailed.
“I’ve been watching to make sure we weren’t followed since we left the boat,” my husband said. His eyes flicked toward the wing mirror. “If we are, they’re either being extremely cautious about it or they’ve got a hayburner of a car.” A smug smile stretched his mouth. “Though there’s few that can keep up with the engine in this beauty.”
A thought occurred to me as he was singing his Pierce-Arrow’s praises. “If you knew you were going to join me, why didn’t you intercept me before I left the flat this morning? I could have driven down to the coast with you.” I tilted my head to the side. “Or were you still hoping I might change my mind?”
My husband was not the sort of person prone to fidgeting. His normal state was cool and collected, sometimes infuriatingly so. But there was a difference between composed and rigid.
“I didn’t return to the flat until after you left,” he replied smoothly enough, but there had been too long a pause before his answer.
I narrowed my eyes, sensing there was something he wasn’t telling me. “Lucky the boat didn’t leave earlier.”
Treacherous Is the Night Page 14
