How I Became a Spy

by Deborah Hopkinson

  Eleanor stood beside me, closer now. She didn’t say anything. But she did push a doughnut into my hand. I mumbled my thanks and nibbled gratefully.

  After a while, Eleanor reached across me to shake my father’s hand. “Good evening, Officer Bradshaw, you must be Bertie’s father. I’m Eleanor Shea. Bertie and I volunteer together.”

  We do? I thought. I shot her a glance but she was smiling politely at Dad.

  At that moment, we heard a shout from inside. The burly heavy rescue man who’d been talking to Warden Ita disappeared into the rubble carrying some rope.

  He returned shortly, saying, “We’ve got our best team in there: Stan’s a stubborn Scotsman and Tommy never gives up. But it’s slow going. They don’t want to disturb anything and bring beams crashing down.”

  I swallowed hard. “We heard Roo yelp,” I told Dad. “I just hope she’s not hurt.”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, she’s tough. She’ll want to be getting home for her tea.”

  “How was your afternoon?” I managed to ask. My shivering had stopped, along with the strange queasy feeling. But Dad kept his arm around my shoulder.

  “Fine. Will’s spirits are fine. The doctors are good and everything’s going as well as we can expect,” he said.

  “How did you find me here?” I asked.

  “After I got your note, I decided to check in at the command post. I saw Warden Hawk, who directed me here. Just hold on a little longer, Bertie. They’re doing their best to bring everyone out.”

  Neighbors still huddled in small, anxious groups. Some wore their nightclothes and shivered in the cold moonlight. During the Blitz, we’d all wandered the streets in pajamas with coats on top—even grown-ups. Some people would head to the Tube stations or public shelters each evening, prepared for a long night. And then they’d go home the next morning. After air-raid nights, school often didn’t start until ten.

  I’d had red pajamas then. Now I had blue ones. If I left them on my bed in the morning, I’d come home from school to find that Little Roo had scooped them up into a little nest. I’d seen her do it: She’d push them round and round with her paw. Then, when she was satisfied, she’d plopped down in just the perfect spot.

  “ ’Ere’s Tommy now!” cried the rescue volunteer.

  A man covered in dirt and dust emerged, struggling to hold a baby girl in one arm and a squirming toddler in the other. Warden Ita sprang forward to take the little boy. He passed him back to one of the waiting ambulance women.

  “Mummy!” the boy yelled between sobs. “I want Mummy.”

  A woman’s voice answered, “I’m here, sweetheart. Right behind you.”

  The second rescue worker appeared, propping up a limping woman with one arm. This must be Stan. In his other arm, he held another squirming bundle. He grinned and called out, “And who belongs tae this furry creature?”

  “Me!” I reached out to gather LR into my arms. “Is she all right?”

  “Jist a wee cut on her front foot.” He grinned as neighbors rushed forward to help the mother toward the ambulance. “Funny-looking thing. But she wouldna give up till she found th’ wee bairns.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I cried. LR’s tail wagged crazily. She snuffled, licked my face, and buried her muzzle under my chin. She was warm and soft and alive. I felt her paw. “It seems all right. I’ll check it when we get home.”

  “Go on, then, Bertie. Good job tonight—both of you,” Warden Ita said. He nodded toward the American girl. “Best walk Eleanor home first.”

  I glanced at Dad.

  “If you’re up to it, go ahead, Bertie. I’ll have tea and toast waiting for you. I’ll find the first-aid kit too,” he said. “Do you want me to take Little Roo home now?”

  Dad looked at me and grinned so wide his mustache quivered. This morning he’d practically threatened to get rid of LR if I didn’t start becoming more responsible. Now I wondered if he really would. Little Roo had wormed her way into his heart.

  I smiled back. “That’s all right, Dad. I’ll walk my bike and LR can ride in the basket in case her paw hurts.”

  “Good night, Warden Ita.” Eleanor shook his hand. “Also, may we ask a favor? Bertie needs me to help him out with a project. I wonder if we could use that small meeting room in the command post after school this week.”

  It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping open. What is she talking about?

  “Of course,” Warden Ita replied. “We have a regular meeting there on Tuesday afternoons, but other than that, it’s fine. What are you helping Bertie with?”

  I stared, wondering what she would say. But Eleanor was quick on her feet with an answer. “Oh, it’s about books,” she said smoothly. “My father’s a literature professor back home in Connecticut. He’s taught me a lot.”

  Dad’s faced brightened. “Is your father teaching here in London?”

  “Um…no. He works for the Office of Strategic Services.” She shrugged. “Something to do with the war.”

  The Office of Strategic Services. What is that? I wondered. Like the Inter-Services Research Bureau, it seemed like a made-up name, meant to cover something else.

  It occurred to me then that even if Eleanor Shea wasn’t a spy, her father might be.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The agent should not…tell people more than they need know, no matter how important or close the association.

  —SOE Manual

  “This is so nice of you, Bertie. I don’t live far. Just a little ways past Berkeley Square,” said Eleanor as we set out.

  I scowled. “Speaking of nice, that was a nasty trick you just played, Eleanor.”

  “What?” I could see her mouth quivering.

  “It’s not funny. You set up that whole arrangement with Warden Ita without asking me,” I said. “Warden Ita already thinks I’m dim and forgetful. And he’s the nice one, compared to Warden Hawk. The only reason Warden Hawk puts up with me is that he likes LR.”

  “Sorry about that.” Eleanor reached over and tugged gently on one of LR’s ears. “Everyone likes you, don’t they, Roo? Well, Bertie, I had to think fast. Because I’ve made a decision.”

  “What’s that?” I asked skeptically.

  “I’ve decided to trust you.”

  “Thanks, I guess. But what does that even mean?”

  “Well, you still haven’t given me back the notebook. But remember, you can’t tell anyone else about it, or turn it in to your father or a warden.”

  “I already told you I wouldn’t.”

  “I know. But you do live in a police station, after all.”

  “I told you. It’s not a police station!”

  “You’re so easy to tease, Bertie.” Eleanor grinned. “And I’m sorry for barging ahead with that story about you needing help at school. You just looked so far away. Your face went all white. I thought making you mad might distract you from whatever it was that upset you.”

  “I can’t talk about that,” I muttered.

  “You don’t have to. I won’t ask you anything personal,” she said. “We don’t even have to be friends. I’m not that good at being friends, anyway.”

  “I’m not either,” I admitted. Except with David.

  “But…well, it’s like what we were saying before the raid tonight,” Eleanor began. “Maybe the reason Violette was setting a trap is revealed somewhere in the notebook. Probably in the secret code. We have to at least try to figure it out.”

  “All right. We can be partners—like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson,” I said. “I’ll be Sherlock.”

  “No way,” cried Eleanor. “I want to be Sherlock.”

  LR erupted. Woof! Woof!

  I grinned. “Little Roo wants to be Sherlock too, I guess.” I tickled her curly head and turned to Eleanor. “My dad’s been a policeman for a
long time. He’s not a real detective inspector or anything. But he says it’s important to trust your partner. You don’t need to worry about me turning the notebook in.”

  “And you won’t tell anyone else about this?”

  “No, I won’t. I promise.” And I wouldn’t.

  But the truth was that I hadn’t told her everything. I hadn’t told her that I’d asked David for help with ciphers. I also hadn’t revealed that I’d followed my quarry—the man I called Q—to Baker Street. I wasn’t quite sure why I was holding back. But I couldn’t help it: One tiny suspicion kept nagging at me.

  I couldn’t help thinking Q was up to no good. I mean, I’d seen him the night Violette had disappeared. But there was another possibility too. If Q was working at the Inter-Services Research Bureau and was after Violette, then maybe he’d been following Violette because she was up to no good.

  I wasn’t sure of anything.

  * * *

  —

  Just as we turned down Hay’s Mews, I stopped abruptly. Like Mill Street, this was an old, narrow passageway. I was lost in thought about Q. Just the notion that he might be lurking in the shadows made me shiver.

  “What? Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Eleanor whispered.

  “It’s nothing.” There’s no way he followed me back to Broadwick Street, I reminded myself. I’m positive he didn’t even realize I trailed him to Baker Street.

  Eleanor pointed at a two-story building. “My room’s over that archway. There are some fancy houses around us in Mayfair. But Nan lives in what once was a stable. Oh!” She dug into a side pocket of her knapsack and pulled out something wrapped in a napkin. “I just remembered I have one more doughnut. It’s a little squished.”

  Rrrr…ruff! LR had been resting her chin on the rim of the bike basket. Now she sat up, wagging her tail at high speed.

  “She knows she deserves a treat,” Eleanor remarked. “I always get them from the ladies at the mobile American Red Cross carts.”

  She broke the doughnut in three pieces. LR lunged forward and grabbed one with her sharp little teeth.

  “Hey, you be gentle!” I scolded.

  “She’s hungry, poor thing. She worked hard tonight. Is it hard to feed her because of all the food being rationed?” Eleanor asked. She pointed to a “Food Waste for Pigs” bin on the street corner. “I see these everywhere. But can you get dog food now?”

  “No, she eats what we eat,” I said. “Not that we have leftovers. At the beginning, a lot of people killed their pets because the government told them to do it. The London Zoo killed their poisonous snakes too, in case they got loose after a bombing raid.”

  “Poor snakes!” Eleanor rubbed noses with LR. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Roo.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Whenever I take her for a walk, people are always stopping to pet her and share their stories.”

  Just last week, a man had stopped me and spent ten minutes telling me all about his old cat, Sophie. “She was mean, but we loved her.” Another woman had almost cried, talking about her dog. “We gave our lovely Michael to the military; we couldn’t afford to feed him. He’s serving our country, but I’m afraid we’ll never set eyes on him again.”

  Eleanor turned to say goodbye. “I’m glad you ran into me, Bertie Bradshaw. I’ll see you Monday after school at the command post. Bring the notebook.”

  “I will. Good night, Always Eleanor.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Good night, Watson.”

  And then she ran inside.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Surveillance is the keeping of someone under observation without his [or her] knowledge.

  —SOE Manual

  SUNDAY

  It was late morning, and my history book lay on the floor, discarded. Who cared about Emperor Claudius and the Romans invading England in AD 43? I was more worried about Hitler.

  Instead, I fished out Violette’s notebook from under Will’s mattress and starting reading. LR was draped over my feet, keeping them warm. Every few minutes, she emitted funny snuffs and snores and wheezes. Sometimes her paws moved, like she was dreaming about her rescue last night.

  When I heard voices in the kitchen, I thought at first it was a constable stopping by with a question for Dad—something that happened a lot. A few minutes later, my door burst open. I barely had time to thrust the notebook under the blanket before my cousin Jeffrey strode in.

  He jumped on the foot of my bed and scooped up Little Roo. “Hey, little sweetheart. I hear you saved some children yesterday.” Jeffrey turned to me and pushed a lock of blond hair from his eyes. “Wake up, lazy! Little Roo is the one who did the hard work.”

  “I’m not asleep,” I grumbled. I pushed the notebook deeper under the covers.

  “Your dad told me all about it,” Jeffrey went on, gently examining LR’s feet, which were sometimes hard to find under her thick fur. “He said her paw is fine, and she’s not even limping. So that’s good.”

  LR started sniffing Jeffrey’s pocket and he laughed. “No fooling you, is there? I saved this biscuit I got on the train this morning just for you.” Jeffrey grinned at me. “She loves me more than you do, Bertie.”

  “She doesn’t know any better,” I grumbled.

  But it was true. LR adored Jeffrey. It was hard for me to feel the same. Jeffrey was a year older and a head taller than me. He was good at everything he tried, from sports to school. Jeffrey was perfect. Especially if you asked his mother, my aunt Mildred.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” I asked him.

  “Mother needed to come to town to do some shopping. I decided to tag along,” said Jeffrey. “Come on, Bertie. Let’s walk over to Grosvenor Square. Maybe we’ll see some American generals.”

  On Broadwick Street, we ran into Jimmy and George returning from a shift. Jeffrey had met them on other visits and greeted them politely. That was another thing about Jeffrey. According to Aunt Mildred, he’d had excellent manners from the time he was two.

  “Nice to see you again, Jeffrey,” Jimmy was saying. “Now, aren’t you at Strand School?”

  “Yes, my grandmother is in the same town, so my mother and I are living with her. And it’s near…” Jeffrey glanced at me. “Bertie’s brother and mum are in Surrey now too, for Will’s treatment. We’re also close to a huge encampment of American soldiers. My friends and I go there all the time. The soldiers let us try on their helmets. They even tell us about the invasion.” Jeffrey’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s the biggest secret ever. Everyone is bursting to find out where and when it will be.”

  While Jimmy and George asked more questions about the American troops, I drifted away, letting LR pull me along to sniff interesting things. Well, they were interesting to her, at least.

  “Let’s go,” said Jeffrey, coming up behind me a minute later. He turned and watched as the two constables went into Trenchard House. “You know, I hate to say this, but I don’t much like him. I can’t tell you exactly why.”

  I nodded, surprised we agreed on something. “I know what you mean. I think he’s just so bitter about his scars.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean George. I was talking about the other one. Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy?” I asked. “What are you talking about? He’s nice.”

  Jeffrey shrugged. “Like I said, I can’t tell you exactly. But LR feels the same way. Haven’t you noticed? She moves off or hides behind your legs when he’s nearby. And we already know Little Roo is a better judge of character than you, Bertie.”

  I scowled. “I hope your school doesn’t come back to London anytime soon, cousin.”

  “Aw, you know you miss me, Bertie Wertie.” I scowled at the old nickname. Jeffrey grinned and punched me in the shoulder. “Say, can I take her lead?”

  We walked a few paces in silence, LR trotting happily at my cousin’s
side. Then Jeffrey said, “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to smile every once in a while, Bertie.”

  * * *

  —

  We didn’t see any American generals. But as far as LR was concerned, we met someone even more exciting.

  As we were walking near the main American military headquarters on the north side of the square, Jeffrey stopped short. A man in an American uniform was striding toward us. Or rather, the man was being hauled along by a feisty little black Scottish terrier. The dog scurried right over to sniff LR, who barked a greeting and wagged her stubby tail.

  “You’ll have to excuse Telek. He’s such a flirt,” said the American officer, with a friendly grin.

  “She doesn’t usually like other dogs,” I told him.

  “Of course she likes this one,” said Jeffrey. “We were just saying that she’s a good judge of character. He’s the famous Telek, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes, and he’s as popular as his master, General Dwight D. ‘Ike’ Eisenhower,” the man chuckled.

  “Telek is the supreme commander’s dog,” Jeffrey explained to me. “I read about him in the newspaper.”

  “Oh, yes, Telek is quite famous and goes with the general everywhere. Most recently, he’s been with us for the Allied campaigns in North Africa and Italy. We even brought Telek to the States for a quick trip home before returning to London so General Eisenhower could take charge of the invasion. And that meant Telek had to be in quarantine here. But he’s out now, much to the general’s relief,” the officer explained. “And who’s this feisty lady?”

  “Her name is Little Roo,” I replied. “She’s not a world traveler like Telek, but yesterday she helped rescue two children and their mum after a bomb hit their house.”

  “Is that so? Little Roo, I salute you,” said the man. And he did just that. “You’re doing more for the war effort than Telek here, who can’t seem to tell the difference between rugs and grass. Still, he keeps the supreme commander happy.” He nodded toward the large building at the north end of Grosvenor Square. “Well, we’ve had our walk. Now it’s back to headquarters at number twenty. Have a nice afternoon.”