James smiled, dabbing his lips with his napkin. ‘Today. We may not have much notice of when you leave, though, as we’ll need an opportunity to drop you into France.’
Sophie glanced up from her egg. ‘When you say “drop” I presume you don’t mean by parachute.’
‘We may be able to get you to France in a fishing boat or submarine, or even by plane, but most likely, yes, by parachute.’
‘James, I do not know how to parachute.’
‘You will.’
‘I see.’ How Danny would have loved that part of it, and Rose, too. Unfair that her children must study irregular verbs while their mother leaped from an aircraft. Or did one simply tumble out the door? Undoubtedly, she would find out. ‘And my other training? I presume I’ll need more than learning how to pass myself off as this comtesse.’
‘Far more. You’re in for an intense few weeks. But Dorothy will arrange that. The trainees live up at the Hall, but unless you wish otherwise, you’ll come back here each night.’
‘Why? Security?’
His eyes were watchful. ‘Partly, though none of the trainees know the real or assumed identity of anyone they meet here, in case they are captured. But Bob hoped . . .’
‘I’d prefer to be here,’ said Sophie gently. She carefully changed the subject. ‘Bob says you didn’t wish Violette to be part of your organisation.’ She found it easier to say the name Bob this morning.
James seemed to consider her words. ‘I don’t think Violette is suitable for an organisation or even occasional collaboration. She’s unpredictable.’
‘What do her parents think of her exclusion?’
‘They don’t know of it. But they don’t expect to be told about other aspects of the network.’ He shrugged. ‘When the war is over they may well protest, or possibly agree with me. But in this one case . . .’
‘You trust her loyalty to me?’
‘Not entirely. You do realise that Violette enjoys killing people, Sophie? She did not have to kill the guards when you were kidnapped, and she arranged it to look as if they had fought each other extremely neatly for a girl who’d had no previous experience of murder.’
Sophie stared. ‘She killed people to rescue me? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You were shattered enough,’ said James gently. ‘But I told Daniel. Lily knew as well.’
So that was what Daniel had kept from her. ‘Did her parents know?’
‘Not unless Lily told them. I don’t think she did. What do you know of Violette’s life before she met you?’
‘Not much,’ Sophie admitted. ‘There were the early years with her grandmère, then an orphanage or . . . or billet of some kind, which she escaped. She admitted she was frightened there. That still leaves several years before she arrived in London to find her mother, to kill her for abandoning her. But she didn’t kill Greenie, James.’
‘Because Miss Green had not abandoned her, but had been told she had died. Violette doesn’t kill people she regards as innocent,’ agreed James. ‘She doesn’t kill people she likes, either. She is even loyal to them, to some extent. But trust her? Rely on her? No.’
Once again Sophie remembered Daniel’s relief when Violette moved to Paris and would no longer be involved in the children’s lives. What else had he been told, or guessed, about the young woman Sophie loved?
Yes, loved, thought Sophie. She loved Violette’s passion, her determination, her laughter. Would a psychopath spend so much time playing with small children? There had been a night when Sophie had been up late working and had passed the nursery to see Violette cuddling Danny. ‘He had another nightmare about the dragon,’ Violette had explained, ‘so I told him I cut off the dragon’s head, and it fell plop! into the stockyard’s dunny. Then we ate the rest of him for dinner, so the dragon can never leap into Danny’s dreams again.’
Far too ferocious and totally inappropriate for a child, yet Danny’s nightmares had indeed ceased. Psychopaths lacked empathy, Daniel had explained. Would a psychopath bother reassuring a small crying boy at midnight?
‘You still agree I should ask for her help?’ Sophie asked slowly.
‘Only because I can see no other way this can be done. Ordinary agents must be inconspicuous — farm hands, factory workers. You will be hiding in plain sight in a world of wealth and privilege. None of our contacts can introduce you to the German military aristocracy without endangering their own roles. I gather Maison Violette is highly regarded among the wives and mistresses of high-ranking German officers,’ he added with distaste.
‘What did Violette say when you asked her to help me?’
‘She hasn’t been asked.’
‘What? I just arrive? She might be . . . taking a holiday.’
‘Violette doesn’t take holidays. She seems devoted to her fashion house.’ He smiled. ‘She uses only her first name now, and has discarded the very British Jones. We’ve kept her under observation, though not close observation. She does not take on new staff often, so we have no one in Maison Violette. Do you think she would help if you suddenly arrived?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then giving her notice of that would mean she had time to make her own plans and decisions about what you should do, which may very well not accord with ours.’
‘What reason do I give Daniel for staying here once they know I am in England? I can write to him before I leave for the Continent, yes?’
‘Of course. Leave letters for me to send to him and the children, too, typed perhaps, but with your signature, so I can add any necessary response to their letters. Tell Daniel there have been problems at Shillings, but you can’t give details; then that it is proving impossible to find a way back home, but you will keep trying; you have been offered an interesting position and will tell them more when you see them. They — and everyone who reads it — will assume it is a classified position, for what other kind would the Countess of Shillings, the Miss Sophie Higgs of the Great War, have been offered?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Dorothy is expecting you at ten am.’
There were many possible answers to that. Instead she chose, ‘How is Ethel?’
‘Well, as far as I know.’
‘You don’t still see her?’
‘Her choice, not mine.’
‘But you told her that Lily was dead? Presumably that’s how George found out.’
‘I’m sorry about that. She rang me up out of the blue, wanting Lily to support one of her causes. She’d had no answer when she wrote to Shillings. I told her there had been no word from Lily since the Occupation on impulse — a mistake, if she assumed Lily was dead, and told George.’
‘She probably thought George already knew, as he works for you. I wouldn’t worry about a security risk with either of them.’
James nodded, not looking at her.
‘Ethel was good for you, James. You seemed more . . . alive . . . after a dinner with her. You were good for her, too.’ Violette might have designed Ethel’s new wardrobe and introduced her to the transformations of make-up and a flattering haircut, but Ethel had accepted she could be beautiful because of James.
James smiled faintly. ‘I thought we were well matched too. Lily told me she most definitely approved, and not to take any nonsense from those who thought I should marry within my class. That’s as close as Lily ever came to giving an outright order. But I am a second-hand killer, my crimes greater than if I wielded the weapon.’
‘Ethel didn’t say that?’
‘I quote exactly.’
‘I’m sorry, James. Ethel can be as stubborn as a seaside donkey.’
‘It’s not stubbornness. It’s integrity. I love her for it. But you of all people know there is no choice but to fight this war, with whatever weapons we can find.’
‘Including me? I’ll try to see her before I leave. Could you make time for that?’
‘Possibly. She can’t come here for security reasons — she might recognise Bob, to begin with. Logistics are dicey at best. But if y
ou do see her, don’t mention me.’
Sophie had every intention of mentioning James and forcefully, too. She stood rather than reply. ‘What should I wear to meet this Dorothy?’
‘What you are wearing now. As a graduate lovely lady, as well as a countess and patron of a French fashion house, you are excused the charm and deportment lessons the women come here to receive. But that is all Dorothy’s department . . .’ James stood, too. ‘I must get back to London.’
He suddenly looked very alone. But that, surely, was an illusion. James had uncounted webs of agents at his fingertips, or rather, ones very carefully counted indeed, as well as colleagues and decades’ worth of friends.
She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Take care, James.’
‘I’ll see you before you leave. Just let me know if there is anything you need done.’
‘And you will always do it.’ She smiled and went upstairs to change her shoes to ones with higher heels and add earrings and an ivory silk scarf to her grass-green woollen dress with its short matching jacket, the subtleties that a Dorothy would notice and respect.
Chapter 11
England is a land of social opposites . . . the upper class own most of the nation’s wealth . . . the lower class . . . have an astonishingly low material and intellectual standard of living . . . some of this is poverty they do not deserve, but is due also to the low competence in domestic matters of the women.
A rough translation of the German Invasion Plans for the Invasion of the British Isles, 1940, published by the Military High Command, Department for War Maps and Communications, Berlin
SOPHIE
‘Milk and sugar, Miss Jane?’ Miss Dorothy’s smile was warm as a tea cosy, and Sophie had no right to imagine herself pouring the brew over the woman’s excellently cut grey hair, simply because this woman sat in Miss Lily’s chair.
‘Neither milk nor sugar, thank you.’
Miss Dorothy was slightly older than Miss Lily had been when Sophie had first met her in this room. Miss Dorothy even dressed similarly: a chiffon scarf flattering her neck, the light carefully behind her, a woollen dress of pale gold with a softly draped skirt, obviously pre-war, but the cut narrowed and the skirt shortened for the modern austerity look.
It was . . . discombobulating to see someone else sitting where Miss Lily had so often sat, in the small drawing room with its parchment-papered walls. If she allowed it, Sophie might find it sad, tragic, impossible . . .
But Miss Dorothy had not supplanted Miss Lily, Sophie reminded herself. She was staunchly taking on a role left vacant, transforming girls into the loveliest of ladies, so irresistible that they would gain the right attention, convince the right people to do the right things, and harvest the right information.
Sophie had expected Shillings to have gained at least a mildly institutional feel, if not green-painted walls and linoleum. But of course it was the same. That was the point: a small museum of the grace that all young women here must seem accustomed to, even if the most valuable and valued of the family’s possessions had been sent to a Welsh mine for safety.
Not that Sophie had seen any young women yet. Days here were strictly timetabled so those in residence did not glimpse anyone they were not supposed to know. Sophie could hear vague chirping and laughter in the library, but could count only three voices, or possibly four.
‘As I was saying, Miss Jane, you will do self-defence classes each morning from eight o’clock to eleven o’clock with the commander, then return to the agent’s cottage, where it seems that Bob Green will go over other matters with you. Mr Lorrimer says that Mr Green worked for him for some years, but chose to retire here near his family. Return here at two o’clock each day for an hour of language with Fräulein or Madame, and an hour of the arts of disguise with Miss Portia. There will be other instruction too. Please don’t wander about the estate — the tenants know you are here, of course, and may come to say hello, but we do try to obscure our exact inhabitants as much as we can. You will, of course, not disclose to anyone that you have been here . . .’
‘Except to all my family and close friends,’ said Sophie sweetly, ‘who would expect me to have at least visited the family home while in England.’
‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Miss Dorothy had clearly not considered that.
‘Certainly. I gather my friend Emily is here as well?’
‘Miss Sophronia has asked you to join her for dinner tonight, privately. Please do be careful with names. Would you mind arriving just after eight o’clock, when the other students will be already dining?’
Sophie laughed. ‘Did “Miss Sophronia” really choose my name as her cover?’ She stood. ‘Thank you, Miss Dorothy. I promise I’ll duck behind a tapestry if I see any of your young ladies approaching. I will attempt to look as Jane-like as I can.’
Miss Dorothy hesitated. ‘You think our caution is excessive. But it’s possible, even likely, that you will either be captured or have your cover exploited by someone you felt you could trust. The less you know the safer for all of us, but it’s also safer for you. If you are captured you need to be able to confess as much as possible in the knowledge that none of it will help the enemy in any way.’
‘To prevent the enemy torturing and killing me?’
Dorothy smiled. ‘A slim hope. But we dangle on extremely slim hopes these days. If there are enough perhaps they will weave into a rope and we may survive.’
‘Surely the knowledge that Shillings is your headquarters has value?’
‘Not as much as you might think. We have air-raid warnings and deep cellars if the Hall is bombed. There can be other headquarters.’
Sophie repressed a stab of fury that Shillings might so easily be discarded. But Dorothy was correct. True value to the war effort came from the people, not the Hall.
‘I will introduce you to Fräulein this afternoon. Hereward will show you the way out.’
Sophie turned. Hereward stood impassive in the doorway. She winked at him. ‘I think Hereward has other duties. I will see myself out.’
Did Hereward return a flicker of a wink as he vanished? Sophie glanced at Dorothy, expecting an almost hidden frown. Instead she looked amused. ‘I suspect the quondam Miss Sophie Higgs may prove to be more of a threat to Hitler than the RAF. One might almost feel sorry for him. But not quite.’
Half an hour later Sophie was again annoyed.
‘Repeat,’ ordered the commander.
Sophie lunged for the fifth time, plunging the carving knife once more into the dummy hanging on the post in the orchard, then upwards. It was proving extremely difficult to murder someone — even a dummy — in high heels.
‘The heart is to the left, Miss Jane. Again.’
‘This would be easier in flat heels or boots,’ panted Sophie.
‘Which none of you women are likely to be wearing,’ said the commander grimly. Teaching persons who were not just female, but wore heels and in this case, jewellery, seemed to offend his military sense of propriety. ‘Ah, that is . . . acceptable,’ he added grudgingly, as Sophie lunged again, hoping her shoes wouldn’t be stained in this mud.
‘Stand easy,’ he told her.
Sophie perched on the fence railing. He glared at her but didn’t comment. He had obviously been told that Sophie alone had the contacts for whatever mission she would be sent on. He did not have the power to give her a ‘pass or fail’ course and was simply to give her as many skills as possible in as short a time as possible.
‘Now the problem with stab wounds to the heart or lungs is that, while they are effective, the victim may make considerable noise.’
‘That does seem likely.’ Sophie inspected her shoes and tried to catch her breath.
The commander frowned. It seemed he was not used to students’ comments. He exchanged his frown for the small smile Sophie had observed in military men who would like to strangle you, but are not allowed. ‘The next two methods, if done properly, should result in swift and silent deat
h, without any bleeding.’
‘No throat cutting, then? Excellent. I imagine a cut throat makes a terrible mess to clean up. And it is of course more difficult if you are a short woman, unless your target is sitting down, preferably with his back to you.’
‘Indeed. Now for the next procedure I am about to demonstrate I advise you to wear an easily detachable silk or chiffon scarf at all times. A scarf has other uses, of course . . .’
Sophie suppressed the urge to comment that a scarf in shades of silver grey and ivory also matched almost any ensemble, in case the poor man exploded.
‘Prepare the scarf like this, then drape like this, place over the enemy’s neck and pull like this . . .’
Sophie slid off the rail, slipped off her scarf and repeated the procedure on the dummy.
‘Quite well done, Miss Jane,’ he condescended.
‘No praise earned, I’m afraid. My maid showed me how to do that twenty years or so ago, as well as a most useful technique with a meat skewer in the kidneys. If you insert the skewer here,’ she demonstrated, ‘and in this direction, your victim will die instantly and silently. When the skewer is removed it can be used to truss a goose or turkey, a process which will remove all forensic evidence by the time the bird is to be served.’
‘Your . . . maid.’
‘She is otherwise engaged at the moment.’
The commander shut his eyes. She wondered if he was dreaming of being holed up at Tobruk or even in the Black Hole of Calcutta, rather than among the monstrous regiment of women at Shillings Hall.
‘Commander, if it will make these sessions shorter: I can already theoretically kill or disable a man silently and have practised those techniques on dummies before. I am an excellent shot with assorted firearms — I can pot a rabbit at a hundred yards. In the last war I did not hesitate to shoot quickly and accurately when my target was human, not cunicular. I could show you two ways to eliminate an opponent with a high-heeled shoe, though I’m afraid I do not have any that would fit you.’
He glared at her. ‘This course is not just about self-defence, but survival.’
Legends of the Lost Lilies Page 7
