Later, I called Ellen to thank her again for “babysitting” the B and B while I took my walk.
“It was no problem at all,” she said. “As I mentioned when I left, I even found a few new books to read, so that was a bonus.”
“You know you’re welcome to borrow anything any time.”
“I appreciate that.” There was a pause before Ellen continued. “Is Alicia back yet? I wondered if you might pop over for a face-to-face chat. Only if you feel like it, of course. I know it’s a little late.”
“Is Gavin still out?” I asked, curious as to whether we could actually talk without any fear of him walking in on us.
“He’s spending the night on the boat. Or so he says.”
“Okay, I’ll be right over.”
I let Alicia know I could be reached at Ellen’s house, in an emergency.
“I think I can handle most of those,” she said, shooing me off. “Anyway, the guests are already holed up in their rooms, so I don’t expect many demands this evening.”
I gave her a little salute before grabbing my keys and dashing out the front door.
Ellen met me at her own front door with Shandy in her arms. “He’s more perturbed over visitors after dark,” she said, as she led the way into the parlor. “He’ll want to dash outside to investigate, and I don’t want him running out into the street, especially the way some people drive around here.”
“That’s the truth.” I settled in my favorite chair and waited until Ellen sat down with Shandy in her lap before asking about Gavin again.
“I did think it was peculiar. He hasn’t slept on his boat since he arrived.” Ellen absently stroked Shandy’s silky fur. “But I suspect he had some late-night meeting with someone in the area he didn’t want me to know about.”
“Who would that be? Don’t tell me there are more former spies skulking around Beaufort.”
“No, but there are people who knew Isabella.” Ellen gave Shandy a final pat before setting him on the floor. “Go along and eat your supper, you rascal,” she told him. “He refused it earlier,” she added, meeting my gaze. “He got overheated from our evening walk, I guess.”
Shandy yipped twice before trotting off into the hall. He was headed to the kitchen and his food bowl, no doubt.
“It is almost too hot for anyone to want food,” I said, tracing a circle in the suede fabric of the arm of my chair with my forefinger. “But that isn’t why you called me over. Was there something you wanted to tell me?”
Ellen drew in a deep breath. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
I raised my eyebrows as I looked up at her. “Afraid?”
“It’s something I suspected, and hoped wasn’t true, but”—Ellen shrugged—“it’s pretty much a sure thing now.”
“Let me guess—you’ve discovered the reason Gavin is snooping around?”
“I have. At least, I think so.” Ellen rose to her feet and crossed to a built-in mahogany shelving unit that filled one wall of the parlor. Picking up a Dresden figurine of a young girl holding a basket of flowers, she turned to face me. “It’s linked to a situation in the distant past. Something I thought would never come to light.”
“Some sort of intelligence operation that involved you and Isabella?”
Ellen nodded. “It was one of my first. Over fifty years ago now. I was only twenty-five at the time, and just assigned to be Isabella’s handler, among my other duties.”
“She would’ve been”—I calculated quickly—“in her early forties at the time, I guess.”
“Just the age you are now,” Ellen said, with a wry smile. “Still very much in her prime.”
“Not sure I feel the same, but okay.” I studied Ellen’s face, noting the tension accenting her wrinkles. “She was still involved with Paul Peters at the time, I suppose.”
“Yes, of course. As she was for most of her life.”
I mulled this over, remembering that the majority of my great-aunt’s espionage work had involved Peters, who was born in Russia but raised in England. He’d been the perfect “sleeper spy,” educated to blend in with other academics and, hopefully, use his position as a gentleman and scholar to infiltrate both British and American upper-class society during the Cold War era. He thought he’d recruited Isabella as a spy, as well as his lover, while my great-aunt was actually working for U.S. intelligence. She’d not only kept tabs on his activities, preventing him from truly doing harm; she’d also fed him disinformation over the years. It was the reason Isabella had been given Chapters—then used as a private home and a setting for gatherings of the rich and powerful—as well as a healthy stipend to maintain her social butterfly façade. She hadn’t converted Chapters into a B and B until after Paul Peters’s death.
“The operation Gavin is researching was closely tied to Peters.” Ellen held up the figurine and stared at it as if examining it for defects. “He introduced Isabella to a friend that summer; a younger man named Leo Evans. Or at least that’s what he called himself at the time.”
“Was he also a Russian asset?”
“He was Paul Peters’s protégé, so, yes.” Ellen examined the figurine a moment more before placing it back on the shelf. “We couldn’t exactly use Isabella to charm any information out of Leo. For one thing, he thought she was an ‘old lady,’ despite the fact that she was still quite lovely and vibrant. But the main thing was that Leo knew of Paul’s romantic involvement with Isabella. Leo was a smart guy and ambitious. He wasn’t about to flirt with his mentor’s lover.”
“So, what? You stepped in to charm the info out of him instead?”
Ellen’s peal of laughter reverberated throughout the parlor. “Heavens, no. I couldn’t have pulled that off, not back then. I was quite the mousy little thing in my twenties. Besides, I never had any direct interactions with Paul Peters or any of his associates. I met with Isabella infrequently, and then only when we could be alone.”
“You stayed behind the curtain.” I rolled my eyes when I realized the appropriateness of my words.
“Not an iron one, but that’s correct. I had to maintain my anonymity, or my other activities—the ones related to my location scout work—would’ve been compromised.” Ellen leaned back against the wooden cabinet situated under the shelves. “To be perfectly frank, working with Isabella was a very small part of my duties. There wasn’t that much to do by the time I was assigned as her handler. She’d already established a long-term relationship with Peters at that point, and was well integrated into her role. She had no trouble keeping tabs on him, or feeding him disinformation when necessary.”
“But then this new guy showed up on the scene …” I mulled over Ellen’s words, considering how a young protégé might’ve changed the situation.
“Exactly. We needed to monitor him as well. The fear back then was that he’d befriend or romance someone important to U.S. security.” Ellen tucked a lock of fuchsia-streaked white hair behind her ear. “I think that was Peters’s plan for Leo. He wanted Leo to make connections at Isabella’s parties, primarily because her guests included people of significance in military or other government circles.”
“I read about that when I researched her last year. She hosted lots of wealthy, high-society types too.”
“The perfect hunting grounds for those seeking to uncover our secrets or influence policy,” Ellen said. “It was the same with Paul Peters, which was why Isabella was assigned to watch him. But one thing different about Leo was that he was actually British, unlike Paul. He wasn’t a sleeper agent; he was an actual British subject.”
“Like the Cambridge Five?” I asked, remembering stories I’d read about the group of English spies operating from World War II into the Cold War era.
“Yes, although Leo was obviously recruited much later. He was only twenty-one in 1969, when Paul Peters first brought him into Isabella’s orbit. And I think it was money, not ideology, that motivated him.” Ellen strolled back to her armchair and sat down. “Anyway, Isabella was very suspicious of Leo. She felt he could end up being much more dangerous than his mentor. So she conferred with me. We came up with a plan to collect more information on his activities, at least while he was in Beaufort and attending Isabella’s parties.”
“Okay, but why would anyone dig into this old operation now? Isn’t it ancient history at this point?”
“That’s what I thought, until Gavin was sent here by my former bosses. When he asked certain questions …” Ellen drew her legs in close to the skirt of her chair. “The truth is, the problem isn’t Leo, it’s the person who helped Isabella and me track his movements and collect information on him.”
“You recruited someone else?”
“In a way.” Ellen leaned forward to grip her bent knees. “We didn’t exactly recruit this individual, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say that we made use of them.”
“I don’t understand. You’re saying the person didn’t realize they were involved in espionage?”
“They didn’t. Not then, not now. And I want to keep it that way.”
“That’s what you’re afraid of? That this person will discover how you, and my great-aunt, once used them?”
Ellen slumped back in her chair. “I know it sounds self-serving, but it would be devastating. Not simply because of the deception that Isabella, under my watch, employed in the past, but also because it could change the way someone viewed a very important part of their life.” Ellen lowered her lashes to shadow her eyes. “I honestly think the truth would break their heart.”
I stood and paced from one end of the room to the other. “You must care about this person,” I said, pausing in front of Ellen’s chair. “Which means it’s someone you still know. Someone who lives here in Beaufort.”
“Good deductive reasoning, as usual.” Ellen’s smile was brittle as thin ice.
Someone who knew Isabella back in the sixties … I covered my gasp before dropping my hands and staring into Ellen’s calm face. “One of the Sandburg sisters.”
“Bingo.” Ellen stood to face me.
“I doubt it was Bernadette, since she served as a military nurse during the Vietnam War. She was probably overseas in 1969.”
“Another hit. To be honest, it suited our purposes that Bernie wasn’t around to keep watch.”
“And I doubt even Isabella could’ve fooled Bernadette for long. It had to be Ophelia.”
“Yes, lovely Ophelia Sandburg, who was twenty-four, but rather sheltered. She’d attended college, majoring in home economics, and taught part-time at the local high school. But she still lived with her parents and, from what Isabella told me, hoped to meet a nice man who’d marry her and take her away from Beaufort.”
“It seems she met a not-so-nice man.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Assuming you and Isabella used her to gather information about Leo Evans.”
Ellen balanced her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin on her hand. “We didn’t initially plan to use Ophelia in that way. She just happened to attend one of Isabella’s parties, where she met Leo. It was only after it became obvious that there was a mutual attraction between them that Isabella came up with the idea to encourage the relationship for operational purposes.”
“She didn’t think it dangerous to place Ophelia in that position?”
“She knew it was. I knew it too. I’m not proud of that, but at the time we thought the benefits outweighed the risks. Isabella was deeply concerned about the damage Leo might do to our country and I”—Ellen sat back and stared at me, her expression blank as unlined paper—“was ambitious.”
I backed away, dropping down into the suede armchair. “What did you do? Pump Ophelia for information on her supposed boyfriend?”
“I didn’t, and Isabella was a bit subtler than that. She simply befriended Ophelia, who she’d known only casually before.” Ellen smiled grimly. “Trust me, if Isabella wanted to become your friend, it would happen. Ophelia was no match for her, and Bernadette wasn’t around to question Isabella’s sudden interest in her sister. Soon enough, Ophelia was eager to tell Isabella all her secrets and dreams, including her crush on a certain young Englishman.”
“And I imagine Isabella encouraged him to visit when Ophelia would be around.”
“Indeed.” Ellen’s gusty sigh sent Shandy, who’d appeared at the entrance to the parlor, scurrying back into the hall.
Or maybe he just senses the tension in the room, I thought, loosening my white-knuckled grip on the plush arms of my chair. “With Isabella playing the role of Ophelia’s confidant, I suppose she was able to gather a great deal of information on Leo Evans? Clever.” I shook out my tensed fingers. “Horrid, but clever.”
“We thought so at the time, at least for a while. The problem was, Isabella was looking at the situation from her point of view. She just saw a harmless flirtation. I don’t suppose she could even imagine Ophelia falling deeply in love in such a short time.” Ellen lifted her hands. “Neither could I, to be honest. We believed it was a summer fling that would fade with the autumn leaves.”
“But you were wrong about that.” I didn’t frame this as a question.
“Very much so, I’m afraid. And not just on Ophelia’s part. I believe Leo Evans truly loved her too. He even asked Ophelia to marry him and move to England. But of course, it couldn’t last.” Ellen clutched her upper arms, as if she’d felt a sudden chill. “When Paul Peters and others above him found out, they bundled Leo off without so much as a goodbye. They saw Ophelia, with her sister in the armed forces and family connections to other military personnel, as the danger.”
“Why? Wasn’t his whole mission to gather information by charming or conning U.S. citizens?”
“True, but his feelings for Ophelia made him vulnerable to being turned. Even Paul Peters didn’t go so far as to propose marriage to Isabella. Honestly, I think Paul hid his deeper feelings for Isabella from his superiors, which Leo failed to do.” Ellen shrugged. “I suppose his handlers were afraid Leo could become a double agent or some such thing. Anyway, they forced him to return to England, which is where I suppose he stayed. I didn’t keep up with him after he left Beaufort—not in my job description and none of my business, or so I was told. Even though I tried to find out more later, I couldn’t. Leo seemed to have disappeared.”
“But what about Ophelia? Paul Peters was around, still linked with Isabella, after that. Didn’t he have to explain what had happened?” I stared down at the fingers I’d intertwined in my lap as I considered this tangled web of deception.
Ellen sighed. “Oh, he offered an explanation all right. He told Isabella and Ophelia that Leo had received news of a dire family emergency and had rushed back to England, planning to contact them when he arrived. Tragically, Paul claimed, the small plane Leo had chartered to carry him from London to his family home had crashed in a storm.”
I jerked my head up. “He told Ophelia that Leo died?”
“Isabella knew this was a lie, but she didn’t dare contradict Paul. She couldn’t tell Ophelia the truth, no matter how devastated the poor girl was.”
“It would have blown her cover.”
“Right.” Ellen met my gaze with a weary smile. “She couldn’t risk it. Not for a young woman she’d only befriended to use as a pawn in a spy game.”
I sat back in my chair, processing this information and reassessing my opinion of my great-aunt. Yes, she’d been caught between a rock and a hard place, but … “Who made the final decision about keeping Ophelia in the dark? Isabella or your bosses?”
“Neither,” Ellen said. “I did.”
There it was—the real reason my neighbor was so determined to prevent Gavin Howard from unearthing all of my great-aunt’s secrets. They’re her secrets too.
“And now you’re worried that Ophelia will find out what really happened. That perhaps Gavin was sent here to confirm the truth and tell her, and the world. Some sort of agency clearing of the air, for whatever reason.” I stood and marched over to Ellen’s chair. “And you’re terrified that Ophelia Sandburg will discover that she’s mourned her first and perhaps only lover for no reason, and also realize just how horribly her dear friend Isabella used and betrayed her.”
Ellen looked up at me, her calm expression belied by the pain in her blue eyes. “You see, you were wrong, Charlotte. You are definitely more than just my Watson.”