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Evelyn got off the bicycle and leaned it against a tree, looking around. She was standing in an overgrown garden of sorts before an old stone house that looked as if it had been forgotten by both man and time. One of the front windows was broken, and paint peeled away from the wood in staggered rows on the front door. Weeds had overtaken what were once flower beds, and the stone path leading to the front door had long ago been claimed by encroaching moss and rough grass. Tilting her head back, she shaded her eyes and gazed up at the first floor. The windows were bare of curtains, but seemed intact. With the exception of the state of the garden and the one broken window, the house was really in quite good condition from the outside.
Turning, Evelyn looked out over the fields to the left of the house. They were covered with grass and wildflowers, the ground uneven where it had once been plowed. A sweeping feeling of sadness went through her, making her frown. There was something about the sight of neglected farmland that never failed to depress her, no doubt the result of growing up on an estate in the country. She was used to well-tended fields and flocks of sheep, and the sight of the forgotten land sent another wave of sorrow over her.
She exhaled and turned to walk along the overgrown path to the front door. A washed-out, tired looking sign near the door proclaimed that the house and land were for sale, but it had been half-hidden by a overgrown and thorny evergreen bush. It was as if the homestead had been half-heartedly listed for sale, and then promptly forgotten. Evelyn looked around and sighed. It was a mid-sized house and sat on a good piece of land. Someone should have snapped it up long before now. The fact that it still stood empty was a telling reminder of the state of the world economy.
Reaching out, she tried the door handle and was surprised when the door swung open easily. Bending to look, she shook her head when she saw the broken lock. She wasn’t the first visitor to the empty homestead. Evelyn reached into her purse and pulled out her pistol, gripping it securely as she stepped through the door. She had no idea if anyone was inside, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The P-35 was a high-powered pistol capable of hitting a target at fifty meters, and Evelyn had become very proficient at doing just that. If there was anyone inside, they would be advised to think twice before trying to cause her any harm.
She stepped into a large, open room and looked around. Sun streamed through the front windows, cutting a swath through the gloom inside and highlighting swirls of dust in the air. The house was completely empty, and the wooden floors were covered with a fine sheen of dirt and a few dead leaves. She glanced over to the broken window, noting the oak tree outside. The window had been broken since the autumn. Standing still, she listened intently to the silence. There were no signs of disturbance in the large front room and she moved across the floor, glancing at the massive fireplace on the far right wall. She imagined that a roaring fire would warm most of the front of the house quite easily. Pulling her gaze away from it, she turned her head to peer into an empty room on her left. It was smaller than the main room and had a window that overlooked the overgrown fields. Stopping in the doorway, Evelyn looked around the bare room curiously. A study, perhaps? Or a small bedroom? She turned away, that strange sense of sadness coming over her again. Whatever it had been, it was nothing but an empty room now, covered in dirt and grime, with cobwebs in the corners, and void of life or personality.
Evelyn exhaled and followed a short hallway to the back of the house and a large, square kitchen. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. All she knew was that her father had thought this house was so important that he had to conceal it in a Chinese puzzle box, which he knew only she would be able to open.
The sudden realization of the enormity of that act crashed upon her as she stood in the middle of the empty kitchen, looking around helplessly. Why on earth would he think she was the best choice? Why didn’t he leave it with Bill? Or Jasper? Why her? He had no idea she was working with MI6 at the time.
Evelyn sucked in her breath suddenly and her eyes widened as she stared blindly at the large metal sink under a window overlooking rolling hills in the back. He had to have known! That was the only possible explanation for him leaving the box with her. He must have realized that Bill had recruited her, despite all their efforts to keep it from him. How? How had she given herself away? Even during the three months of intensive training in Scotland, her absence had been explained by a long visit with an old school friend. That was in the spring of last year, long before war was declared, and before the WAAFs had been resurrected to assist in the coming war effort. She had been so careful to continue to behave as she always had, and had even stopped discussing the coming war with her family in fear that she would slip and reveal that she knew more than she had any right to know in her position as a young society butterfly.
Vladimir Lyakhov shot into her mind and she lifted a hand to her forehead as more and more of the strange events over the past year began to make sense. Of course! Daddy must have told Shustov that his daughter was also working for MI6. That was why Lyakhov insisted on meeting only with her in Oslo, and again in Brussels. Why hadn’t any of them realized? Why hadn’t Bill realized? Or had he?
Her lips tightened and she lowered her hand, spinning around to stride over to the open pantry, glancing inside. Seeing nothing but empty shelves, she turned to leave the kitchen, her mind spinning once again. Bill hadn’t seemed very surprised when she told him about the break-in at Ainsworth Manor at Christmas. In fact, he’d very quickly decided that the puzzle box held a clue to something that he knew her father had brought out of Austria. She should have realized that he had arrived at the conclusion too quickly, that he was working with more information than he was sharing. If he knew her father had left the clue for her, then he must have known that her father knew about her involvement with MI6. Had he told him? Had Dad figured it out and gone to Bill for confirmation? And why on earth didn’t Bill simply tell her? Why let her believe that her father had died not knowing that his daughter would continue his work, however ineffectually?
In the hallway, Evelyn took a moment to lean against the wall, her lips trembling. This changed everything. If Dad knew she was being trained to work on the continent, he knew that she would have the access and ability to come to Switzerland, to this house. He had trusted that she would know what to do when she arrived. She choked back half a laugh and looked around the dingy hallway. She had no idea what to do, and furthermore, she had no idea if he had expected the man who used to live here to still be alive when she arrived. If it was the man who was the answer, they were out of luck. That was the game, set and match. It was over.
The silence in the house was broken suddenly by a loud bang upstairs, like a door slamming shut. Evelyn’s heart surged into her throat and blood began pounding in her ears as she tightened her grip on the P-35. Listening intently, she moved along the wall to the front room, straining to hear footsteps above. There was no other sound, only silence, but she swallowed and rounded the corner to the narrow staircase. She had to go up and investigate. There was no choice.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Evelyn started up the stairs, silently reminding herself that not only did she have a high-powered pistol in her hand, but she was also trained in the Chinese art of Wing Chun. Gun aside, she herself was a weapon. There was nothing to fear. But while her mind knew that, fear still snaked down her spine as she made her way up the old steps. She winced when one creaked so loudly that she was sure it could be heard all over the house. She froze, listening. After a moment of complete silence, she continued, wincing again as the step creaked once more when she removed her foot. Whoever was up there knew she was coming now. There was no sneaking up on them.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Evelyn took another deep breath and peered around the corner. The second story was not large. A hallway ran the width of the house with two doors to the left and one to the right. One of the doors on the left was closed, and she looked to the right. Pressing her lips together determinedly, she turned right and went to the open door. It led to a small bathroom with an old-fashioned claw-foot tub, and a ceramic vanity with a sink. A toilet was at the end, the lid to the tank missing and the seat up. Otherwise, the room was empty. She turned and looked down the hallway at the closed door. Swallowing once more, she moved quietly along the wall until she came to the other open door. Glancing into the small room, she found it empty with nothing but a large spiders web in the corner near a small window.
Evelyn adjusted her grip on the pistol and moved to the closed door. She paused outside, listening. No sound came from inside, but someone had to be in there; doors didn’t just slam shut on their own. She reached out to touch the door handle, her heart pounding in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned it, forcing herself to remain calm as her breath came short and fast. Feeling the latch release, she took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer, then shoved the door open, her heart in her throat. She moved into the doorway, raising the gun and steadying it with her other hand.
A loud screech preceded a rush of movement as something launched across the room towards her. Evelyn ducked instinctively, covering her head with her arms as long talons came within inches of her face. Looking up from a crouch, she watched in wonder as a huge cream-colored bird flew around the room before landing on the ledge of what was left of the window. She stared at the barn owl for a second, then lowered her arms, panting.
“God, you frightened me!” she exclaimed, glancing around the empty room. A brisk wind blew in through the window, ruffling the bird’s feathers as he fixed her with a steely brown gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She straightened up slowly, backing out of the room as the owl stiffened and gave every indication of launching another attack. Lowering her gaze from his, she moved back into the hallway, not daring to reach out to close the door again. Barn owls, she knew, were not something one wanted to tussle with. They always came out the winner. Once she was safely in the hallway, she moved to the side of the door and leaned against the wall while she caught her breath. After a moment, a reluctant laugh bubbled up from inside her and she looked down at the gun in her hand. She slid it back into her purse and turned to go back towards the stairs. She wouldn’t need the pistol for a barn owl. She was quite alone in the old house.
Evelyn was halfway down the stairs when the door slammed shut again, causing her to start despite herself. She shook her head. The wind must be coming through the window at just the right angle to catch the door. She frowned as she reached the first floor. Why had the door been open before if the wind was in the habit of blowing it closed? Her eyes went to the front door with the broken lock and she shook her head. This old abandoned homestead was probably a favorite hangout for the local children. She looked around the empty front room. At least they weren’t destroying the place in their play.
She walked to the middle of the front room and turned around slowly, a frown on her face. This was impossible. She didn’t know what to look for, or even if it was still here. The house was completely empty.
Think! Dad wouldn’t send you all the way here for nothing. There must be something!
Evelyn pursed her lips and went over to the edge of the wall. Lifting her gloved hand, she knocked lightly on the wood, listening. It sounded solid. She began to make her way around the room, knocking as she went. After circling the entirety of the front of the house, she ended back where she started and exhaled, turning to stare helplessly around her. The walls were solid, with no hidden compartments or doors. She dropped her eyes to the floor, suddenly remembering the cubbyhole in the floor of Asp’s living room in Marle.
She crossed to the front door and went outside, returning a few moments later with a long branch discovered in the trees to the right of the house. She tapped it on the wooden floor inside the door, then moved to her right, tapping as she went. Evelyn felt silly, but she had to check everything thoroughly. She had come to Switzerland at great cost to MI6, and in the midst of Hitler’s invasion of France. She had to do her best to find whatever it was that her father had left for her. She would finish checking the front room, then go through the small room to the side. If there was nothing, she would have to do the same in the kitchen.
There was always the possibility that it wasn’t even inside the house, but outside, she thought as she made her way methodically across the floor. If that was the case, she could spend a month of Sundays here and never find it.
Evelyn had reached the center of the room when she paused and lifted her hand to brush a thick lock of hair out of her eyes. It had slipped from under her hat and she leaned the branch against her before raising both hands to readjust the hat. As she did so, she glanced up at the chimney above the fireplace. Her hands froze and she stared at the bricks, her eyes fixed on the carving near the ceiling. It was similar to a crest, with a picture and two words beneath it. The words were a name, but the picture was what arrested her attention. It was an ornate carving of an owl, not dissimilar from the type of barn owl that graced the upstairs bedroom at the moment, with a twisted branch of greenery in his beak, the leaves of which wrapped around the bird’s neck. It was an unusual carving, and one that she’d seen before.
It had been part of the design on the Chinese puzzle box her father had left her.
Evelyn moved forward, dropping her hands from her hat. The branch clattered to the floor unheeded as she went to the fireplace and laid her hands on the shallow ledge that surrounded the hearth. She finally lowered her eyes from the crest and ran them along the ledge, looking for any kind of marking that would indicate a loose brick or hidden compartment. There was nothing.
Pursing her lips together, she lowered her gaze to the gaping, empty hearth. Scanning the bricks on the floor before the fireplace, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. One was slightly discolored, but when she bent down to tap and press it, it was still firmly set with the others. Evelyn sighed, crouched before the fireplace, and looked up at the chimney. If there weren’t any lose bricks in the chimney, or hidden cracks, where could something possibly be concealed? She had no doubt that it was here, in the chimney. But where?
Evelyn sucked in her breath suddenly and lowered her eyes back to the yawning hearth. Of course! Without a further thought, she moved forward and stretched her arm up inside the chimney, her gloved fingers feeling around. She wrinkled her nose and made a face when her hand knocked years-old soot down, but she continued to slowly feel around. It had to be here. It had to!
Her fingers brushed against something that wasn’t brick or stone and she paused, then angled her shoulder slightly to reach higher. It felt like a box of some sort. Frowning in concentration, Evelyn moved her hand along the top edge of the object, trying to feel how it was attached to the bricks. Finally, as her impatience got the better of her, she closed her fingers over it and tried to pull. It didn’t budge. Sweating now from holding herself at an impossibly uncomfortable angle half inside the fireplace, Evelyn bit her lip and slammed her palm up against the bottom of the box. Something gave way with a crack and the box was suddenly free, falling off the inside of the chimney. With a gasp, she fumbled, trying to catch it. After a few seconds of juggling, she finally trapped it against the side of the bricks and exhaled in relief.
Pulling the box out of the chimney, Evelyn backed out and stood up, grimacing at the black soot that covered her cream glove and jacket. Then all thoughts of ruined clothes faded as she stared down at the flat, smooth silver box in her hand. Three initials were engraved on the lid: RMA. Robert Matthew Ainsworth.
Shock warred with sorrow as she stared at the cigarette case that had been her father’s. The years in the chimney had done nothing more than allow the silver to become tarnished. Certainly no fire had been lit in the fireplace since it had been placed in its hiding place. Had he put it there after the owner had died? Or had the owner put it there before he died? Evelyn looked around the empty room, trying to imagine what kind of man lived here who would have garnered the trust of her father. Had they had a drink together in this very room, before this very fireplace? Had her father been here, knowing that one day she would stand in this very room, looking for answers that he’d sent her to find?
She closed her fingers over the case, suddenly feeling short of breath. She took a ragged breath and went towards the door. She needed fresh air. The combination of still air, old soot, dust, and the realization that her father had been in this very house was making her feel ill with emotion. It was almost too much for her.
Stepping outside into the sunshine, a brisk gust of wind blew against her hot cheeks. Evelyn filled her lungs, sucking in the clean air, and stumbled over to sit on a tree stump not far from the house. She forced herself to breathe steadily until the buzzing in her ears went away and the trembling in her hands stopped. She didn’t look at the cigarette case clutched in her fist, but instead stared out over the fallow field and the rolling hills beyond. Birds sang to each other in the trees and she sat for a moment, allowing the serenity of the surrounding mountains to wash over her.
A few moments later, Evelyn finally lowered her eyes to the case in her hand. She turned it over in her fingers before finally pushing the clasp on the side. The lid sprang open and a key fell out into her hand. Her eyebrows soared into her forehead as she stared at the key sparkling in the sunlight. It was pristine, as if it had never been used. A card was still in the case, tucked under the bar that would have held her father’s cigarettes, had he been a smoker. As it was, the only thing she’d ever seen him smoke was a pipe, and that only in the evenings. Why, then, did he even have an engraved cigarette case?
The question flitted through her mind as she slid the card out. It was a business card and the embossed crest on the corner was one she’d only seen once before, many years before on a skiing trip to Switzerland with her mother. It belonged to one of the largest banks in Zürich. She remembered going to the bank with her mother. Yes, there was the address printed on the card, with the name of a manager. Evelyn turned the card over and stared at the account number written neatly across the back in her father’s hand.
Raising her eyes from the card, she stared across the overgrown garden at the stone house. This was what he wanted her to find. A key, and a bank account in Zürich. The trail continued. There would be no answers yet.
Evelyn replaced the card and key and snapped the case closed, getting to her feet. She tucked it into her purse and turned back towards the bicycle. She would leave this place and find the point that the man in the lane had spoken of to eat her lunch. Then she would go back to Bern and have Philip make arrangements for a first class ticket on the train.
She was going to Zürich.
