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Spring 1942
Washington, D.C.
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“I don’t think you understand; the committee must take this situation seriously. Jews are disappearing by the dozens and we are doing nothing about it.” My heels echoed against the marble floors while I walked double time to keep pace with the long-legged sixty-five-year-old politician.
“I’ve already addressed this issue.”
“But, Senator, if you would just take a moment to read the letter.” I shook said piece of paper.
The senator came to an abrupt halt in the domed rotunda of the senate office building, and I slid past him before coming to my own clumsy stop. “Young lady, there is simply no way I’m going to waste the committee’s time with a letter from some childhood school chum of yours. I don’t care who her father is related to.”
His condescending tone flicked out at me like a whip and I flinched. I don’t know why. I should have been immune to it by now. The senator’s bullheadedness and refusal to listen to the opinions of any of the women in his office were legendary. For the most part, we’d learned to circumvent his prejudice by providing our opinions and advice to his chief of staff, a man who displayed an open mind and softer touch, and some of us had seen our ideas floated upriver to the senator and eventually the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, which the senator chaired. It was exactly what I should have done, but his chief of staff had traveled to the home office in Georgia for the week, and I deemed Camilla’s fervent plea urgent enough to go directly to the senator.
“We are fighting a war on two fronts,” he continued in his harsh tone. “We’ve got boys in the Pacific fighting the Japs and over in Africa fighting Nazis. Right now we have to pull together and support our soldiers. The committee doesn’t have time to listen to a schoolgirl’s fearful ramblings.”
“She is an adult woman, and her father is a viscount,” I said through clenched teeth with barely controlled irritation.
“I don’t care who her father is. We simply don’t have the means or manpower to investigate the, frankly, farfetched allegations she’s making.”
My expression must have shown my disconcertment, because his tone and face softened and he placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “You remind me so much of your mother—she passed her beauty and grace to you. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
My shoulders deflated.
“Now be a good girl, and when you get back to the office, send Ruth over to the Capitol. I’ve some dictation for her.” He patted my cheek, then turned and whooshed out the glass door before I could utter another sentence.
At five o’clock, I handed in my resignation to Ruth. Gray hairs escaped the chignon of her normally perfect coiffure, and her blouse revealed deep wrinkles built throughout the day. She removed her glasses, rubbed tired eyes, and sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this ... now?”
I glanced away from her disappointed expression. “I’m sorry, Ruth, I’ve got to do something more.”
“What are your plans?”
“I ... I’m not sure yet. I have heard the newspapers need photographers and reporters. I’m pretty good with my camera.” I shrugged.
“Well, I’m disappointed you’re leaving. Of all the young girls in the office, you’re the only one gutsy enough to take on the senator when he’s in one of his moods.”
Thinking of my afternoon interaction with him, I grimaced. “I don’t have quite the knack you do.”
“Pshaw.” She pushed her chair back and came around the desk. “You’ve got gumption, girl, and I’m sorry to lose you.” She pulled me into her motherly embrace. “Let me know if you need a reference.”
Unexpected tears rose and I cleared my throat before answering, “I will, Ruth. You take care of yourself.”
The wheels of politics moved too slowly for my taste, and if I was personally going to make a difference for the war effort, I’d have to step outside my comfortable and sheltered lifestyle. As I walked past the Supreme Court on my way home, I paused to stare at the magnificent pillared building. Above the Corinthian columns, deep grooves engraved into the marble portico read, “Equal Justice Under Law.”
Where was the justice in a man like Hitler?
It was time for me to fight for those whose country now trampled justice under its feet. I squared my shoulders and decided morning would find me at the local recruiting office.
A few hours later, my roommates and I stood around our secondhand coffee table, glasses in hand. “Jane, drink your champagne, and stop staring at me like I’ve grown a turnip out of my ear.” I indicated with the bottle. “I know it will not be what I’m used to, but if I can manage the pitfalls of an English boarding school, I’m sure I can handle basic training for the WACs.” I laughed as the rosy liquid bubbled over the rim of the bowl-like glass and ran down my fingers.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Jane mumbled.
“Then what?” I snapped, irritated Jane wasn’t showing the support I’d expected. The boxy brown dress she wore hung loosely off her shoulders because she’d recently lost weight, and her lipstick had been chewed off. And, looking closer, I could see the dark circles that had built under her eyes. Work must have been stressful at the law firm where she worked.
“It’s just that ...”
Evelyn, southern sweet and always the peacekeeper, interrupted, “Don’t fuss, darling, Jane is simply upset that you’ll be leaving us. That’s all it is. Honestly, I am too. I’m going to miss you.” She clinked her glass against mine.
Jane opened and closed her mouth, took another sip, then her mouth quirked. “Evelyn’s right, we are going to miss you.”
“Thank you, ladies. I’ll miss you too.” I swallowed back a lump of sentimentality. “But ... after Milla’s letter.” I shook my head. “It’s time I did something more for the war effort.”
“I have an idea.” Jane perked up, a beautiful smile transforming her face. “One of my co-workers is having a party. Let’s change into some fancier togs and go out.”
“A wonderful idea.” Evelyn swallowed the last of her champagne and put her glass down with a firm clank. “I’ve got a new green dress that I’ve been dying to wear. Lily, you should wear the black and white, and borrow my spectators.” Evelyn had a sharp eye for fashion, and we’d gotten used to accepting her advice because it invariably hit the mark. “And Janie, you always look chic in your blue cocktail dress. Since I took it in last week, it should fit perfectly on your figure.”
An hour later, a cab dropped us off at an apartment building on Wisconsin Avenue, the first of three stops we’d make that night.
The next morning, I awoke with a fuzzy mouth, blurry headache, and Jane irritatingly shaking my shoulder.
“Wake up.”
I rolled away, pulling the pillow over my head. “Go away, Janie.”
“We need to talk before Evelyn returns.” She snatched the pillow off my face.
“Why?” I groaned. “Where did she go?”
“To the bakery. Here”—she shoved a mug in my face—“have some tea. It will make you feel better.”
Once she’d gotten me into a coherent sitting position, drinking the hot beverage, Jane explained that her boss, Mr. Barden, wanted to speak with me before I joined the army. I tried to bring his face to mind, but all I could remember was a nondescript man of average height. No remarkable features stood out, although some of my lack of memory could possibly ... possibly be blamed on the champagne.
“Why? What business is it of his? Is this Edward’s doing?”
“It has nothing to do with your stepfather,” Jane assured me. “If you are determined to serve your country, there are better ways than joining the military.” She grabbed my shoulders and shook. “You must understand, with your knowledge of French and German, you can do so much more than march around in military uniform and become a nurse. If you trust me, you’ll take the time...” Jane’s impassioned speech ended abruptly when the apartment door closed.
Evelyn sang out, “I have cinnamon rolls. Wake up, dearies.”
The fact Jane refused to speak further with Evelyn in the apartment aroused my curiosity, and since I was in no particular rush to get to the recruiting office, I agreed to let her take me to the Willard Hotel that afternoon to meet her boss for lunch.
We’d walked around the Capitol building to catch the streetcar running down Pennsylvania Avenue. The crowded trolley forced Jane and me to stand at the rear holding on to the loops overhead. However, something wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of my neck had been standing at attention since before we boarded. At the Sixth Street stop, I waited until the bell chimed, an indication that the lumbering vehicle was moving on, before grabbing Jane’s hand and yanking her off the back steps at the last minute. The bumper of the trolley whisked past the tail of her coat, sending it swinging.
“Lily, what on earth are you doing? We could have been killed and now we’re going to be late to the meeting.” She pulled her hand out of mine and checked her watch.
As she spoke, I locked eyes, through the glass of the trolley’s window, with a pinched-faced stranger who must have rushed to the back. Raising my hand, I flagged down an oncoming taxi.
“Get in, Jane. I’ll explain once we’re in the cab.” Jane seemed relieved that I’d acquired another, faster, mode of transportation so quickly, and slid in beside me without further comment until I directed the cabbie to turn right on Sixth street and stay straight until hitting G Street. Once we rounded the corner, I relaxed and turned to my irritated and confused roommate.
“Mind explaining why we are taking the scenic route?” she drawled and crossed her arms.
I sighed and adjusted my hat. “You’re not going to believe this, but I think we were being followed.”
Her brows rose.
“There was a man lighting a cigarette, across from our apartment, when we left. He followed us for a block, turned, and then picked us back up in front of the Supreme Court building. He dogged our steps all the way to the streetcar and then got on after we did.”
“Perhaps he just wanted to ride the trolley.”
“Maybe, but every time I looked at him, he looked away and he stayed at the front of the streetcar ... until our untimely exit. He must have rushed to the rear, and he gave me a deadly look as the street car pulled away. You didn’t notice him?”
Jane made a moue with her mouth and tapped her chin in thought.
“You don’t believe me? You think I’m being unreasonable?”
She blinked and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re safe, and even taking your roundabout way, we should arrive on time.” She leaned forward to direct the cabbie to turn left on Fourteenth Street and drop us at the Willard.
The taxi pulled to a halt in front of the limestone staircase at the stroke of twelve, and a negro porter opened our door. “Do you ladies have luggage in the trunk?”
“No, we are here for lunch,” Janie responded.
We climbed the red-carpeted steps into one of the finest and oldest established hotels in Washington, D.C. Jane gave her name to the maître d’, and we followed him to a solitary table in a cozy nook. Jane’s boss rose to his feet as we approached.
“May I take your coats, ladies?” the maître d’ asked.
We removed our gloves and wraps, handed them over, and settled ourselves, Jane on my left and her boss directly on my right.
“What would you ladies like to drink? Wine? A cocktail?
“I’ll have a coffee with cream,” Jane responded.
I followed Jane’s lead and declined the wine. “Coffee as well, sugar, no cream.”
“And you, sir?”
“Another scotch on the rocks.” Barden indicated the glass in front of him, empty but for a few chunks of ice.
“Very good, sir.” The maître d’ bowed himself off and we were finally left alone with Jane’s boss. And alone we were indeed. The only other patron sitting near us was a businessman in a dark suit three tables away. The rest of the patrons were grouped at tables near the front of the dining room.
“So good of you to join us today.” He smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but that was not what stood out. He studied my face and form as if viewing me under a microscope, his gaze acute and sharp.
I didn’t recall him regarding me so astutely the night before, and I refused to allow the scrutiny to unnerve me. I straightened my spine and threw back my shoulders, meeting his bold gaze. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Barden.”
The waiter arrived and placed salads in front of us.
“I pre-ordered. Forgive my presumption, but I figured you ladies might be late.”
Nothing about this man’s bearing seemed to give any indication that he was actually apologizing, rather the words were simply platitudes. For some reason, his attitude got under my skin.
I picked up my fork and spoke before Jane. “Not at all, I was just telling Janie this morning that I was due for some vegetables and”—I stabbed a piece of iceberg lettuce, probably cut from the core of the head—“white lettuce. Have you taken the liberty of ordering our entire meal?” I batted my lashes and gave a Mona Lisa smile. “Or are we silly little girls allowed the rare treat of ordering for ourselves?”
I felt rather than saw Jane’s jaw drop at my rudeness, but my comments finally broke through the overconfident veneer. Mr. Barden relaxed his posture and chuckled. “Jane, you never mentioned how charmingly blunt your roommate was.”
My face flamed and I curled my lips in.
“I ... uh ... I apologize Mr. Barden,” Jane muttered.
“No, no need to apologize. Waiter, please tell us your specials and bring menus for the ladies. They will be choosing their own entrees.
The stiff, white-coated waiter—who shifted nary a brow at the conversation that just passed before him—bowed. “Oui, Monsieur. Today the chef has prepared a savory duck a l’orange, grilled flounder with broccoli and cauliflower florets, and squab in a brown sauce.”
I recognized the man’s accent as French and answered in his native language. “What comes with the duck?”
“Petite peas with creamed onions,” he responded in French.
“I’ll have the duck.”
“Oui, and for you, Mademoiselle?”
“I’ll take the flounder,” Jane replied, taking a sip of the coffee that had just been placed at her elbow by a different waiter.
The first waiter looked at Mr. Barden. “I’ll stick with the filet and potatoes.”
“Very well.” The waiter exited our nook.
“Jane tells me you speak multiple languages. Tell me about them.”
“I speak French, German, and some Italian. Although, we were so young when I lived in Italy, my Italian is rather parochial.”
“Where did you learn your German?”
“In Bavaria, Germany, and Vienna, Austria. Why?”
“And your French?”
“Lyons.”
“Mm-hm.” He nodded, tapping his blunted nails against the tablecloth.
“So when you speak, it is the French of France.”
“Yes, of course, what else?”
“Not the French of New Orleans, or from school.”
Realizing what he was getting at, I smiled. “Yes, I see. No, I didn’t learn in a schoolroom ... well, no, that’s not exactly true. I suppose you could consider the Swiss finishing school a classroom. However, I never got my fingers rapped for my accent by Madame Dubois.”
“Madame Dubois?”
“She taught flower arranging.”
His cheek quirked up.
“Why do you ask? Are you interested in my translation skills for your firm? If so, I’m sorry to inform you that you are wasting your time. I am determined to join the army, if they’ll have me, to do my part for the war effort. I tried to explain that to Jane this morning.” I turned to her, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze, instead keeping her profile toward me. Barden simply continued to watch me with a contemplative expression.
“She successfully identified and evaded the tail you put on us this morning,” Jane said, ignoring my comments.
“Did she really?” He crossed his arms and leaned back. The intensity from before returned.
“Tail? You saw it too, didn’t you? I knew there was something off about that fellow.” I pointed a finger at her. Then I realized what had been said, and my finger faltered as I looked back to Barden. “You had a man tailing us? Whatever for?”
“What if I told you I wasn’t a lawyer?”
I tilted my head as I tried to figure out what kind of game we were playing.
“What if I told you I worked for a special government department that needed people like you?”
“To be honest, I would tell you that I had already worked in a government office—a rather nice one, as a matter of fact—and had no plans to return to a desk. Things are happening in Europe that the United States simply doesn’t understand. Hitler isn’t just expanding his empire; he’s persecuting an entire race of people he’s deemed as less than human. I need to help those I once knew in Europe, and I think the only way I can do that is by joining the military.”
“What if I told you could do that in my department?”
“And what department would that be?”
“Coordinator of Information office.”
I shrugged. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s new. Have you heard of MI6?”
“British Secret Intelligence? Yes...” I was rather surprised he had. MI6 was a national secret, and I only knew of it due to an overheard conversation at one of our duty stations in England.
He tilted his head.
“You mean this Coordinator of Information office is going to become the American branch of the British Secret Service?”
“Not a branch of ... our own.”
My gaze swung to Jane and for once she looked me in the eye. “You’re not a secretary for a law office?”
“No.”
“What do you do then?”
Her eyes darted to Barden. He nodded and she turned back to me to answer, “Intelligence.”
The picture began to clear, as if a rainstorm had passed overhead and the clouds drew apart. “When you told me that I could serve my country ... this is what you meant? Spying?” I said the last word in a hoarse whisper.
Jane’s brows rose.
I sipped my coffee and digested the ramifications of the offer in front of me. Camilla’s letter came to mind and my brain traveled no further. This was how I would help my friend. This was how I could obtain the justice I so valiantly sought. “Mr. Barden, what if I told you I had a letter in my possession that I thought could be useful to your office?”
“I’d be very interested in seeing this letter.”
I set the cup down so firmly it clanked against the saucer. “Where do I sign?”
Four days later, I reported to a ramshackle office in Rosslyn, Virginia, and thus began my training as an agent for what would become the Office of Strategic Services.
