John Brown Shipyards, Glasgow, 7th June, 1906.
ADELE WAS QUITE FAR AWAY from the front of the crowd of well-dressed people pressing up against the railing. All she could see of the RMS Lusitania between the roof of the observation deck and the heads of the people in front of her was a great black wall of iron and rivets which did not seem to be moving.
Yet everyone cheered madly, clapped and made little hopping motions, as if they really would jump about and squeal if they were not the cream of British society.
Champagne had been smashed against the bow by Mary, the widow of Lord Inverclyde. Inverclyde had hammered home the first rivet on the Lusitania nearly two years ago. Cameras popped, foul-smelling smoke rising from the bright lights held in the hands of the camera operators, only to be whisked away by the fresh breeze.
Adele had not attended a ship launch before, but she suspected that what was meant to happen now was that the ship would slide backward down the slipway into the River Clyde, which twinkled in the bright afternoon sun.
“It’s not moving,” Adele muttered to herself. Her invitation to the launch of the newest of the Cunard transatlantic ships had not extended itself to include a companion, so she stood alone at the back of a group of six hundred guests who had travelled to Scotland to attend the launch, leaving her with only herself to converse with.
As it happened, she knew nearly everyone on the observation deck, and could have worked her way into a conversation with any of them. Since the affair at Balmoral, three months ago, she was a sought-after member of society. Silent and invisible word of the King’s approval of her had moved through the ton. The ignominious exclusion she had been facing because she had dared to marry a commoner had been cancelled because King Edward had a roving eye and an appreciation for a pretty ankle.
Only, she did not wish to converse. She really did not want to be here at all. The launch of the Lusitania was just the last in a long line of events, affairs, intimate gatherings, small dinners for hundreds, balls and soirees she had attended since March. Cream envelopes with seals and embossing and elegant, flourish-filled script slid through the front door of her little house in Mayfair every day. What had been just one or two of the little, almost-square missives had become a pile scattered across the Turkish rug which required two or three trips to the dining table to carry them all.
William Melville surveyed her invitations each morning after breakfast, before she settled in to write acceptances or find a polite way to convey her regrets. It was he who had insisted she travel to Scotland for this latest affair. Adele would much rather have stayed in her little house for several days in a row, or perhaps even a fortnight, with no requirement to speak pleasantly, keep the order of precedence firmly in mind at all times, or keep her back straight.
She could not remember the Season being so draining, when she had been a debutante.
Therefore she lingered at the back of the observation deck, getting in the way of the staff carrying trays of full champagne glasses and little petits fours, her mood dark.
“Oh, the ship is moving, I assure you, my Lady,” a male voice said, from her left and just behind her.
Adele glanced over at the man. He was a stranger to her, but his dress was not that of a servant, or one of the dock workers who climbed up to the deck to speak to the John Brown and Company officials. He wore a very proper grey suit and matching hat, a pristine white collar and his sober tie held not a hint of brown in it, which would have clashed with the suit. His overcoat had a fur collar, nothing elaborate—vicuna, perhaps.
His grey eyes twinkled as he considered her from under the brim of his hat. “The RMS Lusitania weighs over thirty thousand tons. It takes a while for anything that heavy to get moving.”
Adele adjusted the fur stole around her neck, pushing the tail back over her shoulder. “I don’t believe we have met,” she said coldly.
“Because we have not,” the man replied. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the impropriety, either. He swayed slightly toward her, as if he was sharing an intimacy, even though he stood a good three paces away from her, and staff passed between them. “I am not an invited guest,” he added.
Adele drew back, horrified. “You…you just climbed up here?” She reassessed the man swiftly. He was as well dressed as any of the gentlemen on the deck and he was not young, either, for which one might forgive such daring. His cheeks and the corners of his eyes had fine lines and his beard held a great deal of white, while his thick moustache was grey.
The grey eyes were close set on either side of a slightly uneven nose, but they were warm with humor as he gave a soft laugh, displaying even, white teeth. “Oh, I am permitted to be here, my Lady.” He hefted a leather-bound notebook in his left hand. His thumb held a pencil against the spine between open pages. She saw notes and little sketches on the pages. “I work for the Times newspaper. They have asked me to report upon the launch.”
Relief trickled through her. “I see,” she said, keeping her tone cool.
“And look.” He nodded toward the wall of iron, with its gleaming coat of fresh new paint. “There she goes.”
Adele looked back at the ship. It was moving, now, and the cheering and clapping intensified. She watched as the ship slid to her left, the seams of the hull passing by with increasing speed. “It—she, I mean—she seems to be moving away from us. I mean, not just down the slipway, but sideways, too.”
“That is because she is.” The man gestured toward her. “May I?”
“If you do not intend to copy anything I say into that notebook of yours, you may.”
He moved closer, so that they stood together on the deck, but there was still a good foot of space between them. “The Lusitania is nearly eight hundred feet long.”
“I see.” She did not.
“That is nearly three football fields, end to end,” he added.
“Oh…that is long.” She studied the ship sliding past them with even greater interest.
“It is,” he said. “The ship is longer than the river is wide here in Clydeside. They couldn’t back the ship straight into the river the way they might one of their little steamers. The slip was built at an angle, so the ship can slide into the river along its length, rather than its width. That is why the ship appears to be moving away from us.”
It was quite simple, once one was acquainted with such little facts. “Thank you, that makes a great deal of sense,” Adele admitted.
They watched the ship move majestically down the slip. The prow of the boat, which had looked as sharp as a knife when she had stared at the great ship from the window of her cab when she had arrived at the docks, was actually a rounded edge. The hole where the anchor would sit was empty, for now, and much larger than she had assumed it to be.
Everyone leaned out and looked to their left as the ship moved down the slip. Now Adele could see the edge of the hull beneath the roof of the observation deck. There was little to see above the hull. A deck and the beginnings of superstructure, but there were no funnels yet, and the luxury interiors the Cunard line had promised were yet to be installed.
“She will be rather magnificent, once she is properly finished,” Adele murmured.
“But not the most luxurious,” the man replied. “Have you not heard? Cunard are building a second luxury ship, in Wallsend.” He lifted his notebook. “The RMS Mauretania.”
Adele considered the man. “I would say that you are uncommonly well informed, but I suppose it is part of your work as a journalist to know everything.”
“Oh, not everything. For instance, I do not know who you are, my Lady, and as there is no one I am acquainted with here on the deck, that is a gap in my knowledge which must linger.”
“Yet you speak to me, despite the lack of formal introduction.”
“But that is part of my work, too, you see.” His eyes were twinkling yet again.
“There are five hundred and ninety-nine other guests at this launch. You have spoken to all of them?”
At the front of the deck, the guests leaning against the railing straightened and a great cheer went up.
“She’s fully in the water now,” the journalist guessed, for neither of them could see anything from this far back on the deck.
Adele remained silent, waiting for the man to answer her question.
He had the intelligence to not avoid her question. He closed his notebook with a decisive slap of paper. “The other five hundred and ninety-nine guests are not standing by themselves at the back of the deck where they can see very little. Nor are they looking…disgruntled.”
“Ah.” She grimaced, then said in a rush, “I’m not entirely sure how one goes about introducing themselves.”
“You’ve never had to do it for yourself?”
“Oh, I did it all the time in the Cape Colony, but that is South Africa and things were a little more relaxed there.”
“And how would you introduce yourself to a stranger in the Cape Colony?”
She considered, recalling the many times she had met someone. “I would say to them, ‘I am Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket’.”
“And they would say?”
“They would usually look confused and ask me what they should call me,” she admitted.
He laughed. “I am Phillip Cowden, Esquire.” He bowed his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Adelaide.”
A commoner. Not upper class, not if he was employed. Upper middle class, then. Adelaide nodded at him, her hat brim bobbing. “Thank you for your illuminating comments upon the Lusitania, Mr. Cowden.”
“Lady Adelaide! Adele!” The high-pitched voice made Adele swallow a groan, for it was coming closer.
She painted a wide smile upon her face and turned to face Miriam Lynwood. “Miriam, dear, how delightful! I didn’t know you were here.” Since Balmoral, Miriam had acted as though she and Adele had been friends forever, when they had only known each other for a few short years before Adele’s marriage. Royal approval drew leeches.
Miriam Lynwood held her arms out and leaned toward Adele for the empty kiss beside her cheek. They did it carefully, for Miriam’s hat brim was just as wide as Adele’s.
“Isn’t it a simply enormous boat?” Miriam exclaimed. “Maybury wants to book passage upon her for the maiden voyage, but that means actually visiting America.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “New York,” she added in an undertone, her distaste dripping.
Adele barely managed to not roll her eyes. “New York is a very pleasant city, Miriam.”
“Good lord, don’t tell me…you’ve actually been there?” Miriam put her gloved hands to her cheeks. “Oh dear, I do forget. You lived in that dreadful place in Africa. New York would seem heavenly after that, I suppose.”
Cowden cleared his throat. “I must speak to the Chairman of Cunard, Lady Adelaide.” He gave another bow of his head and threaded his way between the guests, who were now moving away from the railing, clumping together for conversation and for more champagne.
Miriam paid no attention to the man, which was proper, for she would not know who he was, either. She turned back to Adele and gripped her wrist. “Come with me, Adele,” she said firmly. “Esther and Mary have been cornered by that dreadful Lady Penryn and her two daughters…you know, the poor dears with the buck teeth. We simply must rescue Esther and Mary.”
Adele very nearly lodged her heels into the temporary boards of the observation deck, a silent scream of protest building in her middle. How had she thought such vapid conversations and intrigues to be so delightful? Yet this had been her life, once.
Over Miriam’s shoulder, Adele spotted a tall figure with dark blond hair and no hat. Daniel Bannister. Her heart gave a little thrill of pleasure, while relief trickled through her, for Daniel was moving with purpose in her direction.
“I’m afraid Lady Adelaide has a prior engagement with me, Lady Miriam,” Daniel said, stepping up beside Adele.
“Baron Leighton.” Miriam acknowledged him, her tone chilly.
Adele simpered at Miriam. “I’m so sorry, but Daniel is quite correct. We are to…we are having afternoon tea at…at…”
“In the Royal Tea Rooms on Argyle Street,” Daniel added smoothly.
“Without a chaperone?” Miriam cried.
“Good lord, Miriam. I am a widow, not a debutante,” Adele said tiredly.
Miriam drew herself up. “I see. If you put it that way, then I suppose…”
Daniel held out his elbow. “Come along, Lady Adelaide. I have a cab waiting.”
Adele took his arm gratefully and told Miriam, “We must catch up, when we get back. Dinner at my house, and time to catch up on all the news. Yes?”
Miriam raised a brow. “At your house?”
Adele nodded firmly. “Yes. It is about time I began to entertain. I’ve nearly finished sorting out all my things and making the house a home. You will be my very first guest, Miriam.”
Miriam looked pleased, probably because being the first official guest would give her a great deal of gossip to pass along to her friends.
“The cab, Lady Adelaide,” Daniel murmured.
Adele smiled at Miriam as Daniel led her toward the roughly built stairs down to the dockyard itself, weaving through the guests and workers, more men whom Adele now recognized as journalists, because they carried notebooks just as Cowden did, and many others crowding onto the observation deck. It was a hodgepodge of workers and classes and refreshing in its novelty.
“I could kiss you,” Adele murmured to Daniel as they walked and nodded at friends and acquaintances. “What on earth are you doing in Glasgow?”
“I got sick of waiting for you to return to London,” Daniel said flatly. “I’m taking time by the forelock, Adele.” His tone was firm.
She smiled up at him. “Do you really have a cab waiting?”
“I do, and there are tea rooms on Argyle Street in Glasgow, but I’m not sure if they’re royal or not. We can talk there and not be overheard.”
She nodded and slid her arm over his, instead of maintaining the polite three fingers upon his coat sleeve. “You seem to have lost your hat again.”
“So I have.”
They stayed silent as they moved across the sprawling dockyard to the public gates. Lined up along the street beside the curb were a mixed collection of public cabs and private conveyances, their horses all with slack hips and heads down.
“That’s the one I came in,” Daniel said, pointing to the last cab on the line. They moved over to it and Daniel opened the door for her and held out his arm to help her help.
Adele picked up her skirts and climbed up into the cab. She heard Daniel speak to the driver—no doubt giving directions, but she didn’t hear what he said for her attention was taken up by the man sitting on the bench with his back to the horses. A high domed forehead with thinning hair combed neatly flat, deep set eyes under a heavy brow, and a florid moustache trimmed neatly. Green eyes, sharp with attention and intelligence, which most people failed to notice after taking in the badly fitting, cheap suit and old-fashioned upright collar he usually wore.
“Melville! Good God!” Adele exclaimed. “What on earth…are you both following me about now?”
Melville’s expression didn’t change. He wore dock worker clothes, which he must have borrowed from a genuine worker, for they were stained, wrinkled and smelly. Dressed like that, he would be just about invisible to most people, which was no doubt his intent. “You are leaving the celebration early, Lady Adelaide.”
Daniel climbed into the cab, paused when he saw Melville, and swore softly.
Adele moved along the seat, giving Daniel room beside her, as the cab rocked into motion and pulled out into the light traffic on the street.
“And you are supposed to be in London, Bannister,” Melville added.
“Yet I am here,” Daniel said flatly. His gaze was unwavering as he stared back at Melville.
Melville didn’t give way beneath Daniel’s gaze the way many people did. Instead he just nodded. “Having you both here suits my needs, anyway. Where are we going?”
“Adele and I,” Daniel said heavily, “were to have afternoon tea. This is the first chance we’ve had to spend time together since Balmoral. You’ve had her running to every society event for months, while I’ve been cooling my heels in clubs playing whist with men who make the game utterly unappealing.”
“It’s all rather pointless,” Adele added, for the feeling that she was wasting her time had been growing steadily for weeks.
Melville nodded. “Tea it is, then.” He settled back in the corner of the bench and crossed his arms, his gaze upon the street beyond the window.
Daniel’s gaze met Adele’s. He grimaced.
Yes, precisely. Yet another moment when they might have been alone ruined by the man for whom they both worked, for the good of England.
THE TEA ROOMS WERE NOT busy, for everyone who was anyone was in Clydeside, attending the launch of the Lusitania. That left the tables around them empty, which suited all three of them.
A large teapot sat on the doily in the middle of the table, next to a vase holding peonies. Beside them was a tiered silver cake stand holding scones and other morsels. Pots of jam and marmalade were arrayed beside them. It was a charming arrangement and the scones looked delicious, but Adele had no appetite.
She would have drained her first cup of tea in one large swallow had it not been quite so hot, though.
Melville ate enormously, chewing his way through two entire scones, both ladened with large dollops of jam and butter.
Daniel crumbled a scone upon his plate, watching Melville with forced patience.
Finally, Melville sat back, wiped his mouth with the napkin and dropped it upon the table. He made a heavy sound of satisfaction and rested his hand upon his stomach. His gaze shifted from Daniel to Adele and back.
Adele put down her teacup and waited.
“Two days ago,” Melville began, “the German Reichstag passed new navy legislation to increase the total tonnage of their fleet.”
Daniel sat back. “Really…” He sounded deeply interested, as if this was a dire announcement.
“Why is that important?” Adele asked him in a low voice.
“Increasing total tonnage is another way of saying they’re making their navy larger.” Daniel grimaced. “The Emperor wants a bigger navy than the King’s.”
Melville nodded. “That’s about it,” he said, his tone heavy. “It might once have been a stupid rivalry among distant cousins, but the bigger the navies grow, the bigger the threat to England.”
“Why?” Adele said sharply. “If the King’s Navy is as large as Germany’s, then isn’t it…aren’t they the same as each other? Wouldn’t the threat be neutralized?”
“You would think so,” Melville said. “But there will be two very large navies floating about the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, the seven seas and for all I know, outer Mongolia, too. Navies are built for a single purpose, Lady Adelaide, and these two will be tripping over each other…it’s likely to get nasty out there.” He eyed the contents of the cake tier for a moment, then shook his head. “There is another factor that makes it imperative that this rivalry be severed.” He paused, glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “Submersibles.”
Adele glanced helplessly at Daniel once more.
“Submarines,” Daniel said. “Ships that submerge completely beneath the water, which means they can sneak up on a ship on the surface and fire weapons at them, while still underwater.”
“Without showing colors, or declaring themselves?” Adele was horrified.
“Precisely.” Daniel’s tone was sour.
“There are rumors coming out of Germany that their navy is on the verge of completing a new line of submersibles,” Melville said. “They’re driven by kerosene and have a tube which can launch torpedoes directly at the hull of a ship ahead of them, running completely underwater. The first will be launched next month.”
“Rumors?” Daniel asked. “Don’t you have a man there? Or two or more? Isn’t that part of what you are supposed to do?”
Melville scowled, a remarkable expression for a man with such a heavy brow and high forehead. “Putting an agent in Germany itself isn’t nearly as simple as searching out German agents here. I can only work with the people I find.”
“You don’t seem to be inclined to properly employ the people you already have,” Adele said tartly.
“On the contrary,” Melville said, then paused.
Adele watched him expectantly.
“The House of Lords and King Edward agree that the German threat cannot be allowed to build,” Melville said. Adele wasn’t sure if he was changing subjects or not. “The King will travel to Germany next month to speak to the Emperor about de-escalation. He will be taking a small retinue.” His gaze slid to Adele.
He wasn’t changing subjects at all.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Absolutely not. I refuse to consider it.”
“The King likes you,” Melville said. “And I need a man on the ground there to watch over the King. He’s only recently avoided a German assassination attempt, which you foiled, Lady Adelaide.”
“I believe you were the one to shoot Peter Stroud in the back of the head,” Adele said coldly, ignoring Melville’s reference to her as a man. “And my uncovering the plot was a complete accident.”
“You do not give yourself nearly enough credit,” Melville said smoothly.
“It doesn’t matter what I think or do not think about myself,” Adele replied. “I will not travel to Germany. Send Daniel. He is just as useful as me, if not more so.”
Melville shook his head. “Any men in the King’s retinue will be examined very closely and Leighton has no history serving the King directly. He will raise suspicions immediately and be too closely watched. A woman will be taken as the King’s personal indulgence and overlooked. It must be you.”
“No. I will not go.”
Melville tilted his head. “I thought you wanted to serve England.”
Adele wrung her napkin, beneath the table where Melville couldn’t see it. “You do not understand. The King…I…it would be a disaster. I cannot do this, Melville.”
Melville frowned. He looked at Daniel, who stared back. He returned his gaze to Adele. “I am afraid I must insist upon clarity, Lady Adelaide. The work we do, the business we are in, has no room for modesty and scruples.”
Adele’s face heated. “Very well then. King Edward has wandering hands and no scruples of his own. I would be forced to…to direct action that he would not appreciate.”
“She did break Boyd Waterman’s nose,” Daniel reminded Melville. “I believe for much the same reason.”
Adele leaned forward. “The King will be surrounded by officials and Royal guards at all times. He will be safer in Germany than he was in Balmoral, because everyone will be braced to watch for trouble while they’re there. You’re sending me because the King demanded I go with him, and for no other reason. Tell me I am wrong, Melville, please.”
Melville ran his hand over his thinning hair three or four times, his gaze upon the tablecloth.
Disappointment speared her, making her chest ache. Adele twisted the napkin a little tighter. “I am so tired of all these little, meaningless assignments you keep giving me. All the society affairs. The weekend house parties. You asked me to help you defend England from German ravages, yet I have wasted weeks sipping tea and dancing waltzes. There are no spies in the drawing rooms of England, and you know that.”
Melville fixed her with a steady gaze. “I think you might be surprised, Lady Adelaide. You have skills and expertise I do not. That is why you were upon the observation deck this afternoon and I wear these grubs.” He lifted a shoulder beneath the rumpled jacket.
“It is make-work, Melville,” Daniel said, earning Adele’s gratitude. “You have no idea how to use us. We could be doing something useful.”
“Yes, exactly,” Adele said. “I want to do real work, not dance with the King in the Imperial palace in Berlin.”
Melville’s gaze did not lift from the tablecloth for a long moment. Then he let out a heavy breath and reached for another scone and dumped it on his plate. “Very well,” he said shortly, sawing energetically at the scone with his knife. “For now, I will have the King informed that Leighton will accompany him.”
“Thank you,” Adele said, with a sigh.
“And what does Adele get to do?” Daniel asked curiously.
“Sleep. Eat what I want. Ignore everyone and read,” Adele said quickly. She had a dozen books sitting upon her side table, all of them barely opened.
Melville raised his knife and pointed it at her, a blob of butter hanging on the very tip. “You, my Lady, will do what I ask of you, if we are to continue our arrangement.”
Adele smoothed out the napkin on her lap. “Yes, of course.”
“I have work for you,” Melville added, his tone less sharp. “I had someone else in mind for the task, but as you insist upon not travelling to Germany with the King…?” His tone rose hopefully.
Adele shook her head.
“Very well then.” He slathered a full tablespoon of blackberry jam upon the remnants of his demolished scone. Much of the jam slid onto the plate in a messy puddle. “Let me explain what I need.”
And he did.
II
Henley Royal Regatta, Henley-on-Thames, Saturday, 30th June, 1906.
ADELE PAUSED AT THE ENTRANCE to the refreshment tent, resting her hands on the handle of her parasol, while she absorbed who was sitting at which table…and with whom. There was much which could be inferred about the company a peer kept, especially at less formal events such as the Regatta.
She spotted her quarry sitting at a small table with two other debutantes and an elderly chaperone, who read a book with her pince nez just holding onto the tip of her nose.
Lady Winnifred Mercer was the daughter and only child of the late Baron Chapmore. Her father’s title rested with her until she produced a son of her own. This was Lady Winnifred’s first year in society and she had been causing quite a stir. The King had pinched her cheek when she had been presented to him at Easter, ensuring her notoriety and that men with ambition would flock around her. Of course, their congregating in her vicinity had nothing to do with the fifty thousand pounds a year Lady Winnifred had inherited.
There were no men around her at the moment, for which Adele was heartily thankful. This was the Ladies’ Tent.
As such, there were a great many white lawn and muslin afternoon gowns on display, beneath enormous white hats. Fans waved excessively for it was a sweltering day, one of the hottest this summer. Lace gloves, the lightest possible, and parasols, of course—also as wide and shady as possible.
It was stifling in the tent, for there was only the one entrance and no windows, to give the ladies their privacy. The entrance was guarded by a red-faced and sweating butler in tails, who prevented eager young men from entering.
While Adele studied the poor young heiress, she paused for a moment to hate Melville and his wily ways.
She had asked for real work. He had made it sound as though the Lady Winnifred was evil incarnate, surreptitiously undermining Britain by recruiting to her cause hapless men in highly trusted positions in the government, then handing them over to German agents who drew from them everything they knew of Britain’s defenses.
Two days after the launching of the Lusitania, Adele had attended a dinner party to which the Lady Winnifred was also invited. It was the first time Adele had consciously sought out the woman.
She was shocked to find herself looking upon a young girl resting on the very edge of a fainting couch, who could surely not be more than eighteen, with the palest of blonde hair and big black eyes which took in everything of the world around her with an alarmed light in them, as if everything startled her.
This frightened fawn was Melville’s dire German agent? She had seen the girl at season events since March but paid her no attention. A new batch of giggling debutantes cluttered up dance floors and drawing rooms every year. Keeping track of them became more challenging with each passing year. Adele had been away from society for eight years, which made the task all the harder.
She nearly turned and walked out of the drawing room where the women had gathered after dinner, disgusted at both herself and Melville. This…this child was no spy!
But then she remembered how astonished she had been to learn that Peter Stroud, who had been a childhood acquaintance and a suitor for her hand while she was a debutante, had been a German sympathizer and traitor.
Adele had turned and went back to the drawing room, found Miriam Lynwood and asked her who was the young girl on the fainting couch, which prompted an introduction.
Lady Winnifred was as reserved and shy as her appearance implied. Adele knew it would make little difference. The girl would be engaged, if not already married, by the end of the year, whether she wished it or not. And judging by her timid manner and constant referral to her companion and chaperone for approval or suggestions, Adele wondered if the girl had any strong wishes of her own.
For the last four weeks, at every society event the two of them had attended—which Adele had arranged with some effort—she had managed to keep an eye upon Lady Winnifred just as Melville had requested. The Royal Ascot in mid-June, the Royal box at the Wimbledon finals, and parties and dinner events, balls and more. She had been reprieved only once, when the Trooping of the Colours had been cancelled on account of incessant rain.
Swiftly, Adele had come to resent her task, for it was clear that Lady Winnifred was utterly innocent. Adele’s “real” work was nothing more than punishment for refusing to accompany the King to Germany next month.
The girl danced with any man who raised her dance card. She laughed behind her fan with her debutante friends. She was properly reticent with matrons and flirted with older men in the dimpled, innocent way such men enjoyed. She did not favor any bachelor over others. She did not reserve her waltzes for anyone in particular.
It was said that Lady Winnifred was spreading her attention in order to properly measure her choices. And she did speak to everyone, sometimes at length, her light voice rising and falling breathlessly.
The girl was a model debutante.
As her resentment over her work grew, Adele’s anger toward William Melville also increased. Melville had kept Daniel busy in London, doing mysterious things in preparation for the journey to Germany. At least, that was what Adele had first believed, but now she wasn’t so certain. Perhaps Melville was petty enough to keep Daniel and her apart, just because she had defied Melville.
Although Daniel was here, today. She had glimpsed him sitting with a group of the club-going men about the long tables at the far corner of the Royal enclosure, wearing a cream suit, his long legs stretched out, his ankles crossed, with a long, cool drink in his hand. He watched the rowing from beneath the wide brim of a light hat and looked comfortable and at ease in the shade of the pepper tree leaning over the tables, casting dappled shade.
Part of her wanted to abandon this silly quest to watch Lady Winnifred and seek Daniel out, as he was so close by. Only, that would be…well, it would be better to assiduously do her assigned work, no matter what she thought of it. It would demonstrate to Melville that she was above such pettiness.
She sought for the word. Yes. She could be professional. Serious-minded and dedicated, no matter what Melville dished out.
Adele squeezed the handle of her parasol and sailed into the overpowering heat of the tent, heading for the table where Lady Winnifred sat. As she approached, she put a smile upon her face.
The debutantes, including Winnifred, all looked up at her approach. Winnifred looked startled. Something—a wisp of emotion—crossed her face too quickly for Adele to properly identify it. Her lips parted.
Then the chaperone, who had her back to the entrance of the tent, rose to her feet, closed her book with a thud and said, “I believe a stroll by the river, to take in the cooler air is in order, Winnifred.”
“Yes, of course,” Winnifred said, instantly rising to her feet.
“Oh, and I was about to suggest we have tea together,” Adele said, her throat and back prickling with discomfort.
“You are too kind, Lady Adelaide,” the chaperone declared. “But we’ve just finished. Please feel free to use our table.”
Lady Winnifred bobbed a curtsey at Adele and moved around her, with a little grimace that might have been an apology. All three ladies swept passed Adele, as the chaperone strode from the tent, a duck leading her ducklings.
Adele drew in a breath and let it out. The air in here was miasmic.
She heard a trill of laughter, hastily smothered, from somewhere else in the tent.
To leave so quickly would look far too obvious, but she was sick of society nonsense and it was simply too hot. So she turned on her heel and moved out of the tent and into the sizzling sun. Across the enclosure to the dappled shade in the south west corner, close to the water where the rowers were competing.
A horn blared from the start line, up the river by the bridge, announcing the start of the next race. Inside the enclosure, some of the spectators turned toward the river, but many turned back to their conversations, too.
Outside the enclosure, the spectators were far more vocal and enthusiastic. They lined the river’s edge, shouting and waving, encouraging their favorite team to victory. Most of the men wore shirt sleeves, rolled up, which looked very cool and comfortable. Many of the women had unbuttoned their top buttons, revealing flesh at the base of their neck.
Among them, leaning against another shady tree, was the grey-suited Phillip Cowden, esquire. He was watching the race, his notebook in hand, but when he noticed her gaze, he straightened and gave her a short, shallow bow—more a nod of the head.
She nodded back. She had spotted Cowden at Wimbledon, too.
Cowden returned his attention to the race and she continued on to where Daniel was sliding along the bench to make room for her.
Adele sank onto the space he had vacated for her. It was improper to sit amongst such a concentration of men without a single other woman to keep her company, but Adele simply did not care.
“You look hot and harried,” Daniel said, without formal greeting.
“I am hot. And very harried.”
He held out his drink. She took a deep swallow and enjoyed the pleasant bite of mint and some sort of alcohol that went well with it. Adele did not drink very often, so she was not familiar with spirits. “Very nice, for a day like this.” She wished she had a fan. Instead, she put up her parasol to protect her back from the sun, which seemed to beat through the muslin of her dress and make her flesh sizzle.
“Are you still trailing that poor girl?” Daniel asked. He kept his volume down, but made his tone light, as if he was asking about her social calendar.
“I would be, if she hadn’t just cut me off completely,” Adele admitted. She frowned. There was something about that moment which lingered, tapping at her thoughts for attention.
“Oh, no…has she caught on to you?” Daniel asked.
“No, it was the chaperone who whisked them away…” Adele frowned even harder. “Although I wouldn’t blame Winnifred in the slightest for trying to avoid me. I have been rather a leech lately and she is only eighteen. Having a widowed woman trailing after one must surely be a strain on even the most docile of debutantes.”
Around them, the men all rose to their feet, shouting and encouraging the racers as the sculling shells drew level with the enclosure. The finish line was just in front of the enclosure, too.
Daniel drew in a breath and let it out. “Then stay here beside me,” he said, his tone urgent. No one would hear him above the shouting around them. “I know this work Melville insists is so important is nothing of the sort. You know it, too. I’ve seen the girl more than once. She can’t possibly be anything but the lavender and rosewater debutante she’s supposed to be. This whole business is a charade.”
“M teaching me a lesson,” Adele added, with her own sigh. “But I think that’s the point, Daniel. I think we’re both supposed to know the work is a gesture, and I think I’m supposed to do it, anyway, as faithfully as I can.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Daniel ground out.
She tapped her parasol handle, thinking. “To demonstrate we can be relied upon,” she said at last. “He can’t have that many people he can fully trust. Look at how difficult he finds it to put people into Germany.”
Daniel rested his arms on his knees and clasped his hands together. He appeared to be a casually posed, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped his hands together. “He questions our loyalty?”
“I think he questions everyone’s loyalty,” Adele replied. “It is the nature of his work that makes him unable to take anyone at face value.”
“It is our work, too,” Daniel pointed out. He straightened up with a quick movement as if the very idea repelled him.
“Yes,” Adele admitted.
A loud cheer went up as the first shell crossed the finish line and the officials’ little steamboat let out a toot.
Adele got to her feet. “I should go back.”
Daniel let out a great sigh.
Adele rested her hand on his shoulder. “You know I must. Besides, if I have guessed M’s intentions properly, then he is most likely nearby, observing us.”
Daniel nodded, reluctance slowing the movement. “The Mercer girl is over by the refreshments bar,” he added.
Adele looked for bone-white hair and an equally pale face under an enormous hat with a pink ribbon and found it. She squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Before he could protest again, or coax her into staying, Adele trudged over to the refreshment bar and waited to be served with her back to where Lady Winnifred and her little group were sipping iced fruit juice from long glasses with sugar around the rims.
She could hear them rather well even from here, for the tiniest of breezes coming off the river drifted their words over to her, and none of them was trying to speak quietly. Perhaps there was more than fruit juice in the concoctions they were drinking.
“…such a handsome man—did you see him in his uniform? All those ribbons and medals!” A giggle followed the declaration.
“Wait until you’re married to the man,” one of the others teased her friend. “You’ll feel less kindly toward him then.”
“Augusta, that is a terrible thing to say!” That was Winnifred’s voice—light and slightly breathless, as if she was shocked at her own daring to speak. “Rothmere is a brave officer. He was decorated for his actions during the Boer War.”
“Have you ever spoken to him, Winnie?” Augusta said, with a touch of impatience. “The man is so full of his own self-importance—”
“Aren’t they all?” Martha added.
More giggles.
“Really, girls, you must be more charitable in your thoughts, especially about our fine gentlemen officers.” That voice and chiding tone could only belong to the chaperone.
“As it happens, I have spoken to Rothmere,” Winnifred said.
“When?” Augusta shot back.
“Winnie talks to everyone,” Martha said, with a touch of tiredness in her tone.
“I’ve never seen her speaking to Rothmere,” Augusta said. “Not even once. Have you, Martha? You are in his company more often than I am.”
“I was introduced to Rothmere at Lord Routledge’s Easter weekend party.”
“At the estate?” Augusta asked. “I wasn’t presented until after Easter, so I couldn’t go. Is the manor as grand as they say?”
“No, I want to hear what Winnie thinks of Rothmere,” Martha insisted.
Adele stepped up to the bar as the waiter glanced enquiringly at her. “Something light and refreshing, not too sweet,” she said.
“We have Coca-Cola, my lady?”
She shuddered. “Oh dear, no. Perhaps…iced tea?”
He moved away and Adele shifted her attention back to the conversation behind her.
“…famous ball of theirs,” Winnifred said. “We danced more than one waltz—Rothmere is a very good dancer, even while he boasts about himself. But it was a lovely night, with the ballroom all lit up with lights and flowers.”
Adele froze, her heart thudding.
“There, I told you,” Martha said. “Winnifred has spoken to every eligible bachelor in England.”
“No one can deny he does dance divinely,” August admitted.
And all three of them giggled.
Adele reached for the tall glass of iced tea the waiter put on the bar for her, her mind whirling.
She had attended every annual ball upon the Routledge estate since her coming-out, until the year she married Hugh. The Easter ball was famous among the ton.
But the ballroom wing attached to the estate had burned down to a crumbling stone shell, the fire started by malfunctioning old-fashioned gas lamps, last Christmas. This year, the ball had been held upon a dancefloor installed upon the well mowed grass of the vast estate, out in front of the manor. Modern electrical lights had illuminated the affair. Adele had thoroughly enjoyed the night air and the dancing.
If Winnifred really had attended the ball, she would have known that.
Adele’s belly cramped painfully. She could barely bring the tea to her lips and she didn’t try to sip it at all. Instead, she fought to keep her movements natural and slow, while her heart thudded in her ears, muffling her thoughts.
Think, she commanded herself.
The next race was announced from the starting line, sounding distant and tinny, for the man shouted the announcement through a megaphone.
Anyone might argue that Winnifred was merely attempting to impress her friends. A small lie in order to sound important and knowledgeable.
Only, Winnifred had been there.
The problem with society was that everyone knew everyone else and even though Adele had not bothered acquainting herself with all the debutantes and new bachelors, she saw the same faces over and over—especially at the big, annual and highly traditional events, like Routledge’s Easter ball.
Winnifred had been sitting at a table on the far side of the enormous dancefloor, under the Chinese lanterns. The chaperone who stood with her at this moment had not been there, that night. Instead, a different matron had accompanied her, for it must surely have been one of the earliest events in Winnifred’s first season.
She had worn pink organdy, with a ribbon about her waist, tied in a bow at the back. Adele had noticed her sweet innocence, and even though she had no idea who the girl was, she had dismissed her as another debutante who would soon be snatched up and married off.
She had been there.
Adele was afraid to turn. She was afraid her face and her expression would give her away.
The loud blast of the horn announced the start of the next race. It jolted Adele. Almost before she processed the thought, she spun about and shouted in German, “Watch out! Everyone duck!”
From the corner of her eyes she could see people swinging about to look at her with started or puzzled expressions.
Winnifred ducked, cringing, looking out from under her hat for the danger.
The chaperone stared at Adele, her mouth parting. Then she snapped it shut again and murmured quickly to Winnifred.
The girl straightened, turned and began to walk as swiftly as polite company deemed suitable toward the back of the enclosure where the entrance lay.
“Good lord…was that…? It sounded like German,” someone muttered.
Adele put her glass on the bar with a thud, dropped her parasol and walked after Winnifred.
“It’s that strange de Morville woman. Look, there she goes.”
“Too long in the colonies, that one.”
Adele ignored the comments and tried to close the distance between her and Winnifred. The younger woman walked at a speed that was very nearly a run, around the corner of the Ladies’ Tent, and down to the back end of the enclosure, where the gate was located.
The two butlers manning the gate, to turn away the hoi-poloi, nodded as Winnifred passed through. She immediately turned to the right and strode across the grass, through the ordinary spectators sitting on their blankets. She was heading up-river.
Winnifred glanced over her shoulder, saw Adele passing through the gate and increased her speed.
Adele picked up her skirts and broke into a run.
The girl must have heard Adele’s boots thudding on the grass. She didn’t look behind her, but immediately began to run, too.
And she was faster.
Running in a corset and boots in this heat immediately drained Adele. She had not done more than a mild jog since she had donned her first corset at sixteen. Her hat pulled back on her hair as the wind from her passage pushed at the big brim as it would a sail. She snatched at the hat pin, tossed it away and let the hat fall behind her. She lifted her skirts higher and picked up her pace.
Winnifred was angling toward the riverbank. She was causing heads to turn, and mouths to gape at her as she galloped through and around groups of people and families enjoying the spectacle on the river. As Adele passed, they all gaped at her, too.
Ahead, Adele saw Phillip Cowden by the tree he had adopted as his writing desk. He was staring at Winnifred with a bemused expression, as was everyone around him. Winnifred was going to run straight passed his tree, through the five-foot gap between the tree and the river bank.
“Stop her, Cowden!” Adele cried out. It took two breaths to get the whole sentence out.
Cowden looked startled. He straightened up from his lean against the tree, his astonished expression giving way to puzzlement, as Winnifred thudded past. At the last minute, he stuck out his foot.
He didn’t catch her ankle, but his boot did tangle with the mass of white muslin and cotton lace petticoats beneath, yanking Winnifred off her feet as effectively as a shepherd’s crook around the neck would have done.
She sprawled, letting out a whoofing sound.
Cowden straightened, untangled his foot and lifted his hat toward the prone girl. “I do apologize,” he told her. “I don’t understand this at all.”
Adele put on a burst of speed, astonished at herself. She was about to catch the girl. Behind her, she could hear people shouting at each other, puzzlement thick in their voices. More thudding on the parched grass. People were chasing her.
Just as Adele drew close to the tree, Winnifred pushed up with her arms, got her feet beneath her and sprinted away along the riverbank, her arms pistoning like a steam train.
“Damn!” Adele cried as she passed by Cowden.
“What on earth, Lady Adelaide?” Cowden called back from behind her.
Adele slowed enough to turn her chin over her shoulder. “She stole my reticule!”
She raced after Winnifred, but she could feel her energy flagging. They passed the starting line for the races and the sculling crews sorting out their shells for the next race. Then they were into parkland dotted with the ungainly backs of inns and houses, which faced the road. The river they passed was empty of boats, sculls or birds. Ahead was the old stone bridge, about two hundred yards away. Adele would have to catch the girl before she reached the bridge, for the bridge provided too many directions for Winnifred to take.
Adele was out of breath. Each ragged gasp tore at her throat and burned in her chest. But letting Winnifred slip free was unthinkable.
Then Winnifred jigged sideways. Perhaps there was a pothole in the beaten path she was following. Or something she didn’t want to put her foot into. But suddenly, the girl threw up her hands and windmilled her arms frantically, as she tottered on the very brink of the reedy bank. With a cry, she fell into the water sideways, with a great splash.
Adele came to a bellowing halt, her hands on her knees. Her hair fell about her shoulders, for she had lost all her pins, not just the hat pin. She pushed it out of the way.
Winnifred’s head bobbed up from beneath the water more than a dozen yards down river from where she had fallen in and moving fast. “Help me!” Winnifred cried, her arms flailing.
“Oh, lord…she can’t swim. Of course she can’t swim…” It was rare for women to take swimming lessons, but Adele had been one of them. She picked up her hems once more, ran for the edge of the river and dived in, her hands together.
“Adele, no!” Daniel’s voice, from just behind her.
Too late.
Adele plunged into the water. It was a cold, intense shock after the heat of the day, and she lost most of the breath she had taken as she breathed out her surprise under the water. She stroked her arms through the water, even before she emerged at the surface once more and took a deep breath. She felt the sleeves of her gown tear as she swung her arms in the overarm style she had been taught. Fifteen yards of sodden cotton and muslin weighed her down.
The current grabbed her and pulled her along. It was fierce, just here. She was swept under the bridge, the water chuckling against the old brick pylons. Ahead, there was a bend in the river and she could see Winnifred’s head emerge as she swept around the bend. Perhaps the current would float her up against the far bank...
Adele swam swiftly, trying to close the distance between them. Slowly, she worked her way closer. As Winnifred floundered, her head dunking into the water and out, Adele grasped her arm and hung on. “Don’t struggle,” she told the girl.
It was a waste of breath. Panic had a grip on Winnifred. Her eyes were enormous as she flailed and splashed and tried to save herself.
Adele switched to German. “For the love of God, stop fighting me! Let me save you!”
Winnifred felt the grip on her arm, and Adele’s efforts to keep her head above water and turned to her. She began to babble…and her German was pure, with a Berlin accent.
Adele shuddered as the girl implored Adele to save her, to not let her drown, that she was afraid, so afraid…
Adele got her on her back and a hand under her chin and towed her, swimming with one arm. She cut diagonally across the current, which took longer, but would preserve the little strength she had left.
When her fingers dug into mud, instead of water, she got her feet beneath her and felt nearly-solid ground beneath her. She pulled Winnifred up to the bank, put the girl’s hands on top of one another on the grass there, then leaned on them with her own, to anchor her while she pushed up on her hands and got herself out of the water.
Streaming water, breathing hard, she bent and picked up Winnifred’s wrists. She paused for a moment, gathering her strength, then hauled the girl from the water.
As soon as Winnifred felt solid ground beneath her, she began to struggle, trying to loosen Adele’s grip on her wrists and pull away. She was still trying to escape.
Adele was too weak. The girl yanked and her fingers slid from Winnifred’s wrists, but that threw her back into the water. Adele fell to her knees, threw herself forward and grabbed Winnifred’s arm as she tried to grab at the weeds on the bank.
“Just stop it,” she told the girl in German, her tone irritable.
“They will kill me,” Winnifred said, her eyes enormous. “You don’t know them. The doctor…”
A metallic squeal sounded from nearby. Adele looked over her shoulder, in time to see one of the new-fangled automobiles pull up on the road running parallel with the river. Daniel and Melville both emerged from the automobile and sprinted toward them.
Adele turned back to Winnifred, who watched them with horror building in her eyes. “Where you’re going, no one will be able to reach you,” Adele told her.
“Here, let me get her out,” Daniel said, bending over to grip Winnifred’s wrist.
Adele let go gratefully.
The feel of a stronger grip on her arm sent Winnifred into another great panic. She struggled and squirmed as Daniel hauled her from the water, then tried to get a grip on her.
Melville reached them and added his strength. The two of them contained her, but that did not stop the girl from babbling and screaming.
Adele was suddenly tired of it. She got between the two men. “Winnifred! Listen to me!” She used German, and a snappy tone.
Winnifred glanced at her. That was all Adele needed. She leaned back, then punched the girl in the temple with all her might.
Winnifred sagged between the two men. Adele didn’t know if she was still conscious or if she had managed to knock her out, but it didn’t matter. She was no longer struggling.
They lowered her to the grass and Melville looked at Adele and raised his brow.
“That is the prescribed treatment for a hysterical person one is attempting to rescue from drowning,” Adele said.
“I see,” Melville said.
Adele lowered herself to her knees beside the three. “Melville…the chaperone…she’s part of this. She was directing the girl.”
Melville lifted his head sharply, then rolled his eyes. “Of course.”
“Hurry,” Daniel urged him. “I’ll take care of this one.”
Melville sprinted for the car. Adele watched the spindly thing with its carriage wheels and upholstered seats turn about on the road and roll back toward the Rowing Club grounds once more.
Then she turned back to Winnifred who laid upon the grass, near-insensible. This close to the girl, Adele could see that she wasn’t as young as she had taken her to be. “She looks older than eighteen,” she said softly.
“So would you, if you’d nearly drowned.”
Something in Daniel’s tone made Adele look up at him. “You can’t swim, either,” she accused him.
He appeared to be on the verge of protesting, then his shoulder relaxed. “No, I can’t,” he admitted.
Adele let her shoulder bump his. “Well, I can.”
“Yes, I see that now.” He looked down at Winnifred. “Who is she? Why did she run from you?”
“She’s German,” Adele said. “So is the chaperone. I don’t know what happened to the real Winnifred, but this woman isn’t her. She has been passing herself off as Winnifred to gain access to…well, everyone and anyone. Who would suspect a debutante? She danced with lords, military officers, high ranking government officials, who all probably thought she was charming and enjoyed boasting about the importance of their work.”
Daniel shuddered. “And I thought she was exactly that—an empty-headed debutante.”
“So did I,” Adele said grimly. “She was good. She was very, very good. I’ve been trailing her for four weeks and I didn’t suspect a thing. She knew all the protocols, ranks, titles, every peer in the realm. She must have studied us very closely before she made the switch. It was her misfortune that I happened to overhear her describe events at a ball that didn’t happen that way.”
They stared down at the woman, who breathed heavily, but didn’t stir.
“These people…God, Adele, they’re…the lengths they’ll go to…”
Adele looked into his troubled eyes and nodded. “Neither of us really understood until today.” She looked down at the girl. “Whoever she is, she is terrified of the others, whoever they are. She would have preferred to drown, I think, than face them.”
They stayed silent, for a moment, considering that.
“Melville will come back for us,” Daniel said as he lowered himself to properly sit upon the grass. “We’ll slide the girl out of sight somewhere.”
Adele sat, too, with Winnifred between them. “Daniel… About us…”
Daniel’s gaze was steady.
Adele plucked at the damp layers over her knees. “I don’t think either of us will be able to conduct anything like a normal friendship. I think we must make up new rules as we go along.”
Daniel considered. “Perhaps we might have to fit our personal affairs in around the edges of this new work we’re doing.”
Adele nodded. “Something like that. We can’t put this work aside, Daniel. Not anymore. Not after today. I think we’ve both realized that now.”
Daniel studied her.
“You disagree…” she said, her heart sinking.
Daniel stirred. “Not at all. In fact, I was…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I was admiring your gown. It clings to you when it is wet and I believe I can see…well, you.”
Adele looked down at herself. “Myself covered in three layers of petticoat, corset and mud-stained muslin.”
His tone sincere, Daniel replied, “You’ve never looked lovelier.”
MELVILLE SLIPPED INTO ADELE’S HOTEL room very late that night, long after she had bathed and dressed, then met Daniel in the hotel dining room for dinner.
Daniel arrived right behind Melville, and Adele raised her brow at his appearance.
“M tapped on my door on the way up,” Daniel explained, pulling his dressing gown firmly around himself.
Adele realized that Melville had learned both their hotel room numbers since they had registered, as well as the hotel itself. It was a middle-class hotel, undistinguished, and the first they had come across after leaving the rowing club. Perhaps that was how he had found them. Next time, she would not take the first, most obvious lodgings.
Melville moved over to the bureau, where the small basket of fruit Adele had requested sat where she had placed it after it had been delivered to her room.
He plucked the apple out and rubbed it on his jacket sleeve, polishing the skin. “We have detained the chaperone, and the woman posing as Lady Winnifred is recovering from both near drowning and Lady Adelaide’s punch.” He glanced at Adele. “That right hook is jolly useful, my Lady.”
“My husband taught me. You should call me Adele.”
Melville bit into the apple, while studying her. He chewed steadily.
“Did you suspect the women, Melville?” Daniel asked. “Or were you running on a gut feeling?”
Melville swallowed hastily. “You thought I was lying? To you?” He swung to face Adele.
She smiled tightly. “I thought you might be…getting even.”
Melville shook his head. “I wouldn’t waste your worth, Lady Adele. You are too valuable. Both of you.” He glanced at Daniel. “And I don’t have time for pettiness, myself.”
“Why on earth did you think someone as pretty and as…as pink as Lady Winnifred might be…” Adele threw up her hands. “I still can’t believe she was a German agent!”
“They come in all shapes and sizes,” Melville intoned.
Daniel leaned against the wall with one shoulder and crossed his arms. “Still, you must have had some reason to think a sweet young debutante was worth investigating.”
Melville bit, chewed and swallowed.
“Do you ever eat a regular meal?” Adele asked him.
“To answer the important question,” Melville said, “Five weeks ago, a body was plucked out of the ocean off Cornwall. The girl had drowned, but she had river water in her lungs, so she had been killed somewhere inland and been left to drift out to sea. Someone had carved off her face, making it impossible to identify her.”
Adele shuddered. “The real Winnifred?”
“A boffin attached to Whitehall traced back the tidal estuaries and figured out the woman must have emerged into the sea from the River Exe and…well, Chapmore is along the Exe.”
“A rather long way north of Exmouth,” Daniel pointed out.
“I had a chat with the boffin, and he thought it would be possible for a body to make it all the way out to sea. Only take a couple of days, with all the rain we’ve had.” He bit into the apple with relish. While still chewing, he added, “The body matched Lady Winnifred’s height and girth, but when I stopped by the Chapmore town house in London, there she was, living the high life, a celebrated debutante.”
“And no one noticed that a whole different woman had taken her place?” Adele breathed.
Melville shook his head. “She’s…she was an orphan.”
“A rich orphan,” Daniel pointed out. “With a staff and a governess.”
“Who were dismissed without notice,” Melville added. “The new chaperone took her place and all the staff who watched Winnifred grow up were left behind in Chapmore. Who else was there to notice?” He considered. “They chose their victim well.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t get anyone in Whitehall to take me seriously. I had no proof, and no one was going to confront a young girl in her first Season in London and demand she prove who she was. One lord told me I was being preposterous to even consider the idea, just before he had the butler march me out of his club.”
“That was your problem, right there,” Daniel murmured. “You tackled the man on private ground.”
“If you say so,” Melville said. “Next time, I’ll send you in.” He looked around for a rubbish bin, then shrugged and shoved the apple core into his pocket. “So I had to think of another way around it. I was still thinking about what to do when I went to Glasgow for the launch of the Lusitania.”
“These people… They move among us with impunity because no one can believe that such ruthlessness could possibly exist.” Adele drew in a long breath and let it out. “Daniel?”
He glanced at her. “Yes?”
“Would you mind very much if I went to Germany instead of you?”
Daniel smiled. It was a nice smile. “I think that is the way it should be.”
Melville smiled, too, his moustache wriggling. “I’ll get you a gun that is just your size.”
“Thank you, I would like that very much indeed,” Adele told him.
______
Lady Adelaide is on her own…
In Edwardian Britain, Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket, continues her work for William Melville, spymaster. Adele accompanies King Edward and Queen Alexandra to Dublin where the King will attend the Irish International Exhibition. Events go awry even before they depart England, for the Irish Crown Jewels are stolen and King Edward takes the theft as a personal insult to the Crown.
Then the renown Irish MP, Eilish Slane, who is a personal friend of the King’s, is found murdered in a Dublin hotel. Adel attempts to investigate while navigating the shoals of the King’s temper, the actions of Irish Nationalists, the provocations of the British and Irish press, and the prejudices of men everywhere. And she must work alone, for Melville and his cohorts remain in England…
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