Chapter Two
Rory’s one concession to our previous association was to allow me a blanket. I heard him tell the local sergeant that I was certain not to be one of those prisoners who escaped their fate by suicide. His final words to me were to tell me that he had arranged transport to take me to London, where his chief inspector would also look at my case. However, he told me he expected that I would not be given bail and that the decision would be to move straight to prosecution. When I asked him if he thought I had killed Richard, he gave the first sign of any real emotion and sighed.
‘Och, Euphemia,’ he said, ‘you’ve changed so much from that bonnie, wee lassie I first knew, I could not say what ye would be capable of now.’
He took the lamp with him when he left, plunging me into darkness. In equal parts exhausted, terrified, and heartsore, I eventually fell asleep, but my pillow was damp with tears.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of jangling keys. I had long learned the trick of awakening without opening my eyes. The key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. Someone came into my cell, but I did not hear the cell door being relocked. Cautiously, I opened one eye.
There, leaning against the back wall of my cell and regarding me with his arms crossed, was the spy I knew as Fitzroy, and more recently by his first name, Eric. We had not parted on good terms, but not exactly on bad terms either. I suppose it may have been called a truce. He had lied to me, and he had, if not directly caused, then at least failed to prevent a tragedy in my family. I understood the decisions he had taken – that way of thinking creeps into your soul when you work for long enough with an agent of the Crown. He did – does – bad things, so that the balance of justice and safety is preserved in the country.
I had thought myself rid of him. I had promised Bertram that I would never see him again. And yet he, of all people, now stood in my cell.
I sat up, pulling the blanket around my blood-stained dress. ‘ Good morning,’ I said.
The spy raised an eyebrow. ‘My wedding invitation get lost in the post?’
‘We did not exactly part as friends,’ I said.
Fitzroy rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘Perhaps not. But I had thought we had reached an understanding. You do not actually hate me at this moment, do you?’
‘No,’ I said.
Fitzroy pushed away from the walk and began to pace the cell. ‘Mind you, I might have taken my welcome for granted and attended your ceremony anyway if I thought it was going to be this interesting.’ He paused to look at me. A frown briefly passed over his brow. Then he began to pace again. ‘You never do things the easy way, do you, Euphemia?’
‘I didn’t kill him!’ I cried, rising to my feet.
Fitzroy didn’t even pause in his pacing. He merely batted my statement away with his left hand. ‘Oh, I know that,’ he said.
I came forward, dropping the blanket to clutch on his sleeve and stop him from moving. ‘They have found the killer?’ I stared up into his face. I noticed he was unshaven and there were shadows around his eyes. He frowned down at me.
‘No, I don’t believe so. Even in the country they normally let one person out when they accuse another, don’t they?’ ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘How do you know I didn’t do it?’
The frown deepened. ‘Because I know you,’ said the spy. ‘I’m well aware that you believe in justice, and Lord knows if any man deserved to feel the dagger of justice in his heart, it was Richard Stapleford. But you would never take it upon yourself to do so – and in a house of God to boot? You’ve got vicar’s daughter written through you as clearly as if you were a stick of Brighton rock. This was a vicious, hate-filled attack – not your style at all.’
I prevented him from continuing by throwing my arms around his neck and sobbing loudly into his shoulder. Although he always claims he is no gentleman, Fitzroy did as any gentleman might in such circumstances: he froze in horror. To his credit he did not push me away.
I released him and looked up. ‘Everyone else believes me to be guilty,’ I said, the tears rolling once more down my face. ‘My mother, the Bishop, probably even little J-J-Joe.’
‘Bertram believed you, did he not?’
My voice dropped to a whisper. ‘No. He said so at the time. He turned away from me.’ My voice broke on this last sentence and I bowed my head. ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I do not appear able to stop weeping.’
Fitzroy stepped towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He leaned forward and his breath was warm against my ear. ‘I am here. You are safe.’
He turned me round and pushed me gently me out of the cell, sitting me down behind the desk. He swept the papers off it onto the floor and sat on the edge of it, looking down at me. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I would have been here earlier, but the news of your arrest only reached me in the early hours of the morning. I would not have had you spend the night in a cell if I could have avoided it.’
‘Rory and Hans both said I will hang,’ I said. I had to clutch my hands together to stop them trembling. ‘This all feels like a nightmare. I keep thinking I will wake up.’
‘Well, you won’t hang, and you won’t spend another moment behind bars.’
‘But Rory,’ I said.
‘You can leave me to deal with McLeod,’ said the spy, his face grim. ‘I don’t take kindly to anyone mistreating one of my assets.’
‘But what can you do?’
‘Ah, now this is the bit I wanted you to sit down for. There are a couple of options to consider. Do you want me to get you some breakfast first? Coffee?’
I shook my head. ‘I would be sick,’ I said.
‘Let’s avoid that, shall we? I am in need of a shave and a bath as it is, but I would rather not make my unkempt condition worse.’
‘At least you are not wearing clothing covered in blood. My wedding dress...’ My voice broke and tears started to fall again.
He reached over and passed me a clean handkerchief. His voice softened slightly. ‘I need you to stop crying, Euphemia. I can see how distressed you are, and I understand why, but we have some serious decisions to make. I need you to be fully conscious of the choices at hand.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s all so awful...’ ‘C’mon, Euphemia. You’re stronger than this. I promised that no further harm will come to you. Do you trust me or not?’
For the first time in over twenty-four hours I smiled.
Fitzroy smiled wryly back at me.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What do I need to do?’
He leant forward and briefly brushed my hand. ‘Good girl. Oh, by the by, I met Hans on my way here. He told me of the offer he had made you...’
‘He told you?’
Fitzroy shrugged. ‘I gave him a little encouragement. Then I declined on your behalf.’ ‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Don’t think too badly of him. It might have been a most ungentlemanly offer, but it wasn’t made without, I suspect, some affection and genuine desire for your well-being. He would have been putting himself at some risk. Especially if he believes you to be guilty. If you had both been caught, he would likely have hanged alongside you. Besides, you always liked him, didn’t you? If he’d known you were an heiress, he’d have married you rather than Richenda.’
‘How delightful you make him sound.’
‘That’s more like my Euphemia. Now, of the options I am offering you, my last resort is to get you out of the country. Alas, I would not be setting you up in some bijou chateau, but rather lodging you with some very ordinary French folk who owe me a favour. Of course, you would not be able to return to England until the real killer has been caught. In the normal way of things, I’d be more than happy to take that on, but as the reality of war with Germany comes closer, I will have other calls upon my time. I might not be able to devote as much time as is needed before war is upon us, and then solving this crime would become even more difficult. To be frank. I also don’t like the idea of you being out of England when the war begins... I have. well, never mind that. It wouldn’t be my first preference for you.’
I nodded. ‘I dreamed – when we were in the Highlands – about what is to come. I don’t normally believe in omens, but having met Madame Arcana...’
‘She might do work for the nation, but she’s a charlatan.’
I shook my head. ‘Not all the time... however, I agree this is not the best option. What are the others?’
‘There is really only one other viable option,’ said the spy. ‘And you’re not going to like it. It would mean spending a great deal more time with me.’
‘You said no chateau...’
‘No, no. I don’t mean in a romantic sense,’ said Fitzroy curtly. ‘I’m no Hans Muller, trying to take advantage of a woman in dire circumstances.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, blushing furiously. ‘It feels like so many people have let me down...’
‘We all have lines we will not cross, even I,’ said the spy sounding slightly ruffled. He smoothed down his hair and fiddled with cuff in a most un-Fitzroy manner. Then he added, ‘Unless I was ordered to do so,’ in a low voice. His head was down, avoiding my gaze. I chose to pretend that I had not heard his addendum.
‘I am sorry,’ I repeated.
‘Yes, well, never mind. Have you ever seen one of these?’ He produced a small, triangular badge from his pocket. It was black with some curious sigils enamelled in white.
‘Is it a good luck charm?’
Fitzroy threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he had recovered himself, he put the badge back in his pocket and wiped tears of amusement from his eyes with the back of his hand.1
‘Oh, Euphemia, even in the direst straits you make me laugh! Can you see me with a good luck charm?’
‘No. I imagine you believe you make your own fortune.’ ‘To some extent. It’s an insignia.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of authority. All agents of the crown carry these.’
‘Oh.’
‘It allows us a certain licence, but it also demands a level of duty that you have never been asked to undertake.’
‘You’ve made me choose between saving my relatives and following your orders!’
The spy nodded. ‘Yes, but if you carry one of these, there is no choice in the matter. Duty to the Crown supersedes all. You’ve seen me bend the rules on more than one occasion, but I’ve never broken them. In the final instance, I am no one’s son, no one’s father, no one’s friend and no one’s brother. I am an Agent of the Crown.’
‘That is quite a burden.’
‘I am glad you recognise that,’ said Fitzroy.
‘It’s why you said you’d never marry, isn’t it?’
Fitzroy nodded. ‘But you are to marry Bertram.’
‘That is by no means a certain thing. Not now.’
‘Oh, it will be,’ said Fitzroy with a certain grimness.
‘You will not force him to marry me,’ I said. The spy grunted noncommittally. ‘I’m serious, Fitzroy. I want no unwilling bridegroom.’
‘The man’s a fool in many ways, but he loves you.’
‘So says the confirmed bachelor!’
Fitzroy flashed me a wicked grin. ‘I never said I lived like a monk. I know something of relationships – and the need for them. Especially in this line of work. As a man, I have far more options open to me than marriage. You, however, don’t.’
I felt the blood creeping into my cheeks. ‘Interesting as all this may be,’ I said, in an attempt to change topic, ‘but what has this all to do with my current situation?’
Fitzroy gave me a disbelieving look.2 ‘Work it out.’
I thought for a few moments then the truth gradually dawned on me. I looked up and saw the spy was trying not to laugh. ‘Really? You find my consternation amusing?’
He shrugged. ‘Your expression, as they say, is worthy of a picture.’
‘You’re offering me the chance to become an Agent of the Crown? You can do that?’
‘I can swear you in here and now. You will walk out of the door a free woman.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
‘If we can, I suggest we solve this murder in the next forty-eight hours – for your sake. I assume you don’t want your friends and family believing you to be a killer?’
‘Why forty-eight hours?’
‘Because that is likely all the time we will be able to spare before other duties demand our attention.’ ‘The war?’ I said.
Now very sober and grim, Fitzroy nodded.
‘I see. My two options are to retreat to France or become an Agent of the Crown?’
‘We could see France as a temporary measure, until something better came up,’ said Fitzroy.
‘Like?’
‘Someone unmasking the real murderer.’
‘But I’d still have run away,’ I said.
‘You would have put that aside too,’ said Fitzroy.
‘What?’
‘Your sense of honour. While you work with me, I will do my best to ensure you are not put into a situation that is too morally demanding for you, but you must accept you may not always be working with me.’
‘If I marry?’
‘It makes no difference to your oath.’
‘So, I would have to face those choices that you deliberately ruled out?’
‘Possibly, but if your family is a low profile one that lives out of London, we should be able to keep them at a distance to your other activities.’
‘I could not tell them?’
Fitzroy shook his head. ‘You can tell one person. I recommend telling any husband you take, after you are married –’
‘You mean in case they jilt me?’
Fitzroy coughed. ‘I seem to remember it is generally you who do the jilting. How many times have been engaged, Euphemia?’
‘Touché,’ I said. ‘I do not have the most successful of romantic records.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Having people tumble into love with you all the time must be quite entertaining.’
‘So, until I marry Bertram, I couldn’t tell him, even though he’s signed the Official Secrets Act?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t suppose you would consider recruiting him?’
Fitzroy made an odd noise somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. ‘Honestly, Euphemia, your naivety can be amusing, but this is not the place for it. The Service is not some kind of social tea-taking club. We consider many people but recruit very few. That I am recruiting you, or offering to, is akin to a minor miracle in terms of the department’s history.’
‘And Bertram?’
‘No.’
‘But –’
‘We are a military service and Bertram’s heart condition makes him unfit to be enlisted. Besides, he has no unique talent to offer that would take him over the line from asset to agent, even if he were healthy.’
This last speech was delivered in a flat, merciless tone and it gave me pause, as Fitzroy intended.
‘I take it my unique talent is my sex?’
‘Partly, but not entirely. You also have a first-class brain, as well as an innately adventurous nature – you are capable of being merciless when required. That is your most rare talent.’
I started as if he had struck me.
‘You have, have you not, watched me shoot more than one man to death? Indeed, on more than one occasion you have encouraged me to execute a person who might not otherwise have been subject to justice.’
‘You make me sound bloodthirsty,’ I said. I could feel bile rising in my throat at this description of me.
Fitzroy shook his head. ‘Not at all. If you were, it would make you most unsuitable. However, you have come to terms with understanding that justice and necessity are cruel partners in this line of work.’ He gave an almost imperceptible sigh. ‘I know I make the service look very glamorous and adventurous, but that is my personal charisma. The job is often dirty and frequently harsh on an agent.’ He gave me his wry grin. ‘Am I selling you this?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘And it has taken me some moments to realise what you are doing, because I do not think I have ever seen you do it before.’
This time the eyebrow raised was an enquiring one.
‘Be totally honest,’ I said.
Fitzroy gave a crack of laughter. ‘Touché,’ he said. ‘Are you in?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and so began my service to our country as an Agent of the Crown.