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Evelyn paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi, going up the shallow steps to the front door laden with bags and boxes. Lifting an arm with difficulty, she managed to press the bell with her little finger. She’d been to the shops after her meeting with Marrow, but they were hardly the shops that she was used to frequenting. If they had been, she would not be carrying her parcels home with her. She would have arranged for them to be delivered. As the fingers in her left hand began to go numb from holding packages at an awkward angle, she reflected that there was much to be said for the convenience of being waited upon as one of the premier socialites in London. Still, it couldn’t be helped. These were purchases that could not be made at any of her regular establishments.
The door swung open and Fran hurried to relieve her of some of the packages.
“No, no, it’s quite all right, Fran,” Evelyn said cheerfully, sweeping into the hallway. “They aren’t heavy at all. I’m afraid I got rather carried away this afternoon. I’ll carry them up myself.”
“But miss!”
“It’s quite all right!” Evelyn was already halfway up the stairs before Fran even had the front door closed. “I’ll take care of them myself. Is tea ready?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Thank heavens! I’m famished.”
“I’ll set it out in the parlor, miss.”
“Thank you, Fran. I’ll be down directly.”
Evelyn reached the top of the stairs and whisked herself around the corner and out of sight before Fran decided to come and assist her after all. The last thing she needed was to have her maid see these ridiculous items that she’d purchased. Her lips curved suddenly into a wry smile as she went towards her bedroom. Her maid would think she’d lost her mind, and there would be no explaining half of it.
A moment later she’d closed the door behind her and, crossing to the bed, dumped the entire collection of bags and boxes onto the coverlet. Rubbing the hand that had begun to lose feeling, Evelyn surveyed the mess before her and exhaled. She had no idea where she’d hide it all from Fran. It would have to be in one of the spare bedrooms, but heaven forbid if the maid went in to clean the wardrobes in the next day or so. Luckily, there were a few items among the pile that were legitimately hers, purchased to try to avoid Fran’s suspicion. She just had to hope that Fran wasn’t very curious, or wouldn’t notice that the few new items would not account for the sheer number of bags.
And there were a fair number of bags. Sylvia Müller was a respectable private secretary, and her transformation into the woman would be considerably more involved than she had imagined at the outset. It was all because of the identification papers, of course. Marrow had had to work within the strict confines of basing his descriptions on a real woman. While the Security Service had made them as general as they could, there were certain aspects that could not be changed; such as the lamentable fact that Sylvia Müller had black hair.
After giving it considerable thought, Evelyn had reluctantly decided that dying her hair was out of the question at this point in time. Reaching for a box, she pulled off the lid and lifted out a black wig of medium length. The shopkeeper had shown her how to manipulate it into several different styles, but the one she was most concerned with was a neat chignon behind her head. Once she’d practiced a few times, Evelyn was confident that she would be able to master the look without anyone being able to see the edge of the wig. But she didn’t have very much time to practice at all, and she would have to do it when Fran was unlikely to interrupt.
Examining the raven locks in her hands, she pursed her lips. The hair was silky and smooth, and didn’t seem as though it would handle very many different hairstyles, but the young woman who sold it had assured her that it would hold up to many performances.
Well, it only has to hold up to one at the moment, she thought, setting it back into the box. If it can do that, I’ll try not to think about the exorbitant price I had to pay.
Moving the box to the side, Evelyn unpacked the assortment of clothing, shoes, stockings, and makeup that would create a believable Sylvia Müller. She had an appointment on Monday morning to go to an address and have her photograph taken for the false identification papers. Marrow would be there to approve the transformation, and then she would be on her way to Dorchester by the first train Tuesday morning. It was all very straight-forward, and the only aspect of the entire operation that bothered her was how on earth she would explain to Fran why she was dressed so ridiculously. Or where she was going for an indefinite amount of time.
Evelyn pursed her lips thoughtfully as she sorted through everything on the bed, separating the items that would remain in her bedroom from those moving into one of the spare rooms. The simplest solution would be to send the maid back to Ainsworth Manor, but she could hardly do that so soon after bringing her back with her. She would need a very good reason, and she would need it quickly. She had much to do in the next twenty-four hours, and when she was finished, Evelyn Ainsworth would be nowhere in sight.
August 4
Molly followed the ram-rod straight back of the butler into the sitting room where Lady Rothman was seated on a settee. She waited for the august personage to depart before crossing to Lady Rothman quickly, her face flushed.
“My dear Mata, I’m so sorry for intruding on you like this on a Sunday morning,” she said breathlessly. “I wouldn’t have come, but I have new and urgent information that I didn’t think should wait until tomorrow.”
“How intriguing,” Lady Rothman murmured, waving her into a seat. “I confess I was very surprised to receive your note. We are fortunate that my husband is away this morning, and so we need have no fear of being interrupted. Shall you take tea?”
“No, thank you.” Molly shook her head. “I won’t keep you long. Do you recall that receptionist that I’ve been cultivating?”
“The typist with the telephone company?”
“Yes, that’s the one.” Molly leaned forward slightly. “She came to see me last night, and you’ll never guess what she told me!”
“My dear Molly, you may dispense with the theatrics. I have no intention of guessing when you are quite clearly here to tell me.”
Molly flushed, but her excitement never wavered.
“She came to me with something she’d heard from her sister at dinner a few weeks ago. You’ll perhaps remember that her sister is a housemaid at Sir Blackney’s town residence. Well, she told Agnes over dinner that she believes that his private secretary is a German spy!”
Lady Rothman stared at her.
“Mr. Chivers? Don’t be absurd. The man is as fervent a Tory as I ever did see.”
Molly frowned.
“It wasn’t a man she spoke of. It was a woman.”
Lady Rothman tilted her head, thinking for a moment.
“Does he have more than one secretary?”
“Agnes claims that he has several, but this one is usually at one of his estates.” Molly furrowed her brows. “She didn’t say which estate, but no doubt it’s of no real importance. What I found interesting, and what I’m sure you will as well, is that the sister is absolutely convinced that the secretary is a Nazi sympathizer at the very least, and most likely a spy.”
“Why on earth would she think such a thing?”
“It seems the woman, a Miss Müller, was born in Berlin but moved to England six or seven years ago when she obtained a position as a private secretary.” Molly smiled faintly. “That was the entire basis for Agnes’s sister to believe that she was a German spy. Agnes told her that she was being paranoid and to stop reading her dime novels late at night. She sent her away and went about her business.”
“Very sensible.”
“Yes. But then she says she got to thinking about it and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to do a little investigating. I won’t bore you with all the ins and outs of the people involved, but you’ll remember that Agnes’s connections are one of the reasons that I’m grooming her to join the Round Club.”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Rothman waved a hand impatiently. “What did she discover about the secretary?”
“Well, Miss Müller is currently in Sir Blackney’s house in Dorchester. She went at his suggestion for a change of scenery. It turns out that her brother was killed at Calais, just before Dunkirk.”
“Brother?” Lady Rothman raised her brows. “A German soldier?”
“Better. SS.” Molly smiled. “By all accounts, Miss Müller took his death rather hard and Sir Blackney was concerned that she would become quite poorly. He packed her off to Dorchester for a change of pace and sea air.”
“While this is all very fascinating, I’m not sure why this would indicate that this woman is a German spy, or even sympathetic to our cause.”
“Agnes believes that she is passing information to an agent on one of the Channel Islands.”
Lady Rothman scoffed and stared at her in astonishment.
“How can that be possible? You know how difficult it is to move physical information out of the country. Why, we’ve been unable to do so ourselves and look at all the resources we have available to us!”
“I know. I thought the same thing, but then Agnes told me that the secretary has full access to Sir Blackney’s yacht. He keeps it moored in Dorset, and she’s been seen taking it out at all hours.”
Lady Rothman was silent for a long moment, then she stood and began to pace slowly about the room.
“It seems fantastic,” she murmured. “Why would Sir Oswald allow his secretary to make use of his personal yacht?”
“Agnes believes that all his secretaries are given access in order to facilitate his personal correspondence with his interests on the Continent. Of course, once the war moved into France, it became more difficult.”
“But apparently not impossible, not if he allows his secretaries to take on the risk of going across the Channel.” She paused in her pacing to shoot Molly a sharp look. “How reliable is this Agnes? How do we know that we can believe her?”
“She’s never given me bad information before,” Molly answered promptly. “And she certainly did her homework on this one. She even went down to Dorchester on the train one day to talk to one of the hands on the yacht.”
“Oh? And what did she find out?”
“That they’d gone out to Guernsey not two nights before to drop off food and supplies for one of Sir Blackney’s old footmen.”
“Just food and supplies?”
“Well, she’d hardly tell the crew of the yacht that she was giving information to the Germans there, would she?”
Lady Rothman chuckled unexpectedly.
“No. I suppose not.” She returned to her seat on the settee. “You’re right, my dear. This is very interesting indeed.”
“That’s not everything, ma’am.” Molly cleared her throat. “Agnes says that Miss Müller has found out about the existence of the Round Club, and she wants to offer her services as a courier to us.”
“How on earth did Agnes discover that?!”
Molly grinned.
“I told you that she would be a perfect fit with us. Once she was convinced that the woman was genuinely sympathetic to our cause, and actively moving what intelligence she could gather from her employer, Agnes arranged for a meeting.”
“That was very rash,” Lady Rothman said disapprovingly. “She had no right to do such a thing without permission.”
“Yes, and I’ve addressed that with her. However, the fact remains that Miss Müller is very keen to help us in any way that she can.”
“Why?”
“Agnes believes that it’s because of her brother. She thinks that when he was killed, it was the push that Miss Müller needed to join the fight.”
“Hmm. That’s very possible,” Lady Rothman admitted. “Grief is a very powerful motivator.”
“If she is willing to assist us in any way possible,” Molly said, leaning forward earnestly, “Miss Müller may very well be just the answer we’ve been looking for.”
