Ellen joined me in the library several minutes later.
“I locked the back door,” she said, as she sat in the armchair facing mine. “I thought that was best, all things considered.”
I rubbed my sore shoulder. “You’re right. Thanks.”
“First things first.” Ellen stretched out her legs. Her purple-and-lime-green-print wide-legged pants clashed violently with the muted tones of the Oriental rug. “I did talk to the owner of that restaurant, and he confirmed our suspicions regarding Damian. It appears that Lincoln Delamont was the person behind Damian losing the position.”
“Which does give Damian a legitimate reason for wanting him dead.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it does.” Ellen looked me up and down, her eyes narrowing. “But this isn’t why you wanted to talk to me, is it? I imagine you want to ask me more questions related to Isabella’s past.”
“Yes, and I hope you can be more forthcoming this time.”
“You’re in luck, then.” Ellen ran her fingers through the vividly colored streaks of hair at her temples. “I’ve just received approval from the higher-ups to share a few things with you. Now that so much time has passed, most of the information is no longer of any importance, anyway.”
“What sort of higher-ups?”
“My old bosses. Well”—Ellen tipped her head and offered me a sardonic smile— “not so very old, as it turns out. They seem to keep getting younger as I continue to age.”
“That happens,” I said, clutching the arms of my chair with both hands. “Not to pry, but are you actually retired? I mean, if you still have to check with bosses …”
Ellen held up one foot, seemingly intrigued by the laces of her magenta sneaker. “One never actually leaves my old job. Not completely. I continue to have to clear certain things with the powers that be.”
“Still secrets you need to keep?”
“Definitely.” Ellen dropped her foot with a thump. She studied me with her piercing blue gaze before speaking again. “Tell me, what is it you suspect? That I was working for U.S. intelligence?”
“That’s my first choice.” I released my grip on the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “Were you ever really a film-location scout?”
“Oh yes, I did the work. Even though that was just my cover for other activities, I had to do enough to make it appear legitimate.” Ellen fingered the hem of her lime-green silk tunic. “I was quite good at that job, actually. And, of course, it offered an acceptable reason for jetting off to all sorts of strange and out-of-the-way locations.”
“Including trips that had nothing to do with movies or TV?”
“If you’re asking if there were some advance scouting expeditions that were more about other matters, then, yes.”
“You were a spy.” I’d never expected to address these words to anyone, but I knew they were appropriate in this case.
Ellen waved this remark aside. “Intelligence officer is the more appropriate term.”
“It all comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose. But I assure you I wasn’t skulking about wearing lapel-pin cameras or carrying death-dealing umbrellas. Nor did I chase people down dark alleys in foreign countries.”
“What exactly did you do? Something tied to my great-aunt, it seems.”
“I’m afraid my precise duties are one of the secrets I still can’t reveal.” Ellen pulled her legs back in against the chair. “But yes, I was connected to Isabella. I was her handler, as a matter of fact.”
I lowered my arms and clasped my hands in my lap. “Great-Aunt Isabella was a spy too?”
“Yes, and a very good one. Although a bit of a loose cannon sometimes.” Ellen lowered her eyelids, shadowing her eyes. “That’s why I was sent to Beaufort, you see. To keep an eye on her after … Well, I suppose I’d better start at the beginning, or none of this will make any sense.”
I slumped against the back of my chair. “I think you should.”
“Very well.” Ellen straightened and leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees. “You know that after she graduated from college, Isabella went to work at an estate in Virginia.”
“Yes, and our family always wondered about that.”
“Oh, that was totally legitimate. Like I mentioned before, it was a difficult time for women, even university-educated girls like Isabella, to find jobs. Especially after all the men came home after the war. She took the job as a maid as a stopgap, to make some money while she looked for something else. But she’d been noticed at college. By a professor who kept in touch.”
“I assume he also worked for the U.S. intelligence community?”
Ellen shook a finger at me. “She did. Anyway, while Isabella was working at the estate, the family hosted several young men from England. Friends of their sons, who’d been attending university classes in Britain before the war cut short their studies.”
“One of whom was the man captured in the photograph with Isabella, Paul Peters?”
“Bingo.” Ellen looked me over, a little smile playing about her lips. “See, I knew you missed your calling.”
I lifted my chin to meet her intense gaze. “Would you have tried to recruit me, if you’d met me when I was younger?”
“In a heartbeat. But that is neither here nor there.” Ellen settled back in her chair. “The thing was, Paul Peters was not what he appeared to be.”
I recalled Bernadette Sandberg’s suspicions about the man. “He wasn’t British?”
“Hardly. Although he was meticulously trained to pass as a typical Oxford or Cambridge grad, he was actually born elsewhere.”
“Russia,” I said, not bothering to make it a question.
“Back then we would’ve said the Soviet Union, but yes.”
“I assume this was all part of the Cold War.”
“Yes, and it was indeed chilling for those involved.” Ellen rubbed at one of her temples. “Anyway, Isabella met Peters at the estate. Sometime around 1950. He was supposedly in the U.S. to conduct some postgrad research.”
“What was his field?”
“Linguistics. And yes, he had an actual degree and taught in various universities in England over the years.”
“But you think he was visiting America for more than research?”
“Of course, because he was definitely a Soviet spy. A sleeper—one who’d been put in place in England long before the war. As a small child, actually. He was placed with a British couple with strong Communist sympathies.” Ellen tugged on one of the amethyst earrings dangling from her ears. “The intel I read suggested he’d cultivated his American friends at the university for this precise purpose. His goal was to use these acquaintances later, to try to gain intelligence on the U.S. as well as Britain.”
“And then he met Isabella at his friend’s estate, and … what?”
“He was instantly smitten and pursued her relentlessly.” Ellen narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t that he thought he could gain any information from her; he simply fell in love.”
“Which you used against him.”
“Yes. But only after Isabella alerted us to the situation. Oh, Isabella was flattered, at first. But like you, your great-aunt was no fool. She began to suspect something was off about Peters and did some sleuthing. When she discovered his true identity—I don’t actually know all the details about how, because that was before my time—she immediately contacted her former college professor.”
“Who asked her to spy for the U.S.?”
“It was a little more complicated than that, but essentially, yes.”
I wrinkled my nose in concentration. “Wait—did she actually steal anything from the estate?”
“She did, but it was all part of her cover story. She made sure Paul Peters knew about it, you see. Told him some story about how she was desperate, how she needed money so badly that she’d do anything—”
I couldn’t prevent a swear word from flying from my lips. “He recruited her to spy for the Soviets?”
“Yes, for money. And knowing about her so-called theft—the items were quietly returned a year later, by the way—Peters thought he had an additional hold over her.”
“But she was actually working for you?”
“Well, not me, exactly. I was a child at the time. I was assigned to be her handler many years later. But yes, she was secretly working for the U.S.”
I sputtered something unintelligible before collecting myself enough to speak again. “She was a freaking secret agent?”
Ellen’s smile twisted into a grimace. “She was.”
I stared wildly about the library. “And Chapters? And her books?”
“The money was provided by the U.S. government. Compensation for her services, as well as an excellent cover for her activities.” Ellen shrugged. “As far as the world was concerned, she was a wealthy social butterfly. She circulated in high society, hosting and attending events that brought together some, shall we say, interesting people. Parties that Paul Peters often attended as well, thinking he was being offered the opportunity to gather valuable information sought by his own handlers.”
“But he was being played, I suppose.”
“Like a fiddle. Oh, we shared a few insignificant true facts. Just enough to keep him on the string. But more importantly, we also fed him information that we wanted him to transmit back to the U.S.S.R.”
“Disinformation, you mean.”
“Exactly.” Ellen folded her hands neatly in her lap. She looked like nothing more than a trendy grandmother, but I could spy ice in her eyes. “It was quite a successful little operation for many years. Although poor Isabella …” Ellen exhaled a deep sigh. “She had to pretend to love him, you see. He was mad about her from the beginning, but I doubt she ever felt the same. Still, it was useful, him loving her as well as believing he was running her. I think his feelings blinded him to many things, which ultimately proved good for Isabella, and us.”
A thought flashed through my mind. My great-aunt, always living alone … “But she couldn’t pursue any other serious relationship.”
“No. Peters didn’t want to live with her. I suppose he thought that much intimacy might blow his cover. Also, he was away a lot—he actually lived in England, where he kept up appearances as a university lecturer. I also have it on good authority that he took a few clandestine trips to his real homeland.” Ellen shifted in her chair. “But he was a jealous man. He didn’t make much effort to find out what Isabella did when he was away, so we all overlooked her short-term flings, but he definitely would’ve known something was off if she’d embarked on a serious romantic relationship.”
“He sent her coded letters.”
“One of which you found. She shared those with me when I was her handler, of course, but she didn’t mention keeping a coded journal.” Ellen raised her eyebrows. “That was definitely against protocol. But then, Isabella wasn’t one to religiously follow all the rules.”
“Do you want the journal? I mean, maybe you or someone you know can crack the code.”
“I would like to have it, but I doubt we’ll bother to try to read it. Those events are too far in the past to matter now. But I suppose it might be best if it’s kept locked up somewhere.”
I twitched my lips into a smile. “Just in case it proves that aliens did land at Roswell and the government has been covering it up all this time?”
Ellen laughed. “Wrong time period. More like we faked the moon landing. Which we didn’t,” she added, waving one hand through the air. “Anyway, just give it to me whenever you want. I’ll find a proper home for it.”
I studied her intelligent face for a moment. “You retired very early, if my calculations are correct. You would’ve only been about forty when you moved here in the eighties. Why was that? Were you still Isabella’s handler?”
“No, she’d retired at that point. Paul Peters died, and we saw no point in trying to set her up with anyone else. Besides, she’d already been in the game for far too many years. The agency felt it was time she was out. They allowed her to keep the house free and clear, and do whatever she pleased with the property. Of course, she decided to turn it into Chapters and run it as a bed-and-breakfast. Not that she really needed the money, as there was still enough in the trust that had been set up for her use to last through her lifetime. I think she was simply bored.”
“But why send you here if Isabella was no longer working for your agency?”
Ellen stirred uncomfortably in her chair, fixing her gaze on a point over my shoulder. “It was just something that worked out for everyone. I did retire rather young. Not by choice. I’d been injured, you see, during another operation. Quite badly, I’m afraid. I lost my nerve for the game after that, even for a desk job. So the agency offered me a deal—a free house and stipend if I’d move to Beaufort and keep an eye on an important former asset.”
“I think I understand why you agreed, but why did they think Isabella needed to be watched?”
Ellen shrugged. “As I said, she was always a little reckless. A free spirit who could be unpredictable. I believe they were afraid she’d get restless and engage in a little espionage on her own. She still had many contacts within Russian organizations, as well as a few others, from her work with Peters.”
“Surely they didn’t think she’d turn traitor at that point?”
“They shouldn’t have, but they did.” Ellen smiled grimly. “As if Isabella would’ve ever betrayed her county. Despite her sometimes wild behavior, she was a true patriot. The truest I’ve ever known, if I’m honest.”
“It does sound like she was willing to sacrifice a great deal.”
“And she did. No one can understand the constant anxiety and pressure one is under unless they’ve lived it.” Ellen wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, as if the memory still pained her. “But anyway, I was more than happy to accept a deal that only required me to keep tabs on Isabella and report back to my superiors periodically. Knowing Isabella, I knew I’d never need to do more.”
I stood, shaking out one leg that had fallen asleep before I dared to take a step. “Thank you for sharing all this. I assume you want me to keep it to myself?”
“If you don’t mind. It’s all ancient history now, but I think it best if your family and others retain their current memories of Isabella. Besides”—Ellen grinned—“I might get kicked out of the garden club if they knew the truth about my past.”
“I doubt that, but I promise to stay silent.” I crossed to face her as she rose to her feet. “Why did you tell me, by the way?”
She met my stare without blinking. “Because I was afraid you’d dig up too much, or too little, and make the wrong assumptions. Knowing how determined you are, I thought you might stumble onto part of the story and draw the wrong conclusions. I didn’t want you to suspect Isabella of betraying our country. She doesn’t deserve that. If nothing else, she deserves your respect. So I decided I’d rather you know the truth.”
“Thanks.” I looked her over, noting the weariness tugging down the corners of her lips. “I guess you’ve been carrying this around for some time.”
“I have. It’s a relief to share it, I admit.” Ellen glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, hello, Alicia. How are you today?”
“Just fine, thanks,” Alicia called out from the hall. “Sorry to interrupt, but if we plan to hold that cocktail party tonight, you’d better get a move on, Charlotte.”
I slapped my forehead. “Darn, how could I forget? Sorry, Alicia, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Alicia waved her hand over her head and muttered something as she walked off down the hall.
I glanced at Ellen. “We’re holding one of the week’s planned events tonight. Just a little cocktail party outside on the patio. Some of the guests said they’d attend, despite everything, and I thought it might be a good time to …”
“Play detective?”
“Yes. Speaking of that, you’re welcome to attend. It would be an opportunity to continue our investigation, especially now that I know you possess a very particular skill set.”
“I’d like that,” Ellen said.
“Good, and mark Saturday evening down on your calendar too. That’s the final event for the week—another discussion of Josephine Tey and her books.”
“All right, I’ll attend both. Especially since I’m worried you might need backup.”
“And who better?” I held up my hands as Ellen made a tutting noise. “Seems that you were trained for stuff like this.”
“I was, although I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice. But I’ll do my best.”
“Six o’clock tonight. Seven on Saturday.” I gave Ellen a mock salute. “Until then, comrade.”
She touched her forehead with one finger. “Prepare the barricades, mon amie. We shall fight to reveal the truth. Which is always a heroic goal.”
I shot her a sharp look. “Those are odd words coming from someone who’s had to hide so much of it.”
Ellen laid one hand on my forearm. “That’s how I know.”