Spies in St. Petersburg

Poor old Rupert. He wasn’t a bad sort, really. Doing this job was a peculiar thing sometimes: it did seem rotten, taking advantage of a fellow like that. Left to her own devices, Lil was really rather a straightforward sort of person. She’d have preferred to have marched up to Rupert, shaken his hand heartily and said: ‘Hullo there, I hear you’ve got a rather important painting – I’m afraid I’m going to have to take it off your hands.’ But of course, that sort of thing would not wash when you were working as an undercover spy.

It still felt odd thinking of herself as a spy at all. It seemed no time since she’d been in the classroom at school, scribbling notes to her chums or playing tricks on the mistresses instead of practising her ladylike deportment. Then a few dull months at home, followed by the blissful escape of running off to London to go on the stage. Although being an actress had been marvellous, of course, somehow it had never been all she’d dreamed. Perhaps it was because she always had to play such idiotic characters – weedy ingénues who wept or fainted away at the first sign of excitement. Or perhaps it was because the work she’d begun doing with Sophie had been so much more thrilling. Working with her best friend was tremendous fun, and detective work was always exciting. She’d soon discovered she loved undercover work: it was rather like acting, but without the footlights or greasepaint, the smoke and mirrors. She had to use all her charm, her instincts and her quick brain – and it satisfied her like nothing else.

Now, here she was: co-owner of Taylor & Rose, the detective agency she and Sophie had founded together. The agency had been in business just over two years, and their most important client was the Secret Service Bureau.

The Bureau was a top-secret government agency, responsible for intelligence work. Since Taylor & Rose had been hired by the Bureau, their lives – which had already been rather interesting – had become very interesting indeed. Earlier that year, Lil had been sent on an assignment to a royal castle, where she’d discovered a plot to kidnap the prince and princess of Arnovia, helped them escape, and then foiled a second kidnap attempt in Paris with Sophie’s help. It had all been as exciting as the plot of a shilling shocker on a railway station bookstall.

Since she’d returned to London, things had been less thrilling – though still very busy. The Chief had put her to work investigating the dragon paintings by the artist Benedetto Casselli, which they now knew contained clues to the location of a mysterious hidden weapon. The shadowy secret society known as the Fraternitas Draconum were trying to find the weapon and use it to kick start a war in Europe – and they must do all they could to prevent them.

Lil knew that Sophie was just as intent on stopping the Fraternitas as she was. It had been Sophie who had encouraged them to form the Loyal Order of Lions, to oppose the Fraternitas and their schemes. The Order had no official leader, but if they had, it would certainly have been Sophie. Lil smiled to herself, thinking that whilst a small, politely spoken seventeen-year-old girl might not be most people’s idea of a strong leader, Sophie would have surprised them. She was unshakeable in her determination to stop the Fraternitas.

Of course, that wasn’t so surprising when you knew Sophie’s history. Not only had the Fraternitas put her in mortal danger more than once, they had also been responsible for the deaths of Sophie’s parents. It was because of them that she had been left all alone in the world.

Lil couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be so alone. She’d never experienced a loss like Sophie’s. She’d spent her whole life surrounded by people: Mother and Father, of course, even if they never did know quite what to make of her; her bossy older brother Jack, who she loved and who infuriated her in equal measure; and dozens of friends. She’d always found it easy to make friends wherever she went – at school, in the theatre, and now even with a prince and princess. But she’d never had a friend who understood her like Sophie did.

It had been three months since she’d waved her off on the airfield in Paris. Three months since she’d been back in London, without her. Three months of missing her – a horrid feeling, like a stomach ache. It seemed so wrong that she wasn’t here: pacing up and down the office they shared, thinking out an assignment; leafing through the newspapers she read every day; or chatting over tea and cakes at Lyons Corner House, where they talked about everything from their latest cases, to the merits of a new hat.

But Lil knew Sophie was where she needed to be – following the trail of a stolen notebook, which contained vital information about the dragon paintings and the secret weapon. She’d be back in London soon enough, and they’d be together again. Until then, Lil would do everything she could to help with the investigation.

Inside the building, she told the concierge she was here to see ‘Mr Clarke’, and then ran up the stairs, through a door marked with a small card reading: CLARKE & SONS SHIPPING AGENTS. A few minutes later, she was in the Chief’s office, laying the painting before him.

‘Well! Miss Rose, you have outdone yourself!’ exclaimed C, with a delighted chuckle. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable while I admire it. My word – The Red Dragon at last. So full of malevolence – really, quite horrifying!’

Lil took the chair opposite his desk, glancing around her as she always did when she was in C’s office. There were so many intriguing things to look at – the enormous gramophone in the corner, currently booming out a Glinka opera, the big map studded with pins and coloured flags, and the elaborate ink stand, filled with the bright green ink that the Chief always used.

‘Carruthers!’ C called out.

Almost at once, the office door banged open and C’s secretary came in. Captain Carruthers was a tall thin young man, with horn-rimmed spectacles and a rather sour expression.

‘Ah, Carruthers – you’ll like this!’ the Chief went on genially. ‘Look what clever Miss Rose has delivered to us! Isn’t she splendid? Now then – if you would take it, see it’s wrapped properly, and put it into the safe? Very good – careful with it now, there’s a good fellow!’

Carruthers threw Lil a glance that suggested he thought her anything but splendid, nodded to the Chief, picked up the painting and stalked back out of the room. As usual, C did not seem to notice his assistant’s bad temper: he was busy rummaging amongst one of the tottering piles of paper on his desk. After a moment, he found the document he was looking for, and set it before him with a flourish.

C placed a large green-ink tick beside the words ‘The Red Dragon’ and scribbled beside it ‘found in the possession of Sir E. Grenville’.

‘So Sir Edwin must be a member of the Fraternitas Draconum,’ said Lil.

‘It would seem so,’ said the Chief. ‘What about the other fellow – the man you saw him with. Was he anyone you recognised?’

Lil shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ There hadn’t been much to distinguish him – just a smart, middle-aged man with grey hair. ‘But I did wonder if Sir Edwin was going to show him the painting. That might have been how he discovered it was missing so soon. Which would suggest that the other man is Fraternitas too, wouldn’t it?’

‘Very likely,’ said the Chief, scribbling this down. ‘This is most pleasing, Miss Rose. You’ve done an admirable job for us. Now, if you will see Captain Carruthers on your way out, I’d appreciate it if you could give him a description of the second man. Also the location of Grenville’s safe, and the combination of course. You never know when that might come in handy! Then off you go and enjoy a well earned rest.’

A rest? ‘Don’t you need me to do anything else?’ Lil asked, her eyes flicking to the other paintings on the Chief’s list, marked ‘under investigation’ or even more tantalisingly, ‘unknown’.

But the Chief just smiled blandly and said: ‘Nothing for the moment, Miss Rose. You’ll hear from us again as soon as we have a new assignment for you.’

Lil got to her feet, but before she left she had to ask the same question she always asked whenever she came to the Bureau – even though she knew she wasn’t really supposed to. ‘Have you heard anything from Sophie lately? Is she all right?’

The Chief gave her a kindly smile. ‘Miss Taylor? Of course, my dear. Nothing to worry about on that score. Now then – run along. Good day!’

Lil left the Chief humming along to his music. She suspected he thought it was sentimental and a little silly, the way she asked about Sophie; and yet she always felt reassured to hear that all was well. She knew she shouldn’t expect to get letters or messages from Sophie while she was travelling undercover – after all, she herself hadn’t been allowed to send any when she’d been in Arnovia – but it was good to know she was all right and that her assignment was going according to plan.

Outside the Chief’s office door, she found not Carruthers, but instead Captain Harry Forsyth – tall, bronzed and handsome. Forsyth was one of the top agents of the Secret Service Bureau, and it wasn’t long since he and Lil had been on assignment together in Paris and Arnovia. Now he gave her a charming smile: ‘Oh hello, old girl! Didn’t realise it was you in there with the Chief. Ripping to see you, as always!’

‘Hello, Forsyth,’ said Lil cheerfully. ‘Isn’t Carruthers back yet?’ For once, the secretary’s desk was empty.

‘Not in the least idea, I’m afraid. I s’pose he must have popped out on some errand or other. Well, I’d simply love to chat, but I mustn’t keep the old man waiting!’ He gave her a quick wink, then swaggered forward into C’s office, without knocking. Inside, Lil heard the Chief say warmly: ‘Ah, Forsyth! In you come – I’ve a great deal to acquaint you with!’

For a moment, Lil lingered by the door. She knew that the Chief took Forsyth into his confidence, sharing with him many details of the confidential operations of the Bureau. She and Sophie, on the other hand, were kept at arm’s length, knowing nothing of the Bureau’s bigger plans beyond their own assignments. It was frustrating when she knew that she was just as smart and dedicated as Forsyth – who as a matter of fact had spent most of their last assignment in Paris enjoying the city’s night spots. Now, she wondered if she might catch a few words of their conversation, but she could hear nothing except the vague buzz of voices, and the hum of the gramophone. She gave up and wandered to the window: Carruthers would surely be back at any moment, and if he returned to find her listening at the Chief’s door, she knew he would be simply unbearable about it.

She flopped down into Carruthers’ chair to wait for him, glancing around at his typewriter, his notebooks, and the stubs of pencils that littered his desk. She helped herself to a biscuit from his tin, and then leaned back, putting her feet up on his desk in the style of Carruthers’ usual pose. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she practised saying, in what she thought was rather a good imitation of his sardonic manner.

As she did so, she noticed something interesting. On the wall, just beside Carruthers’ chair, there was a small air vent with a slatted metal cover – except three of the screws that should have held the cover in place were missing. Experimentally, she gave it a little push: at once the cover smoothly pivoted to the side. To her amazement, she realised that through the open vent, she could now hear, quite clearly, Forsyth and the Chief talking in the next room.

Well! Lil grinned as she settled back more comfortably in Carruthers’ chair. How jolly intriguing! Perhaps like herself, Carruthers did not care to be excluded from important conversations and had found his own way to listen in.

The Chief was saying: ‘I’ve had a message from our man in Hamburg. His report is ready.’

‘That’s the fellow known as Ace?’ Forsyth asked. There was the flick of pages, as though he was looking at some paperwork. ‘The one who sent all that information on shipbuilding that Admiral Stevens was so keen on?’

‘That’s the one. He’s one of our most valuable overseas agents. But he’s got some concerns about getting the report out of Germany. A couple of Ziegler’s spies have been sniffing around.’

Lil listened intently, as she absent-mindedly crunched another of Carruthers’ biscuits. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she was fascinated. She’d had no idea the Bureau had agents stationed in the German Empire – although now she saw that if the German spymaster Ziegler had agents gathering intelligence in Britain, then of course the Chief would want his own agents doing the same in Germany.

‘I can’t risk losing Ace. You know that our top priority is to give the government advance warning when war breaks out – and I’m relying on Ace and his counterparts elsewhere in Germany for that information,’ C was saying.

‘But we don’t know for certain that there will be a war, do we, sir?’ asked Forsyth.

‘Of course we don’t know for certain. But there’s no doubt that war is hanging over Europe like a shadow. It will only take the smallest action to inflame it – one spark to ignite the dynamite.’ The Chief paused for a moment and sighed. ‘The consequences of a modern European war would be unthinkable, so I hope very much that spark will never come. But if it does, we must be prepared, and for that, we will need Ace. I can’t risk him being caught by Ziegler – and yet, Stevens does want that report . . .’

‘Ought I to go out there, sir?’ suggested Forsyth eagerly. ‘We could arrange a handover. I could travel to Hamburg in disguise, collect the report and smuggle it out of the country.’

‘I’m afraid your assignment here must take priority for now, Captain. But just the same, you’re right – I believe I’ll have to send someone to collect it.’

‘What about Brooks? He’s a sharp fellow.’

‘No good – he’s on assignment too. If only the Ministry would see fit to increase our budget, so we could recruit some more agents. We are stretched in ten different directions at present!’ He paused, and then said thoughtfully: ‘No, I rather think I shall give this assignment to Miss Rose.’

‘Miss Rose!’ Forsyth’s tone was incredulous. ‘But sir – are you sure that’s wise? I know she’s a fine girl, but surely she isn’t up to this kind of assignment?’

Lil almost choked on her biscuit. But through her rage, she was gratified to hear the Chief reply: ‘Don’t let the skirts and petticoats mislead you, Forsyth. Miss Rose is quite as competent as most of the young men I have on my books. What’s more, there are obvious advantages to operating female agents – for one thing, they are far less likely to be suspected. Besides, this will be perfectly straightforward. All she’ll have to do is collect the report and transport it safely back to London. She has a talent for undercover work, and we can easily concoct a good cover story for her. Yes – my mind is made up. Miss Rose shall go to Germany.’

Germany! For a moment, Lil was distracted – and rather excited. But her new assignment was forgotten at once when she heard Forsyth say: ‘And what about Miss Taylor? Any news?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re sure she made it to St Petersburg?’

‘It would seem so. She successfully tracked the Count von Wilderstein there – and she was communicating regularly until she crossed the border. But since she arrived in Russia, we haven’t heard a word from her. It’s been well over a month now.’ The Chief paused for a moment, and then went on: ‘I’m afraid there can be no doubt about it, Forsyth. Miss Taylor has disappeared.’

Secret Service Bureau HQ, London

Lil’s breath caught in her throat and she dropped the biscuit she was holding, not noticing the crumbs that scattered across Carruthers’ desk.

Dimly, she heard Forsyth say: ‘Oh, surely not, sir. Perhaps she’s just being careful – maintaining her cover. After all, the Russian secret police are no joke.’

‘That’s precisely what concerns me,’ the Chief replied. ‘It’s true that if the Okhrana are watching her, she may be keeping a low profile. But even with that in mind, she should have been in touch by now. There are arrangements in place for her to write privately by diplomatic bag, via the Embassy.’ The Chief tapped his pen against the desk in time to the music. ‘I must say, I don’t like it. Von Wilderstein may be dangerous. And St Petersburg is volatile at present. With the assassination of the Russian minister, there’s bound to be trouble stirred up.’

Lil’s heart was pounding. Sophie had disappeared – in Russia? The Chief had just told her that Sophie was fine – that there was nothing for her to worry about. But he had lied. He hadn’t heard from Sophie for over a month – she was missing in St Petersburg, all the way on the other side of Europe.

‘Of course, we don’t want to ruffle the Russians’ feathers,’ she could hear him saying. ‘The diplomatic situation is tricky. Officially we have no business sending spies into Russia. They are, after all, our allies. If she’s been caught – well, I suspect the government will want to deny any association with her.’

‘Will you send someone to look for her?’ asked Forsyth.

‘I’ve no agents I can spare to go all the way to St Petersburg at present. Besides, I have my orders – and the Ministry are very clear that Germany must remain our priority. They are interested in the Fraternitas and this weapon, of course – in fact, I may say, they are very interested. But it’s not their most pressing concern. So I’m afraid Miss Taylor will have to fend for herself, for now at any rate. Don’t let on to Miss Rose, Forsyth. I don’t want her distracted from the Hamburg mission.’

‘Of course not, sir,’ said Forsyth, sounding as though nothing could be further from his mind than confiding in Lil.

As he spoke, Lil realised the other door was opening. At once she let the cover swing back into place, concealing the air vent – but it was already too late. Captain Carruthers was standing before her, his hands on his hips and a smirk on his face.

‘Making yourself quite at home, I see? And listening in on private conversations too?’

‘I was intrigued by your invention. Just seeing how it works,’ Lil flashed back at once. ‘Does the Chief know you’ve been eavesdropping on all his secret meetings?’

‘Ha!’ Carruthers scoffed. ‘I’m his secretary. Do you really think he keeps anything from me?’ He flung an arm out, gesturing to the row of locked filing cabinets. ‘I see every letter, every telegram, every dossier. There isn’t anything that happens in this office that I don’t know about.’ He looked at her rather smugly. Of course: he must know that Sophie was missing, Lil realised. Was there anyone at the Bureau who didn’t already know, except for her?

Lil was not someone who lost her temper very often, but now she did. ‘Well, I hope you have a jolly nice time with your letters and reports and your secret spy hole, and your biscuits,’ she retorted. ‘Tucked away nice and safe – while we’re out in the field, doing the real work.’

Carruthers turned red, and she knew she had hit a nerve. He was envious of the Bureau agents who worked ‘in the field’ and resented having to stay behind to organise files and type the Chief’s letters. Of course, it wasn’t really his fault that he was a secretary instead of a field-agent; and whilst he might be a prickly sort of fellow, it wasn’t exactly cricket to imply he was a coward. She expected him to say something spiteful in reply, but instead he just growled: ‘Get out of my chair.’

He was even more bad-tempered than usual as he took down the description of the grey-haired man, and the particulars of Sir Edwin’s safe. But Lil did not pay him much attention: her mind was far away, racing with thoughts about Sophie and St Petersburg. Vague images of the Tsar, and snow, and Russian ballet, and Cossacks on horseback danced about in her head. She could not even begin to imagine Sophie into the picture. Could she really have fallen foul of the Russian secret police that the Chief had talked about? Or worse still, could she have been caught by the Count and the Fraternitas Draconum?

A wave of cold dread swept over her. She was barely aware of walking home: she didn’t notice the turning leaves as she tramped through the square garden, nor the omnibuses hissing by on the wet road, nor the woman with the basket of flowers on the corner, who called out to her: ‘A sprig of white heather, miss, for luck?’ Instead she only heard the Chief’s voice, over and over again, like one of his own gramophone records, stuck in a loop. The diplomatic situation is a tricky one . . . If she’s been caught . . . the government will want to deny any association with her . . . I’ve no agents I can spare to go to all the way to St Petersburg . . . Miss Taylor will have to fend for herself.

It didn’t take long to reach home. She’d given up her old lodging-house room when she’d gone to Arnovia and when she’d come back to London three months ago, Jack had suggested she should come and room with him in the big, shabby Bloomsbury townhouse he shared with some of his fellow art students. Lil and Jack now lived in a set of rooms on the first floor, and just above them were their friends, Leo and Tilly. The house was a friendly, come-and-go-as-you-like sort of place, which suited Lil down to the ground. There were always the sounds of feet on the stairs, laughter, and spontaneous celebrations when someone sold a painting or passed an examination. There was always someone around to chat – and Lil loved chatting.

But today she felt in no mood to talk to anyone. She needed to be by herself to think: she thumped straight up the stairs and into her own rooms, shutting the door behind her to drown out the cheerful voices of the others.

The sitting room she and Jack shared was, as always, extremely untidy. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the bare floorboards were only partly covered by worn but gaily coloured mats. Two threadbare armchairs, loaded with paisley-print rugs and colourful cushions, were drawn close to the fireplace. The mantelpiece was a jumble of flowerpots, photographs and party invitations; a playbill for a new show at the Fortune Theatre; and a coloured card advertising an exhibition at the Royal Academy.

Lil took off her hat, and tossed it on to the table, which was scattered with books and papers, along with the remains of Jack’s breakfast – or possibly his supper – a willow-patterned plate scattered with crumbs and an empty cup. Beside it were several tubes of paint and a jam jar of paintbrushes. Jack said the light in the sitting room was good, and often painted here: there were always pictures pinned up unframed, or canvases propped against the wall. Just now there was an easel by the window, showing a half-finished portrait of a girl reading a book. Jack was experimenting with a new semi-abstract style, so the girl had bright yellow hands and a smudgy blue face – but even so, Lil knew that she was meant to be Sophie. She gazed at it for a few seconds, and then flopped down in one of the armchairs, leaning her head back against the cushion. ‘Oh, bother it all,’ she muttered aloud.

Sophie had disappeared in St Petersburg. No one had heard from her for over a month. She had followed the Count von Wilderstein there – but what could he be doing in Russia? In Arnovia, the Count had always seemed a harmless fellow, more interested in tinkering with aeroplanes than anything else. But now Lil knew the truth: he’d conspired in a secret plot to kidnap the Crown Prince, so that he himself could become King, and he was working for the Fraternitas. That meant he must be extremely dangerous.