Chapter Five

I tried to force any thoughts of awkwardness aside as the major helped me into my coat in the foyer.

"Miss Brown, if Colonel Radburn phones, tell him I'll be back this afternoon," the major told Constance. And then we exited the town house.

It felt good to be assigned a new case. It felt good that he had decided to involve me. I couldn't help but think that if he had been adamant about his desire not to work with me, Colonel Radburn would not have pressed the issue. So I could only conclude that the major was not entirely opposed to my help.

Whatever the reason I had been recruited, I was no less prone to feeling pride in my accomplishments than anyone else. There was a sense of satisfaction in knowing they had not been able to replace me.

I had rather been hoping we would take the Tube, as it prevented excessive conversation—or lack thereof—on the way. Alas, the major ushered me to the big black government car parked at the curb.

I was pleased to see it was being driven by his usual driver, Jakub. Jakub was an immigrant from Poland, and we shared the burden of both having someone we loved missing after a battle. Jakub's son had been missing for a bit longer than Toby, and we often discussed if there had been any news about our boys. I hoped that one day we would both have a positive update to share.

I greeted him warmly.

"Hello, Miss Ellie," he said. My attempts to get him to call me simply "Ellie" had so far been futile.

"How is everything, Jakub?"

"Well enough," he said. He did not mention his son, so I didn't ask. I knew that if he had news he wished to share he would have done so.

It was a big car, but it felt small sitting next to the major in the backseat. I noticed that he was very careful to sit far enough away so that we didn't actually touch. No doubt he didn't want to give me any undue encouragement.

I knew that, to some extent, I was being unfair to him. The boundaries of our working relationship were clear, and we could proceed as we had always done.

It had been only one kiss, after all. It wasn't technically his fault that it had been the most electric kiss of my life.

I sighed. I didn't realize I had done it until he looked over at me.

Jakub spoke up from the front seat then, sparing me the necessity of explaining my heavy sigh. "A bit of rough road ahead."

That was not an unusual thing now, not with German bombs dropping from the sky night after night. I sometimes marveled that there was anything left of London at all.

The car began to bump over the rutted section of road, the wheels grinding over rubble, jostling the backseat heavily. I leaned away from the major so I wouldn't fall against him. Then one of the back tires dropped into a hole, jarring us both, and I saw the major's jaw clench.

Jakub guided the car through the bad stretch of road, and a moment later it smoothed out again.

I resettled myself on the seat and looked over at the major. His jaw was still tight, his body tense.

"You're hurting quite a bit, aren't you?" I said before I could think better of it.

"The pain is manageable," he said without looking at me.

It was just the sort of thing I would expect him to say. The sort of thing he would no doubt still say if a lion had ripped off his arm.

"Are you taking something for the pain?" It wasn't my place to ask, but the urge to care for those around me that I'd inherited from Nacy was hard to ignore.

"Occasionally," he said. I knew what that meant; he wasn't taking anything.

"No one will think less of you for taking medication." I was well beyond the bounds of polite concern now, so I felt I might as well do a proper job of it.

A slight frown appeared between his eyebrows, a signal he was thinking of giving me a dressing down. But he didn't. Instead, he rubbed his fingers across his forehead. The gesture was telling. In all our time together, I had seldom seen him give any indication of how he was feeling. He must be feeling bad indeed to let this indication of discomfort past his armor of self-control.

Or, just perhaps, he was growing a bit more comfortable with me now that I had broached the topic of his health. Whatever the case, he said, "The morphine dulls my senses. And I can't afford that in this line of work."

So he was suffering through the pain for the good of his country. No wonder he looked exhausted.

"How much do you know about what is happening in Lisbon?" he asked. His posture straightened and his expression turned impassive; he was clearly closing the conversation about his health for the time being.

"Not much," I admitted. "I know they've chosen to remain neutral, of course. And that a great many refugees are ending up there, trying to get to the United States or elsewhere."

He nodded.

"That's the public face of it. And because of that, the situation in Lisbon right now is a hotbed of espionage. We have agents there, of course. And so does the Gestapo. Additionally, there is the PVDE—Polícia de Vigilancia e Defesa do Estado—Portugal's own secret police. They are keeping a tight watch on everything that happens in the city, and there's little that escapes their notice. They are often influential in finding out the background of the refugees there and helping to determine who gets visas, and who does not."

"It sounds like a proper mess," I said, glumly. "How does one even make headway in such a situation when there are so many forces opposing each other?" Even as I said the words, I knew the sort of people who would take such a job, people who relished the challenge, and who would do everything in their power to make sure that they succeeded. People like Major Ramsey.

"It is a mess," he acknowledged. "The city is awash in spies. Often members of rival spy rings will have dinner at tables beside each other in the more popular restaurants, hotel bars, and nightclubs. Spies, refugees, and assassins stand shoulder to shoulder at the casinos' tables. One thing Lisbon has going for it: there are no blackouts."

I had to tamp down the part of me that thought it sounded rather glamorous. I had learned the hard way that being a spy was not an easy job, and I couldn't imagine the additional pressures of operating in territories swarming with enemy agents. All the same, there was a little piece of me that was jealous of the opportunity to mingle and listen and learn.

I looked up to see that Major Ramsey was watching me, and I flushed as I had the uncanny sensation that he had been able to read my thoughts. "It… sounds rather exciting," I admitted.

"Your actions in Sunderland have proved that you no doubt have what it takes to work in high-pressure situations," he said. "But we need you here at present."

We,he'd said. Not I. Well, I hadn't expected a declaration.

I gave a short nod. "Of course."

"With that level of activity, there is potential for any number of important articles to have been smuggled out with one of the people on our list. It's imperative that we get as much information as we can before the situation escalates."

I nodded, not wanting to press him on what escalation might entail.

"Do you have any theories about what they're looking for?" I asked.

"It won't do any good to speculate at this point," he said tersely.

I turned to look out the window so he wouldn't see me roll my eyes. The pain was making him irritable, it seemed.

The Ritz was as glamorous inside as one might suppose. I was tempted to let out a low whistle like Uncle Mick might have done, but I realized it would only put me more out of place than I already was.

The major, of course, strode across the lobby as though he owned the place. And people moved out of his way. It was impressive, I had to admit. Having myself come from a group who strove to avoid notice, to remain in the shadows, watching him take command of the rooms he entered was a study in the sort of poise and self-assurance that is born and bred into the upper classes.

Not that my family had ever been lacking in confidence. But there was a different kind of confidence that came with the major's military authority, not to mention his heritage and breeding. It wasn't the empty bravado I'd seen in other well-to-do men; it was grounded in his certainty that he was in command of every situation in which he found himself.

That was what I found attractive in men, I realized. Competence.

Unfortunately, Major Ramsey had it in spades.

While I was thinking all of this, he was getting the information we needed and having the concierge ring Madame Arnaud's room to inform her we were coming up.

As we reached the lift and got inside, I glanced at the major, whose ramrod posture and granite expression told me now was not the time to ask questions.

We exited the lift, walked down the hall, and the major knocked at the door. I wasn't certain what role he wanted me to play, so I decided to just follow his cues.

The door was opened by a maid in uniform. Her gaze raked over us in a decidedly French manner, and, dismissing me, she looked at the major for a long moment before she pulled the door open to let us in.

We were ushered into the main room of the suite. It was decorated in cream and pastels, under an enormous glittering chandelier. My first thought was how much damage it could cause if a German bomb sent it crashing down.

The lady did not rise to meet us. Germaine Arnaud was a slim, regal-looking woman in what I estimated to be her late forties. She had auburn hair without a hint of gray and a sharp, pointed face with large emerald eyes. She was striking and exceptionally chic.

She also looked annoyed that she was having to speak with us. It seemed to me that she would be glad to have someone looking into the robbery so she might get the items back. Unless there was something she was hiding.

The major said something I assumed to be an introduction and perhaps an explanation in what sounded like impeccable French.

"We are in England, Major. I don't mind speaking to you in English." Her voice was as haughty as her manner, low and only lightly accented.

He tipped his head. "As you wish, Madame. As I said, we won't take more than a few minutes of your time."

She inclined her hand graciously to the pair of chairs across from the sofa on which she sat. Major Ramsey motioned for me to take a seat, and I sat down in one. Madame Arnaud's eyes flicked to me for just a moment, and she dismissed me just as quickly.

She was clearly impressed by Major Ramsey, however. Her eyes seemed to gleam a bit as she watched him make his way to the other chair. I had noticed often enough that his impressive good looks lent him an advantage where women were concerned. He generally reined that element in, but he occasionally used it to his advantage.

And today would be one of those days, it seemed, for he smiled at her as he removed his service cap and ran a hand over his hair.

Though her expression hadn't much changed, I saw her eyes soften slightly, and her tone had lost some of its coolness when she said, "I don't know what I can tell you that I didn't tell the police, but I will do what I can."

"Thank you. You left Lisbon on the BOAC flight on the seventeenth of December, I believe?" he said.

"Yes. I was only too glad to be out of Lisbon," she said. "It was so very crowded. I had to stay in a very inferior room in a hotel that was not at all up to my personal standards."

She was overplaying the high society role a bit, and I had to assume that it was for the major's benefit. Even his years in the military had not been able to dull the sheen of aristocracy on him, and I knew she could sense it. Whatever else she might be, Germaine Arnaud was a sharp woman.

"We have, of course, the general information about the robbery at your hotel, but I have a few questions about the flight. Is there anything you can tell us that was unusual about any of the passengers?"

Her thin brows rose ever so slightly. "Unusual? They were all unusual."

Major Ramsey gave the faintest smile at this assessment. "In what way?"

Madame Arnaud shrugged. "It was a disparate group of people fleeing their countries and trying to find safe harbor. It was bound to be an odd assortment."

"Was there anyone in particular that caught your notice?" He was all politeness and patience now. It was a side of him I had rarely ever seen, but I could tell it was having the desired effect.

She wanted to answer him but was determined not to look too eager to do it. So she took her time about considering, reaching into the lacquered box on the table and removing a cigarette. The major dutifully picked up the lighter from the table and lit the cigarette for her.

She took a deep drag and then slowly blew out the smoke. "There are, of course, certain people who draw one's attention more than others. I sat beside a young Belgian woman who seemed exceptionally anxious. That could have been the situation, of course. We were, naturally, all anxious to leave Lisbon and there is always the threat of the Luftwaffe when crossing near France. But she kept looking out the window and then wiping her brow with a handkerchief, as though she was afraid at any moment that someone would come to haul her from the plane."

"Did she appear less anxious once the flight was in the air?"

"Much more so. She was somewhat talkative, even friendly, with the other passengers."

"Did you happen to catch her name?"

"I did not catch it. She gave it to me. Her name was Anna Gillard."

Major Ramsey gave a short nod. "Was there anything else?"

She paused, seemed to be pondering if there was additional information she could relate. She had been irritated by our visit at first, I think, but now she was beginning to enjoy herself and wasn't eager to bring her conversation with the major to a close. I could not exactly blame her. With Paris in the hands of the Nazis, her entire life turned upside down, it must be nice to be sitting in the London Ritz drinking tea and chatting with a handsome officer.

"There is, perhaps, one thing that might be of interest to you," she said at last. "She was composing a letter during the flight, and I happened to see a few of the words written on it. It said: ‘I am bringing it to you, at great risk to myself.'"

I glanced at Major Ramsey. His expression was bland, nothing more than polite interest on his features.

"And did you see to whom the letter was addressed?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. It was only a quick glance, you understand. It was not my intent to read her letter, and I looked away at once. I just happen to have the sort of mind that remembers."

He smiled at her. "Very good."

"It could, perhaps, have been a letter to her sister. She mentioned that she was going to be reunited with her. She wore a necklace, which she said she and her sister both wore. She seemed an excessively sentimental sort of person."

"You have been very helpful, Madame. And is there anything else?"

"No, I think that is all."

Major Ramsey rose from his chair then, and I followed suit. "Thank you, Madame Arnaud."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Fifi will see you out."

"There's no need. We'll see ourselves out," he said, motioning for me to precede him. "Good afternoon."

We made our way from the suite, Madame Arnaud and I never having spoken a word to each other.

The major said nothing in the lift on the way down, nor as we made our way across the lobby.

I was able to hold my tongue that long, but as we left the hotel, I turned to him. "It seems like the next person we need to talk to is Anna Gillard."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Do you know where Miss Gillard is staying?"

"Yes," he said again. "I've gathered the locations of everyone on the list. If she hasn't changed locations in the past twenty-four hours, we should be able to find her."

I wanted to suggest that we visit Anna Gillard right away, but instead I waited to see what Major Ramsey would say. I was trying to learn patience, and I hoped he would appreciate it.

He looked at me, not fooled by my show of restraint. "You want to go there directly, of course. As it happens, I agree with you."

I couldn't help but smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Yes. I thought you might be."

We arrived at the little hotel, the Valencia, not half an hour later. It was a lovely Victoria-era building in Chelsea that had thus far escaped the Luftwaffe. At a glance, I would have guessed it catered to those who were wealth-adjacent, but didn't necessarily have the spare funds to put up in one of the swankier London hotels. It certainly wasn't the Ritz, but I would've been more comfortable staying here.

This impression was increased as we entered the high-ceilinged, marble-floored lobby. The rugs were just the slightest bit faded and the furniture was perhaps a decade old, but everything was sparkling clean, and the guests who wandered across the lobby were well dressed and elegant looking. There were potted plants in large brass planters in the corners of the room, and several of the big windows had the blackout curtains pulled up for the day to let in the sunlight.

The major didn't appear to care about taking stock of our surroundings but made his way straight toward the front desk. I followed along.

There was a tall dark-haired girl behind the counter who gave us her most professional smile as we approached, though I thought it wavered a bit at the perpetually stern expression on the major's face.

"Good afternoon," she said. "Welcome to the Valencia. Do you have a reservation?"

The major spoke before I could. "I'm looking for one of your guests, Anna Gillard." He had apparently used up his daily allotment of patience on Madame Arnaud. He said this in that authoritative way he had that brooked no argument, and, indeed, the woman behind the desk asked no questions. She merely consulted the hotel register in front of her. I saw the frown wrinkle her brow as she perused the list.

"What's wrong?" Major Ramsey asked. His tone was edging toward snappish, and I could tell this particular young woman was overawed by his looks and uniform rather than intrigued by them. I stepped forward and smiled reassuringly at her.

"We have an appointment with Miss Gillard," I said. "Is she not a guest here? I'm sure this was the hotel she mentioned."

"Well, that's the thing," she said, darting a nervous glance at the major before looking back at me. "She only had the room reserved through yesterday, but I don't see that she's checked out. But perhaps she decided to stay an extra night. That happens sometimes. We're somewhat short-staffed at the moment. One of our girls is unreliable, and—"

"What room is Miss Gillard in?" Major Ramsey cut in.

"I… I'm not really supposed to give out room numbers," she stammered. "It's against hotel policy."

Major Ramsey was about to reply, but I reached out and put a hand on his wrist below the level of the desk, where she couldn't see it. He glanced at me, impatience clear in his expression, but he pressed his lips together.

"Since she's expecting us, can't you just give us the room number?" I asked. "In fact, I believe she gave it to us already; I've just forgotten what she said. I'm afraid I don't have a head for numbers."

I gave her what I hoped was a cheerfully dim smile, and the woman nodded, her expression giving the impression she was relieved to have an excuse to do as the major asked. "It's room 214."

"Thank you," I said, even as Major Ramsey turned without comment and strode toward the lift.

I hurried to catch up with him. "You ought to trot out your charm in situations like these, rather than scaring people half to death," I said in a low voice.

"We don't have time for niceties," he said.

"No, Watson; the game is afoot!"

He shot me a disapproving look as we got into the lift.

"I suppose I'm meant to be Watson," I said.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't answer.

The lift opened on an empty hallway, and the major led the way down the worn green carpet to the door of room 214.

The major rapped sharply on the wood. There was no sound from inside. After a short pause, he knocked again. Again, it went unanswered.

"Open it," he commanded curtly, gesturing at the door.

I hesitated. "Are you sure? She probably left as intended and forgot to check out. It's not likely she left anything of value."

"Open the door, please."

Sensing now was not the time to argue with him, I pulled my ever-present lockpicking kit from my pocket and removed a suitable pick. It took only a moment to disengage the lock.

The major was, I think, about to move past me to enter, but I didn't give him the chance. I opened the door and slipped into the room.

"Wait," he said.

But I had already switched on the light and then recoiled as both the sight and the smell hit me.

My eyes took in the scene, realization flashing through my brain like lightning. There was a body on the bed, the sheets around it soaked in blood, the metallic tang of it like a slap to the face.