Arsenic at Ascot, page 6
“Unfortunately,” Henry Hobbs shrugged, “they’re only good for a few treatments each.” He turned back to his test-tubes.
“Seems rather a waste.” I peered over his shoulder at his experiment.
“Not at all.” Mr. Hobbs poured yellow liquid from a test-tube into a beaker. “After we’re done with them, the army uses them to test new chemical weapons and gas masks and such.”
“Out of the frying pan into the fire,” my grandmother would say.
“Along with goats, dogs, and birds.” Private Birdwhistle was wringing his hands. “The unsung heroes of the war.”
Dr. Vorknoy scowled at him and then went back to his experiment.
“Where do you get the animals?” I’d learned from past interrogations that standing just a bit too close could elicit an unguarded response.
The doctor spun around. “Do you mind? I have work to do.”
I took a step back. Surly fellow, wasn’t he?
“I can answer your questions.” Henry Hobbs looked up from his test-tubes. “We have various suppliers. Farms, research facilities, even hospitals.”
“Jäger brings most of the chimps,” Private Birdwhistle said.
Dr. Vorknoy looked up from his work and glared at him. “Move along now.” He waved his hand as if he could sweep us out of the room. “We have work to do.”
“Perhaps we could see the other experiments?” I headed for the door, dreading what we would find on the other side. The sad monkeys were bad enough.
Private Birdwhistle scurried to overtake me. “Of course, Admiral.” He opened the door and gestured us out. “Just down here, we have the chemical warfare laboratory.”
My stomach did a flip. After what I’d witnessed at Charing Cross, I was appalled that anyone would use chemical warfare, especially my own countrymen. “Tell me more about how the chimps are procured.”
“Mr. Jäger and his team capture them in British East Africa and bring them by boat.” Private Birdwhistle bit his lip. “Some don’t survive the trip.”
“I visited Kalandula Falls a few years ago.” Clifford hastened his pace to catch up to the private. “Before the war. We were on an expedition—”
I tugged at his sleeve.
He looked down at me, and I shook my head.
“Right.” He had that hangdog look of his.
I gave his arm a consoling pat and then glanced over at the private, who thankfully didn’t seem to notice.
“And the other animals?”
“Mostly local farms.” The private led us to a door at the end of the hallway. “The War Office pays them but not well. My father’s a farmer.”
“Salt of the earth.” No wonder we’re rationing meat.
The private knocked and then opened the door. “This is the chemical lab.” He held the door open for us.
The harsh smell of burning garlic filled my nostrils. My hand flew to cover my nose. I knew that smell. Mustard gas. That sharp odor lingered in victims’ clothing. My eyes stung.
In the center of the room, two men were busy fitting a third with a gas mask.
“Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt,” Private Birdwhistle said. “These men are VIPs from the War Office.”
The men stopped fussing with the mask. And the wearer pulled it off, ruffling his wavy chestnut hair.
Oh, my sainted aunt. I lowered my hand to cover my mouth.
Was it the water in my eyes or could I be hallucinating?
Sitting in the center of the room, staring up at me, was Lieutenant Archie Somersby. My Lieutenant Archie Somersby. The Archie who had proposed to me… and then walked out on me. Like a black widow spider, heat crawled up my neck.
What on earth was he doing here?
7
THE DELIVERY
My heart was pounding. The trip to Porton Down had been more than I bargained for. I’d never expected to see Archie here. The room was stuffy, and I had to force myself to breathe. What if he recognized me? The walls felt like they were closing in on me.
In uniform, sitting in the center of the windowless laboratory, Archie was being fitted for a gas mask. Why? Did he work at Porton Down? He’d never told me if he did. Of course, his entire life was classified, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. Frozen, he stared up at me as if paralyzed by a gorgon. Curses. He recognized me. I touched my beard. It was still attached. It was one thing to fool people who’d never met me and quite another to trick my almost fiancé. I cleared my throat as if to speak. The Admiral Arbuthnot disguise might camouflage my appearance, but there was only so much I could do to lower my voice.
Archie continued staring at me, and I averted my eyes and feigned interest in the giant sewing machine in the corner of the room. I quickly crossed the room. As I passed by Archie’s chair, the scent of juniper and citrus hit me like an army tank. I inhaled deeply. Big mistake. The heady scent was as potent as a kiss and nearly knocked me over.
After exchanging awkward pleasantries with Archie, Clifford came to my side. At least he hadn’t blown my cover… yet. “I say, old bean,” Clifford whispered. “If you don’t shake his hand, he’ll think you rude.”
“If I do,” I hissed under my breath, “he’ll blow my cover.”
He bent closer and took my elbow. “Should I tell him you’re out of sorts?”
“Men don’t get out of sorts.” I wriggled away. “Distract him while I come up with a plan.” If there was one thing at which Clifford excelled, it was small talk. He could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Clifford didn’t budge. “He won’t bite.”
What a thought. I shook the image out of my head. My mind was racing. Instead of formulating a plan to get out of this sticky wicket, I replayed every romantic scene with Archie over the past six months. I could feel his presence behind me. And the scent of him was inescapable. If I melt into a puddle, can I disappear down the drain? Why did he have to be so handsome? It was all I could do to resist whirling around and brushing that devilish lock of hair from his forehead. Concentrate, Fiona.
Last time I’d seen Archie—yes, when he proposed—miffed at my response, he’d walked out without a backward glance. If I wasn’t such a rubbish skier, I would have gone after him. I hadn’t said no, mind you. I’d just suggested he ask me again after the war’s end. How could he expect me to marry him during this chaos and uncertainty? I supposed the war had led many couples to tie the knot precisely because of the uncertainty. But for me, not knowing whether I’d see him again or he’d be blown to bits didn’t inspire romance. It was bloody terrifying. I glanced back.
Archie had twisted around in his chair and was still staring at me. My cheeks burned and I looked away again.
“Do I know you?” he asked. His voice penetrated my clothing like a winter gale.
Clifford chuckled, and I stomped on his foot.
“Ouch!” He stuck out his lower lip like a scolded schoolboy.
I bit my lip, unsure whether in my present agitated state I could conjure my tenor voice.
Archie stood up. “Admiral Arbuthnot, was it?” He flashed a crooked smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve met before.” He strode over and stood next to me. “Good to see you again,” he said a little too loudly.
I elbowed Clifford. “Why don’t you volunteer to try that new gas mask?” I shooed him away. Sulking, he obliged and approached the two lab technicians who had been working with Archie.
For a few awkward seconds, Archie just stood there blinking at me. He leaned closer. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” he hissed through clenched teeth.
So, he did recognize me. Drat. “What gave me away?” I’d thought my disguise one of my best.
“The first time I kissed you, you were wearing that silly mustache, remember?” He smirked.
Trouble was, I did remember… all too well. I stroked my mustache. Far from tacky, it was one of my best pieces.
“What are you doing here?” The way he glared at me, you’d think we weren’t on the same side, let alone practically engaged.
“I could ask you the same.” I swallowed hard. My only consolation was that for once, Lieutenant Archie Somersby wasn’t one step ahead of me. He was asking me what I was doing instead of telling me. For once, Captain Hall hadn’t informed him of my mission. And as usual, the captain hadn’t informed me of his either.
“I’m testing gas masks,” he said stiffly.
“When did you get back?” As far as I’d known, he was still in Italy. Obviously, seeing me wasn’t his top priority upon returning to London.
“A while.” He refused to look me in the eye. “Why don’t you get on with your mission, and I’ll get on with mine.” He ran a hand through his wavy hair.
A while. How long is a while? My heart sank. He hadn’t bothered to contact me. My palms were sweating, and I wanted to bolt.
“Strictly professional, remember?” Finally, he looked at me. His eyes were hard as steel.
“Let me explain—” My lips trembled as I tried to get the words out.
“Still traveling with him, I see.” He jerked his thumb toward Clifford.
“Who?” I glanced around. “Clifford?” At the sound of his name, Clifford looked up.
“I could hardly believe it.” Archie shook his head.
“Believe what?” He knew full well that Captain Hall always sent Clifford as my chaperone, wanted or not. So, what was his problem with Clifford?
“This is neither the time nor the place.” He turned on his heels and left me sputtering in his wake. At the door he turned back and glanced from Clifford to me and back. “Good luck to you.”
What was he on about? Why was he so angry? I hadn’t said no, I’d just asked to wait. Was it so unreasonable to want to wait until after this bloody war ended? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t think of marriage now. I hadn’t been divorced or widowed for even a year. It was too soon. I sucked in a jagged breath. Get a grip, Fiona. You’re a British agent, for heaven’s sake, not a lovesick schoolgirl. The pain in my chest tested my resolve. Why couldn’t I have said yes like a sensible person? I’ve ruined everything.
Raised voices coming from the hallway jolted me out of my mourning. The two men who had been fitting Archie with the gas mask went to investigate. With Clifford in tow, I followed them out into the narrow hall. There, Private Birdwhistle looked on while Henry Hobbs argued with a man built like a Shetland pony, short and stocky with a red cap clamped atop his long brown mane. On a strap of his coveralls, he wore the navy and gold pin issued to civilians working on war service. The man stood behind a cart laden with cages. Inside the cages were more chimpanzees. The man gesticulated as he spoke in a loud booming voice. “Tell Dr. Vorknoy he’d better pay up or—”
“Or what?” Mr. Hobbs scoffed. “You’ll go to the police?”
The man’s square face turned red. “Or he’ll be sorry.”
“Is that a threat, Jäger?” Mr. Hobbs lunged at the man. “How about I go to the police?”
Mr. Jäger, the man who supplies the monkeys.
In a huff, Mr. Jäger tossed an invoice at Mr. Hobbs and marched down the hall and slammed the door on his way out. Gobsmacked, I watched as the invoice floated to the floor.
“I say.” Clifford stood next to me, chewing on the stem of his unlit pipe. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Something dodgy is going on at Porton Down.”
Obviously, Dr. Vorknoy owed Mr. Jäger money and hadn’t paid for his latest deliveries. And Mr. Hobbs had something on Mr. Jäger and was threatening to go to the police. And what of Mr. Jäger’s threat? He’ll be sorry, how? Clearly, Mr. Jäger wasn’t working with the animal activists—unless he was deep under cover as a hunter. How about Mr. Hobbs? Was he working with the anti-vivisectionists? Could he be the mole? He was eager to tell me about Dr. Vorknoy’s experiments and certainly more forthcoming than the doctor. Had I detected a critical note in his tone when he’d mentioned that retired chimps were subjected to chemical weapon tests?
“Is everything alright, Mr. Hobbs?” I said as I approached him.
Clipboard in hand, he counted his new inventory, checking off various boxes as he went. I leaned in to get a look at the clipboard. From what I could see, it was an intake form with basic information about the animals.
“Just peachy,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That man is a menace.” He gritted his teeth. “To man and beast.”
Did Private Birdwhistle just crack a smile? What did he find amusing?
I made a mental note. Mr. Hobbs called his supplier a menace to beasts. I observed him carefully to get a bead on his attitude toward said beasts. He was in such a foul temper, stewing and steaming, he barely glanced at the poor creatures as he filled out his forms.
Clifford bent down and peeked into one of the cages. “Who’s a pretty girl?” he cooed at the monkey.
I shook my head. “How do you know it’s a girl?” I examined the chimp to see if its sex was obvious from his vantage point.
“Just look at those eyes.” Clifford poked his finger through the bars of the cage. “Good girl.” Good heavens. The way the man fussed over animals, it was a wonder he could go around killing them like he did.
“Sir,” Private Birdwhistle said. “You shouldn’t—”
“Ouch!” Holding his finger, Clifford reared back and hit the wall behind us. “The rotten cur bit me.”
“You do have a way with the ladies.” I tried to lighten the mood.
The private gave a little snort.
Clifford scowled and put his finger in his mouth. Egads. Downright unhygienic. If Mr. Hobbs hadn’t been there, I would have insisted Clifford go wash the bloody thing rather than suck on it. Instead, being a manly man, I looked away and bit my tongue.
“Private, be a good fellow and deliver these cages to Dr. Vorknoy.” Mr. Hobbs thrust the clipboard at him.
The private tightened his lips but took the clipboard and pushed the cart down the hall toward the doctor’s laboratory.
“Isn’t your tour over yet?” Mr. Hobbs stuck his pencil behind one ear.
“I say,” Clifford huffed. “There’s no reason to be rude.”
“With all due respect, sirs, we’re doing crucial research here and don’t have time to babysit the upper brass just because they need a bit of entertainment on a Wednesday morning.” He flashed a fake smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned and disappeared back into the lab.
“Why, the nerve.” Clifford clamped his teeth around the stem of his pipe. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
“What lady?” I too found the behavior appalling but what could we do? Clifford probably thought he had to defend my honor or some old-fashioned romantic notion about the so-called “weaker sex.” I was tempted to order him to hold out his finger so I could show him a thing or two. “I don’t see any lady… unless you count your monkey girlfriend.” Even she had been removed from the scene.
“I have half a mind to report him,” Clifford puffed.
“Horsefeathers.” I tugged at his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s investigate.”
Clifford and I had been left quite alone. Questionable security at Britain’s top- secret military facility if you asked me. But it would give us a chance to explore, off the leash, so to speak.
As we continued down the hallway, I peeked through the windows in each room along the way. When the door had no window, I gingerly tried the doorknob. If the door was unlocked, I opened it a crack and stole a look inside. So far, every room was either occupied or locked, and I didn’t think it a good idea to let anyone catch us wandering unescorted or we’d no doubt be escorted off the property.
“Fancy a drink?” Clifford tagged along as I searched the building. “Or a bite to eat?”
“After we finish here.” My stomach grumbled, obviously in agreement with Clifford. We couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. Glancing both ways, I continued down the hallway.
The next room was dark. I put my face to the glass, shaded my eyes, and peered through the door lite. Rows of glass cabinets held brown and green bottles of all shapes and sizes. Put me in mind of the drugs dispensary at Charing Cross Hospital. I suspected these bottles contained more lethal potions. My first alter-ego, Dr. Vogel, an expert in poisons, could have a field day. If only the door wasn’t locked.
At the end of the hall, a door stood ajar. I peeked inside. An office with a desk and filing cabinets. The room was vacant except for the lingering scent of jasmine perfume. Dorothy. This must be her office.
“Stand guard.” I patted Clifford’s arm.
“And what should I do if someone comes?” He was as whiny as a feverish child.
“Stall them with your witty conversation.” I smiled sweetly. “Play to your strengths.”
“I say,” he said softly, blushing. Jolly pleased with himself, he tugged on the bottom of his jacket and stood at attention near the door.
I headed for Dorothy’s desk, which I might add was nice and tidy. I nodded my approval. Next to her typewriter sat a stack of invoices. I picked up the one on top. An invoice marked paid for live animals, including that latest shipment of chimps. I committed the page to memory and quickly made my way through the stack, page by page. Each invoice had a familiar seal at the top. The royal seal used by the War Office with its lion and unicorn and banner. “God and my right” in French. I’d always wondered why the British War Office had a French seal.
Fredrick Fredricks once asked me: “Is an act right because God loves it or does God love it because it is right?” Whatever the answer, I’d often wondered about the “my” in the royal seal. Surely even the king couldn’t count his right on par with God’s.
I was three pages into the stack when I heard Clifford clear his throat. I stopped shuffling papers and listened. High heels clacked in the distance.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” he called out.
It was decidedly not a lovely morning. I quickly returned the papers to their proper places and straightened the stack. I raced across the room toward the door, glancing around the room as I went. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but perhaps something would jump out at me. Hopefully not a live animal.
