Covert in Cairo, page 24
Truth be told, I was going to miss the scoundrel. For a murderer and a German spy, he was remarkably charming. Perhaps I could visit him in jail and bring him the latest writings of Dr. Sigmund Freud or some French philosopher. After all, he’d saved me from a life in prison. The least I could do was bring him some light reading.
“He’ll be tried in London within the month and most likely hanged.” Archie’s face lit up.
“On what charges?” Oh dear. I almost sounded like I was defending the bounder.
“Murder, espionage, impersonating an officer, you name it.” Archie smiled. “Thanks to you, Fiona, we got him.”
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t return his smile. “Do we have proof?” After all, he hadn’t killed anyone… at least not in Cairo. And, well, impersonating an officer, I did that all the time. Even the silk letter conspiracy was the brainchild of that Baron Max Von Oppenheim chap and had nothing to do with Fredricks—at least nothing we could prove.
“Who cares about proof!” Kitty snatched a butter biscuit off my plate. “The renowned spy is caught.”
Archie raised his glass. “Calls for a celebration.”
I hated to put a damper on the festive mood but sending a possibly innocent man to jail—or worse—without proof was nothing to celebrate.
“What’s the matter, old bean?” Clifford tilted his head. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Without evidence, we should not be rejoicing in sending Fredricks up the river—or across the ocean, as the case may be.”
“We got him in the end.” Archie raised his glass. “That’s all that matters.”
At the risk of sounding like a schoolmarm, I took up the cause. “The end doesn’t justify the means.”
“Where Fredricks is concerned, it does.” Kitty clinked glasses with the men.
“If we use any means to reach our ends, then we are as bad as our enemies.” I stood firm. “If we compromise our principles, then what are we fighting for?”
“Old Blighty.” Clifford beamed. “What else?”
“Truth, justice, freedom.” I stabbed the air with my finger. “To name a few.”
“Just words.” Kitty shook her head. “Abstract words disconnected from reality.”
“She’s right.” Archie nodded toward the girl. “Catching Fredricks is all that matters.”
I thought of Fredricks’s words from the railway. Nations are but ethics. If their morals are gone, thus are they. Now I knew what he meant.
“Fiona,” Archie’s soft voice jolted me out of my musings, “can we talk?”
I stared into his eyes, wondering how well I really knew him. “Of course.” I sat up straighter.
“In private?” He averted his gaze. “I want to ask you something important.”
“Alright.” My heart was racing. Something important.
He took my hand and led me to an alcove off the breakfast room. The cozy space was adorned with mistletoe and holly.
“Fiona, you know I think the world of you.” His cheeks turned pink. “You’re a brick of a girl, the very best of the best.”
The warmth of his hand radiated up my arm. “I like you too.” As soon as I said it, I realized how silly it sounded. I like you too. Really? Were we in primary school?
He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me.
His words echoed in my head. Catching Fredricks is all that matters. What of truth and justice? Don’t they matter? When I gazed up into his lovely face, it was as if I didn’t recognize him.
“After the war is over, do you think…” His cheeks went from pink to flaming red. “After the war is over—”
“Go on…” My breath caught. What was he trying to say?
“After the war is over…” He nuzzled his face into my neck and whispered in my ear. “Do you think you would do me the honor of—”
“Aunt Fiona!” Kitty’s voice interrupted us.
Couldn’t she have waited just another minute?
“There you are.” She came to my side. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re opening gifts.” She pulled at my sleeve. “There’s one for you from a secret admirer.”
Archie pulled out of the embrace. “I should let you go.” A cloud had fallen over his face. “I have to catch a boat.”
“Where are you going?” I tried to hide my disappointment. “When will I see you again?” So many questions tumbled out of my mouth. “What were you going to ask me?” Why did Kitty have to interrupt us?
“Classified. I don’t know. It will wait.” His tone was clipped. With sad eyes, he glanced over at Kitty, who was bouncing on her heels. He took my hand and patted it. “Stay safe, sweet Fiona.”
I just stood there gaping, watching him leave me, not knowing if or when I’d see him again.
“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Kitty pulled at my arm. “I’m dying to know.”
Dying to know. I could have killed her myself.
Reluctantly, I followed Kitty back into the breakfast room. The ruckus from the crowd was unnerving. If it hadn’t been for the girl’s insistent tugging at me, I would have fled back to our room and thrown myself on my bed.
At the girl’s insistence, I rejoined my pals at the table, which was filled with the remnants of our breakfast. Even surrounded by a room full of life and high spirits, the presence I felt most intensely was the absence of Archie.
Feeling numb, I drew open the strings of my handbag and withdrew a handkerchief. When I did, a photograph came out with it and fell onto the table. The photograph from Jean-Baptiste’s wallet. I’d forgotten all about it.
I picked it up and took a closer look. Under her knit cap, the woman had the same soft dark eyes and fuzzy caterpillar brows as Jean-Baptiste. In fact, she had the same upturned mouth, sans mustache, of course.
Kitty stopped fiddling with my gift and snatched up the photograph. “Why do you have a picture of Marie Marvingt?” She stared at me with her mouth open.
“Who?”
“Marie Marvingt. The French aviator.” Her tone was accusing.
“The photograph belonged to Jean-Baptiste.” My pulse quickened. I felt as if I’d done something wrong. “Do you know her?”
“She was one of my instructors…” Her voice trailed off. She dropped the photograph back onto the table.
“In France?” Finally, maybe I’d get some details about this mysterious boarding school in France.
She nodded. Obviously this woman was special to her.
Clifford picked up the photo. “She’d be a darned attractive girl if she’d try a bit harder.”
What did he mean by that? Just because she didn’t wear make-up and instead sported an aviator’s kit.
“What did she teach?” I dabbed my eyes with my handkerchief, trying to forget about my recent encounter with Archie.
“Fencing, boxing, swimming, flying.” Kitty sighed. “You name it.”
“Good lord.” Clifford nearly choked on his pipe smoke. “A lady boxer? And pilot?” He shook his head. “Unnatural.”
“Why is it any more unnatural for a woman to fly than a man?” I picked up a knife off the table and waved it for emphasis. “None of us are birds, after all.”
Pouting, Clifford crossed his arms over his chest and returned to puffing his pipe.
“I wonder how Jean-Baptiste knew Marie.” Kitty bit her lip.
The girl was entirely too pensive… not the Kitty I knew and… tolerated. Why did this photograph bother her so much? She was a mystery to me. One I was determined to solve, someday.
“Look.” I held up the photograph. “Doesn’t she resemble Jean-Baptiste? The eyes, the mouth.”
Kitty leaned in to take a closer look. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t see it.”
“Maybe they’re related.” Could she be his sister? A cousin? His mother even? I brought the photograph closer for another inspection. “You know, she looks vaguely familiar.”
“The lady version of Jean-Baptiste,” Clifford scoffed.
I rifled in my handbag until I felt the stiff corner of another photograph. The one I’d purloined from the mysterious stranger in the tomb. The stranger who’d turned out to be Fredricks.
Although the woman in this photograph was on skis and thick with winter clothes, the smile was the same. I retrieved my miniature magnifying glass from my handbag and then sat the photographs next to each other on the table. My word. “They’re the same woman!”
“Let me see.” Clifford snagged the magnifying glass out of my hand and leaned over the photographs. “By Jove. You’re right, old bean.”
Of course I’m right.
“Why would Fredrick Fredricks have a photograph of Marie Marvingt?” I stared at Kitty, waiting for an answer.
She just sat there, blinking.
“Well? Who is she?” I used my best maternal tone on the girl.
She tilted her head, grabbed the little box up off the table, and shook it. “So exciting.” The clouds lifted from the girl’s countenance, as if the photograph never existed. “Let’s open your present.”
“What about your teacher, Marie—”
Kitty cut me off. “It’s Christmas.” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Please don’t ruin it, Aunt Fiona.”
I was dying of curiosity about Marie Marvingt and her relationship to Fredrick Fredricks and Jean-Baptiste—and, even more so, her relationship with Kitty. But I held my tongue. Obviously, the girl didn’t want to say more. I wasn’t about to let it drop. I planned to investigate… all in good time.
For now, I sat patiently waiting while she unwrapped my gift. Her excitement made up for my lack of it. She clapped her hands and squealed like the winner of a beauty contest as she ripped off the red paper and ribbons to reveal a small black velvet box.
“Gosh.” She looked at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Open it.”
I knew better than to hope it was a gift from Archie. But after the question I suspected he might have been about to pop when little Miss Nuisance showed up… could it be? The box was the right size, almost. Alright, maybe just a tad too big.
I took a deep breath and snapped open the box. A heavy gold necklace sparkled up at me. Carefully, I lifted it from the box. “What is it?” A pendant with an angel and a woman hung from the thick intertwining gold chain.
“I say.” Clifford took it from me and examined it. “It’s the medal of the Supreme Order of the Most Holy Annunciation.”
“What?” I’d never heard of it.
“Italian medal of honor.” He held it up and admired it. “Catholic thing. Mostly kings and generals, that sort of chap.” He handed it back to me. “Who is it from?”
“Good question.” Who would give me an Italian medal of honor? And why? Was Archie being assigned to Italy next? I turned the piece over in my hand. It was incredibly heavy. How could anyone wear the thing?
As if reading my mind, Kitty plucked it out of my hand, ran behind me, and attached it around my neck.
It weighed a ton. “What does it mean?” I fingered the pendant.
“Looks like the annunciation of the Virgin,” Kitty said. “See the tiny Virgin ascending into heaven?” She moved my finger to the small golden figure.
I gazed down at my chest. On either side, the medal had a lamb and a snake. It was at once beautiful and terrifying. I searched the box for a clue. Who had given me such a strange gift and why?
Of course, I had a sneaking suspicion. But I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. After all, the rascal was in jail.
Moving my finger around the inside of the velvet box, I managed to get a fingernail under the bottom cushion and wrench it out. Just as I’d dreaded. A small card embossed with a panther.
Fredricks! Not again. Even from jail, the man tormented me.
I lifted the card from the box and read it.
Captain Claude Soughton requests the pleasure of your company at his induction into the Knights of the Supreme Order. Basilica Minore dei Santi Filippo e Giacomo, Ampezzo. January 7, 1918, 15:00 hr.
“Where did you get this box?” I waved the box at Kitty.
“The waiter brought it to the table.” She shrugged.
“Waiter!” I scanned the breakfast room looking for the waiter.
A young man in a white robe and red fez appeared at my side. “More tea, madam?”
“Who brought this box?” I held it out. “And no more tea, thank you.” I softened my tone.
“A British officer asked me to give it to you.” The waiter blushed. “Was I wrong?”
A British officer. I scowled. “What did he look like?”
“A big man, tall, muscular, with long black hair.” The waiter made a whipping motion with his hand. “He wore a uniform and carried a riding stick.”
A riding stick! “Fredricks.” Good heavens. How could it be? Wasn’t the rotter in jail?
“No, Miss. Not Fredricks.” The waiter shook his head. “His name was Captain Claude Soughton.”
“That irritating man!” I slammed the box down on the table. “Where’s Ampezzo?” I looked over at Clifford. He was the world traveler, after all.
“The Italian Front, damnable high country, that.” Clifford leaned back in his chair, puffing away on his pipe. “Dolomite mountains, formidable terrain.” He sat up again. “You know, I was there once on a skiing trip with my good friend…” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t tell me.” I tossed the card onto the table. “Your best pal, Fredrick Fredricks.”
He shrugged and gave me a sheepish grin.
“Does this mean Fredricks escaped?” Kitty clutched Poppy to her chest. “How is that possible?”
January 7. That’s two weeks from now. Was it even possible to travel from Cairo to the Italian Front in two weeks?
“Fredricks has been known to do the impossible.” I stuffed the box in my handbag and gathered up my gloves.
He was a sly devil. But how did he plan to get to this basilica in the Dolomite mountains in the next two weeks?
Good grief. Perhaps he’d already left Cairo. My pulse quickened.
More to the point, how would I get there?
My heart galloped as I planned my attack. First, I needed new disguises. Do I have time to stop off in London at Angel’s Fancy Dress? What disguises would be best for the Italian Front? January in the mountains. I’m guessing warm ones. Next, I needed to find transportation. And, of course, get approval from the War Office. That went without saying.
“Why are you asking about Ampezzo?” Clifford narrowed his brows. “Freezing there this time of year.” He got a startled look in his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of going to the Italian Front.”
Fredricks was on the move. The chase was on!
“That’s exactly where I’m going.” I threw my napkin onto the table. “And so are you.” By now, I was resigned to the fact that Captain Hall would send Clifford along as a chaperone, no matter how many assignments I’d completed. Like most men, Captain Hall believed women couldn’t do anything on their own… except maybe cook and tend babies. Neither of which were my fortes.
Clifford sat there, gaping at me. “You can’t be serious, old thing.”
“Deadly.” I took a last bite of my pancakes and then drained my teacup and immediately regretted it. What was I thinking? Of course, it had gone cold.
“Oh, goodie. We can go skiing.” Bouncing up and down in her chair, Kitty clapped her hands together. “I have an adorable pink ski outfit.” The girl was as changeable as the desert wind. One minute, she was whip-kicking German spies and the next, she was flitting like a hummingbird.
“Of course you do.” For a girl plucked off the London streets, she owned an extensive wardrobe. “Except, my dear, we’re not going for a holiday.” I wagged my finger at the girl.
I wasn’t buying the excited schoolgirl act for a minute. Anyway, skiing on the Italian Front. How ridiculous. Then again, I wouldn’t put anything past Kitty.
There was no way I was getting on skis. Just thinking about it gave me a chill. Too bad my tea had gone cold. I could use some fortification. I wondered if I could get a good cuppa on the Italian Front. To hear Clifford tell it, in the trenches they drank tea out of fuel cans and ate tinned beef. Hideous.
“You’re serious.” Clifford’s ruddy cheeks paled. “In that case, I’m switching to whiskey.” He gestured for the waiter.
“There’s no time to waste.” I had to telephone Captain Hall and get his approval. “Kitty, Clifford.” I stood up and brushed crumbs off my skirt. “We’d better get packed.” I was half-tempted to tap my glass with my knife and make an announcement. “Ampezzo won’t know what’s hit them.” I waved the blade in the air for emphasis. “Team, I’d say we have our next assignment.”
My heart skipped a beat. Jolly exciting chasing Fredricks across the globe, and with two such good pals. I was a very lucky girl.
I glanced down at the fancy embossed card. Why just do something when you can overdo it? That was Fredricks’s motto. What cheek. Using the tip of my knife, I pierced the heart of the panther insignia, pinning the blasted card to the table.
Sherlock Holmes had Moriarty, but I had Fredrick Fredricks.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to the wonderful team at Boldwood books, especially my terrific editor, Tara Loder. They are a hardworking and delightful crew.
As always, thanks to Lisa Walsh, who has read the first rough draft of almost every novel I’ve written and still believes in me. She continues to make everything better.
Thanks to my writing group, Susan Edwards, Lorraine Lopez, and Benigno Trigo for helpful suggestions.
Finally, thanks to my family for their support and encouragement, especially my dad Glen Oliver, and my hubby Benigno Trigo… and of course, Mischief, Mayhem, and Mr. Flan.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
FUN FACTS
Although many events and characters in the novel are inspired by history, this book is not an accurate historical account. Rather, it is a work of fiction that plays fast and loose with history in a most disrespectful and cheeky way, all in the name of fun and entertainment. Hopefully, if you’re reading this far into the book, you’ve found it amusing rather than disgraceful.
