Princess Elizabeth's Spy(49)

She made her way to a bus stop near Piccadilly Circus. The statue of Eros was gone, but the circle was still a popular place for people to meet—sailors in uniform on leave shouting to one another and smoking, WAAFs and FANYs in bright red lipstick, men in dark suits and bowler hats under black umbrellas.

The Circus was surrounded by huge billboards from the Ministry of Propaganda: Join the Wrens!, It Is Far Better to Face the Bullets Than to Be Killed at Home by a Bomb, and God Save the King.

The rain stopped, and Audrey folded up her umbrella. She waited for the red double-decker bus, and when it arrived she took the narrow stairs to the top deck. As the vehicle made its slow way up Regent Street, she was joined by a man wearing a dark gray coat, a gray bowler hat, and a Trinity College scarf in navy, red, and yellow stripes. He sat next to her, despite the fact that the deck was nearly empty.

She looked up and smiled, beginning what was to be a long conversation in whispered French.


It was sunset at Windsor Castle—red, rose, and tangerine bled out into the western sky, leaving long violet shadows.

Behind battlements on top of the castle stood a large structure, the Royal Mews, a wooden construction with mesh screened doors and windows. Inside were perches with goshawks and peregrine falcons in hoods, tethered with heavy leather jesses.

“There, now, Merlin,” Sam Berners crooned, as he slipped the tooled leather hood over the falcon’s head. He took a moment to look out over the grounds of the castle, with the Thames and Eton in the shadowy distance.

Alistair Tooke entered the Mews and stood for a moment at the entranceway, repulsed by the smell. “Berners!” Tooke said, his boots crunching on the fresh straw laid down on the floor.

“Got nothin’ to say to you,” Berners replied, transferring Merlin to his arm.

“Just as long as you don’t say anything to the police,” Tooke warned. “If you won’t, I won’t.”

Berners looked at his falcon, Merlin, blind in his tooled and painted leather hood. “We’re all hunters, then, aren’t we?”

“We are, indeed. And I’ll keep your secret, if you keep mine.”





Chapter Fifteen


Hugh grabbed the hilt of his épée as he began to advance on the piste that covered a long strip of the highly polished floor of the Reform Club. “Nevins. Nevins!” Behind his metal mesh mask, his eyes narrowed. “Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.”

Mark was dressed, as was Hugh, in the traditional white fencers’ uniform. He advanced and lunged as Hugh continued to rant, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged wood-paneled room, decorated with suits of armor and historical swords, its large windows overlooking Pall Mall.

Hugh deftly parried, the clicks and scrapes of metal on metal echoing under the brass and ormolu chandeliers. His breathing was heavy with the intense effort. “Nevins is an idiot! And so is Frain, for that matter, for replacing me—with him, of all people!”

Mark counterattacked with a passata-sotto, his épée whistling through the air. “Look,” he said and grunted. “May I say something?”

Hugh put down his épée and took off his mask. “What?” Perspiration glistened on his face.

Mark took off his mask as well, and wiped drops of sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve. “Nevins is a good agent. He has more experience than you do. And he may be a pompous ass at times, and get a little too friendly with the female staff, but he does his job and does it well. I believe you’re letting this get personal.”

“Oh, not this again—”

“It’s true! You obviously think about Miss Hope more than any handler should—”

They both put their masks back on. “I’m a consummate professional, and you know it,” Hugh said as he went back to en garde. “And I’m a better fencer than you too.”

“Possibly,” Mark said as they parried and their blades clicked. “Well, then take it from the chap who’s worked in a small closet with you for over three years—I think you miss her. Not the job. Her.”

“Ha!” Hugh exploded, their blades meeting again. “She’s a good agent is all. A bit green, but good—smart, intuitive. We had a … rapport.”

Mark feinted, then thrust, moving in against Hugh now, driving him back. “And now Nevins is going to have that … ‘rapport’ … with her. And it’s driving you bonkers.”

Hugh countered the best he could. “That’s rubbish!”

Mark pushed forward for the victory, the tip of his sword against Hugh’s heart, winning the point. “No, no it’s not.”