Princess Elizabeth's Spy(90)
“Hey,” Audrey said, looking over, suspicious. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Lilibet said in her clear voice. “Maths homework.”
Audrey, with the help of light from the moon, partially obscured by dusty spiderwebs of clouds, looked at what the Princess was doing and saw:
23172614121 +
121117816114 +
16+
91115158121 +
1724112316 +
1252571712 +
She gave a Gallic shrug. “People always wondered if you girls were right in the head, you know,” she said. “Especially with so much inbreeding.”
Lilibet didn’t reply but kept at her message, impervious to everything, even the cold seeping through her wool dress and cardigan. Poulter returned, pushing the car, but even with the extra precaution, he drew the attention of one of the Coldstream Guards patrolling.
“Stop!” the young man said.
Poulter fired. The wound spurted a gush of blood between his eyes that looked black in the darkness, and then the man crumpled.
As Lilibet closed her eyes in horror, Poulter came with a length of rope, swiftly tying the girl’s hands and feet, and dumping her into the back of the van without ceremony. He didn’t notice the markings she made with the stone. She didn’t know who would find them, or when, but she did know that Margaret and Maggie would be able to read them. And then they would know where she was being taken.
She quietly prayed that they would find her in time.
With Mr. Churchill manning the situation from Windsor, Maggie, Frain, and Hugh ran down the corridors to find the trapdoor in the wine cellar floor.
“Here it is!” Maggie said. She grabbed the iron ring, opened the trapdoor and started down the stairs, grabbing Lilibet and Margaret’s hidden flashlight and switching it on. “Follow me,” she said. “I know the way. If we continue through, we’ll end up at the Henry the Eighth Gate.”
After running through the tunnels, through twists and turns and past dungeons, they found the stairway up and opened the trapdoor. They climbed, then ran on outside, in the cold, wet air, to the Gate. Have they already gone? Maggie wondered, heart pounding. Did we miss them? The dread of the unknown made her feet fly. At the gate, they all stopped.
Frain sniffed the air. “A car’s been here,” he said.
“Look,” Hugh said, pointing to the still body of the Coldstream Guard. He ran over and put his hand to the guard’s throat. “Dead.”
“Yes, I’d say they came this way,” Frain said.
Oh, no, thought Maggie. Too late, too late. She wanted to stamp her feet, throw rocks, swear at the top of her lungs. But she had a job to do. “They could be taking her anywhere,” she said, pacing. “They could have a plane tucked away somewhere, they could be going anywhere on the coast for a ship.…” Maggie looked down. Then she used the flashlight to take a better look. “Wait—Lilibet left us a message!”
Frain and Hugh came over and looked at the markings, then looked at each other.
But Maggie was already kneeling, her heart bursting with hope. “Oh, smart girl,” she said. “Brilliant, brilliant girl.”
“We can’t read that,” Hugh said.
“But I can.” She quickly decrypted the message, using the alphabet code Lilibet had created. “Audrey and Poulter are taking her to Mossley. For a U-boat pickup.” Finally, a lead! At least this way we have a shot at intercepting them before they get to the water.
She got back to her feet and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Peter, call the cavalry and tell them we’re going to need them in Mossley.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Frain said, his face twisting in a grim smile.
Maggie began running to the castle’s car park. “Come on, Hugh,” Maggie said over her shoulder, “let’s get going!”
From the P.M.’s rooms in the castle, Peter Frain ran the search. Every police station from Windsor to Mossley was alerted. Descriptions of Audrey Moreau and George Poulter were circulated. Frain used motorcycle couriers to dispatch photographs of the two to cities, towns, and villages en route. Most were only told that there had been a kidnapping.
Frain contacted the Admiralty and advised them to be on the lookout for U-boats approaching the coastline in the Norfolk area. He contacted the Coast Guard and asked them to keep a watch for any small craft heading out to sea. He telephoned the Y-service radio monitors and asked them to be on the lookout for suspicious wireless transmissions.
When Frain had done all he could think of, he rose from the desk, rubbing the back of his neck. Things were grim, he knew, and every second that passed made things worse.
The Prime Minister looked at him from across the room. They exchanged the glance of battle survivors—dazed and weary. The King had joined them on hearing the news. He now sat alone, head bowed, hands twisting around each other. His arm was bandaged and in a white sling. The P.M. rose and walked to him. The room was silent.