Velvet Undercover (13 page)

Meet me by the fountain tomorrow night at ten.

I frown. Obviously, this is meant for Lillian. But who wrote it? I look at the note again, but there's no way of knowing if she received this today or yesterday, or even a week ago. It could have been in her pocket for days, for all I know. No. I'm betting that she received it this morning. She came to fetch me wearing the red sweater.

I wonder if this has something to do with the mysterious visit with the young man.

But what fountain? Sighing, I slump in the chair. Did I really think it was going to be simple? If figuring out who Velvet is was easy, the people at La Dame Blanche would have done it already and she'd be safely out of Germany.

I rub my temples, trying to think it through logically. The information Velvet had been passing along has to do with troop movements. So wouldn't the person giving her the information have something to do with the German army? A strategist, perhaps? But now she has information regarding some kind of new weapon. Where could she obtain that sort of intelligence?

There has to be a way I can find out.

I need to search Marissa's and Lillian's rooms, but I hesitate to do so until I'm certain I have the time to do so safely. Besides, I need to have a clearer idea of which direction I should be going in. Right now, given the note, Lillian seems
most likely, but I need more information. Who would have their finger on the pulse of all the gossip in the palace? It comes to me in a flash.

The servants, of course. The ones who hate me because I'm a governess. I stand and smooth out my gray serge skirt. As a governess and someone related to the duchess, I can elect to have my meals brought to my room, but I think perhaps it's time for me to make friends.

Problem is, none of them wish to make friends with me.

Supper is served buffet style. The fare is simple: stew, biscuits, sausages, and the like. Lillian is nowhere to be seen, which doesn't surprise me, given the mutual antipathy between her and the maids. She no doubt takes her supper in her room. That actually serves my purpose quite well.

Several girls are eating at a small table while a number of footmen and other male servants are eating at the big table. I help myself to a cup of tea and a plate of stew and biscuits from the sideboard. I hesitate a moment before joining the women.

A ginger-haired girl with snapping brown eyes gives me the once-over as I sit. I smile at her but she ignores me.

“Look who decided to slum it,” she says to the others, as if I'm not there.

“Imagine, the likes of her eating supper with the likes of us,” a girl with a snubbed nose says.

The other one darts a look at me out of the corner of her eye and bites her lip as if unsure of what to do.

Taking a deep breath, I play along. “Perhaps she's just
tired from spending the day with a dictator and six spoiled monsters and is in need of some decent conversation.” I take a sip of my tea, watching them out of the corner of my eye. The reaction to my words is tangible. One girl gasps and then looks to see if the men overheard me. The ginger-haired girl grins.

“Rough day, I take it. I was wondering what it would be like to work with her unroyal highness. She gives herself such airs, but unlike you, she has no tie to the royal family.”

My brows arch. The rumor mill is skilled. “How do you know about my connection to the duchess?”

The ginger-haired girl snorts. “Lovely Lillian let it slip to everyone within earshot. I'm Mathilde, by the way, and this is Deirdre, and Johanna.” The other girls nod shyly, but there is nothing shy about Mathilde.

“So what are you doing here with us?” she asks.

It's my turn to snort. “I'm on staff—no matter what my connections are.” I steer the conversation away from myself. “How long has Lillian worked here?”

“She's been here for a little over a year, but you'd think she owned the place,” Mathilde says. “Took right over and looks down her nose at everyone. She has no friends here at all.”

The other girls let Mathilde do all the talking, but they punctuate her words with nods.

“None?” I ask, thinking about the note I'd secreted back in my room.

Mathilde shakes her head. “None that I know of.”

I take a sip of tea, trying to figure out how to discover what the staff knows about Marissa Baum. Fortunately, Mathilde gives me the opportunity with her next words.

“I think she's trying to use the children to ingratiate herself with the duchess. It might have worked except that Miss Baum showed up.”

“What happened after that?” I ask.

“Ever since then it's been nothing but Miss Baum for the duchess. Put the lovely Lillian's nose quite out of joint, I'm sure.”

“I met Miss Baum today,” I say.

Mathilde sniffs. “She's quite nice, but no manners whatsoever. But then, what can you expect from an American? She and the duchess go out all hours. The empress quite hates it. Thinks it's improper.”

I hide a grin. If you want gossip and information, always go to the staff. They know far, far more than anyone thinks they do and are usually quite willing to share their knowledge. “What do they do when they go out? Does Miss Baum have any particular young men she likes?”

Mathilde shakes her head. “No. She prefers old army types. Quite the scandal.”

My eyebrows arch. This is exactly the type of information I was hoping for. “What sort of old men?” I ask, but just then a young woman in an upstairs-maid uniform bursts into the room.

She pauses in the doorway, her hand dramatically clutching her chest. “Did you hear? Oh, it's horrible!”

Everyone halts what they are doing and listens with varying degrees of interest. Only Mathilde shrugs her shoulders. “Hear what?”

“There's been a man shot dead in the Grand Hall!”

I freeze as the room suddenly erupts in horror. Several servants rush over to the maid, who is still grasping her chest. Mathilde leaps up and helps the overwrought woman to the divan.

I listen, my heart thudding, as she relates her story to her captive audience.

“I was going through the Grand Hall—you know how I dust the portraits every Tuesday evening, yes?” Several people nod, and she continues. “Well, I just saw a crowd of people all looking down at something and talking. There were guards everywhere and some had their guns drawn. Then I saw what they were looking at.” At this point her eyes widen so much they look like marbles. “It was the body of a man!”

“No! In the Grand Hall? Who was it?” someone asks.

“Listen and I'll tell you!” the woman says, cross at having her moment interrupted. Everyone leans closer to catch her words. I'm so still, I feel my heart pulsing in my throat.

“An assassin!”

“No!”

The woman's head bobs. “That's what the guards were saying—and I saw him myself in a pool of blood.”

“But who was it?” Mathilde asks.

“Well, I don't know! It's not as if he left his calling card
in the bowl at the door! They don't know who he was after. That handsome young guard shot him. Quite the hero.”

I look down at my stew, my stomach churning. An image of the moment I left them replays in my mind. Maxwell with his gun to the man's head and the man so quiet and still, as if daring Max to do it.

Apparently, Max did.

Quietly, I get up and slip out of the room unnoticed. I remember the tour through the tunnels Maxwell had given me and how ready to smile he was, so different from his official guard persona. Who knew that only moments after, he would be forced to kill someone?

Horror fills my chest, even though, logically, I understand that Max is a guard for the royal family. He wouldn't and shouldn't even hesitate if he thought the family was in danger.

But there was no family in the hall, and what's more, there was a look of recognition in the man's eyes as soon as he saw Maxwell. He knew who Max was, I know he did.

I shake my head. I can't get sidetracked. I must remain focused on finding Velvet.

But I can't help praying that Max is all right.

Hunting Pack: A surveillance team of agents stalking a target from one place to another.

T
he schoolroom routine is almost the same the next morning, except we don't go out to the courtyard for a break. I wonder if it's because of the assassin, but Lillian doesn't say and I don't ask. I do notice that there is now a guard stationed in front of the schoolroom door.

In spite of the undercurrent of tension, I can't help but notice what a wonderful teacher Lillian is. Leaving the little ones to their writing, I move closer to where Lillian and the older ones are discussing science.

I smile when she glances over at me. “It's a rare classroom that teaches chemistry this young,” I tell her.

“Trust me, chemistry is going to rule the world someday. It's a bit of a passion of mine.” She turns back to the children. “Finish reading the rest of the chapter and then I'll quiz you on it.”

A governess who's passionate about chemistry? She seems more the literary type, but perhaps I've read her wrong.
Still, I file her words away. Perhaps they mean something or perhaps not. I can't take anything for granted.

Lillian doesn't seem in the mood to chat when we finish school, so I excuse myself and make my way back to my room. I've only been here for a few days, but I'm no closer to finding out who Velvet is than when I arrived. My heart sinks. I could be here for weeks.

All I can do is pray that Captain Parker is keeping his end of the bargain and investigating my father's disappearance. If I pull this off, MI6 is going to owe me, and all I want is information on my father's whereabouts so I can go get him.

If he's still alive.

By the time I reach my room I'm out of sorts and ready for a rest before supper. It isn't until I put my hand on the knob that I realize my door is ajar.

I freeze. Had I left it open this morning? No. I'm always careful to lock it because of the false documents and the palace schematics. Then I hear the scrape of a drawer opening.

My heart leaps into my throat and for a moment I'm tempted to call for help. I discard the idea immediately. I can't draw attention to myself. Nor can I go away and let someone fish out any of my secrets.

I make sure I'm alone before stepping closer to the door. Pulling it open just enough to peer through the crack, I suck in a horrified breath.

My room has been ransacked.

From where I'm positioned, I can see drawers hanging open and clothing strewn all over the floor. The covers of
my bed are rumpled and askew. I can't see anyone inside, but know I have to confront whoever is there even though I have no weapon.

Surprise—Monsieur Elliot said my best weapon is surprise, so I take a deep breath and slip into the room.

My eyes dart around, but I see no one. The lid to the jewelry box is open and my heart lurches. Have I been discovered?

Suddenly a stocky, blond-haired man steps out of the bathroom, his eyes flying open when he sees me standing in front of the door. Without thinking, I launch myself forward, tackling him at the waist. He falls heavily, pinning me on the floor before scrambling to his feet. I turn quickly, arms raised in a defensive position, but he's more interested in escaping than in fighting and is out the door in a flash.

Leaping to my feet, I race to the door but only catch a glimpse of him as he rounds the corner. I consider following, but the sound of voices coming from the other direction makes up my mind. Stepping quickly back into my room, I quietly shut the door. The last thing I need is for someone to see the mess and ask questions.

Trembling, I cover my mouth with my hand as I survey my room. Could someone know something? But how? I run the last couple of days through my mind. Had I unintentionally given myself away? The only real close calls were when Prince Hubertus rubbed off some of my birthmark with his finger and when I accidentally said “excuse me” to Maxwell in English instead of German.

I dismiss the Hubertus incident from my mind and concentrate on Maxwell. He
is
a family guard, no matter how nice he is. It's his job to be mistrustful. Maybe he suspected something, even though he didn't seem to notice at the time.

Had he been a little too friendly on our tour through the tunnels? Asked too many questions? No. Nothing in his behavior seemed out of the ordinary. Besides, if he suspected something, wouldn't the guards be here looking through my things instead of an unknown man who ran the moment he could?

Hurrying over to the small jewelry box Miss Tickford gave me, I dump the contents out onto the desk and remove the false bottom. The little packets of sleeping powder and poison spill onto the desk. I note that several pieces of jewelry are missing and take a deep, shaky breath. Not espionage. A simple robbery.

For a moment I consider alerting the guards, but I decide against it. That last thing I want is to call attention to myself in any way.

I straighten up my quarters, practically jumping out of my skin every time someone walks past my door. All I want to do is crawl under my covers and sleep, and then I realize that if someone came into my room it means that someone has a key. Besides, I can't go to bed even if I could sleep. My job isn't finished yet. I have to find out who Lillian is meeting.

I know I won't be able to eat anything, so I sit on the edge of my bed and wait. I remember seeing a fountain in the
courtyard where the children play, but there are also fountains in the Lustgarten, across from the palace. Somehow I think that one would be a more likely meeting spot. It's more private and removed from prying palace eyes.

I wait until twenty-five minutes to ten and then slip into my coat. Opening the door slowly, I make certain there is no one out and about before hurrying down the hall. I wish I knew if Max's tunnel to the Lustgarten was passable. Though on second thought, I'm not sure I want to go through the tunnels at night.

According to Lillian, the housekeepers are not as strict about female curfews as they used to be, but I'd just as soon not have to explain what I'm doing wandering about so late at night.

Voices waft out from the servants' lounge as I hurry past. I'm fairly sure I know the way out, but it takes me two tries before I find the servants' door onto the street.

A husky guard raises an eyebrow as I appear and I give him what I hope is a saucy grin. “I'll be back in just a bit. I do hope that's all right.”

He grins. “I've been known to look the other way now and again . . . for a price.”

I nod. I'd expected as much. “I'll pay your price on my way back in.”

“Smart girl. Now don't keep your young man waiting.”

I smile again and hurry down the street, pulling my hood as far over my head as it will go. My blond curls are a dead giveaway and I'm hoping to find Lillian, see who she's
meeting, and make it back to my room without detection.

There are few people out on the street this late and I'm fairly certain that most of those I pass are up to no good, if their rough appearance is any indication.

The Lustgarten is a testament to Germany's love of the orderly. It's divided up into six grass sections, with concrete walks between the sections. Different statues, including the one of Zeus, surround the garden. There are two fountains, one on either entrance to the garden, and I have no clue as to which one is their meeting place.

I don't have a lot of options for places to hide, so I choose the equestrian statue of Friedrich Wilhelm III, former king of Prussia. The base of the statue is tiered like a wedding cake, and around the first tier is a circle of life-size stone figures of people important to the Prussian state. I look around to make sure I'm alone and climb up to join them. Ducking behind a monk, I crouch down and peer out over the grass. From this position, I'll be able to keep an eye on both fountains until I know which one is the meeting spot. It's not ideal, but with any luck they'll pass close by. If not, I suppose I'll be reduced to following them, which I'd prefer not to do. I'm simply not confident enough in my surveillance abilities.

A bright half-moon shines across the parade ground and glints off the fountain at the exit of the garden. My breath hitches when I spot a woman hurrying across the grass. She's wearing a cape and I can't see her face, but her height is the same as Lillian's.

The woman circles the fountain impatiently, her head swiveling this way and that. She pushes the hood of her cloak back and the moonlight glints off of Lillian's blond hair.

I breathe a sigh of relief in spite of the cramping in my legs. I'm so intent on Lillian that I nearly miss the person passing five feet from my position.

My heart leaps in my chest and I still, not even daring to breathe.

It's a woman. I hear her skirts swish as she passes, but a wide-brimmed picture hat obscures her face. The scent of something floral wafts up toward me. I frown as I recognize the scent. I try to remember where I've smelled it before, but am distracted as Lillian turns and hurries to meet her.

The two stand for several minutes. I can hear the rise and fall of their voices, but they're too far away for me to hear what they're saying. Maybe if I jumped down from the base of the statue I would be able to hear better?

I carefully make my way past several other stone figures so I'm further out of the two women's line of vision. Holding my breath, I ease my way down and drop the last three feet to the ground. I land on a small rock and my foot rolls out from underneath me. A sharp pain slices through my ankle as I fall heavily to the ground and bite back a cry.

Then a dog barks.

My head whips sideways, but they don't see me. Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I swiftly move to the opposite side of the statue, my heart beating wildly.

I stand, frozen, waiting to be discovered, but after a moment of silence the rise and fall of voices continues. I creep back to where I was.

As I peer out at the women, my suspicion is confirmed when I see a small white dog poking about on the grass at their feet.

Penny.

Why would Lillian and Mrs. Tremaine be meeting in secret in the dead of night? How would a French-German governess know an Australian opera singer?

Is this the proof I need that Lillian is Velvet? It's not like I can waltz up to them and ask.

Since I can't get any closer, I decide not to push my luck. Staying out of sight, I hurry back toward the palace. I slow my steps as I near the guard, not wanting to look as if I'm running from someone. He tips his cap and holds out his palm.

I roll my eyes as I hand him a few coins.

He smiles. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Me too,” I say as he holds the door open for me.

“This has been an unusually lucrative night for me.”

I pause on the threshold. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Just a lot of coming and going.”

“Really?” I keep my voice casual. “You've been busy, then. Who's been coming and going?”

He puts his palm back out and my eyes narrow as I dig out another coin.

He takes the money and shrugs. “The other governess,
for one, and one of the prince's private guards went out right after you did. Oddly enough, that friend of the duchess, Fräulein Baum, decided she needed to take the back way out, too.”

“And they all paid you?” I ask, my mind spinning. I put my hand on the doorjamb to steady myself. Could someone suspect me?

“All except the guard. I don't take gifts from the guards.”

“Smart man,” I murmur before heading up to my room. The last thing I want is for one of them to come back and catch me coming into the palace. Right now my room seems like the only safe place in the entire world.

Then I remember the man going through my things and it doesn't seem so safe anymore. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe I'll be sharper if I don't feel safe anywhere. I'm a spy. Safety of any kind is just an illusion.

Once I return to my room, I get ready for bed, my thoughts floating about in my mind like tattered bits of paper. I know why Lillian is out and about, but what about Marissa and the guard? Could it have been Maxwell?

After tilting the chair against my door for added protection, I crawl into bed, remembering that I'm going sightseeing with Maxwell tomorrow after school is done for the day. Maybe I can find a way to ask him what he did tonight without being obvious. Because the last thing I want is to make one of the prince's private guards suspicious of me.

If anything, the schoolroom is even more tense than it had been the day before, which makes me think that the authorities still don't know who the assassin is. I wonder if Maxwell will still be able to take me sightseeing.

Lillian is tired and pensive, and she uncharacteristically snaps at the children several times.

The note is tucked in the pocket of my own sweater. I'd planned on slipping it back in her pocket, but Lillian kept hers on all morning. So I pretended to pick it up on our way back into the schoolroom after break. “Excuse me, I think you just dropped this.” I hold the note out to her and she snatches it out of my hand, her face mottling.

“Where did that come from? I was looking for it.” She looks at me and then shakes her head. “Never mind. Thank you.”

I watch her closely. Could she really be Velvet? So far the evidence is all circumstantial—the secretive conversation with the young man, the coded note that she doesn't want anyone to see, her interest in chemistry, and her meeting with an Australian foreigner in the middle of the night. But none of that makes her Velvet. I remember that Miss Tickford told me there might be other plots in the palace and I needed to be careful not to stumble upon one. Kaiser Wilhelm has his enemies and has been called on more than once to abdicate the throne. Even though Prince Wilhelm is considered a playboy, there are many Germans who would rather see a womanizer on the throne than a blowhard like his father. The tension between them and their
different takes on politics is well known. And as Lillian told me, there's infighting among the royal siblings. Perhaps she is involved in one of those plots? It would make sense that Mrs. Tremaine would like to see her lover on the throne. She could be trying to enlist Lillian's help.