Velvet Undercover (18 page)

The Take: Information gathered by an agent or agents during an undercover operation.

I
freeze, then whirl about, looking for a possible intruder. Prince Wilhelm's eyes are wide as he stares at his teacher, still and quiet on the Noah's Ark rug. The stomping of the younger children nearing the schoolroom grows louder and I bend to look the transfixed boy in the face.

“Wilhelm! Look at me. Fräulein Lillian is very ill. We mustn't let the little ones see or they'll have nightmares.” He nods, but his eyes keep going back to where Lillian is lying. I grab his shoulder and give him a little shake. “You must take them all back to the nursery. Can you do that for me? Tell them they will get treats if they obey. You have to be in charge.”

His small shoulders square as he turns and heads back out into the hallway. I hear his voice ordering the children away.

“Guard!” I call, rushing to Lillian's side. I kneel next to her and pick up her hand. It's lifeless and cold, and my heart sinks. She's so pale I can see delicate blue veins tracing her
eyelids. Her shining blond hair is matted with blood on one side of her head and my stomach heaves as I spot a neat round hole in her temple. Several feet away, I see a small-caliber gun. For a flash of a moment I remember the gun I found in Lillian's pocket, and my stomach heaves. Dropping her hand, I scramble backward, whimpering as the guard hurries past me. He skids to a stop and looks away, cursing under his breath.

The next few minutes are a blur as the guards sound the alarm. Someone leads me to a chair and shoves a glass of water in my hand. Clutching the glass, I sit and watch as guards come in and out of the room, creating disorder where this morning there had been only peace and orderliness.

Someone thoughtfully covers Lillian's body with a blanket. No matter how hard I try to keep from looking, my eyes keep darting in her direction.

How could this have happened? Just an hour before, we'd been discussing her calling as a teacher, and now she is dead. My throat swells. We will never have that tea and chat.

As chaos reigns all around me, I'm suddenly stricken with a horrifying thought.

If Lillian was Velvet and she is now dead, what does that mean?

My blood runs cold as I consider the ramifications. If Velvet is dead, how will we know what new weapon the Germans have? Did someone kill Lillian for that information? If so, who? I swallow hard, knowing that the spring offensive is just around the corner. What could this mean for the men in the trenches?

“Sophia Thérèse! Are you all right?”

Maxwell's voice reaches me from across the room and, for a moment, I almost run to him. Then I remember how upset he had seemed with me earlier and my grip tightens on my water glass.

I meet his gaze and his eyes show only concern. Remembering how many other officers and soldiers are in the room, I nod formally. “Yes, Corporal Mayer. I am fine, though considerably shaken. I don't understand how this could have happened.”

He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “Neither do I.”

“We were hoping you could tell us.” A burly police officer has joined Max. “I am Captain Friedrich and I need to ask you a few questions,” he says. “Can you tell me your whereabouts the last hour or so?”

“I was with the children in the Lustgarten. Lillian told me to take them for an outing. We were gone only a little while.”

The captain nods as if I am confirming a story he already knows. Heard it from the children's guard, no doubt.

“Did Fräulein Bouchard seem upset today?”

I'm about to shake my head, then I stop, remembering. “A bit,” I answer. “She told me she was worried about her family in France.”

Max and Captain Friedrich exchange glances.

“Has Fräulein Bouchard ever seemed deranged or unstable?” the captain asks.

“Of course not!”

“What is going on, Captain Friedrich?” The crown prince
muscles his way into the crowded schoolroom and then stops dead when he spots the body on the floor. His face pales.

The captain steps forward. “Fräulein von Schönburg took the children to the Lustgarten for some exercise, and when they returned, they found your governess on the floor.”

The prince winces and glances my way. “How much did the children see?”

“Prince Wilhelm saw everything,” I tell him. “But together we kept the little ones out of the room.”

He nods, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

I wrap my arms about myself, suddenly cold.

“Someone get a blanket,” Max says. “The Fräulein has had a terrible shock.”

“It's a sad episode, Prince Wilhelm, but the children were never in any danger,” the captain says. “At least your governess had the tact to wait until the children were gone before ending her life.”

Shock jolts through my body and my head jerks up. “Lillian didn't kill herself! She wouldn't! She was murdered!”

The room falls silent and the captain clears his throat. “And how would you know that, Fräulein? Who would want to kill a governess?”

Beside me, Maxwell stiffens, and everyone stills, waiting for my reply. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How can I explain to them without giving myself away?

There's a moment of silence before Max puts his hand on my shoulder. “I think Fräulein von Schönburg is just dazed by the events of the afternoon. She and Fräulein Bouchard
were no doubt good friends.”

I nod, still speechless. I'd almost made a terrible tactical blunder. I glance at Lillian's shrouded body. But who could blame me?

The captain and the prince continue to question me, though I don't have a lot to add. Max moves from my side and I watch him as I give my answers. He circles the schoolroom, peering under tables and behind bookshelves, finally reaching the alcove where the toy box is kept. Is he merely investigating a crime scene? None of the other guards are poking about so obviously. They're all standing in the middle of the room talking.

Maxwell bends over the box and I wonder what he's looking at, when the prince suddenly calls to him.

Max startles.

“Could you please escort Fräulein von Schönburg to her quarters?”

“Of course.” Maxwell hurries back and helps me to my feet.

Surprisingly, the prince stops me with a hand on my arm. “Thank you for your quick thinking with the children. I'll speak to Wilhelm before he goes to sleep tonight.”

I bow my head. As we're walking, I see Maxwell's eyes dart back to the small alcove. I follow his gaze and notice that the rug on the shining wooden floor is not in its place and neither is the toy box that sits on the rug. I spot the almost undetectable outline of a square cut in the wood.

The trapdoor.

Shocked, I glance back at Max, but his face reveals nothing as we leave the room.

My mind races. Max said the tunnels went to the schoolroom, but I haven't thought about the conversation since and never looked for the trapdoor. I would have spotted it earlier except that the rug and the toy box were always sitting on top of it, no doubt to keep inquisitive children from tumbling down into the tunnels.

But everything had been moved, which could only mean that someone had used it recently.

Perhaps even this afternoon while I was in the park with the children.

I look at Max's face again. Why hadn't he pointed it out to the captain? My brain, swift and logical, comes to the only conclusion possible.

Because Maxwell was the one who had gone down it. Hadn't I seen him earlier hurrying out of the Grand Hall? My stomach lurches.

Could Maxwell have killed Lillian?

Even as my heart rejects the possibility, my mind turns the idea over and over, examining it from all angles. Maxwell had been called a hero after the incident with the assassin, but perhaps that's not the way it was at all. By the time we reach my door, I'm shaking.

He pauses, placing a gentle finger under my chin and tilting it upward so he can see my face. The dark eyes searching mine are filled with sadness.

“I am sorry about your friend, Sophia Thérèse.” He takes
my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers so tenderly that tears spring to my eyes. “I suggest you rest. You've been through a lot.”

I nod and he leaves. Shutting and locking the door behind me, I collapse onto the chair and cover my face with my hands. I can't get the image of Lillian lying on the floor out of my mind. Could Maxwell really have killed her? I remember the look in his eyes just moments ago and I feel that he isn't capable, but then I remember how he and the assassin had faced off in the reception room and how angry he'd been with me earlier.

My heart constricts and I realize that I don't know Maxwell Mayer at all. No matter how much I wish things were different, we didn't meet in my real life.

I pace the room, my thoughts whirling about in my head like ribbons round the maypole.

If Lillian
was
Velvet, La Dame Blanche and the Allies just lost what may have been their most important asset. What if Lillian was killed because she was discovered? How long before someone discovers me? Panic swirls in my stomach.

No. If Abwehr did discover that Lillian was an undercover agent, they wouldn't just kill her, would they? Wouldn't she be worth more alive than dead?

I plop down on my bed and rub my temples. I have to do something. Even if Lillian was Velvet, she didn't deserve to die. And if she wasn't . . . But who would want her dead if she wasn't Velvet? Who would want to kill a governess? I close my eyes, thinking. Mathilde hated her, but not enough
to kill her. Not with a gun. As far as I know, everyone else adored her.

Mathilde did tell me that Lillian's nose was out of joint because she and the duchess were close until Marissa showed up. Could there have been bad blood between Lillian and Marissa? If so, I never noticed. The only one I've ever seen arguing with Lillian is . . . Suddenly an image of Mrs. Tremaine's face flashes before my eyes. Mrs. Tremaine knows something. I'm sure of it.

Throwing caution to the wind, I leap up and hurry to the servants' lounge. If there's one person who knows where Mrs. Tremaine is staying, it'll be Mathilde.

I find her, along with several other servants, all knotted together in the middle of the room. Her face is streaked with tears. “Oh, isn't it horrible?” she wails when she sees me. “That poor woman. How could this happen?”

Mathilde seems to have forgotten her dislike of Lillian in the midst of all the drama. I shove away my aversion. “Can I speak to you alone?” I ask.

“Of course.” She flashes the others a smug look over her shoulder. “This must be so difficult for you,” she says, following me from the room.

“I need your help,” I tell her before she can go into how sorry she is about that poor teacher.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to show me to Mrs. Tremaine's room.”

Mathilde raises an eyebrow.

“Mathilde, it's important.” I'll offer her a bribe if I have
to. I need to see Mrs. Tremaine before I lose my nerve.

She doesn't hesitate. “Follow me.”

Mathilde takes me to the west side of the palace, far away from the family quarters. I wonder if that was the prince's doing—as if keeping his lover far away from his wife would fool anyone.

“Thank you, Mathilde,” I say. “I owe you.”

“That you do,” she says cheerfully.

I wait until she leaves before I face the door, my heart pounding. Now that I'm here, it doesn't seem like such a good idea. I know Miss Tickford certainly wouldn't think so, but then Miss Tickford isn't here. Or rather she's in Berlin somewhere, but she certainly hasn't been that helpful so far. For all intents and purposes, I'm on my own.

How can I confront Mrs. Tremaine without giving myself away?

Very carefully, that's how.

I rap sharply on the door and Arnold opens it almost immediately.

“Who is it?” Mrs. Tremaine calls from the other side of the room. “Tell whoever it is that I'm very tired and to go away.”

I muscle my way past Arnold and then stop short, almost gasping at the opulence. The room looks somewhat as you would expect heaven to—all white and gold. If there had been a harp in the corner, I would not have been surprised. Heavy velvet draperies hang at the windows, snow-color lambskin rugs dot the floors, and the furniture has been
finished in gold leaf so brilliant it almost makes me blink.

Mrs. Tremaine is lying on a divan across the room with a washcloth pressed to her forehead. Penny barks.

“Well, you don't listen very well,” Mrs. Tremaine says, sitting up. In spite of the dark circles marring her face and her auburn hair a mess, she's still languidly beautiful. “I really wasn't expecting company.”

She smooths her venetian-blue tea gown trimmed with Valenciennes lace and waves toward a tea cart next to the divan. “I was just going to have some tea. Now that you're here, you might as well join me. Arnold, please get Miss von Schönburg a cup.”

“I'm fine, thank you, Arnold.”

“Oh, please, you've interrupted my rest, the least you can do is have tea with me.” Her lilting voice belies the fatigue I see in her blue eyes.

“Of course.” I sit on the stiff Louis XVI chair across from her and reach for the cup of tea Arnold hands me. Taking a sip, I peer at Mrs. Tremaine over the rim of my cup. Is she really who she presents herself to be? When we first met, I thought her an Australian version of the French
femme fatale
—a seductress only interested in dalliances with rich men, and in gossip and court machinations. But after discovering that she and Lillian were involved in some sort of intrigue, I began to doubt my original assessment. Could this vain coquette be a spy? If so, who is she working for? It certainly can't be Germany.

Whatever she and Lillian were arguing about this
morning made Mrs. Tremaine angry—but angry enough to sneak back hours later and kill her in cold blood?