Velvet Undercover (24 page)

It's now or never.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turn suddenly and bump into Bernard, elbowing him in the middle. He bends over
slightly and I step next to Miss Tickford and shove my pistol in her ribs. Her eyes widen with shock when she realizes what's happening.

“I'll kill him,” she warns.

Without Marissa here, it's become Bernard's and Miss Tickford's guns against mine, but at this point I don't care. “If you do, you're a dead woman,” I spit out. “No matter what else happens, I'll make sure you'll never be able to hurt anyone else.”

And there is no doubt in my mind that I mean it.

I spot Marissa emerging from the crowd moments before she slams Miss Tickford's wrist with her own gun. Miss Tickford's pistol falls from her hand and my father snatches it up.

“Checkmate,” I whisper fiercely into Miss Tickford's ear.

It only takes Bernard an instant to realize the situation is out of control. He melts into the crowd.

“Let's take a walk, shall we?” my father says.

I see resignation on Miss Tickford's face as she nods. With three guns trained on her, she has no choice but to go with us, and I bite back a victorious cheer. Logically, I know that we have a lot to do before we're safe, but at the moment, I feel triumphant.

My father seems to know where we're going and I'm content to put everything in his hands. In spite of the danger that still surrounds us, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief and let go of some of the tension that has been weighing me down ever since Captain Parker and I had our chat all those weeks ago.

“That was an ingenious distraction,” I whisper to Marissa as we follow behind my father and Miss Tickford.

“It wasn't my idea,” she whispers back.

Surprised, I look at her. She nods her head sideways and I turn. A young man standing in the shadows watching the chaos catches my attention. My breath hitches.

Maxwell.

Our eyes catch and hold for a moment that spins out for an eternity. The crowd feels like a great divide that can't be crossed, no matter how badly I long to go to him.

He gives me the tiniest of nods before disappearing into the mass of people.

My head swivels back to Marissa and her lips curve upward.

“What? Who?” I stammer.

“I think you would know him best as Velvet.”

O
ne of the things I've always loved about our London house is the garden. It isn't a particularly remarkable garden—it's not filled with classical statuary, exotic flowers, or award-winning roses. Apparently, my grandmother's many talents didn't extend to having a green thumb. Most of the plants are rather pedestrian—a nice patch of grass, a few bulbs, and your basic snowball bushes and lilacs. What the garden does boast is absolute privacy due to tall, moss-covered stone walls, along with an absolutely magnificent arbor constructed of wrought iron and covered in English ivy. The arbor shades a small table and several chairs, and nothing is lovelier than having tea on a warm afternoon while half-hidden in a fragrant embrace of green.

My father and I are sipping our tea, not saying much of anything. I've spent a great deal of time the past couple of weeks in this garden, with my father or my mother or Rose.

“You know your mother is still mad at me,” my father says.

I nod. “As well she should be, really.” I grin, mimicking my mother's tone exactly. “Playing spy at your age.”

My father smiles back and my heart fills with happiness. His cheeks have filled out and his barber laid waste to his beard, leaving just a small, distinguished goatee. We've only been home for a few weeks and I already know that my father probably won't go off spying anytime soon. The work he'd been doing for MI6 was as dangerous as it was necessary—he, Marissa, and Maxwell had been passing information to both England and America, hoping to expedite America's entry into the war. For now, Father's simply enjoying his leave of absence, but he's an active man with a strong sense of duty and I can't see him remaining idle for long.

I sip my tea and lean back in the chair, enjoying the solitude. Glancing over at my father, I bring up the question that has been on my mind since we escaped the apartment. The question that, for some reason, felt too raw to say out loud.

I take a deep breath. “Did you work with Corporal Mayer? You said you worked with two people inside the Stadtschloss. Was Maxwell one of them?” My heart twinges just saying his name. I don't know if I'll ever be able to think of that moment on the rooftop without pain.

My father settles back in the chair and stares off into the distance, though I know he isn't looking at the clouds.

“Maxwell Mayer is one of the bravest, most patriotic Germans I've ever met,” my father finally says. “He passed along information to me, yes, but never information that would put German men in danger. As a moral man, he couldn't possibly stand by and watch so many men be killed with chemical weapons, even if the German state does consider the men to be enemies. To Maxwell, people are human beings no matter where they're born.”

I clench my hands in my lap. There is so much I still want to say to Max. It hurts, knowing I'll never get the chance. I change the subject.

“You know, I never understood exactly how the prince was involved.”

“Did Maxwell ever tell you who his father was?”

I shake my head. “Just that he and the kaiser were good friends.”

“They were more than good friends, they were like brothers. Maxwell's father was the prince's godfather, just as the kaiser is Maxwell's godfather. Maxwell went to the prince with his concerns about chemical weaponry and the prince agreed that unleashing poisonous gas on the world is reprehensible. For all the good it's done.”

I remember the conversation I'd overheard Marissa having about the prince. I suck in a breath. Of course. It had been Maxwell in the alley.

How hard he must have worked to try to stop the inevitable.

Tears spring to my eyes and I look away to regain my
composure. The Germans loosed chemical weaponry on the world just weeks ago in Ypres. Even though we gave the British government the information we had concerning the weapons, the plan had already been set in motion and the damage done. Over two hundred soldiers were affected horribly and forty-six of those men died.

I remember the birds flying off into the twilight sky and wonder if anyone who had received my message even cared.

My father reaches over and pats my hand. “You did the right thing,” he says, as if knowing my thoughts. “And our government does have the formula.”

“So they can use it, too?” I ask bitterly. “Or perhaps develop something even more deadly?”

He says nothing, but I already know the answer. Each new weapon will develop into one even more lethal. Who knows where it will end.

Silence stretches out between us and a flock of starlings passes overhead.

“So was Maxwell really Velvet?” I ask.

My father shrugs. “He had many names. Perhaps to La Dame Blanche, he is Velvet. To MI6, he is known as Helmut. Miss Tickford sent you in a completely wrong direction, so I think everything was just guesswork on her part.”

I think of Maxwell—his ready smile and the small kindnesses he showed me so many times. I think of that final act of compassion and caring on the rooftop when he let me leave, not knowing what the ramifications for his country could be.

I wonder if he is still guarding the prince and if he's still passing information to the Allies.

My mind grapples with the many twists and turns of the past weeks. I wish Marissa were here to help me make sense of it all, but she's already left to go back to the States. Father told me his part in everything, of course, but he hasn't yet told me why. Why he left us.

“Why did you take the assignment, Father? Knowing that they would tell us that you had been abducted?”

He's silent for so long that I think he isn't going to answer. Then he faces me, his eyes sad. “Nothing is more important to me than you and your mother, you know that, right?”

I bite my lip. “And yet you left.”

“Yes. And yet I left.”

“Why?”

“Because in protecting England, I was protecting my family. And other families. And truthfully, it feels good to know you have a set of skills that can make a real difference in the world.”

Part of me is dismayed by his decision, but then I remember sitting in Captain Parker's office and being offered a chance to be a part of La Dame Blanche. I remember how torn I felt when I had to turn him down. Wasn't there a little part of me that was almost glad, afterward, that I'd been forced into becoming an agent? Aren't I considering becoming a real LDB agent now?

On the other hand, Miss Tickford was an agent and I don't want to be even remotely like her. I think of what she
did to Lillian and hope she spends the rest of her miserable life in Holloway Prison. Captain Parker is also in prison. He and Miss Tickford were having an affair, which is how she gained so much access to MI6 activities. He's currently being investigated to ascertain exactly what his role was. Considering he was detained on a ship set to sail to South America, I tend to think he knew exactly what was happening in Berlin.

At least Miss Tickford had failed in her attempt to kill Monsieur Elliot. Soon after we'd left the farmhouse, his housekeeper took him to the hospital, where he was treated for poisoning. I smile to myself. It would take more than laudanum to kill someone so cranky.

A shadow crosses the table and I look up to see my mother standing in front of us, an envelope in her hand. “A messenger stopped and said I was to give this to you,” she says, handing me the envelope. She turns to my father. “Come along, George. We promised your sister we'd stop by for afternoon tea. Are you sure you don't want to come?” She directs this last bit at me.

I wave at the books and papers in front of me. “No. I think I'm just going to study for a bit. Tell Rose I'll come by after she gets out of school tomorrow.”

I watch my parents leave. I'm glad for a chance to be alone. I've decided to pursue my studies on my own until I either return to LDB or go to the university. As much as I love the peace and quiet of being home, I've been strangely restless since I got back and need something to fill my time.

I reach for my books and then remember the envelope. I frown upon opening it because none of the words make sense.

The hair suddenly rises on the back of my neck.

It's in code.

I pull my notebook and pencil toward me and get to work. It's a fairly easy code and my pencil flies as everything begins to take shape. I'm breathing hard by the time I write the last words on the paper:
Your friend, Max
.

I start again at the beginning.

Dearest Samantha,

Since we last spoke, I've left my home and have been relocated to a country kind enough to take me in. Of course, they're more interested in what I know than in who I am, but that's understandable. After the poison was released in Ypres, I found that I couldn't stay in Germany any longer. The debriefing may take months, but I hope to be able to return to “work” soon. Do you plan on doing the same?

I think of you often—not the time we last saw each other in the street after the fire, but before that, on the rooftop, when you stood in front of my gun and stared me down, knowing I would
never hurt you. You were so brave to release those birds, trying to warn the world of what was to come. Once I learned what you had done, your bravery shamed me. I knew what they were planning long before that but still believed I could stop it diplomatically. Apparently, I was wrong.

I'd like your permission to visit. I know it's customary to ask the father, but what about our relationship is traditional? Yes, England is the country I have defected to, and I would very much like to continue our friendship. If I may visit, please put a rock on the third step of your stoop as a signal. I will see it. If not, if you would rather forget, I understand.

Your friend,

Max

I finish reading the letter and sit in the dappled shade, too stunned to move.

Max is here. In England.

My breath catches. How hard it must have been for him to leave and how lonely it must be for him here. My heart aches for him and I make a sudden decision.

Actually, the decision was made the moment I read his words.

Leaping to my feet, I snatch up rocks from the garden on my way to the front of the house. Then I count the steps and scatter the rocks across the third one, not caring if Bridget has a fit. Moments later, I'm sitting on the divan, twisting my hands in my lap. I tell myself that I'm being silly, that he couldn't possibly have meant
now
, but my instincts say otherwise, and if I've learned nothing else over the past months, it has been to trust my instincts.

In fact, I'm willing to bet that the messenger was Maxwell himself.

My belief is rewarded by a knock on the door. “I've got it, Bridget,” I call, my heart beating wildly. I race through the sitting room and into the foyer, excitement and trepidation battling in my chest. What if he's changed?

What if he doesn't like Samantha as much as he did Sophia Thérèse?

I swing the door open and there he is. He is holding his hat in his hand and smiling in that warm, kind way he has. I don't think I had any clue just how much I missed that smile.

All my doubts are washed away by crazy, ridiculous happiness. “Maxwell.”

We stare at each other, smiling. He's wearing a dark, rather rumpled suit, and it's wonderfully odd to see him out of his pressed uniform. His hair is mussed up and there's a leaf on his shoulder.

I reach out and brush it off. “Where were you waiting?”

He waves his hand. “Behind the tree across the street. I didn't think it proper to just show up. What do you say,
Samantha? May I come in?” The hope and uncertainty on his face bruise my heart as I move aside to let Maxwell Mayer step into my life.

My real one.