Princess Elizabeth's Spy

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, not it’s not.”

Hugh was absolutely still. Then, “Prat.”

“Ass.”

They each lowered their swords and took off their masks.

“So, what do I do?” Hugh said, when he’d caught his breath.

They returned to the garde line, saluted, then stepped forward and shook hands, as tradition dictated.

“I don’t think there’s all that much you can do, really, if Frain’s set on using Nevins,” Mark said, as they walked together to the door. “But you might want to start thinking about breaking things off with Caroline. Because if you feel this strongly about another girl, it’s not fair to string Caroline along.”

Hugh raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re right, damn you.”

“Back to the real fight, then?” Mark said, clapping his friend on the back.

“Indeed.”

A few hours later, Hugh stood in Archer Nevins’s office, a thick manila file in hand. He handed it over to Nevins, a charismatic man with glossed-back hair, just a decade older than Hugh. He had a winning toothy grin, like a politician’s, and the confidence that came from successfully running a number of spy-finding operations. While he was married and had two sons at Harrow, he was infamous, among the female staff at least, at MI-5 for his wandering hands and for seducing any number of receptionists, telephone operators, and typists. Nevins opened the file and flipped through the pages. “The infamous Maggie Hope,” he said.

“As you can see, her current assignment—”

“I do,” Nevins said.

“She already has the clay and the camera, so—”

“And that’s why I’m on this case now, Thompson. Anything else I need to know about her? One man to another?”

“No.”

“What about Frain?”

“What about Frain?”

Nevins looked at Hugh. “Is he still sleeping with her? Or has he moved on?”

Hugh took a deep breath and overcame the urge to punch Nevins in the jaw. “There’s nothing unprofessional between Miss Hope and Mr. Frain.”

“Oh, come, now, Thompson,” Nevins said. “Surely you’re not that naive. How do you think she got this job?”

“Her intelligence and skills.”

Nevins laughed. “I think you’re just jealous.”

Nevins came to the photograph of Maggie, clipped to the back page of the folder. “Well, well, well!” He whistled through his teeth. “Now I know why Frain hired her. Wouldn’t kick that out of bed for eating biscuits.”

Hugh bit the inside of his cheek. “Try anything funny, and she just might kick you.”

“Oh, feisty, is she?”

Hugh silently counted to ten. “Will that be all—sir?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Nevins was still staring at the picture. “ He waved one hand without looking up. “That will be all, Thompson. Dismissed.”

After the Princess’s maths lesson and lunch, Maggie received a message saying the book she’d ordered from Boswell’s had arrived. She left the castle grounds through the King Henry VIII Gate, heels clicking on the cobblestones, walked past the statue of Queen Victoria, then turned right down Peascod Street under the low silvery clouds. But she wasn’t alone.

“Miss Hope!” a man called, catching up to her. She didn’t recognize him from the castle, and she felt a moment of alarm.

“Miss Hope!” he called again, panting and falling into step alongside her. “I’m Archer Nevins.” His breath made clouds in the cold air. “I want to let you know that we’re going to make a fantastic duo.”

Maggie stopped, her eyes narrowing. So this was her new handler. She felt … cheated.

“Mr. Frain’s assigned Mr. Thompson to a less important case.” He wiped at his nose with a linen handkerchief, his monogram embroidered in large ornate letters. “I have more seniority—more experience—and Frain thought you’d be better suited to working with me.”

Maggie started walking again. Since arriving at Windsor, she’d gotten into the habit of taking either an early-morning run or a long afternoon walk on the grounds. She’d began her regime to build up her strength and endurance, but really she just liked to get away from the confines of the castle for a least a few hours a day. In the time she’d been there, she was already getting stronger and faster, and she put her speed to her advantage as they walked down the cobblestoned street.

As Nevins followed, struggling to keep up in his slippery-soled shoes, Maggie felt a wave of anger wash through her. She stopped and faced him, bringing him up short. “Mr. Nevins, I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Have you run the list of names of Windsor Castle and Bletchley Park employees against the list of guests at Claridge’s for the night Victoria Keeley was murdered? I asked Hugh, and he said he’d pass the request to you.”

Nevins laughed. “So, that was your idea, was it? A regular Mata Hari you are. Well, darling, you’ll find I’m not like Hugh Thompson. I, for one, don’t take orders from a woman. In fact, let’s set this straight—I’m the boss. You’ll be taking orders from me.”

“Are you insane?” Maggie hissed. “What are you doing here? And out in the open? Stopping by for tea? Already one woman’s been shot in London and one’s been decapitated here. Since I’m new, there are any number of people at the castle suspicious of me. You’re abusing the privilege of the handler position.”

“This is why I don’t like to work with women,” Nevins said softly, “no matter how attractive the package. You women may be clever—and you’re reputed to be quite clever—but you’re not intelligent. You may be able to obtain information in a given situation, but you can’t put it all together.” He smiled. “It’s why you have me, of course.”

Maggie felt her face grow hot, and started walking again. “That’s not how I see things. Or Mr. Frain.”

Nevins laughed, a pinched, mean laugh. “Frain’s a pragmatist. He saw that he could get you into Windsor, and because of your sex, you’d be less obvious—especially when dealing with a child. A good role for a woman, I suppose. But honestly, I’d rather see Thompson or Standish in the field on this one, not you. Although I wouldn’t mind your sitting just outside my office. You’d dress the place up nicely.”

“Are you joking?” Maggie managed. ‘Look, Mr. Nevins, I’m a professional. And I expect to be treated as such. Understood?”

Nevins looked as though Cupid’s arrow had just pierced his heart. “You have pluck, Maggie,” he managed, finally. “So very American. And you like the chase, it seems. I just hope you haven’t picked up any of your father’s habits.”

“My father?” Maggie spluttered. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“You don’t know?” Nevins whistled. “He was investigated for being a double agent for Germany in the last war. Now, in this one, he’s supposed to be ferreting out a spy at Bletchley. Been on the case for years and still no spy.… Do you think dear old Dad might be working for Abwehr? That’s what the boys in the back room whisper, at any rate.”

“Stop it, Mr. Nevins. Stop it right now.” Maggie’s head was spinning. Her father was a spy during the last war? He’d never told her that. And he’d been suspected of being a double agent back then? And now, once again,