Spies in St. Petersburg. Katherine Woodfine
you never knew when a fan was going to come in handy, she reflected, as she swiftly picked up the folder and darted away down the hall.
She’d already planned her route out of the house, and now she went swiftly through the green baize door that led to the servants’ quarters – knowing quite well that none of the grand party guests would follow her there. With the painting tucked under her arm, she went lightly down the stairs – past a busy kitchen full of steam and rattling saucepans, where Cook was yelling at someone about oysters, past the Butler’s pantry, past a confused-looking boot boy – and then out of the servants’ entrance and into the yard.
She’d stashed an old carpet bag amongst some bushes in the garden. Under cover of the shrubbery, she retrieved it, and a moment later the white evening gown was hidden beneath an ordinary brown coat, and the red roses by a plain brown felt hat. The painting was tucked inside the carpet bag, carefully cushioned by her fluffy fan. Now she was no debutante but an ordinary girl – perhaps a housemaid on her night off – walking briskly, but in no special hurry, down the street towards Park Lane where she could catch an omnibus.
Somewhere behind her, in the yard of Sir Edwin’s mansion, she heard the sound of running footsteps. A voice yelled out; electric torches were flashed into the darkness of the garden. So they already knew the painting was gone? That was rather interesting. Had Rupert cottoned on and raised the alarm – or had Sir Edwin opened his safe and noticed his painting was missing?
Just the same, she forced herself to stroll on towards the bus stop without speeding up. She didn’t even flinch when a motor car came roaring out of Sir Edwin’s driveway, rushing past her at top speed. She knew that hurrying would only make her look suspicious – and besides, there was not the smallest chance that Sir Edwin, or Rupert, or any of the party guests would make a connection between the elegant young lady in white and the ordinary girl in the brown coat, waiting for the omnibus with a shabby carpet bag at her side.
The omnibus rumbled up, and Lil hopped aboard. ‘Good evening,’ she said cheerfully to the conductor, casting a last glimpse over her shoulder at the bright golden lights of Sir Edwin’s mansion, before the omnibus carried her and the dragon painting safely away, into the London night.
Twelve hours later she was walking over the cobbles towards the headquarters of the Secret Service Bureau. Both the evening dress and the old brown coat had vanished, and she was dressed in her own clothes, but the carpet bag was still close at her side. A light rain was falling, but it was warm for September and Lil didn’t bother with an umbrella. She whistled a tune as she walked, making a passing gentleman, with bowler hat and newspaper, throw her a disapproving frown.
Lil did not care a bit for anyone’s disapproval. She was quite used to being thought unladylike. Besides, that morning, she felt more cheerful than she had since she’d returned from Paris three months ago. She’d spent ages tracking down The Red Dragon – and at last she’d found it. She’d discovered the painting; she’d removed it secretly from the Grenville house; and now she was on her way to deliver it to the Chief, who she knew would be jolly pleased with her. She hopped over a puddle and gave a beaming smile to a telegraph boy on a bicycle – who was so startled that he almost crashed into a lamp-post.
Her plan had worked awfully well, she reflected. She’d been spot on when she’d guessed that Rupert would be the best way of getting to the painting. She wondered whether he’d confessed to showing it to a mysterious young lady, whose name he didn’t know. If so, she guessed he would be in rather hot water with his father this morning.
Poor old Rupert. He wasn’t a bad sort, really. Doing this job was a peculiar thing sometimes: it did seem rotten, taking advantage of a fellow like that. Left to her own devices, Lil was really rather a straightforward sort of person. She’d have preferred to have marched up to Rupert, shaken his hand heartily and said: ‘Hullo there, I hear you’ve got a rather important painting – I’m afraid I’m going to have to take it off your hands.’ But of course, that sort of thing would not wash when you were working as an undercover spy.
It still felt odd thinking of herself as a spy at all. It seemed no time since she’d been in the classroom at school, scribbling notes to her chums or playing tricks on the mistresses instead of practising her ladylike deportment. Then a few dull months at home, followed by the blissful escape of running off to London to go on the stage. Although being an actress had been marvellous, of course, somehow it had never been all she’d dreamed. Perhaps it was because she always had to play such idiotic characters – weedy ingénues who wept or fainted away at the first sign of excitement. Or perhaps it was because the work she’d begun doing with Sophie had been so much more thrilling. Working with her best friend was tremendous fun, and detective work was always exciting. She’d soon discovered she loved undercover work: it was rather like acting, but without the footlights or greasepaint, the smoke and mirrors. She had to use all her charm, her instincts and her quick brain – and it satisfied her like nothing else.
Now, here she was: co-owner of Taylor & Rose, the detective agency she and Sophie had founded together. The agency had been in business just over two years, and their most important client was the Secret Service Bureau.
The Bureau was a top-secret government agency, responsible for intelligence work. Since Taylor & Rose had been hired by the Bureau, their lives – which had already been rather interesting – had become very interesting indeed. Earlier that year, Lil had been sent on an assignment to a royal castle, where she’d discovered a plot to kidnap the prince and princess of Arnovia, helped them escape, and then foiled a second kidnap attempt in Paris with Sophie’s help. It had all been as exciting as the plot of a shilling shocker on a railway station bookstall.
Since she’d returned to London, things had been less thrilling – though still very busy. The Chief had put her to work investigating the dragon paintings by the artist Benedetto Casselli, which they now knew contained clues to the location of a mysterious hidden weapon. The shadowy secret society known as the Fraternitas Draconum were trying to find the weapon and use it to kick start a war in Europe – and they must do all they could to prevent them.
Lil knew that Sophie was just as intent on stopping the Fraternitas as she was. It had been Sophie who had encouraged them to form the Loyal Order of Lions, to oppose the Fraternitas and their schemes. The Order had no official leader, but if they had, it would certainly have been Sophie. Lil smiled to herself, thinking that whilst a small, politely spoken seventeen-year-old girl might not be most people’s idea of a strong leader, Sophie would have surprised them. She was unshakeable in her determination to stop the Fraternitas.
Of course, that wasn’t so surprising when you knew Sophie’s history. Not only had the Fraternitas put her in mortal danger more than once, they had also been responsible for the deaths of Sophie’s parents. It was because of them that she had been left all alone in the world.
Lil couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be so alone. She’d never experienced a loss like Sophie’s. She’d spent her whole life surrounded by people: Mother and Father, of course, even if they never did know quite what to make of her; her bossy older brother Jack, who she loved and who infuriated her in equal measure; and dozens of friends. She’d always found it easy to make friends wherever she went – at school, in the theatre, and now even with a prince and princess. But she’d never had a friend who understood her like Sophie did.
It had been three months since she’d waved her off on the airfield in Paris. Three months since she’d been back in London, without her. Three months of missing her – a horrid feeling, like a stomach ache. It seemed so wrong that she wasn’t here: pacing up and down the office they shared, thinking out an assignment; leafing through the newspapers she read every day; or chatting over tea and cakes at Lyons Corner House, where they talked about everything from their latest cases, to the merits of a new hat.
But Lil knew Sophie was where she needed to be – following the trail of a stolen notebook, which contained vital information about the dragon paintings and the secret weapon. She’d be back in London soon enough, and they’d be together again. Until then, Lil would do everything she could to help with the investigation.
Inside