Velvet Undercover Page 11

  “The children have already been taken to the nursery for the night, so you’ll meet them tomorrow,” Lillian says.

  “I thought the prince’s family had moved to the Marble Palace?”

  “They have, but the duchess doesn’t like to live so far out. The prince rather indulges her. Probably to make up for his other shortcomings.”

  She casts me a sideways glance and I raise my eyebrows, hoping for some royal gossip, but we’ve reached the schoolroom and nothing more is said.

  “Here is our domain!” She sweeps her arm about an enormous corner room filled with tables, comfortable-looking furniture, and bookshelves. Large multipaned windows occupy two walls, making the room seem even more spacious and airy than it is.

  “This is lovely,” I tell her truthfully. “Not at all what I expected.”

  “The duchess has modern views on child rearing and education. We also have several other children here, the offspring of relatives staying at the palace.”

  “How many children will we be teaching?” I ask.

  “Six. The three princes, of course, and three girls—the duchess’s nieces and then a Hohenzollern cousin. Not sure how they’re related, but they are. The boys and girls are being educated together, at least for now. As I said, the duchess is rather modern.”

  She takes my arm in a chummy fashion as she switches off the schoolroom light. “I’m glad you’re here. They can be a bit of a handful for one person. I’ve had a maid to help watch them, but of course she can’t teach.”

  “Do you think you can show me the rest of the palace?” I ask. “It’s so huge, and I want to make sure I can find my way around.” I have the blueprint of the Stadtschloss in my trunk, but looking at a drawing is much different than actually walking through the halls, and I really need to know where Marissa Baum’s room is.

  Lillian gives me a lovely smile. “Of course. We might as well do it now. Though we have most afternoons free, I’m sure you’ll be too tired to do much exploring. What would you like to see?”

  I’m trying to think how I might ask to see where the family friends stay in a way that won’t raise suspicion when a dim light comes on in one of the rooms down the hall. My companion hesitates ever so slightly before picking up speed.

  She stops when we reach the servants’ stairwell. “I’m so sorry, I forgot I have some work to do on tomorrow’s lessons. We’ll have to reschedule our tour. Do you think you could find your way back to your room on your own?” Her voice is casual, but her shoulders are tense.

  “Of course. Up two flights of stairs and through those two doors, right?”

  She nods, not bothering to hide the relief on her face. “Yes, that’s it. I’ll come for you at seven in the morning to show you the servants’ dining hall.”

  She opens the door for me and smiles. I give her a jaunty wave and make a show of heading up the stairs until the door shuts. Then, taking a deep breath, I turn back.

  Heart in my throat, I tiptoe back down and count to ten before opening up the door a crack. Lillian was acting perfectly normal until the light switched on in that room. If she has a secret assignation with someone, it could mean that she’s Velvet.

  I see nothing through the crack, and the hall is silent. If I’m discovered, I can always claim to be lost.

  Opening the door wider, I slip through and shut it quietly behind me. I pause for a moment, my eyes staring at the dim light down the hallway. I strain to listen for voices, but the only sound I hear is the thudding of my own heart.

  A sense of unreality creeps over me as I slink silently down the hall. What am I doing here in the kaiser’s palace in the middle of a war?

  Looking for Velvet—a woman so important that the British government is willing to risk anything to save her.

  Risk me to save her.

  As I near the room, I hear voices and freeze.

  “Do you want to meet with her?” I hear a man ask.

  “I don’t know.” Lillian’s voice is laced with pain. “What else did she say?”

  “I already told you that you need to make a decision before she leaves. That this may be your last opportunity.”

  “When is she leaving?”

  “She’ll be here for another week or so. She doesn’t want to stay in Berlin any longer than necessary.”

  I frown. The man’s voice has a familiar tonal quality that I can’t quite place.

  “Arrange a meeting. Maybe talking with her will help me make up my mind.” Lillian’s voice is weary and defeated.

  A sudden silence warns me that they may be moving toward the door. Panicked, I dart behind a giant potted palm.

  “As soon as you make arrangements, let me know,” Lillian says.

  “Of course,” the man says.

  The voices are getting farther and farther away, but by the time I get up enough nerve to peep out from behind the potted plant, they’re disappearing around the corner. The dark-haired man by Lillian’s side is rather slender and, unlike most men I’ve seen in Germany, isn’t in uniform.

  I wait another couple of beats before entering the room they’d met in. It’s just one of the many hundreds in the palace with grand furnishings that are rarely used and shelves of books that are never opened. The waste of space and money makes me cringe. Nothing looks out of the ordinary and I return to my room without incident.

  Once I’m safely inside, I tremble with relief. I’ve done as much spying as my nerves will allow. And even though I didn’t find out exactly what was going on with Lillian’s meeting, I didn’t get caught, so I consider my first real spy undertaking a success.

  Tucking the bag with my codebook under the mattress, I crawl into bed, praying I’ll be able to sleep.

  Who was the man Lillian was with? Miss Tickford didn’t indicate that anyone else knew who Velvet was—on the contrary, the entire reason I’m here is that Velvet’s disappeared and no one else knows exactly who she is or how to get in touch with her. But what if Velvet is being led astray by an enemy? Or maybe the man Lillian was talking to is her source? Velvet has to be getting her information from someone. It’s not as if they would just allow a woman to waltz into a war council.

  I hear footsteps outside my door and I pause, unable to breathe until a door opens and shuts just down the hall.

  My breath comes out in a whoosh. I have to relax. Of course there’ll be people coming and going all night. Many of the female servants sleep on this corridor.

  My mind wanders, as it often does, to my father. I turn to lie on my back again, staring up at the ceiling.

  Is he alive? I think he is, but I can’t know for sure. Is he a prisoner of war? Tears form in my eyes and I wipe them away.

  Spies mustn’t cry.

  I awake the next morning to the sound of footsteps hurrying back and forth outside my room. The palace is awakening. I wash quickly in the small water closet in my room and run a comb through my hair. Before dressing in one of the plain suits Miss Tickford bought me, I tuck the codebook into the inside pocket of my jacket, wondering if she’d had the pocket placed there for that very reason.

  The mirror in the water closet is small and wavy with age, making it difficult to draw on my birthmark. I look at the finished product. Does it look the same as it did yesterday? It’s hard to tell.

  By the time I’ve finished making up my bed, Lillian is calling for me.

  “Good morning,” she says. “I trust you slept well.”

  “I did, thank you.”

  “I’ll show you the servants’ dining hall, but we’ll take our breakfast to the schoolroom. We should go over the lessons I’ve planned for the children before they arrive.”

  After collecting a small breakfast of porridge and sausage, we carry our food back to the schoolroom on trays. I eat hungrily, realizing that I missed dinner the night before.

  Lillian is all teacher this morning, in her plain skirt and cherry-red sweater. Her voice is quiet and studious as she explains the routine to me.

  “It
’s not difficult. You’ll be teaching the three younger students while I work with the older ones. We’ll break at ten to take the children out to the courtyard for some air. Their mother usually joins them there.”

  A servant comes by to take our trays, giving us a saucy glare. Lillian ignores her until she leaves the room.

  “This is another reason why I am glad you arrived. Like the lady’s maids, the governess has few friends. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to.”

  Her voice is wistful but I have no time to comment as our charges file in, each of them casting suspicious looks my way.

  Prince Wilhelm has dark hair and his father’s blue eyes. His mouth is pinched and his eyes narrow as if, at the tender age of nine, he’s already sure that his portion is going to be too small, which is odd because I’m fairly certain his portions have never been too small. His younger brother Prince Louis has similar coloring, but his mouth is softer and I see a bit of mischief in his blue eyes. Mary Elizabeth and Victoria are dressed alike in stiff lace dresses. Both have straight yellow hair, pulled back with giant pink bows; round, dimpled chins; and even rounder blue eyes. Gretel has soft brown hair and chubby cheeks and looks barely old enough to be out of the nursery.

  Prince Hubertus looks like his father and stands fiercely tall, glancing to his brothers for approval.

  I’m never going to be able to tell them apart.

  I take Mary Elizabeth, Prince Hubertus, and little Gretel to one corner of the room while Lillian takes the others to a table under the window.

  “I am big enough to be with my brothers,” Prince Hubertus says, his bottom lip sticking out.

  “Me too!” little Gretel says.

  Mary Elizabeth says nothing.

  “I’m too big for letters,” Prince Hubertus says.

  “Me too!” echoes Gretel.

  Mary Elizabeth says nothing.

  “Why don’t I test you on your letters and numbers today, and then, depending on the outcome, I’ll talk to Miss Bouchard this afternoon about your progress.”

  “I want to be with my brothers now.”

  I smile through clenched teeth. “If you weren’t old enough to be with your brothers, you would still be in the nursery, right? But you’re in the schoolroom and you have much to learn. Just think. Soon Wilhelm and Louis will be going off to boarding school, and then you will be the eldest.”

  This seems to appease him, and little Gretel, who obviously adores her cousin, goes along with him.

  Mary Elizabeth smiles silently.

  We get out their slates and chalk and they copy their letters while I watch. Lillian is reading to the older children in French across the room and for the first time I wonder how on earth I’m going to find out who Velvet is when I’m stuck here in the schoolroom. I study Lillian while she reads, but am not sure what to look for. Obviously, she isn’t going to do any spying while teaching the children, and I can’t just ask her about it.

  Or can I?

  Perhaps there’s something I can ask, something that might make Velvet come out of her shell without arousing suspicion.

  But what?

  After the children finish their letters, I hand them pencils and their copybooks.

  I hadn’t thought of asking if we finish at the same time every afternoon or if the schedule varies. I rack my brain trying to figure out a way to meet Marissa Baum—I have no idea how a teacher is supposed to befriend an American socialite. Maybe if I can figure out which room is hers, I can accidentally run into her? Strike up a conversation? Or maybe I can pretend to be interested in learning more about America and ask to meet her?

  Shaking my head, I call Prince Hubertus up to show me his copybook. His sturdy little body leans into mine and he smells like a combination of soap and freshly cut hay. Suddenly he pokes my cheek.

  “What’s that?”

  I duck my head to find him staring at his finger, which now has a bit of red on it.

  My heart sinks. “It’s a birthmark.”

  “What’s a birthmark?”

  I grab his hand and wipe the red off with a handkerchief. Did he smear the mark? Would Lillian notice? “It’s a mark you’re born with.”

  “Why don’t you just wipe it off?”

  “It doesn’t come off,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

  He frowns and holds up his hand. “Then why did it come off on my finger?”

  I glance at Lillian, who is engrossed in a botany lesson she’s teaching. “It didn’t,” I whisper fiercely. If Lillian catches wind of this conversation, it could be a disaster.

  “It did,” he says stoutly. Lillian may not be aware of what’s going on, but Mary Elizabeth and little Gretel are watching the interchange with interest.

  “I want a birthmark.”

  “Me too!” chimes in little Gretel.

  “Do you like chocolate?” I ask, a little desperately.

  A cunning expression comes over Prince Hubertus’s face. “Yes.”

  “Me too!” says little Gretel.

  “If you all attend to your lessons and say no more, I’ll bring you some chocolates as soon as I can get to a candy shop. Do we have a deal?”

  Prince Hubertus tilts his head. “I want two chocolates.”

  “Fine. Now go sit down,” I say with another glance at Lillian.

  If Prince Hubertus is any indication of German stubbornness, the war doesn’t look so good for Britain. I just pray his grubby little finger didn’t smear the mark too noticeably.

  After what seems like an interminably long time, Lillian calls for a break. I stand, my limbs cramping from sitting for so long. I resolve right then and there that no matter what happens in my life, I’m never going to be a teacher.

  Lillian gives me a worried glance as we get ready to go out. “I’m sorry, I forgot to have you bring your coat. It’s a bit chilly on our morning breaks. Here, take my sweater. I’ll wear my coat.”

  She doesn’t even glance twice at my birthmark, so it must be all right. I slip into the cherry-red wool sweater she hands me and then help little Gretel put on a blue coat of soft leather with feathers decorating the cuffs and hood. Mary Elizabeth and Prince Hubertus put on their own jackets and then line up with the others. Whatever else Lillian is, she’s obviously someone who runs a tight ship. The children seem incredibly well behaved.

  You wouldn’t know it a few minutes later as they run out into the courtyard with raucous shouts.

  I grin at their enthusiasm and Lillian smiles indulgently. “They’re penned up too much,” she tells me. “It’s been a long winter and their fathers are all preoccupied with the war. It doesn’t matter as much for the younger ones, but Prince Wilhelm, especially, could use his father’s attention.” She glances at me. “Not that I’m judging, you understand,” she puts in quickly.

  I nod, wanting her to trust me. “Of course.” Then I use her words as an opening to talk politics. “My visit to Luxembourg was interesting. There were soldiers. The effects of the war aren’t felt much where I live, other than the rationing.”

  Her eyes are grave as she nods. “I can imagine that was disturbing.”

  I wait a moment before continuing. “It seemed as if some of the Luxembourgians were quite complacent about the German presence, while others were disgruntled.”

  I watch her face closely. One of the reasons LDB suspects that Lillian Bouchard may be Velvet is that she’s half German and half French and therefore her loyalties may be torn. If she is Velvet, won’t she be conflicted about her betrayal of Germany? Or would she? If she’s spying for LDB, wouldn’t she already have chosen her side?

  “I’m sure they are conflicted,” she says, her voice harsh. “War is never easy. Especially for those of us with mixed parentage. But if nations don’t stand with their allies against aggression, then they might as well not have allies.”

  I blink. That argument was used by both the British and the Germans at the beginning of the war, and it gives me no insight whatsoever into Lillian’s true alle
giance.

  Her attention is suddenly diverted. “Louis! The stick is for your hoop, not your little brother.”

  “Stop bullying your siblings and come see your mother,” a voice calls from the other side of the courtyard.

  Three women walk toward us. One of them, dressed in a walking suit of rich peacock blue, is holding her arms out toward the children, a smile lighting up her face. Her brown hair is dressed in a simple chignon and she wears a small hat with matching blue flowers on top.

  Another, carrying a sweater and a parasol, is obviously a maid, while the third is much younger and is dressed stylishly in a sporty suit made of soft brown wool. Her reddish-brown hair is cut in a daring bob, like mine, but hers comes to two sleek points on her jawline. Her eyes are a lively brown and freckles dot an impudent nose.

  Marissa Baum.

  My pulse speeds up with both excitement and nerves. I was getting concerned, trying to figure out how to meet Marissa, and here she is. I follow Lillian’s lead into a deep curtsy, remembering that the duchess is a distant cousin who has met me, or Sophia Thérèse, once before.

  Lillian introduces us, but the duchess waves the introduction aside.

  “I would know my cousin anywhere by those curls, even if the face has changed immensely since she was three.”

  I smile. The duchess herself is lovely, with lustrous, dark eyes, but I’m more interested in the girl by her side.

  “So nice to see you again, Duchess. Thank you for the opportunity to come to Berlin. I’m honored to be teaching your children.”

  “Not at all. I am sure Lillian appreciates the help. The boys can be so rambunctious. This is my dear friend, Fräulein Marissa Baum, recently from America. She’s related to the Hohenzollerns, though it would take a historian to figure out exactly how.”

  “And who really cares anyway?” Miss Baum drawls in atrocious German.

  Should I curtsy or kiss her hand or . . . ? As if sensing my discomfort, Miss Baum reaches out and shakes my hand.

  “How do you do,” I say in English, careful to hide my British accent.

  “Oh, Lord love you,” Miss Baum says, covering up my awkwardness. “I know my German is terrible, though everyone is relentlessly polite about it.” She rolls her eyes at the duchess, who merely smiles at her impertinence.