Velvet Undercover Read online

  Somehow, I’m not as thrilled as I thought I would be taking the La Dame Blanche oath. Perhaps I’ve already expended my allotment of emotion for the evening. My words feel flat as I repeat after Miss Tickford:

  “I declare and enlist in the capacity of soldier in the Allied military observation service until the end of the war. I swear before God to respect this engagement, to accomplish conscientiously the offices entrusted to me, to comply with instructions given to me by the representatives of the Direction, not to reveal to anyone (without formal authorization) anything concerning the organization of the service, even if this stance should entail for me or mine the penalty of death, and not to take part in any other activity or role that might expose me to prosecution by the occupying authority.”

  A chill runs down my spine as I finish. I’ve just promised to face a firing squad rather than reveal anything about Miss Tickford, Captain Parker, Velvet, or La Dame Blanche.

  “Congratulations,” Miss Tickford says. “You are officially a member of La Dame Blanche. Now sit. You have some official papers to sign.”

  After I’m done signing the papers, Miss Tickford leans forward, her green eyes serious. “Rumors have surfaced about the schematics for a new weapon becoming available on the black market. We believe it’s the same weapon Velvet has been hinting about. Either Velvet has turned or someone has discovered that she has access to the plans and is somehow using her to obtain them. We must find her quickly.”

  My pulse speeds up, but I try to match Miss Tickford’s calm demeanor. “You said her handler had disappeared,” I say. “Do you think it’s connected? Do we know yet what sort of weapon it is?”

  Miss Tickford shakes her head. “At this point, we’re just dealing with unverified reports.”

  “So you believe there’s a possibility that Velvet has turned and yet you’re sending me in anyway?” Why am I not more surprised by this?

  Miss Tickford gives me a sharp look. “Velvet’s loyalty has never been questioned before. We’re not about to cut her off over rumors, but it does make it imperative that we get to her as soon as possible.”

  My mind races. “So what happens if the weapons do go on the black market? Either our enemies discover them and get their own arms back, or the Allies buy them for their own use, right?”

  Miss Tickford nods. “Yes, but it’s not that simple. What would happen if the Japanese or the Chinese or even the Russians get ahold of them before we do? It could change the power structure of the entire world for decades. It’s difficult to tell without knowing exactly what sort of weapons we’re talking about.”

  My stomach churns.

  Miss Tickford pats my arm. “Do not worry. I have no doubt in my mind that you’re ready for this. Now, off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be here before we know it and you must rest.”

  I glance at Rickard, but he is busy going over the papers I’ve just signed, so with a nod at Miss Tickford I take my leave.

  I think I’m never going to get to sleep, but nod off almost immediately.

  The next day is spent learning German royal etiquette, the Hohenzollern family tree, and what my duties might be as an assistant to the governess. I’ve just closed the book Miss Tickford gave me on the Hohenzollern dynasty when I hear an odd tapping on the window. I freeze, hardly daring to look behind me. When I do, I see nothing through the stiff lace curtain covering the glass. I wait but there’s no sound. I’ve almost decided it’s my imagination when it happens again.

  Tap. Tap-tap.

  I leap to my feet, unsure as to whether I should go to the window or run from the room. But before I decide, Miss Tickford appears in the doorway.

  “I think someone’s knocking,” I tell her.

  She nods and then walks across the kitchen and over to the window as if such tapping were the most natural thing in the world.

  I stare, openmouthed, as she opens the window, reaches her arms out, and pulls in a pigeon.

  “I hope you like birds,” she says, petting his head.

  I throw my hands up. “Just when I think that I’m beyond being surprised . . .”

  “Life will always surprise you.” She holds the pigeon out toward me. “Bird, meet Samantha.”

  “Bird?” I reach out and run my fingers over his silky back.

  “I call them all Bird. It saves me from having to remember names.”

  “You know so many?”

  Her lips quirk upward. “Not really. But they’ll be used a lot during this war, mark my words. They’re incredibly useful in passing information along when radio or telephone transmissions are either compromised or too risky.”

  I nod as the bird settles, warm and unafraid, in her hands. “I knew the troops had them, but I didn’t know they were used in espionage. It makes sense, though.”

  “The palace has a pigeon roost. Three of the birds are plants, and each bird will get the information to several different operatives within the city. Use them only in an emergency, though. Most of your communication will be through the Hess Bakery.”

  My heart tightens. “On the Nürnberger Straße?”

  She nods. “Do you know it?”

  “I visited it as a child.”

  “Oh, good. We’ll use that in your signal.”

  The bird coos, recapturing my attention. “How will I know which pigeons are ours?” I ask.

  In answer, Miss Tickford sets the bird on the table, then snaps her fingers three times. The bird flies to her shoulder after the third snap. “All LDB birds are trained to respond to that.” She points, and for the first time I see a small silver tube attached to his thin leg with a wire so fine, it looks more like a strand of hair than metal.

  “I’ll give you several of these before you leave. Use invisible ink if you can for the message. If not, LDB code will do.” The bird sits patiently as she unwinds the wire and takes off the tube. Then she unscrews the lid and pulls out a thin roll of paper. It’s blank. “This one is for training purposes,” she explains. Taking a pen, she scratches something on the paper, rolls it back up, and hands it to me. “Here. You try.”

  I pop the scroll into the tiny tube, screw on the lid, and then attach it to the bird’s leg, careful not to tie it too tightly. His leg is rubbery and cold. “You need stockings, don’t you, poor bird,” I say to the pigeon, who coos softly in response.

  Miss Tickford smiles and then puts him back through the window.

  “What constitutes an emergency?” I ask as we watch the bird fly away.

  “Imminent discovery, imprisonment, or death,” she says.

  A chill runs through me as the bird becomes a speck in the sky.

  “Now, come. We must transform you into Sophia Thérèse.”

  Several hours later, I’m sitting in the back of a luxurious motorcar that was mysteriously procured for my use. Miss Tickford said the prince would expect nothing less of Sophia Thérèse. I’m wearing an antique blue charmeuse gown trimmed with snowy lace. The kimono-style sleeves are pleated up to the shoulder and a soft sash ties just above my waist. The gown is too big on me and has to be taken in with pins, but along with my new bob and the new crescent-shaped birthmark on my left cheek, I barely recognize myself.

  I won’t be returning to the apartment. A suite was rented under Sophia Thérèse’s name a week ago at the Hotel Luxembourg. The motorcar will take me there after the reception and I’ll receive my final preparations.

  After tonight there is no turning back.

  TEN

  WHQ

  Window Dressing: Materials used in a cover story to prove to others that what they are observing is real.

  A Luxembourgian guard opens the door of the motorcar and I stare, unmoving, at the entrance. The façade of the palace is from an ethereal fairy tale, an ode to the Renaissance, with its steeply pitched gables, lacy wrought iron, and graceful spires that seem to reach to the sky.

  “Fräulein?” The guard reaches his hand out to me and I take it in spite of a rush of fear and dizziness that th
reatens to pitch me straight into his arms.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  Other guests, women in lovely formal dresses and short capes and men in uniforms or suits, are entering the palace and I tag along, ignoring the German guards lined up in the entryway.

  “Name?” a servant asks as he takes my invitation. I tilt my chin.

  “Sophia Thérèse von Schönburg,” I say as another servant takes my evening coat.

  A man standing at a small reception desk inspects the invitation and then marks something in a book before nodding to the men guarding the arched doorway. The long hall is lined with stiff portraits of former grand dukes, and as I move through the corridor, I throw off my former self.

  I am not Samantha Donaldson, better at studying than socializing. I am Sophia Thérèse, a young woman who may not be used to such events, but who was raised to know very well how to behave at them. I send a quick blessing to the young woman who died so prematurely and hope that I’m not completely dishonoring her memory.

  I move at a slow, measured pace, mimicking the guests surrounding me. The sparkling jewels that encircle the throats and wrists of the women reflect the electric lights like rainbows dipped in dew. The scent of cigars mingling with French perfume hangs heavily in the hall, and if it weren’t for all the German uniforms, you’d hardly know there is a war on.

  Miss Tickford told me to introduce myself first to Prince Wilhelm, then mingle among the other guests, and take my leave. As a distant cousin who will basically be joining the royal staff, I won’t be expected to stay for the late supper.

  As each step takes me closer to the moment when I will fully assume my new identity, the glow from the chamber beyond grows more and more dazzling. When I walk into the reception room, I barely refrain from gasping at its brilliance. From the gleaming parquet floor to the domed ceiling painted with cherubim and angels, the entire space shimmers with grandeur.

  Taking a deep breath to relieve the tightness in my chest, I join the long line of Luxembourgian elite waiting to introduce themselves to the German crown prince. It’s difficult to believe in this opulent room that all these well-dressed guests are actually a conquered people. The grand duchess Marie-Adélaïde, the prime minister, and the congress are walking a fine line trying to maintain their own government while under German occupation.

  I spot the young grand duchess greeting guests and wonder if the strain of occupation has contributed to the dark circles under her pretty blue eyes. The line moves slowly and I try to be mindful of both my persona and my training.

  Prince Wilhelm stands stiffly in his commandant’s uniform, badges gleaming on his chest. In his early thirties, he’s a handsome man in the prime of life, and the arrogant tilt of his head shows that he’s fully aware of this. The kaiser’s eldest son has a reputation as a philanderer, and I can see its accuracy in the attention he lavishes on the younger, more attractive Luxembourgian women.

  My poor cousin, I think, handing the card Miss Tickford had made up to one of the young soldiers flanking the prince.

  “Sophia Thérèse von Schönberg,” the soldier says.

  My heart is beating so loudly, I think it must be audible to everyone in the room.

  I set my chin. I will not be intimidated. My family has served kings. I was at the top of my class at school. I was recruited to be a spy for the British crown. I can do this. I give a low curtsy, for the first time grateful for the lessons my mother forced upon me.

  And immediately trip on the hem of my gown.

  I don’t quite fall on my face, but I come close. There’s a moment of stunned silence all around me before I collect myself and offer the prince my hand. “My apologies, Your Highness. Grace is not my forte.”

  “No need to apologize, Fräulein. It happens to the best of us.” He takes my hand, but his eyes are on my modest décolletage.

  “Pleased to meet you, Prince Wilhelm,” I say in my best German.

  “Likewise,” he says. “Von Schönberg?” His eyes rise to my face. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  I repeat the words Miss Tickford made me memorize. “I’m a distant cousin of your wife, Your Highness, from a little town outside of Cologne. I’ll be joining the family in Berlin to help care for your children.”

  Recognition dawns on his face. “Yes, of course. My wife told me you were coming. I think you’ll find that I’m a very involved father, Fräulein von Schönberg. My sons are going to be very pleased with their pretty new governess.” His eyes gleam as they sweep over my bare arms.

  I give him what I hope is a modest Sophia Thérèse smile, rather than a nervous about-to-be-sick Samantha one. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy looking after them very much.”

  “Will you be traveling back to Berlin with us?”

  Miss Tickford hopes I’ll be able to leave for Berlin sometime this weekend, though it’s hard to be certain—so many of the trains have been preempted for war duties. “I’m not sure; my plans have not been finalized. Very few trains allow nonmilitary passengers now. It’s difficult to tell when I’ll be able to leave.”

  “Well, you must come with us. It doesn’t make any sense for you to travel alone when my train is so much more accommodating. Plus, you’ll get there much sooner.”

  He snaps his fingers and tells the handsome young guard to his right, “Have my secretary make the necessary arrangements.”

  The guard’s dark eyes sweep over me before he nods, and for some reason a hot flush stains my cheeks. “Thank you, Your Excellency,” I say.

  Prince Wilhelm inclines his head in response, though his eyes have, mercifully, moved on. I bow, making sure to back away until he is engaged with the next guest. My heart rate returns to normal as I join the others out on the main floor. A three-piece ensemble plays Mendelssohn in a corner of the room while people gather in little knots. I pretend to look at the wall hangings while keeping an eye on the guests. I’m not fond of parties—I’d rather curl up with a good book—but even I can tell that there is something off about this reception. When I first entered, I was dazzled by the lush beauty of the palace and elegance of the guests, but on second look, there’s too much tension in the room for a normal party, or at least any that I’ve attended.

  “Excuse me, Fräulein. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  I swing around to find the young guard who had been standing with Prince Wilhelm. He is holding his helmet in one hand and a cup of punch in the other. His dark blond hair is cut neat and short and he’s so handsome that my tongue immediately ties in spite of the stern, soldierly look on his face.

  Then I lift my chin and accept the cup of punch he offers me. I’m not Samantha, I’m Sophia Thérèse, and surely Sophia Thérèse knew how to talk politely to handsome young men. “Thank you. Are you finished with your duties for the evening?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but I was sent to find out where you are staying.”

  My heart slams against my ribs and I stare at him until I realize that he means the hotel.

  He tilts his head as if puzzled by my reaction. “We will need to send you the information on when the train is leaving. The prince isn’t sure when his business in Luxembourg will be concluded.”

  “Of course,” I tell him, and he bows his head but seems in no hurry to leave.

  “Have you been to the Ducal Palace before?” he asks politely.

  Have I? I shake my head, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. “No. This is my first time. You?”

  “No. It’s quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  My lips twitch and I glance at him. “Is it that obvious?”

  He gives a small smile. “The palace was built to impress.”

  “It achieves that goal.”

  He nods. “That it does. I must return to my duties. I’ll be in touch with you soon about your travel arrangements, Fräulein.”

  “Wait.” On impulse, I reach out and catch his sleeve as he turns to go. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  �
�Corporal Maxwell Mayer.” His eyes are trained upon something else and I get the feeling he has more important things to attend to.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Corporal Mayer,” I say, letting him go.

  “Likewise, Fräulein von Schönburg.”

  He clicks his heels together and bows his head before returning to his place by the prince.

  I take that opportunity to slip out the door. Surely I’ve stayed long enough. I need to tell Miss Tickford about this new turn of events.

  The hotel I’m to stay at is nice and respectable. I sail through the attractively appointed lobby, ignoring the night clerk as if I’ve been there before.

  The door to my room is, as Miss Tickford promised, open.

  “You should have stayed longer.” I jump at Miss Tickford’s voice. “And you neglected to do the first thing you should always do when staying at a new place.”

  I close my eyes, allowing my pulse to return to normal.

  “What is that? I’m too tired to guess.”

  “Always search the room upon entering.”

  “How did you get in?” I ask crossly. I don’t like being made to look foolish.

  “I took the rooms next to yours. They have connecting doors,” Miss Tickford explains. “This way, I’ll be able to finish giving you what you need to complete your assignment.”

  Brushing off my irritation, I tell Miss Tickford what transpired at the palace.

  “Excellent. I was hoping that would happen,” she says.

  “You were?” I ask, surprised.

  She nods. “It simplifies things. Your clothing will be delivered in the morning.” She sets a black bag she’s been holding onto the bed. Opening the bag, she hands me a small red book that has a pencil attached to it with a ribbon. “Keep this with you at all times, and I mean all times. Sleep with it under your pillow and take it with you even if the house is on fire.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “The La Dame Blanche code cipher. You’ll need it to read any notes sent to you by LDB. I don’t need to go over it with you. Monsieur Elliot assures me that you’ll have no problem with it.”