I spy, p.13
I, Spy, page 13
‘I’ve got an old pair, but I doubt Mary will have any – where is she, anyway?’
‘At last! About time!’ Robyn shouted on hearing Mary’s bicycle bell and she jumped off the swing in mid-air. ‘I’ve got something to tell you about the night of the bombing,’ she told Mary.
‘What? Why didn’t you show me?’ Ned asked, sounding hurt.
‘I wanted to wait until we were all together again. Three heads are better than one. Or two. No offence, Ned.’
Robyn showed them the piece of paper. It had dried out now, but the ink was blurred and the edges had frayed. The three of them stood in silence for a moment, trying to digest the word puzzle facing them.
‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t fallen in …’ Ned looked desperate.
‘Don’t be daft. It’s my fault for huffing off,’ Robyn reassured him.
‘Can’t you remember any of the letters or words?’ Mary asked.
‘No. I thought I saw the words go, oil and sin, but I could be wrong.’
‘It’s like trying to do a jigsaw without the picture on the box,’ Mary nodded.
‘But if there’s one piece of paper with coded messages on –’ Ned said.
‘Of course! There must be others, and we have to find them!’ Mary said.
‘If he’s made one mistake, he’ll make another,’ Ned said.
‘With the three of us back together, we’ll be right there, on the spot, when he does,’ Robyn said, smiling at her two best friends.
23
‘How was the big meal with Mr and Mrs Samuels?’ Ned asked, as he sat down on the fallen log next to Robyn.
She was surprised he’d remembered. ‘Long! Adults really like to talk. But it ended better than I thought it would.’
‘What’s this?’ Mary said, leaning her bicycle against an oak tree.
‘Robyn’s boss came for tea last night,’ Ned filled her in. ‘And something good happened.’
‘What?’ Mary joined them on the log.
They’d decided yesterday that the lake was too public a place to conduct their covert operations and had agreed to start meeting in the woods every morning for their tea break. They had to get to the bottom of the Heron’s suspicious activities, and now they were reunited there was no time to waste. It could be a matter of national urgency.
‘Mr Samuels made me responsible for Joy during the breeding programme,’ Robyn told the other two.
‘Ugh!’ Mary screwed up her face. ‘I don’t want to hear about pigeons making babies.’
‘Well done, Robyn,’ Ned interrupted.
‘Oh yes, I mean, well done you, and all that,’ Mary hastily added. ‘I know you like them, but it’s not as if you can cuddle them like you can a pet, is it?’
‘Shut up, Mary. Tell us more,’ Ned said.
‘I’ve got to watch Joy’s calcium and mineral intake, and make sure everything she has is nutritious. Then, if I do my job right, Joy will lay her eggs. Then there’s an incubation period, which I’m in charge of. After that the squabs – that’s the babies – will be my responsibility too.’
‘Squabs is a funny word, isn’t it?’ Ned said. ‘Sounds like they’d be forever bickering and fighting, like my brothers, Rob and Joe were. Before, you know …’ Ned tailed off.
‘It is a funny word. Mr Samuels calls them squeakers too. Did you know that, in the wild, both the mum and the dad pigeon can feed the babies? Isn’t that clever! They make milk, in their crop – a neat pouch under their beaks. And then they regurgitate it –’
‘That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard!’ Mary looked and sounded repulsed. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to be a messenger girl?’
‘No! Don’t you think nature is clever? Anyway, Joy’s squabs are professional pigeons and they’re mine until they get their feathers and then Joy will teach them to fly. And then they’ll be off …’ She stopped because she didn’t like the next part of Mr Samuels’ plan. ‘Fledged.’
‘You fell on your feet with Mr Samuels, didn’t you? All I’m good for is running errands.’ Ned looked fed up. ‘Did I tell you I saw the Heron in the newsagent’s?’
‘No! What was he doing? Anything suspicious?’ Robyn instantly forgot all about the squabs.
‘Not really, but he almost got into a row with Mr Arlo. He gave the Heron a right going-over about not being part of the war effort and why wasn’t he in uniform?’
‘Oooh. I’ll bet the Heron didn’t like that! What did he say?’ Mary grinned.
‘Nothing. Not a word. Just dropped his newspaper on the counter and stormed out.’
‘Blimey. No wonder he’s always in such a temper if that’s how he’s treated. I thought he’d be too old to join up and that’s why he’s working here,’ Robyn mused. ‘Gosh, I miss going into Mr Arlo’s to get my sweets.’
‘I’ll get you some, quick too, before they ration them!’ Ned joked.
‘It’s not so much the sweets I miss, to be honest, it’s more being allowed to scoot down there on my bicycle and get them for myself. I can’t remember the last time I left this place.’
She realised that she was being a moaning Minnie, but it had already been an age since she left the park, and some days it was all a bit too much. It was different for Mary and Ned: they could come and go as they pleased. She, on the other hand, really was trapped.
‘Maybe the Heron’s not as old as we thought he was,’ suggested Mary. ‘I don’t know – they all look the same to me, the men at the park. All smart suits and stuffy ways, looking down their nose at me.’
‘Apart from Mr Knox?’ Robyn checked.
‘Oh yes, he’s one of a kind. Says he’d rather work with women any day of the week! Doesn’t bat an eyelid when the Bow Tie smokes her pipe. She told me that Mr Knox had a proper stand-up row with top brass over the ladies’ pay. Wants it to be equal – can you believe it?’ Mary shook her head.
‘Wish I could work with Mr Knox, instead of my father. I’m so sick of measuring. It’s like being back at school.’ Ned sighed.
‘What are you measuring?’ she asked.
‘Coffins. Planks of wood. And I had to find out how long the hearse is if you remove the back seats.’
‘Sounds desperate.’ Mary sympathised.
‘Ned!’ Robyn exclaimed. ‘Don’t you think that if the Heron’s asked your father to sneak something out of the park in the hearse, then it can’t be paperwork? It must be something big! And if it’s not a body, then what is it?’
‘Please don’t let it be a body!’ Mary said.
‘Let’s rack our brains for something large at Bletchley Park. Large and important enough that the enemy would want to get their hands on it,’ Robyn suggested.
‘Do you think it’s something hidden in the huts? From what I’ve seen around the park, it’s just maps and typewriters. Desks and all that,’ Mary said.
‘Could it be an actual dead body?’ Ned said tentatively. ‘Should we tell someone?’
‘But what would we tell them? We haven’t got any proof. Besides, who’s going to believe us?’ Robyn shook her head.
‘And it’s not like anyone’s gone missing, is it?’ Ned said.
‘Actually …’ Mary started, then stopped.
The three of them looked around the woods as a branch cracked in the distance, followed by voices.
‘Shush. There are people talking. Listen … ’ Robyn mouthed then held a finger up to her lips.
‘… as well you know, having signed the act yourself. It’s not as if we can ask her directly. It falls to you to resolve the situation. And resolve it you must or face the direst consequences.’
‘Is that the Heron?’ Robyn whispered to Ned and Mary. The three of them froze on the log. The last thing they needed was for him to find them in the woods.
‘Who is he talking to?’ Robyn mouthed. Ned and Mary both shrugged.
‘We cannot allow members of the public, and especially not a writer, to bring into question anything that happens here at the park.’
His authoritative voice was now unmistakable. It seemed to be coming from deeper inside the woods.
‘We should run,’ Ned whispered, getting to his feet. But Robyn grabbed his arm and shook her head.
‘Stay still and low,’ she mouthed to Ned and Mary as the Heron’s voice grew louder.
The three of them ducked and kept as still as they could.
‘But she doesn’t know what we’re doing here,’ another voice said.
Mary mouthed, ‘It’s Mr Knox!’ She looked both surprised and worried.
Robyn understood why. It wouldn’t do if Mary’s boss found her skipping work in the woods, and her tea break had probably ended ages ago.
‘What on earth are they doing skulking about in the woods?’ Ned began.
Robyn held up a hand to silence him. He was going to give them away if he didn’t shut up!
‘Come on, man! You must see that naming a character Major Bletchley could be a message or a sign to someone?’ The Heron raised his voice in anger.
‘You don’t think that I –’ Mr Knox replied crossly.
‘I do indeed, and Whitehall have charged me with interviewing you. Which is why we’re out here. This war is about to enter an acute phase. I can assure you that we will spare no effort to secure victory.’
‘I will not stand here and be interrogated by –’
‘You will do as you’re told. Meet with her.’
‘Here?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Knox. Of course not here.’
‘Who are they on about?’ Ned mouthed.
Robyn shrugged.
‘Where, then?’
‘Invite her to your home at Courns Wood for afternoon tea and scones! Show her round your precious library, for all I damn well care –’
‘How do you know I have a library?’ Mr Knox interrupted.
‘I know everything. Find out what she suspects, without giving away any more than you already have.’
‘On my honour, I have given nothing away. Even my wife doesn’t know what I do here. I can assure you …’
‘I don’t want your assurances. I want to know what Agatha Christie knows. And why the bally hell she put a character called Major Bletchley into a book about spies during a blasted war! For God’s sake, man, what was she thinking? Tell her plainly to keep her mouth shut!’
‘The Agatha Christie?’ Ned whispered in shock. Robyn reached forward and put her hand over Ned’s mouth in frustration.
‘I will not. She’s a trusted friend and I would never speak to her like that. I will ask her politely, if you insist, but I’m quite sure she knows nothing about this place.’
‘Make certain of it. Leave no stone unturned. In the interval, I am investigating all your contacts and colleagues. There are others here whose behaviour has attracted suspicion. You seem hell-bent on surrounding yourself with all kinds of foreign and exotic types. If I had my way … No matter. I bid you a good morning, sir.’
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. Robyn understood why immediately. She reached out and pulled Mary into a hug.
‘You’re not a contact. He doesn’t mean you,’ she whispered, hoping it was true.
Ned shuffled along the log as quietly as he could to Mary, who was crying now. He wrapped his arms around them both. They sat in an awkward huddle, each wondering when it would be safe to speak or stir. The cracking of branches had ceased, suggesting that both men had left the woods, but none of them wanted to move, not yet.
‘This is bad, all right,’ said Robyn, ‘but look, I’ve got an idea. My parents are having a New Year’s Eve party and I’m allowed to invite you both. At least, I think I am. I’m sure it will be fine. Anyway, we’re going to divide and conquer: Mary, you’re going to get chatting with Mr Knox and see what you can find out. There’s no way he’s blabbed to the Agatha Christie. The Heron suspects him and the ladies. We need to know what’s going on in their cottage and how it connects to the Heron.’
‘And I could chat to the Bow Tie and the other ladies; see what they think of the Heron?’ Mary perked up.
‘Great idea! Ned, you can corner one of the dispatch riders. Mam’s invited Sadie and a few of the others, as they’re not able to go home for Christmas. They might know who the Heron is and why he’s allowed to intercept Mr Knox’s files and post. And …’ She gulped before continuing, ‘I’ll watch the Heron, like a hawk.’
The Heron was a law unto himself – accusing Mr Knox of breaking the Official Secrets Act! How dare he? She had to deal with him, for Mary’s sake, and Mr Knox’s too, before things got out of control. And the party was perfect: it’d allow her to stop him from spearing his prey.
24
New Year’s Eve 1939
New Year’s Eve was Robyn’s favourite night of the year. She liked to stay up late and watch her parents’ guests becoming louder and sillier. But this year her mind was on other matters. Their little cottage was brimming with adults. Mr Samuels caught her eye across the packed room and smiled. He and Mr D were leaning against open the back door in silence, companionably sending spirals of smoke into the crisp night air. Her mother refused to let anyone smoke in their cottage, even Mr D. Mr Samuels tapped his watch with his finger and she smiled in response.
She was looking forward to helping him once Joy’s squabs were born. They’d both been watching Joy around the clock; she only left the hatching pot to drink or eat before scurrying back to her eggs to keep them warm. Mr Samuels told Robyn she was doing a grand job with Joy, who was going to make an excellent mother.
Her parents had given in and allowed her to invite Ned and Mary to the party, as her mother said it would mean she could keep an eye on the three of them. Ned was helping a chatty dispatch rider to more tea. Robyn was sure he’d be able to guide the conversation towards the Heron. Ned’s mother, Helen, was speaking to Robyn’s in hushed tones as they set out mince pies sprinkled with sugar and a jug of cream. Robyn glanced about the room, as if she were looking for someone. She was pleased to see that Ned’s dad, Mr Letton, hadn’t come.
Meanwhile, her father placed several bottles of damson gin and two bottles of rhubarb gin on the table. He refilled the Lewises’ best duck-egg blue bone-china teapot, inherited from Grandmother Pat. It took pride of place; large enough to pour at least twenty cups, she guessed. Her father swirled his hand in a gesture that meant Do something, make yourself useful! She grabbed a bottle of cordial her mother had made up from the leftover fruit and offered it to Mary. The Bow Tie was talking to Mary about being on- and off-station. Mary responded with a damning review of the variable state of billet accommodation. The Bow Tie listened sympathetically before steering the conversation towards the latest American fashions. Robyn offered around a plate of mince pies, waiting for her father to forget about her. She put down the plate on the table next to Ned, who immediately stuffed a whole mince pie into his mouth, which was impressive. Robyn positioned herself by the fire, ready to spot the Heron. She took out the now very crumpled piece of paper. The codes had mostly been washed away by the lake when she’d dived in after Ned.
While she waited for the Heron, another man had taken her eye. She watched as he refused all offers of food and drink from her parents. Instead, he took out his own supplies – a small milk bottle, a teacup, and a twist of sugar wrapped up in brown paper – and made himself a cup of tea. How resourceful, bringing your own sugar ration to a party. Robyn noticed how he assessed the room, taking in everything and everyone. He eventually sat down on the only available seat, which was the piano stool, next to her.
‘Happy New Year,’ he said, raising his cup. It was china with a tiny chain attached to the handle.
‘Happy New Year to you too,’ she said, scrunching the piece of paper as quietly as she could into her fist.
‘Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?’ he asked, as if he’d been rehearsing a question in his head. ‘Is that what you’ve got there?’ He pointed to her hand.
‘No. It’s a mystery rather than a list,’ she said, tucking her hand behind her back.
‘Mysteries are my speciality. How do you do? I’m Alan. Alan Turing,’ he said, offering his hand as if she were another adult. Robyn liked him already.
‘Hello. I’m Robyn Lewis.’ She shook the man’s hand, checking to see if her parents were watching. Luckily they were busy.
The scrunched-up piece of paper fell into her lap as she withdrew her hand from Mr Turing’s.
‘Would you like me to take a look, Robyn Lewis?’ He waved his hand at the paper.
‘Why not? Can’t do any harm,’ she sighed, passing it over to him.
He studied the crumpled mess without comment.
‘Caves and gallery,’ he said, quickly and quietly.
‘Oh. I thought oil, sin and go. But I don’t understand what any of these words have to do with Code –’
‘Alan! Come over here. Welchman and I want you to meet someone!’ Mr Knox interrupted.
Mary was standing next to a Welshman? And Mr Knox, looking excited.
‘Ah, I am discovered,’ Alan said, regretfully handing back the creased paper. ‘You ought to look after that, you know,’ he suggested as he folded up his twist of sugar and tucked it back inside his jacket. ‘Island,’ he added, picking up his cup before draining it.
‘Pardon?’
‘Alan!’ Mr Knox called – rather impatiently, she thought. ‘Come and meet this bright young thing!’
Mr Turing lingered one more moment. ‘Those letters there, the blurred ones, could be island. But it’s hard to say with the water damage. Good evening,’ he said, leaving her to join Mr Knox and Mary. And the Welshman, whoever he was.
She took out What to Do in Any Wartime Emergency and carefully placed the crumpled paper in the middle of the booklet, hoping to flatten out the creases.
Her mother came over. She had just enough time to tuck the booklet away again.
‘Are you coming to join in with the hokey-cokey?’
‘Yes, in a bit,’ she said.
