The next morning, Cat lay awake in her bed as the sun crept up. The windows sparkled and the wood furniture gleamed from Annie’s polishing, but Cat didn’t notice it. She spent the entire night reviewing her plan to switch her husband’s documents, looking at it from every angle for problems and unforeseen scenarios. She imagined what she’d say if Isobel caught her in Benton’s study, going through the safe. She would simply explain she was looking for her birth certificate or some other document. She had as much of a right to be in Benton’s office as Isobel did. When Annie entered carrying a tray laden with food, Cat nodded, hoping that the girl would drop the tray and leave her alone.
‘Thank you, Annie. I know you’re busy this morning.’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door, before Marie pushed it open and entered the room, a sheepish look on her face.
‘Annie, are you ready to help me today?’
‘Of course,’ Cat said. ‘And since you’re both here, there’s something we need to discuss. I thought I’d leave for Lydia’s this evening. I’ll leave Annie with cab fare, and she can join me after the meeting tomorrow.’
‘Very well,’ Marie said.
‘You can change your mind, Annie,’ Cat said. ‘Do you want to come with me this evening? Isobel can get help from the agency.’
‘No, ma’am. I’ll stay.’
‘See that she gets her wages, will you?’
‘Of course.’ Marie put her arm around Annie. ‘Now be a good girl and set up the tea service. I’ll be right behind you.’
Once they were alone, Marie turned to Cat. ‘You’re not coming back, are you?’
Cat shook her head. ‘No. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell Isobel. I’d like to speak to her and to Benton myself, when the time is right.’
‘I hate to see you go, Catherine. I know Benton and Isobel have been difficult to live with, but I’ve always enjoyed your company.’
Dear Marie, the sweet underdog, the kind soul among the sour faces. ‘I’ll stay in touch, Marie. Isobel won’t mind if you visit me. And if she does, we won’t tell her.’
Marie gave Cat a wistful smile.
‘I’m actually not feeling very well, so I think I’ll spend the day resting. Don’t anyone make a fuss. I’ll be fine. I just need a good rest.’
‘You do look exhausted, but nothing that a good lie-in won’t cure. Very well. I’ll leave you be. The meeting starts at a quarter to eleven, with Alicia speaking at precisely a quarter past. I hope we won’t be too loud.’ Marie looked at her watch.
‘I’m not going to be sleeping, Marie. Just reading. Don’t worry about me.’
‘When do you want lunch? I’ll see to a tray.’
‘Please don’t bother. If I want something, I’ll simply fetch it myself.’
‘I’ll miss you, Catherine,’ Marie said.
She and Marie hugged. Cat could feel the bones in Marie’s back and was surprised at how frail she had become.
Cat shut the door and locked it behind her. She stood off to the side of her bedroom window, her eyes scanning the garden square for Marlena X. Taxis rolled to a stop. Smartly dressed women came in groups and alone, up the path towards the Carlisle house. A photographer – Cat assumed it was the reporter from the Times – snapped photos of the guests as they headed up the walkway, like brides walking up the aisle.
At precisely seventeen minutes past eleven, Cat tucked the Britannia magazine under her arm and headed down the stairs, mindful of the sound of clinking teacups and the low murmur of women’s voices. She let herself into Benton’s office. Once inside, she closed the door, locked it, and listened for two minutes exactly. All she needed was Alicia to come searching for her. She felt the usual pang of guilt at the way she had treated her friend, but shook it off. More important things were in play now.
When no one interrupted her, she moved over to Benton’s desk and squatted down to face the safe behind it. She used the combination that her husband had shared with her fifteen years earlier – their wedding anniversary – hoping that it still worked. She turned the dial to the final number, and with a click the safe popped open. There, on the top was an exact replica of the envelope that Reginald had given Cat yesterday. She was about to switch it and hurry away, when curiosity got the best of her.
Careful to keep things exactly as she found them, Cat pulled a stack of documents out of the safe. Many had been in there for decades and carried a musty smell that caused Cat to sneeze. Keeping them in order, she went through the pile of deeds, letters written to Benton by his grandfather, and Benton’s childhood stamp collection.
At the very bottom of the pile was a thick envelope, a milky rectangle of fine paper. Cat recognised Freddy Sykes’s childish handwriting scrawled across the front. The message made her blood boil. Benton, Allow this to serve as a gentleman’s IOU – Two thousand pounds on my word. Cheers, F. Freddy Sykes owed her husband quite a bit of money. Interesting, especially considering how stingy Benton was with her. After she placed everything back in the safe, she tucked the documents she switched back into the magazine, closed the safe, and moved over to the door, where she stood listening, not daring to breathe.
She heard Alicia, as she addressed the women passionately about the need for an orphanage devoted to educating the children, so they could have a means to support themselves when they came of age and ventured out into the world. Before her bout of influenza, Cat would have been the woman doing the speaking to the group.
Cat opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. Once sure that no one was about, she crept up the stairs and shut the bedroom door behind her. When she was safely inside her room, she exhaled, as an uncontrollable shudder of relief ran through her body. She sank down, her back sliding against the door as her knees buckled. In the back of her mind a frisson of hope bloomed. She had done something useful for the first time in her life, and taken one small step towards freedom. The risk had been immeasurable, but she had triumphed.
She was going to leave Benton. She knew that once she left the house, there would be no chance of a reconciliation. Benton would never take her back, even if he wouldn’t divorce her. That was a risk she was willing to take. She stood up, brushed off her skirt, and moved across the room where she opened the curtains halfway. She put the Britannia magazine with the switched documents in her big handbag, thought better of it, and wedged the envelope up under her writing desk. No one would ever find it there. She had followed instructions. Everything had gone according to plan. Now all she had to do was wait.
***
Thomas sat next to Sir Reginald on the fine leather seats as they slowly drove the streets of Kensington. At a nod from Sir Reginald, the driver turned onto the quiet block of houses. Neither man spoke until they drove past the Carlisle house, and saw the curtains in the upstairs window opened.
‘She’s made the switch,’ Thomas said.
‘I knew she’d succeed,’ Reginald said. ‘She’s got her father’s blood pumping through her veins.’
‘Took a chance asking her,’ Thomas said.
‘I felt a duty to her father. She’s married to a man who has nothing to do with her and she’s tiring of the fundraising work she does. She’s an intelligent woman, with no children, and no purpose in life,’ Reginald said. ‘I do believe everyone should know their purpose. Don’t you?’
‘So she’s like a low-lying fruit?’ Thomas didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
‘Something like that,’ Reginald said. ‘She’s intuitive and reckless, but she’s brave. We’ll tame the recklessness out of her and make good use of the intuition. Her social contacts will be useful.’
‘How will her social contacts be useful? If she divorces her husband, his friends won’t touch her. I know these society types. They stick together.’
‘Not divorcing. He won’t give her a divorce. They are splitting up, living apart.’ Sir Reginald kept his eyes forward. His hands clasped his cane, as if he were ready to swing it. ‘I don’t understand young people today, Tom. Don’t understand them a bit. In any event, Alicia and Jeremy Montrose have a large circle of friends, some of whom have become very passionate about Hitler this past few months.’
‘And Mrs Carlisle can help you with this how?’
‘Not sure,’ Reginald said. ‘She can start by simply observing, telling me what these people are up to.’
‘Chloe?’
Sir Reginald glanced at Thomas. ‘Chloe thinks that Mrs Carlisle is singularly unqualified for this sort of work.’
‘Maybe she’s right.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sir Reginald said. ‘Chloe takes her orders from me.’
‘But Chloe’s handling Mrs Carlisle. If she doesn’t have faith in her –’
The car slowed and pulled to the kerb near the entrance to the square near Cat’s house.
‘Not your problem, old boy. Make sure the switch goes according to plan. Leave Chloe alone. Report when necessary.’
Thomas got out of the car and headed into the park. He liked to walk among trees. It cleared his head and helped him sleep at night. He walked the perimeter of the square – which took him about forty minutes – watching for any sign of Marlena X. As if she would show herself. Thomas knew better.
Mrs Carlisle didn’t know that she wouldn’t be dealing with Reginald any more. Chloe St James would be running Cat’s operations now. He was worried about the entire situation. He didn’t know why. It seemed as though they were missing something important, something in play at the Carlisle house. And he didn’t like the idea of Marlena X. For all he knew, she could be watching him right now. He found the bench where Mrs Carlisle and Reginald had been meeting for the past five years, and planted himself behind the thick trunk of a very old oak tree. He wanted to smoke, but he didn’t. He waited, still and solid, ever watchful.
***
Cat knew something was wrong the minute she turned into the garden square. Reginald wasn’t at their bench. Instead, a young woman with silky brown hair sat where Reginald should have been. She wore a linen suit and a smart hat, with the sheerest of veils over her eyes. Her shoes were of a fine suede, with a delicate strap across the top. Cat nodded at her, ready to walk past, when the young woman addressed her.
‘Mrs Carlisle?’ Her voice was low and sultry.
Cat stopped. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Reginald sent me.’
Cat panicked. Her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t know any Reginald.’
‘Reginald had to go to France. And I’ve been out shopping for my family today. We needed apples. We seem to go through St Edmund’s pippins. My husband loves them, and so do my children.’ The woman waited for Cat to register the code word. ‘Won’t you sit, please, Mrs Carlisle?’
Cat sat down, reluctant and all of a sudden nervous.
‘How did things go today? Any problems?’ The woman smiled and acted as though she were discussing the weather.
‘Rather well, actually,’ Cat said. When she was sure that no one watched, she took the magazine out of her bag and handed it to the woman. The woman skimmed through the magazine, took the envelope from between its pages, and tucked it in her own bag.
‘We have a problem.’ The woman spoke in a light tone. Anyone who passed by would think that she and Cat were discussing the mundane topics favoured by housewives all across England. She opened a fashion magazine and scooted close to Cat. As she spoke, she smiled and nodded, while pointing at an advertisement for rayon frocks. ‘Your husband is going to bring home an extremely important document tonight. You need to do another switch for us.’
‘Switch it when he’s home?’
‘Smile and act natural, Mrs Carlisle. Always assume you’re being watched. This is important.’
Cat slowed her breath. She sat back on the bench and crossed her legs. ‘May I?’ She pointed to the fashion magazine. When the woman handed it to Cat, she flipped through the pages and held the magazine open at a full-page colour ad for women’s shoes. ‘I rather like these shoes,’ she said. ‘But yours are much finer. Where did you get them?’
She met the woman’s eyes and didn’t look away. The two women sized each other up. Reginald’s minion, with her fine clothes and independent confidence, and Cat, a sophisticated socialite, who had the means to open doors this woman would never have access to, no matter how fine her clothes.
‘Do you have a husband?’ Cat asked.
The question caught the woman off guard. She hesitated and stumbled over her words.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Cat said. ‘I’m well aware of how important this is. I’m the one taking the risks here. I’m assuming you have a plan for me to switch the documents when everyone is home. If you’d be so kind as to tell me what that plan is, I’ll be on my way.’
‘Very well. Tonight after dinner you are to put some powder in your husband’s drink. It’s tasteless and odourless, so don’t worry about that. After twenty minutes, he will be sound asleep. I will send you away with a document to replace the one that your husband brings home. Switch the document. That’s all you need to do. Your husband won’t know what you’ve done. The powder will make him sleep for the night. It won’t be the first time he’s spent the night passed out in his study. Tomorrow morning, you will come here at nine o’clock, as per usual. Sit on this bench. Feed the birds. An agent will take the document from you. That’s it.’
‘How will I know who the agent is?’
‘He will say that it’s good to see you and ask if you’ve recovered from your skiing accident in Switzerland. You’ll respond that you haven’t been to Switzerland in ages. Now repeat back what I just told you.’
Cat repeated what the woman had said to her, verbatim.
‘Very good.’ The woman put a straw shopping bag on the bench between them. It was stuffed with bread, leeks, and a worn-looking apple. ‘The envelope that you’ll switch and the sleeping powder are in the bottom of the bag. I cannot impress upon you how important this mission is. We rarely have someone without proper training do this type of work, Mrs Carlisle. Drug your husband and leave him be. Wait until everyone is out of the house and safely out of your way. Switch the documents. Keep your wits about you and you’ll be fine.’
‘Benton will know I’ve drugged him,’ Cat said.
‘Not likely.’ The woman shook her head. ‘He’s been drinking since noon. He and his cronies went to the London Club after their meeting. They’re still there. Tomorrow morning he’ll wake up with a hangover and assume he just drank too much.’
‘What about Isobel and Marie? Isobel hovers over Benton like a fussy mother,’ Cat said.
‘Isobel and her secretary will be gone this evening,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve arranged a dinner engagement, after which she will be given a very generous donation to that orphanage she is so passionate about. Mr Blackwell will be working late at his shop, and the child who is your paid companion will be at the cinema with the neighbours’ cook and maid.’
‘How did you make all these arrangements?’
‘With great care, Mrs Carlisle. That is how we get things done without getting caught. You are to carry out this mission according to the exact instructions I have given you. Have I made myself clear?’ The woman smiled that fake smile. Cat wanted to slap her pretty face. An uncontrollable bubble of laughter laced with the tiniest amount of hysteria came unbidden out of Cat’s mouth.
‘Are you all right?’ The woman looked at Cat with genuine concern. Cat ignored her.
‘My husband and I haven’t spoken in days. He’s going to think it strange when I bring him something to eat and drink, as though all is well between us.’
‘Apologise. Tell him you are sorry. Throw yourself on the sword, if you will.’
‘He won’t believe me,’ Cat said. ‘He’ll laugh in my face and tell me to go to hell.’
‘You look like someone who is rather adept at manipulation. I suggest you use those skills now. Bring your husband his milk or wine – it doesn’t matter which. Convince him to drink it, Mrs Carlisle.’ She gave Cat a penetrating look. ‘Are you able to do this? I need to know now. If this is beyond your ability, we can make other arrangements.’
‘Good day.’ Cat stood up and grabbed the shopping bag. Energy crackled through her, like electricity arcing on a wire. Her senses hummed. She craved activity. She left the garden square and started walking. She had no destination in mind. She just walked, clipping along the pavement, her breath fast and hard as she stepped in time with it. She passed through the residential district and soon came to the shops. She ignored the throngs of people, who stepped out of her way like the parting of the sea.
Her senses were acute, receptive, buzzing with a pulsating, combustible heat. She smelled cooking meat from the café on the corner. She heard the leaves rustle in the afternoon breeze. The greens were lush, the sounds distinct, even the grey of the sky seemed rich and vibrant. Cat walked, clutching the shopping bag the woman left for her in a white-knuckled death grip.
At six o’clock, she found herself in front of a tea shop, her energy spent. She stepped in and found a quiet table in the back. She sat with her back to the wall, so she could scan the whole shop and watch the front door. She assumed she was being watched. She didn’t care. She set the shopping bag between her feet, wrapping one of the handles around her ankle, just in case someone decided to grab it.
Cat was a professional now. She had a job to do and, for the first time since this madness with Reginald started, she felt confident in her ability to carry out these missions. She found them exhilarating. She would talk to Benton about their marriage – a conversation well overdue. She would make him think she loved him and wanted to make things right between them. Then she would leave him. She knew her heart would ache, but she would rather be free and broken-hearted than be reminded every day of what had gone wrong in her marriage and her life.
***
Annie sat at the table in the kitchen, a cup of tea steaming in front of her. She was exhausted from the day’s labours. Miss Isobel nearly swooned when Annie whipped up a perfect pound cake. Things were going well for her, too well. And now Catherine was leaving and Annie was going with her. Would they come back? What would Annie be expected to do while they were away? She wanted to ask Miss Catherine why they were leaving, but she didn’t think it was her place to ask questions, especially of Mrs Carlisle. She found she rather liked the idea of leaving the Carlisle house. If she were lucky – and she believed she was – she would never lay eyes on Freddy Sykes again.
Be grateful, Annie. She stretched her legs, wriggling her toes in the new shoes that Miss Isobel had bought her. Alicia Montrose’s speech dragged on. If she peeked her head around, Annie could see all the well-dressed ladies, in their angular hats of various colours and shapes, as they listened to Alicia Montrose’s speech about the need for a Christian-based orphanage where ‘the children could safely grow into productive citizens. We want them to leave our care with the ability and training to earn their way in the world. I know what you’re thinking, but even the girls.’
They all sat utterly still, enraptured by the woman’s words. Annie didn’t understand them at all. She thought that if she had the money to support such a noble cause, she would simply give it over and be done with it. Why all this show? Adults were strange, indeed.
Her thoughts turned to Mrs Carlisle, as they had throughout the morning. Annie knew the role that Mrs Carlisle played in allowing her to stay. If it weren’t for Mrs Carlisle, Annie in all likelihood would have returned to Harold Green’s with her mother. Of course she would have run away, and heaven knew where she’d be now. She had visions of sleeping under a hawthorn bush in one of the many garden squares, trying to stay safe from the vagrants and criminals that her mother warned her about.
Annie was afraid of the night, but she was more afraid of her stepfather. She bit into a sandwich and tried to push away the continual niggling worry about Mrs Carlisle. Something wasn’t right. Mrs Carlisle was – as Annie’s grandmother used to say – wound tight as a spring.
Marie came in carrying a tray of empty cups and saucers. In the drawing room, Alicia Montrose’s voice stopped, and polite applause followed.
‘I’ll get those, ma’am,’ Annie said.
‘We’ve conjured up a treat for you, Annie. How would you like to go to the cinema with Mrs Fieldings’ cook and the kitchen maid, Claris?’
Annie and her mum had been to the cinema once. Annie loved the theatre, with its plush velvet seats. She loved people-watching almost as much as she enjoyed the movie.
‘Miss Isobel and I are going out this evening. We may not be here when you return. We’ll give you a key to the front door. You’re to lock the door when you come in and leave the key on the hallway table.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,’ Annie said. She filled the sink with water and added the dish soap and the drop of orange oil that Miss Isobel preferred.
‘I’ll fetch the rest of the dishes for you then,’ Marie said.
Annie busied herself with the washing up, wishing she could shake this feeling of unease.