The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 24

Irene

Roger was waiting for me at the bookstore in Mayfair, engrossed in a copy of Crime and Punishment . If he heard me approach, he gave no sign. He’d suggested we change meeting locations each time to avoid suspicion, and this particular shop was his choice. Judging by how naturally he blended into its dark ambiance—among the dusty shelves and dim lighting—I suspected he was a frequent visitor. The shop itself was quiet, with not a patron in sight. The lone shopkeeper, an elderly woman with reading glasses perched low on her nose, sat at the counter near the front. Even the jangle of the bell as I entered failed to draw her gaze from the book in her hands.

“This is how he’s doing it,” I said, handing Roger the strange letter I’d discovered.

He glanced away from the book long enough to inspect the page. “A poem?”

“Do you see how the dot above the ‘i’ is missing?”

He nodded.

“That’s because it’s here. See?” I carefully extracted the tiny dot from the envelope and balanced it on my fingertip.

Roger’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave me his full attention now. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t made of ink. Look at it through this.” I retrieved the loupe from my pocket.

Roger hesitated before setting the book back on the shelf and taking the loupe from me and drawing my hand close.

I studied him as closely as he did the image. Stubble had formed along his chin. Dark brown with a hint of red. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. I didn’t know what he did for MI5 in the days between our meetings, but the stress of it was weighing on him.

“Microdots,” he whispered, as he let go of my hand. The note of awe in his voice caught me by surprise. “It’s a simple but ingenious technique developed by the Germans to conceal top-secret information in film negatives by reducing it to an unremarkable size. How did you get this?”

I hesitated for a moment, the thought of betraying my friend a sharp ache in my heart. Catherine had only ever been kind to me. She was the person who had shown me around London and made me feel like I belonged in this world. The one who didn’t judge me because of my accent or my upbringing. “Catherine gave it to me a few weeks ago. I was meant to pass it to James, but I forgot. I only just found it.”

“You think she’s involved?”

“You know her better than I do,” I said pointedly.

The slight furrow of his brow was his only reaction to my insinuation. “I’ve never known her to hold fascist views, but she’s easily susceptible to influence. Her new beau, Arthur Douglas, is the owner of the shipping company James has been using to acquire his contraband goods.”

Oh, Catherine. How could you? “I think it’s coordinates. But it’s difficult to see, even with the loupe.”

“I’ll need to take this for processing in one of our labs, but I’d hazard a guess these are from somewhere in England.”

“Is that proof enough that James is a traitor? Can you have him arrested for that?”

He shook his head. “The technology is widespread across all intelligence agencies, and there’s no proof he’s passed anything on to the Abwehr. But it’s a start.”

“How much more can you possibly need?”

“I need evidence, not hunches.”

I swallowed my frustration. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“You were clever enough to discover this much. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

James and I had plans to meet Catherine and her father for dinner only a few days later. It was my first time meeting James’s uncle—the man who had secured James’s swift release from Holloway and ensured he would never return to active duty. After everything I had learned from Roger, I couldn’t help but suspect George Atherton was somehow involved in James’s treachery. He was a powerful man within the government with far-reaching connections. He was also a sharply intelligent man, by James’s account. My nerves were a frazzled mess all day. I needed to keep my wits about me tonight. There was no doubt he would be sizing me up, just as I would be doing to him.

James was on edge the entire afternoon leading up to the dinner, too. He criticized my clothing choices, insisting I trade the elegant black dress I had on for something more subdued. On the walk to the restaurant, he didn’t say a word.

George Atherton was nothing like I’d imagined. In fact, if Catherine hadn’t called out to us with an excited wave of her hand, I might have walked past their table without so much as a second glance. He was a wiry man with round spectacles too large for his face, and a dour expression entirely out of place in the glitz of the Savoy.

George rose to greet James with a formal handshake.

“Uncle, I would like you to meet my wife, Irene.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

He shook it, offering the slightest hint of a smile. “The pleasure is mine. Catherine has told me many wonderful things about you.”

There was nothing particularly strange about the evening. Catherine gabbed endlessly about herself. I feigned interest in her stories while keeping my attention firmly on the stilted conversation between James and his uncle, who spoke only of inconsequential things. The weather. The price of goods. Nothing that suggested a shared appreciation for the fascist movement.

“Irene, are you listening to me?” Catherine asked impatiently as the waiter refilled her glass of wine. “I just told you I’m thinking of breaking up with Arthur Douglas.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. Daddy doesn’t approve of him,” she said, casting a sideways glance at her father, who showed no interest in engaging with this particular topic of conversation. “He thinks he’s a fascist sympathizer.”

“Arthur? I had no idea,” I said, pretending to be shocked.

“He was a close friend of Sir Archibald Ramsay before his arrest,” George said sternly. “It’s unwise to associate with known traitors.”

This was not the response I was anticipating. If George was the one behind the information James was passing to the Abwehr, surely he wouldn’t look so negatively upon other fascist sympathizers. Testing him, I said, “Believing Britain ought to have stayed out of the war does not make one a traitor.”

George’s eyes narrowed on me. “I can assure you it is more than an isolationist attitude that landed Ramsay in prison.”

“That’s not what the newspapers said. I read that Churchill personally disliked him and arrested him for not toeing the party line.”

“Ramsay is a bigot,” George countered.

“Because he admired Hitler? Germany has toppled every country they’ve gone up against. It’s only a matter of time before Britain is next. Perhaps it’s wise to try to earn Hitler’s favor before he invades our soil.”

“Irene,” James said firmly. “That’s enough.”

The entire table fell silent. The vile taste of my words lingered like ash on my tongue.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Catherine said abruptly, pushing her chair back with a screech.

I excused myself as well and followed her to the bathroom. The room was dark with its maroon-and-gold wallpaper, but the row of vanities along the back wall were brightly lit. I found her sitting at the farthest one from the door, applying pressed powder to her nose. Her eyes made contact with mine through the mirror, and she snapped the compact shut.

“You’re upset with me,” I said carefully.

She lifted her narrow chin a fraction. “Because you were acting like an absolute ass in front of my father.”

“James told me he appreciates people who can engage in political conversation. I wanted to make a good impression.”

She let out a scornful laugh. “You believe the garbage you were spewing back there is simple political conversation?”

I winced. My plan had been to bait Catherine and her father with my comments. I hadn’t expected her to react this way. “I thought you and your father held the same views.”

“You thought terribly wrong. And clearly I did, too, in believing we were friends.”

“I don’t understand.”

She rose to her feet and faced me properly. “Then I’ll make it simple. My father has been fighting against the scourge of fascism for the better part of a decade. It is the ideology of the depraved. Anyone that believes Hitler’s actions have been anything but a travesty is either evil or a fool. I never took you for a fool.”

A fool indeed. I cursed myself for misjudging my friend so drastically. I’d been so quick to assume she held the same views as so many of the rich and privileged people in our circle. But she’d always been kind and thoughtful, despite her penchant for a good time.

She stalked off toward the exit.

Shame heated my cheeks. “Wait!”

She didn’t stop. I caught up to her, tugging at her elbow. “What?”

“I don’t believe any of that,” I admitted. “I only said it because I wanted to know if you did, too. I was trying to trick you. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed to steel slits. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

I sucked in a breath. There was so much I wasn’t supposed to tell her. But I was tired of playing by Roger’s rules. I had to know for certain what Catherine’s role in all of this was. “Because of the letters you’ve been passing to James,” I finally said in a hushed whisper even though there was no one else in the bathroom with us.

“The letters? You mean those silly poems?”

I nodded. “They contained a secret code. One that revealed classified information about Britain’s military secrets. I know it’s difficult to believe, but it’s true.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I swear. MI5 approached me last month. They’ve been watching James for some time, but they don’t know who he’s working with.” The words left my mouth so fast, I didn’t have time to stop myself from confessing the truth. It was an overwhelming relief to finally unburden myself of these awful secrets. But as soon as I finished speaking, a wave of panic coiled around my lungs. If I was wrong to trust Catherine, it wasn’t just my secrets in danger. It was my life.

Her face blanched, and the tension in her shoulders deflated like an emptied balloon. “You think I’m capable of that?”

“All I know is that the letters you’ve passed on could get you in a lot of trouble if you aren’t careful. But if you tell me who gave them to you, I could help.”

“No.” The word was so quiet, I wasn’t sure I heard her right.

“Catherine—”

“No,” she repeated louder. “You might be capable of betraying your husband, but I can’t do that. Not to James.”

She walked away once more. This time, I didn’t try to stop her.