The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(99)

Durgin shook his head. “I still believe evil is real. And a force to be reckoned with.”

Maggie remembered her own hatred, standing over Reitter with her gun, his blood splattered on her face. Once again, she rubbed at her cheek. “But if we kill those who are evil—do we become evil ourselves?”

“I think,” Durgin said, “that you did what you had to, in the line of duty. I think you saved the lives of countless women. And I think—while it’s always preferable to apprehend a suspect without bloodshed—that last night, the Blackout Beast got what he deserved.”

—



The day was cold but beautiful, with a dazzling blue sky and puffy white clouds. The air smelled of sun-warmed seaweed and mud from Hatchett Pond as Hugh and Sarah strolled hand in hand through the gardens of Beaulieu. “Spring is coming,” she announced, as a gentle breeze blew.

“Technically, it’s still winter.”

“Maybe according to the calendar, but spring’s in the air.” The grounds of the estate looked almost like the Garden of Eden with their apple trees, stone fruit orchards, and black earth dug up in anticipation of spring Victory Garden planting. At the edge of a field showing the first tips of green snowdrop shoots, an ancient oak towered over the land. It was gnarled and battered by the winter’s storms, but it held firm. England. Britain. What we’re fighting for, Sarah thought. Why we’re going to Paris.

Hugh cocked his head. “If you look at that tree from the right angle, it rather looks like Churchill, don’t you think?”

They entered the manor house. Miss Lynd was still using Kim Philby’s office, which had a view of bare treetops from wavy greenish glass windows. “You two will obviously be working at the Palais Garnier and the environs, reporting to ballet master Serge Lifar. Your contact at the Paris Opéra will provide housing for you. A radio contact has been established. You’ll receive that information after you arrive—”

Kim Philby opened the door. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all, Mr. Philby,” Miss Lynd replied. “We’re just wrapping up.” She looked to the duo.

“The moon is full and we have good weather. We’d like you to go tonight. We have a plane in place,” Philby said.



Miss Lynd gave a smile, a genuine one. “We’re taking you to the aerodrome before midnight.”

“Midnight,” Sarah mused, her eyes locking with Hugh’s.

“By the way, this telephone message was left for you.” Miss Lynd passed Sarah a note. It was from Maggie, asking her to return her call and saying that it was urgent she do so.

“What is it?” Hugh asked her.

Her jealousy was irrational, Sarah knew, but it was hot and strong nonetheless. She had no desire to bring up the topic of Maggie and no desire to return her call. “Nothing that can’t wait until we get back from France.”

—

Elise and her captors had made it to a safe house just outside Paris. The SOE agents took Elise inside with them and had her sit in a corner of a small old-fashioned kitchen while they spoke in rapid French to the men there, other SOE agents and Free French, she realized, translating in her head. It was a modest house, with a pump at the sink, a fireplace to one side. One of the men from the house gazed at Elise, then went upstairs to alert their radio operator the subject had arrived safely.

“Are you hungry?” one asked, pulling out coarse bread and purple fig jam, and pouring steaming milk into cups.

“We’ll untie you if you promise not to do anything stupid,” said another.

“Why are you fighting us, anyway?” asked her original captor. “We’re all on the same side, you know.”

Elise forced her lips into a smile. “I need to use the toilet. Please.”

“Of course,” the man who’d driven replied. “We didn’t mean to scare you, you know. We’re the heroes! Here to save the day!”

The other man dipped his bread into the steaming milk and began to chew hungrily. “You certainly have friends in high places.” He shook his head. “Downing Street.”



“How far are we from Paris?” Elise asked. She could see woods and fields through the open windows.

“Not far. About seven or eight kilometers, I think.”

“The toilet?” she repeated. She smiled. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Outhouse is back there,” the driver said with a jab of his thumb. “Pump’s right by the back door.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Sorry I was so much trouble. Thank you for everything.”

When she reached the outhouse, she turned to look through the kitchen’s window. The four men were all enjoying their breakfast, talking and laughing, clapping each other on their backs, congratulating themselves on a job well done. They weren’t watching her.

Elise turned and began to run through the woods as fast as she could on her damaged feet, not looking back.

—

When Maggie had finished writing her statement, was discharged by her doctor, and had arranged a scarf around her neck to hide her fading bruises, Durgin was waiting to take her home.

She opened the door, and there stood Chuck, Griffin in her arms, David at her side. “Maggie! Thank God you’re all right!” Chuck embraced Maggie with her free arm, then nodded at Durgin. “Who’s he?”