The Unlikely Spy(30)

"Come in out of the rain," Mary said. "You'll catch your death of cold out there on a night like this."

As Jenny came inside Mary looked in the front garden for her bicycle. It wasn't there; she had walked all the way from the Colville cottage, more than a mile away.

Mary closed the door. "Take off those clothes. They're soaking wet. I'll get you a robe to wear until they're dry."

Mary disappeared into the bedroom. Jenny did as she was told. Exhausted, she shed the oilskin, letting it fall from her shoulders onto the floor. Then she pulled off her heavy wool sweater and dropped it on the floor next to the oilskin.

Mary came back with the robe. "Get the rest of those clothes off, young lady," she said, gentle mock anger in her voice.

"But what about Sean?"

Mary lied. "He's out fixing a break in one of his blessed fences."

"In this weather?" Jenny sang in her heavy Norfolk accent, regaining some of her usual good humor. Mary marveled at her resiliency. "Is he daft, Mary?"

"I've always known you were a perceptive child. Now, off with the rest of those wet clothes."

Jenny stripped off her trousers and her undershirt. She tended to dress like a boy, even more so than other country girls. Her skin was milky white and covered with goose bumps. She would be very lucky not to come down with a heavy cold. Mary helped Jenny into the robe and wrapped it around her tightly.

"Now, isn't that better?"

"Yes, thank you, Mary." Jenny started to cry again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Mary drew Jenny to her. "You'll never be without me, Jenny. I promise."





Jenny climbed into an old chair next to the fire and covered herself with a musty blanket. She pulled her feet up under herself, and after a moment the shivering stopped and she felt warm and safe. Mary was at the stove, singing softly to herself.

After a few moments the stew bubbled, filling the cottage with a wonderful smell. Jenny closed her eyes, her tired mind leaping from one pleasant sensation to the next--the warm smell of the lamb stew, the heat of the fire, the thrilling sweetness of Mary's voice. The wind and rain lashed at the window next to her head. The storm made Jenny feel wonderful to be safely inside a peaceful home. She wished her life were always like this.

A few moments later Mary brought a tray with a bowl of stew, a lump of hard bread, and a steaming mug of tea. "Sit up, Jenny," she said, but there was no response. Mary set down the tray, covered the girl with another quilt, and let her sleep.





Mary was reading next to the fire when Dogherty let himself into the cottage. She regarded him silently as he came into the room. He pointed to the chair where Jenny slept and said, "Why is she here? Her father hit her again?"

"Shhhh!" Mary hissed. "You'll wake her."

Mary rose and led him into the kitchen. She set a place for him at the table. Dogherty poured himself a mug of tea and sat down.

"What Martin Colville needs is a bit of his own medicine. And I'm just the man to give it to him."

"Please, Sean--he's half your age and twice your size."

"And what's that supposed to mean, Mary?"

"It means you could get hurt. And the last thing we need is for you to attract the attention of the police by getting in some stupid fight. Now, finish your dinner and be quiet. You'll wake the girl."

Dogherty did as he was told and resumed eating. He took a spoonful of the stew and pulled a face. "Jesus, but this food is stone cold."

"If you'd come home at a decent hour it wouldn't be. Where have you been?"

Without lifting his head from his plate, Dogherty cast Mary an icy glance through his eyebrows. "I was in the barn," he said coldly.

"Were you on the wireless, waiting for instructions from Berlin?" Mary whispered sarcastically.

"Later, woman," Sean growled.

"Don't you realize you're wasting your time out there? And risking both our necks too?"

"I said later, woman!"

"Stupid old goat!"

"That's enough, Mary!"

"Maybe one day the boys in Berlin will give you a real assignment. Then you can get rid of all the hate that's inside you and we can get on with what's left of our lives." She rose and looked at him, shaking her head. "I'm tired, Sean. I'm going to bed. Put some more wood on the fire so Jenny will be warm enough. And don't do anything to wake her. She's had a rough time of it tonight."

Mary walked upstairs to their bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her. When she was gone, Dogherty went to the cupboard and took down a bottle of Bushmills. Whisky was like gold these days, but it was a special night so he poured himself a generous measure.

"Maybe the boys in Berlin will do just that, Mary Dogherty," he said, raising his glass in a quiet toast. "In fact, maybe they already have."





9


LONDON





Alfred Vicary had actually engaged in deception to get a job with military intelligence during the First War. He was twenty-one, nearing the end of his studies at Cambridge, and convinced England was foundering and in need of all the good men she could lay her hands on. He wanted nothing to do with the infantry. He knew enough of history to realize there was no glory in it, only boredom, misery, and very likely death or serious injury.