My True Companion Page 7

  “Was there anything your father ever said to you?” asked Helen. “Any work that he shared with you?”

  “He shared all his work with me,” said Millie. “But I wouldn’t tell the enemy. Neither would my father.”

  “No, of course not, child,” said Helen. “Unfortunately the enemy have ways of getting such information. It’s lucky that Jim happened along when he did.”

  “Where is Vasily now?” asked Millie. Haxby and his mother exchanged glances.

  “He’s dead,” said Haxby.

  “You killed him?”

  “I would have liked to, for what he tried to do to you, but sadly he took that pleasure from me. We had him in our grasp, but he took a cyanide pill before we could get any information from him. Then I brought you here, to Mother.”

  “Why here? Why not Fazeby Hall? Not that I’m ungrateful for your hospitality Mrs Haxby,” Millie added hastily.

  “There’s something going on there,” said Haxby. “I don’t want you in anymore danger than you have been already. I thought I made a mistake taking you to London. Now I realise it was probably safer in the long run. At least until Vasily found out you were there. And the only way he could have known that was if someone at Fazeby Hall told him.”

  “But how did he know I was leaving the Ritz?” asked Millie.

  “He probably had someone watching the place, waiting for an opportunity. Which reminds me. Why did you leave?” He turned to look at her. To make matters worse, Helen Haxby also appeared to be awaiting her answer.

  “I just wanted some fresh air.”

  “At that time of night? It was very foolish. For God’s sake, Millie, who knows what might have happened to you?”

  “I’m guessing that Millie thought it safer to leave,” said Helen Haxby, her eyes exuding owl-like wisdom.

  “Oh. I see.” Haxby got up and left the room, his face gripped by an emotion Millie could not identify. She stared into the fire, not knowing what to say.

  “Don’t mind Jim’s bad mood,” said Helen. “For a man who believes he always says what he really thinks, my son can be rather obtuse when it matters. In my experience, most men are the same. The truth is that he was worried sick about you. I’d never seen him as upset as when he arrived here this morning.”

  “You …” Millie paused, choosing her words carefully. “You said I’m not like the others. What did you mean?”

  “I don’t know how much Jim has told you about his work for the government. He … actually we … train young women for the secret service. Unfortunately most of the women who have the intelligence and courage to do the work often lack the social graces that would allow them to fit into any society. Those who do have the social graces are often complete airheads. So the intelligent but less graceful girls come and live here for a while, and I teach them the basics.”

  “Like Pygmalion?”

  “Like Pygmalion,” said Helen, nodding.

  “Then Haxby … Jim … takes them to The Ritz to try out their new skills?” Millie said.

  “Yes, that’s right. What? Did you think that I’d allow my son to bring young women here merely to seduce them? I promise you, I’m far too old-fashioned for that, Millie.”

  “No, of course not,” said Millie, feeling the heat rise to her face. “I just wondered why I was different. I suppose it’s because I’m not as brave and intelligent.”

  “That most certainly is not the reason. I wish I could tell you why you’re different, and why there is no way I’m leaving my son alone with you in your bedroom, but I rather think it’s his place to do that.” Her intelligent eyes shone in the firelight. “And in case you’re worrying, it isn’t because I disapprove of you. Far from it, child. More people at our agency believed in your father’s innocence than you’ll ever know. What’s more, the loyal daughter who supported his work, and who stood by him through his darkest hour is something of a legend amongst us.”

  An unbidden tear rolled down Millie’s cheek. “Thank you, Mrs Haxby. Thank you for that.”

  Millie did not know what came over her, but suddenly she was racked with sobs. All the pain she had suppressed over her father’s death rose to the fore. Helen Haxby moved from her own chair, and put her arms around her, holding her whilst she cried. It felt like being in the arms of the mother who had been missing for most of Millie’s life; an emotion that caused both pain and relief.

  At one point, Haxby entered the room again and said, ‘What is it? What’s upset Millie?”

  “Her father was unjustly executed,” said Helen quietly, still holding Millie in comforting arms. “Now go away and leave her with me for a while.”

  “But I want to help, mother.” His hand reached out for Millie’s shoulder, but he snapped it back after one sharp look from his mother.

  “You can help by letting us girls have this moment alone. Go and talk to Cook about dinner.”

  “All right, but I don’t like it one bit,” he said, sounding like a petulant ten-year old. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Over the next few days on Haxby Farm, Millie began to heal, both physically and emotionally. Helen Haxby had a knack of being there when needed and of stepping back when her presence was not required. Millie went out walking, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Helen or Jim – she had finally come to think of him by his diminutive name - accompanying her. Even when alone, she was aware of being watched like a hawk. Not in any sinister way. She sensed they were making sure no one accosted her again, so sometimes she’d see the same gardener several times on her travels, or the same groom, riding one of the horses near the riverbank. Always at a distance, and never intrusive, but always there to ensure her safety.

  The best part of being on the Farm was that there was no Mrs Oakengate to demand her time. Millie knew that whatever else happened in her life, she would never return to the life of a companion. She considered asking Helen if she could be trained as an agent, but wondered if, even with their kind intentions, her father’s alleged crime would go against her.

  “I wondered …” she said to Jim one day whilst they were out walking along the river bank, “whether I’d be a suitable agent.”

  “Absolutely not. I forbid it,” he said.

  “You forbid it?” Millie stopped and glared at him. The morning sun shone on his dark wavy hair, and he looked more handsome than ever. This made her feel even angrier about his response. She had wanted him to approve of her, to look up to her as much as she looked up to him.

  “It’s dangerous work. Do you know what they do to agents who are captured?”

  “I’m aware of it, yes,” said Millie. “You think I’m not brave enough to cope?”

  “I think,” he said, stopping and turning to her, “that I don’t want you to have to cope.”

  “Yet you train other young women for the task.”

  “They’re different.”

  “So I’m told,” said Millie, archly, walking on. He chased after her, catching her by the arm, spinning her around and pulling her to him.

  “Well let’s just say they don’t run away just because a man has dared to try and make love to them,” he said.

  “I’ll bet they don’t,” said Millie all too aware of his heart beating through the thin fabric of his shirt. If she could feel that, then he must surely feel hers pounding. “It’s a nice little job you’ve got there, teaching young women about the social … niceties.” She knew what she was implying was unjust, and untrue, because of what Helen Haxby had told her, but she was consumed by jealousy over the women whom he obviously thought more capable than her. Why could he not see the same intelligence and courage in her?

  “That was beneath you, Millie.” He laughed humourlessly, and let go of her arms. “So perhaps you’re not so different to those other girls after all. I’ll ask Mother to add you to the waiting list.”

  “Don’t bother,” she snapped. “I’ll take care of my own employment.”

  “And you’ve done such a good job of
taking care of yourself already,” he sneered. “Almost getting yourself kidnapped by Vasily.”

  “How lucky I was that you were there to save me,” she said. “The intrepid adventurer to the rescue!” She hated herself for the way she behaved, but could not stop the hurtful words tumbling out.

  “Next time I’ll leave you to the devil.” He turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone by the riverbank.

  “Well done, Millie,” she whispered to herself. No wonder he did not think she had the makings of an agent. Her emotions were far too near the surface. She vowed that in future she would behave with much more decorum, especially when alone with Jim Haxby.

  She made her way back to the house, and somehow managed to get through the rest of the day. It was clear Helen realised there had been words between Millie and her son, but she covered it well with interesting conversation. She was a woman for whom silences were anathema, but thankfully not in the same self-absorbed way that Mrs Oakengate did. Helen Haxby simply went out of her way to make everyone in the household happy, be they family, friends or members of staff.

  At one point during dinner she looked at Millie and Jim and rolled her eyes in amusement, before moving on to a discussion about how a farmhand’s wife was due to give birth within the next few hours. “I’ve a feeling there’ll be more children around here soon,” she said.

  “Why?” said Jim, his face glum. “Are all the farmhand’s wives with child?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Helen, her eyes twinkling. “But the fresh air here does wonders for that sort of thing. Of course, young people are stupid, and spend far too long skirting around the issue of marriage and children. In fact it seems to be the fashion nowadays to pretend they don’t like each other very much. There’d be far more happy events if they just stopped acting so foolishly.”

  “I’d have thought the happy events were a result of acting foolishly,” said Jim.

  “That’s because you’re a fool, my darling boy.”

  “Mother!” Jim looked genuinely hurt. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve that.”

  “Oh don’t take it personally. We’re all afflicted with stupidity at times. I have a theory that love affects intelligence. The more in love someone is, the more stupid they become.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Now eat your greens. You too, Millie. You’ll be needing the iron, child.”

  Millie felt as if she had walked in on a conversation and even then heard one side of it. She had no idea what Helen was talking about.

  After dinner, she excused herself, saying that she needed an early night. It gave her a chance to be alone with her thoughts.

  “Millie,” said Jim, holding the dining room door open for her. His voice was gentler than it had been by the riverbank. “I’m leaving early in the morning. It’s time I tried to track down Chlomsky and get some answers from him. I’ll … erm … I’ll see you when I return tomorrow night, yes?”

  She felt like running away again, but had no intentions of doing that. She knew she could not stay at the Haxby’s forever, but neither would she disappear in the middle of the night. It would be ungrateful of her, as well as proving to Jim that she was as vapid as he believed.

  “Yes, if I’m not imposing by being here,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Helen cut in. “It will be nice to have the company.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” said Jim. His hand reached up and touched her cheek, sending a thrill of delight right through her. “Take care of mother for me.”

  “I will,” said Millie, thinking that Helen Haxby was not a woman who needed taking care of. If Jim thought he was paying her a compliment by entrusting his mother’s welfare to her, it was too little too late.

  “Thank you.” He bent down and placed a tender kiss on her lips, seemingly oblivious to the fact his mother was there.

  On her way to her room, Millie vowed that the following day without Jim there to churn up her emotions, she would talk to Helen about finding employment. Even if she could not be an agent, there might be something she could do in the agency. If that were not possible, she sensed that Helen was a woman with her finger on the pulse. She would know of something Millie could do.

  She put on the night clothes that Helen had loaned to her, and got into the big, comfortable bed that she had come to think of as her own. She heard the telephone downstairs ring, and wondered idly who would be calling at this time of the night. Somewhere in the distance a door slammed, and a car started outside. Unable to sleep, she struggled to think of something to do. Just lying there only turned her thoughts to Jim, and he was the last person she wanted to think about. Her mind only kept returning to the kiss outside her hotel room and that way led sadness and madness. It was then that Millie remembered she still had Barbara Conrad’s manuscript. She knew she would have to return it, and felt guilty for not considering it before, but faced with a sleepless night, at around two in the morning, she decided to start reading it, hoping that Barbara would forgive her for running off with it.

  As she had found when reading the first few pages, it was very well written, and compelling, helping to take her mind off the problems she faced. Before Millie knew it several hours had passed, and with the coming dawn, she finally started to feel relaxed and sleepy. But the novel had reached a crucial moment, so she read on for a few more pages. She had reached a point where she began to feel that the paper of the page she was reading felt different. It was not a huge realisation, but a small nagging doubt about the weight. She had got to the bottom of the page, and turned over, only to find that the story seemed to jump forward a few paragraphs. The previous page had ended with the detective’s monologue to his sidekick whilst in his office, and should have continued over the page. The next page described them as sitting in a restaurant and their discussion had moved on to different matters.

  An examination of the next few pages showed the same jumps in time, and those pages also felt different and relatively heavy compared to the first pages. Perusing them closely, Millie became aware that several leaves had been stuck together, and carried faint water marks. That had happened once to a book she had left out in the rain, and she wondered if that was the problem. Had it been raining when she left The Ritz? She could not remember, but did not think so. But if her bag had somehow got wet, then she was responsible for the damage.

  However, attempts to separate the pages met with resistance. They were not waterlogged. They were glued together. Millie held the book open so that she could put one page up to the bedside lamp. There was a darker area in the centre, denoting, Millie suspected, another sheet of paper.

  She crept downstairs to the kitchen, where Cook had left the huge copper kettle on the fire stand, no doubt just in case anyone called for a hot drink during the night. It took her a while, but gradually the first glued page began to unstuck. It tore slightly at the edges, causing Millie some concern, but eventually she had removed enough glue so that the sheet of paper inside slid out easily.

  By the time she finished, there were eight sheets of paper, which when assembled together, made up the facsimile of a blueprint for a massive weapon. She had seen enough of them, whilst helping her father with his work to recognise their import. Put together, they built up the entire picture of the weapon, and would no doubt have been very valuable to the agents of another country.

  Millie ran upstairs, first to Helen’s room, because she was too shy to go to Jim’s. There was no answer at the door. So she went on to Jim’s, only to find he was not answering either. Millie went up to the attic rooms and awoke Cook.

  “What is it, Miss?” asked Cook, wiping sleep from her eyes.

  “Where are the Haxby’s?” asked Millie. “They’re not in their rooms.”

  “No, Miss. The young master was called away last night on some business. Mrs Haxby had to leave in the early hours because the farmhand’s wife was about to give birth, but there were complications. A breach birth, they say. She should
be back soon though it’s never sure how long these things will take.”

  Millie knew she could not deal with the implications of finding the facsimile on her own, but the two people she knew she could trust were not available. There were many questions to be answered. The first question involved Barbara Conrad, and whether she had known her manuscript was being used to hide secret documents. The more Millie thought about it, the less sense it made. Vasily had been searching the upper rooms of Fazeby Hall, probably for these very documents. If Barbara Conrad were involved in the trade off, she would simply have told Vasily Millie had them, or just asked Millie for them back. Millie tried to remember what she knew of Barbara Conrad’s husband, but it amounted to very little. Barbara had looked sad when Millie asked about him, but had not offered any information about him. In fact nobody had.

  The library in Haxby Farm was a long gallery, filled with ancient volumes and the most recent novels and popular non-fiction. It also included an up to date Who’s Who. Millie spent an hour scouring its pages, looking through all the Conrads. None of the men listed were married to a Barbara. Barbara Conrad was not listed at all. It did not mean anything. Not everyone received a listing in Who’s Who. Millie considered how else she might find out.

  Jim Haxby had mentioned meeting Mrs Conrad in Argentina. Of course, thought Millie, Alex Markham had been in Argentina for two years. He might know about Mr Conrad. Millie felt a growing sense of comfort that there was one other person she could trust. She went back to the hallway, and despite the early hour put a call through to Fazeby Hall.

  “Good morning,” she said to the footman who answered. “This is Millicent Woodridge. I wonder, is Sir Alexander Markham still at Fazeby Hall?”

  “He is still here, yes, Miss Woodridge.”

  “I realise it’s very early, but could you fetch him for me? It is rather urgent.”

  “Certainly, Miss.”

  “Millie, my dear girl,” said Alexander Markham several minutes later. “We’ve been worried sick about you. Where have you been?”