Y. Lee: The body at the Tower

"The Commissioner finds this impossible to investigate formally, of course: no man he interviewed would confess to believing the story of the ghost; but it still seems to be at the heart of the matter. But he also believes that having someone 'on the ground', so to speak, would be useful. Perhaps a superstitious belief in ghosts has delayed the works. Or, alternatively, perhaps the men are in no condition to report to work; perhaps they are flouting safety practices, and the foremen condone it; perhaps…" Felicity made an eloquent gesture. "Much is possible."

"And our knowledge of building practices is limited," said Anne. "For that reason, I was extremely surprised when the Commissioner approached the Agency."

Mary was startled. "He didn't know…?"

Felicity shook her head. "No. The fact that we're an all-female agency is still very much a secret."

"I've always wondered, Mrs Frame: how do you manage to keep that secret when you meet with clients?" Mary asked the question timidly. Felicity was generally more forthcoming than Anne, but perhaps this was too nosy – a look into the inner workings of the Agency.

Felicity grinned again. "In several ways. We correspond by post a great deal; in meetings, Anne or I sometimes appear in the guise of a clerk or secretary representing the head of the Agency; and, when required, I make a rather convincing man."

Mary bit back a gasp. Felicity was tall and curvy, with a beautiful and distinctly feminine face. Picturing her in a cravat and beard required more imagination than Mary possessed. Surely Anne Treleaven, a thin, austere-looking woman in her middle thirties, would make a more plausible man?

"To return to the point," said Anne, "the job requires an agent who can pass unnoticed on a building site; however, we know very little about its practical realities." She paused. "We could, I suppose, have declined the assignment…" The look she shot Felicity was ripe with meaning.

"But we didn't," said Felicity firmly, "for a number of excellent reasons I shan't enumerate now. The point is, no grown man could plausibly work on a building site without a trade or any general experience. And it would be exceptionally difficult for a grown woman – me, for example – to pass as a teenaged apprentice. The difference in costume between a gentleman and a working man is quite unforgiving." Felicity sounded wistful.

"The Agency has no expertise in exclusively male environments," said Anne quietly. Again, that current of tension flashed between the two managers.

Felicity leaned forward. "We've two choices: to post an agent near the building site – for example, working in a neighbouring pub or shop, or selling food on the street; or to find an agent who can pass as a relatively young boy, beginning his first job as a builder's assistant."

Mary blinked. "I see." And she did – perhaps rather more than she wanted. There was a strange, hollow feeling in her chest that she didn't care to analyze.

Anne leaned forward and fixed Mary with a steady gaze. "Before Mrs Frame goes into further detail, I shall ask the usual question: do you wish to learn more? Or will you decline the assignment?" It was disconcerting how Anne sometimes read her thoughts so accurately. "You may take a day to consider."

Anne's gentle tone – the more remarkable because her voice was normally so clipped – made Mary bristle defensively. "There is no need. I accept the assignment." Her voice was almost angry.

Anne looked at her carefully. "You are certain? I need not remind you that it is unwise to take on an assignment unless you are fully prepared, both physically and mentally." She laid a subtle emphasis on the last word. "If you-"

"I'm fine." Mary interrupted her for the first time ever. In the past, she had always been too much in awe to be so rude. "Please – tell me what the assignment will involve. I'll perform whatever tasks you set."

There was a short silence, during which Anne and Felicity again exchanged quick looks. Mary clenched the edge of her wooden chair and willed the tight feeling in her chest to vanish.

Finally, Felicity cleared her throat. "You will disguise yourself as an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy taking on his first job at a building site. The position will be forgiving of your lack of experience. Your task is to uncover information pertinent to the death of Mr Wick, as well as to the possible causes of injury and delay on the site. This includes an investigation into the ghost stories, which may or may not have a basis in fact.

"You will begin by questioning the men and boys, and simply keeping your ears open. The engineer in charge of the site, a Mr Harkness, already reports directly to the Commissioner and his paperwork is all copied to the Committee of Works, so any evidence you find will be unofficial. The information you collect will determine your subsequent actions, of course. As you can see, it's an open-ended task which begins in a straightforward fashion." Felicity paused, but when Mary did not immediately reply, she hurried on. "You've already demonstrated that you can pass as a boy, and I'll spend some time coaching you on the finer points. As you know, it's primarily a matter of posture and movement, rather than costuming. You're young and slim and strong, so there's already a natural resemblance, and lots of boys' voices haven't broken at that age."

Mary nodded. Her fingers were very cold now, and she felt curiously numb. Felicity was always persuasive – a trick of her voice, rather than her facility with words – and Mary hated to disappoint. "Very well," she said. "When must I begin?"

Anne frowned slightly, possibly at her phrasing. "There are still a few arrangements to make concerning your false identity as a boy – such as ensuring that there's a place for you on site. Mr Harkness is deemed reliable, but he will not be privy to your real identity. Add to that time to work on your masculine persona… I should say you could begin no earlier than Wednesday or Thursday."

Felicity compressed her lips. "Too long, I think. Ideally, you'd start on Monday."

Mary nodded. "Very well."

"Report back here after luncheon tomorrow," said Felicity. She nodded at Mary briskly, and glanced at Anne. The meeting was over, and Mary was dismissed.

She stood clumsily, mechanically scrunching the Eye in her hand. "Thank you." For what, she had no idea. Two

A bell was ringing.

A clear, high-pitched, arrhythmic clatter.

A G – not that she cared one way or another.

Mary clutched her pillow tighter and let the note resound through her weary brain, refusing to analyze the sound, unwilling to connect it with any sort of meaning. There were always bells ringing at the Academy. Her life, since the age of twelve, had been governed by these bells. She'd never thought to resent them until today.

The bell finally stopped its nagging and Mary rolled onto her back, crinoline collapsing beneath her weight. A lock of hair – short, jagged, unfamiliar – jabbed her left eye. The plaster ceiling was annoyingly creamy and perfect – the result of a much-needed re-plastering last summer. She missed the old, yellowed ceiling, with its hairline fissures and occasional nicks.

That tight sensation in her chest was still expanding, and she hugged the pillow tighter in an effort to combat it. What was wrong with her, anyway? She'd just been handed the most exciting assignment of her nascent career, and the only responses she could summon were panic and nausea. Was this sort of work – spying and covert observation – not for her, after all? Perhaps she ought to be a good little governess, or a nice little nurse, or a quiet little clerk. Anything but the luckiest, most ungrateful girl in London.

Was she even still a "girl"? She was eighteen sometime this year – that much she knew, although the exact date was lost to her precarious, unhappy childhood. She was a woman now, and if she'd hoped that wisdom, perspective and confidence would come with that, she'd been sadly mistaken.