Y. Lee - The body at the Tower

Three quiet raps at the door interrupted her brooding. She kept silent.

A pause, and then the three raps came again. "Mary?" The voice was female, of course, but muffled by the thick wooden door.

Three – no, six – deliberate knocks. She remained mute.

The brass doorknob turned, and Mary scowled. Naturally, she'd forgotten to lock the door. Some secret agent she was. "This is a private room," she said in her iciest voice as the door began to swing open. "Kindly shut the door."

Anne Treleaven's thin, spectacled face appeared in the gap. "I'd like a word with you, Mary, later this evening if not now."

Mary leapt up so quickly that she felt dizzy. "Miss Treleaven! I'm so very sorry. I thought you were one of the girls – not that that's an excuse, either – but if – I mean, had I known…"

Anne waved her into silence. "No need for that, Mary. I just want to speak with you."

"Of course." She scrambled to pull out the desk chair.

They sat facing each other, Anne on the chair and Mary on the edge of the bed. It was Anne who broke the heavy silence. "It can be difficult to find privacy in a boarding school."

Mary's fierce blush ebbed a little. "I'm fortunate to have a single room; I know that."

Anne leaned forward abruptly, folding her hands together in her schoolteacher's manner. "My dear, I want to talk to you about this assignment."

Mary's gut clenched. "I thought it was all arranged, Miss Treleaven."

Anne nodded. "It is. But it's clear to me that this assignment holds special difficulties for you. We'll discuss those now."

Mary immediately opened her mouth to argue the point, but something about Anne's look stopped her voice. In the end, all she managed was a toneless "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to venture a theory, Mary. You'll do me the favour of hearing it out before pronouncing judgement?" It was a courteous command, not a question.

Mary swallowed and bowed her head.

Anne spoke slowly, quietly. "Your childhood was, by any standards, a tragic one. You lost your father and witnessed your mother's painful death. By the age of ten, you knew hunger, danger and violence. In the years that you were homeless, you passed yourself off as a boy for reasons of safety. It was easier to move about the city, and to avert rape, and it gave you a better chance of survival. It wasn't until you came to the Academy that you were free to conduct your life as a girl without fear of ill treatment or exploitation. Am I correct?"

Mary managed a single nod.

"A return to boy's costume…" – Anne appeared to choose her words with great care – "…must evoke a return to the same dangers and privations."

Mary forgot her promise to listen quietly. "It's not the same thing at all! I'm well aware that it's a temporary, theoretical return."

Anne nodded. "Of course; you are too intelligent to believe otherwise. However, what I am suggesting is that somehow, at the back of your mind, those fears are still with you. The suggestion that you relive those days – even strictly as an assignment, with every certainty of returning to your 'real' life – may distress you." She made a small, frustrated gesture. "I am not phrasing this well. I mean that, even seen as play-acting, the idea of passing as a boy must be an extremely unpleasant reminder of your past."

The backs of Mary's eyes prickled and she dared not look at Anne when she spoke. "During my first case… at the Thorolds' house… I had some boys' clothing. I didn't mind running about in trousers then." She bit her lower lip. "I – I quite enjoyed it." Her voice cracked on the penultimate word.

"True. Is it not possible that you saw the act differently, then? As an adventure, or a game?"

"Unlike this one?"

"Possibly. Or perhaps it was different because you chose to do that, and this time it is an assignment." Anne sighed. "Mind and memory and emotion are so complex."

Mary stared at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Their outlines blurred, and then doubled, but it wasn't until the first hot tear splashed down that she understood why.

"My dear." Anne offered her a clean handkerchief. "Regardless of the assignment, you are our first concern here. We would not require you to do anything that made you…"

"Afraid?"

"Yes."

Mary sniffled and wiped her eyes. She had no idea whether Anne was correct. Her surmises seemed… airy. Mystical. Preposterous. Yet she couldn't reject them outright.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The light coming through the window was a rich gold that warmed and softened everything in the room: the waning of an unusually glorious summer day. It was warm, but Mary's hands were cold and numb.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," said Anne eventually. "And I'll have a dinner tray sent up." The dinner hour: that was what the bell had announced.

Mary nodded. "Thank you."

Anne stood and rested her hand lightly on top of Mary's head, just for a moment. "Don't stay up all night thinking," she said. "Trust your instincts."

A moment later, Mary was alone. Three Sunday, 3 July The Agency's headquarters

When Mary re-entered the office the following afternoon, again dressed as "Mark", she had the distinct impression she was interrupting. It wasn't clear what: Anne and Felicity sat in their customary chairs and greeted her with their usual brevity. Yet there was something in the careful blankness of Anne's expression, a latent glitter in Felicity's eyes, that made her hesitate. A moment later, it was gone.

Anne motioned her to sit down. "What made you decide to accept the assignment?" Her voice was dry, almost neutral, yet tinged with concern.

Mary sat up straight. "I thought a great deal about our conversation," she began carefully. "I hadn't been able to identify my fear until you suggested it to me. I didn't want to think about it, and I certainly didn't want to believe your theory – but I think you were right." She met Anne's eyes freely and offered her a small smile. "I must learn to conquer my fears, rather than try to ignore them."

Felicity shot a quick glance at Anne, then looked back at Mary.

"So you're still afraid," said Anne.

"Yes. But now I know it – and with that fear in mind, I choose to accept this assignment." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

There was a long silence. Anne and Felicity both stared hard at her, as though expecting her to crack. To change her mind.

Mary held their gazes, waiting.

Finally, Felicity nodded. "Very well; you've chosen. We shall-"

"There's just one more thing."

Anne raised one fine eyebrow. "What is that?"

Mary swallowed. "I shall need to live in lodgings, if I am truly to pass as 'Mark Quinn'. I took a room at a lodging-house in Lambeth this morning."

Both women were silent with astonishment.

After several long seconds, Mary said tentatively, "I'll begin with the practical reasons: the workers I meet on the building site might ask whereabouts I live. It would be rather unusual for 'Mark' to live in St John's Wood, and it would be useful to have a generally-known address. If anybody enquired into the address, a lodging-house would give nothing away – whereas it would be extremely odd for me to live at a girls' boarding school."

"And there are reasons apart from the practical?" prompted Anne.

Mary took a deep breath. "It will be simpler if I don't alternate between being myself and being Mark. I will make a more convincing boy, if I am not a girl as well. And…" Her voice wobbled, and she waited a moment before going on. "And when I was younger, and passing as a boy, I never left the role. I should like to re-create that situation."

Anne frowned. "Why? Why deliberately return yourself to a frightening and dangerous past?"

Mary hesitated. "I don't know quite how to explain it. I think – I believe – that it might help me to stop fearing it."