Katherine Woodfine - Peril in Paris

She went in search of Billy, who she soon found at his own desk, busy with several important-looking ledgers. Like Joe, Billy Parker had been part of the Taylor & Rose team from the start, and now kept their office running in perfect order. She wasted no time in explaining her mission, and a short while later, the two of them were on their way to the Sinclair’s Ladies’ Fashions Department.

As usual, Sinclair’s was busy with shoppers: gentlemen in white flannels and striped jackets, ladies in summer frocks, and groups lingering to listen to the band in the Entrance Hall, who were playing one of the latest Ragtime tunes. As Sophie left the office, she noticed several shoppers pausing to look curiously at the gold sign for Taylor & Rose, or even trying to peep through the glass to see what was happening in the office within. That was quite usual, of course. After all a detective agency in a department store was rather an extraordinary thing, especially one run by young ladies. But then again, Sinclair’s was anything but an ordinary shop. It was a department store of dreams: a place that you could buy more or less anything, from the finest rose and violet creams, to the very latest Paris hat. You could dine on fashionable dishes like lobster a l’americaine or peach Melba ice-cream sundaes in the Marble Court Restaurant; you could visit the famous concierge, who would work his magic to secure you a suite at the city’s best hotel, or tickets to a new West End show; or you could have your hair perfectly Marcel-waved by London’s most elegant hairdresser. Was it any wonder that, if you wanted, you could hire a detective too?

Billy wasn’t paying any attention to the shoppers. He was busy adding things to his carefully organised list. He had a list for every occasion, and was never very far away from a well-sharpened pencil and a notebook. ‘Let’s see . . . magnifying glass . . . fan . . . eau de cologne . . .’ he muttered to himself, as Sophie contemplated a selection of gowns, reflecting, not for the first time, just how convenient it was to have the support and backing of the owner of Sinclair’s, Mr Edward Sinclair himself. If Sinclair’s was no ordinary store, then Mr Sinclair was certainly no ordinary store owner: he had himself worked undercover for both the British and American governments. He was one of the few people who knew about their work for the Secret Service Bureau, and had given them free rein to take whatever supplies they needed from Sinclair’s when they were working on Bureau business.

‘. . . pen-knife. Ball of string . . . oh, and mackintosh squares, of course,’ Billy murmured, scribbling them all down.

Sophie grinned. ‘Mackintosh squares?’ she repeated. ‘Don’t you think that’s going a bit far? We’re not going into the wilderness, you know.’

‘Well, it’s always good to be prepared,’ said Billy rather indignantly.

‘Look – what do you think of this for Miss Blaxland?’ asked Sophie, pointing to a grey tailor-made outfit. ‘And perhaps that hat with the roses?’

Billy screwed up his face. ‘No. That won’t do at all. It’s too plain, and besides it’s last year’s. Miss Blaxland is very well-off, isn’t she? She’s bound to have the very latest thing.’ He pointed to a sumptuous midnight-blue travelling suit, new in from Maison Chevalier. ‘ That’s more like it. With the hat with the plumes and the net veil.’

Sophie took the hat and tried it on uncertainly. Her face in the mirror looked back at her, very small and rather doubtful. Even knowing that Tilly would be coming too, a fluttering feeling of nervousness was growing in her stomach about the new assignment.

Billy seemed to know how she felt. He gently tweaked the hat into the right position. ‘There. Perfect. You can do this, Sophie,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you can.’

An hour or two later, the things were all packed neatly into two large trunks from the store’s Luggage Department. Once Billy had checked the list twice, and then insisted on checking it just once more to be sure; and once Sophie had made certain he had everything he would need to take charge of Taylor & Rose while she was away, she was at last ready to go. It felt very peculiar to be saying goodbye to Billy and Mei, and to be closing the office door.

‘Well, I suppose I’ll see you next week, when you get back,’ said Billy casually. He grinned at her, but then suddenly looked anxious. ‘You will take care, won’t you?’ To Sophie’s surprise, he gave her a sudden hug. ‘Good luck. Be safe.’ he said in a gruff voice.

‘I will,’ she promised him.

But as she walked out of the great doors of Sinclair’s amongst the shoppers, Sophie reflected that she was not sure she really wished to be safe any longer. Safe made her think of the person she had been before – a china doll, dressed in finery and kept on the nursery shelf. Yes, she was nervous about the assignment, but there was no doubt about it, there was a smouldering feeling of excitement too.

In the carriage on the way to collect Tilly the next morning, she took out the first volume of her mother’s diaries – the notebook in which she had written about her travels in Europe, and especially her visit to Paris. She hadn’t been able to resist slipping it into her pocket as she left, and now her hand closed around the well-known, worn shape of it: she remembered something that her mother had written. I do believe I have a taste for adventure . There it was again – that thrill of recognition. A feeling that told her this was what she was meant to do.

Fewer than twenty-four hours after she’d tricked the grey man at the Left Luggage Office, Sophie once more crossed the concourse at Victoria station. But the girl with the frilly dress and parasol had vanished. Now she was Miss Celia Blaxland, an elegant, sophisticated young lady. Her dark blue skirts swished; beneath her large plumed hat, her hair was piled high, and pearl earrings dangled from her ears. Behind her came a smart lady’s maid, carefully carrying a little fur in case her mistress should feel chilly on the journey, and last of all a station porter, pushing a trolley piled high with trunks.

As she approached the first-class Pullman carriage, her heart was thumping. A uniformed attendant bowed low and extended a hand to help her inside, and Sophie was aboard the express train to Paris.

Although she didn’t know it, somewhere further down the platform, a thin grey man carrying papers bearing the name of Dr Frederick Muller was getting aboard the train too.

PART II

‘We have travelled by ship, by carriage, by donkey and even once on the backs of camels! But my favourite journeys of all are those by train. The very smell of the smoke, the rattling of the carriage, the chatter of our fellow passengers, all seem to promise romance and adventure.’

– From the diary of Alice Grayson

CHAPTER SIX

Wilderstein Castle, Arnovia

Anna held her breath as she crept along the hall, towards the governess’s bedroom. It was past midnight and the castle was whisper-quiet, the passageway made strange with shadows. In the dark, the antlers of the stuffed animal heads on the wall, the rusting suit of armour, even the painted shield with the arms of the Royal House of Wilderstein seemed to shift into new and sinister shapes.

A long, thin crack of yellow light was visible at the bedroom door and Anna moved towards it, her bare feet soft on the chilly stone flags. She felt excited. She knew that she was not supposed to be out of bed late at night, creeping around the castle, but it was rather thrilling to be slipping along the passageway in the dark in her nightgown, without even her bedroom slippers. It was absolutely the kind of thing that the heroines of the Fourth Form would do, even if it meant breaking the rules.