Waging War (18 page)

“In war, treacherous people assume their
opponents to be equally so.”

I exhaled the sigh that had been squeezing
my chest. “I don’t like that I ratted Cole out to her.”

He touched my shoulder. “Well, let’s see
what she does with it.”

I wished he would have said
its okay
,
or
you did the right thing
, but it wasn’t okay, and we both
knew it. So I shoved the guilt down around my knees, pulled up my
own confidence, and squared my shoulders.

“Let’s do this.”

Bletchley Park

After some very emphatic hugs and lots of
last minute advice from pretty much everyone, Archer, Ringo, and I
left Elian Manor with Jeeves to get Professor Singh at the Tower of
London and take him to Bletchley Park.

The minute Ravi was in the Range Rover, he
pulled a small book from his coat pocket. “I found my journal from
the war.” Archer took it from him and carefully opened the
bookmarked page and read from crackling paper, yellow with age.

He read, “June, 1944. Devereux working SOE.
Going on wolf hunt. Colossus lonely without him.” Archer looked up
at Ravi. “A wolf hunt? I don’t remember—” He caught himself in time
and finished the sentence. “—my grandfather having mentioned
anything about this.”

What he meant was he didn’t remember having
worked on this, because it wouldn’t happen until I could get back
there to tell him about Tom’s involvement with Hitler’s
Werwolves.

Ravi’s voice was strong even as his hand
shook when Archer handed the journal back to him. “Frankly, I don’t
remember having written it. At my age, however, I’m lucky to
remember if I’ve taken my medicine today.”

“But I bet if I asked you something about
Tudor England you could still write a dissertation on it.” I
genuinely admired my former boss, and it bothered me that he felt
like he was slipping.

Ravi smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I daresay
you might be right.”

We chatted about the various marriage
proposals Elizabeth Tudor had received throughout her reign, and
the likelihood she would have married Robert Dudley if he hadn’t
already been married to Amy Robsart at seventeen, and worse, if
Mrs. Dudley hadn’t mysteriously died from a fall down some stairs
in 1560. Dudley’s infidelity with Elizabeth in the Tower reminded
me of my unfinished conversation with Archer about Nancy, and I had
a hard time holding Archer’s gaze when his eyes searched mine
during a diatribe by Professor Singh on sixteenth century morals. A
discussion about morals was the last thing I needed to be engaging
in at that moment.

The guard at the gate to Bletchley Park
waved us through when Professor Singh gave his name, and I could
sense a change in Archer’s mood when we drove onto the grounds.

“My friend is meeting us at the mansion so
we can see for ourselves this room they’ve found behind the library
wall.” Ravi looked up at Archer as he helped him from the car and
into a wheelchair we’d brought with us. “It’s a pity your
grandfather isn’t here. He’d remember Miss Stella O’Brian with the
same fondness I do. She was a Wren, you see, and worked with us on
Colossus for much of the war. He would have enjoyed this.”

I caught Archer’s smile, hidden in the
darkness of the car park. He winked at me as he started pushing
Ravi’s wheelchair up the long drive to the mansion. “Oh, I’m
certain of it.”

Ringo and I fell into step behind Archer and
Ravi. Ringo slung an oiled canvas rucksack over one shoulder that I
hoped was full of anything Sanda could find to help us blend into
1944. Even better if there was money or some sort of luxury goods
we could trade if we needed to. I carried my own leather bag, and
although Archer hadn’t said anything, I knew it bothered him that
we had the bags with us.

The Bletchley Park mansion loomed up to the
right of the drive in a mish-mash of architectural styles. The
Tudor-Jacobean red brick was jumbled up with Victorian gables and
crenellated parapets in something that looked as if a factory and a
wedding cake had a baby mansion and named it Bletchley. It was so
ugly it was beautiful, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

“Bleedin’ ‘ell,” Ringo whispered under his
breath.

There was a smile in Archer’s voice. “At a
certain point in gaudy architecture, it becomes necessary to
embrace the mayhem, as Herbert Leon did when he turned the original
brick country house into this gothic confection.”

He rang the bell and then stepped back
behind the wheelchair. The door opened, and a woman I could only
describe as stately stepped forward and kissed Ravi on each
cheek.

“Ravindra Singh, you finally came to visit
me.”

He was clearly moved by her gracious
welcome, and the smile on his face was infectious. He looked back
at us. “Saira, Ringo, Archer, I’d like you to meet Stella O’Brian,
the most efficient and intuitive codebreaker I ever had the
pleasure to work with.”

The smile on her face fairly glowed as she
glanced up at us – until her eyes found Archer’s. “But you …” Her
voice trailed off in a whisper that matched the shocked expression
on her face. Ravi spoke jovially, as if seeing ghosts were the most
natural thing in the world.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it? The resemblance
to his grandfather? Of course, it helps that he’s named after him
as well.”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off Archer, and he
held his hand out to her in greeting. “It’s lovely to see you, Miss
O’Brian.” His voice was warm and genuinely happy, and the shock in
her expression shifted to something so welcoming, I could see a
flash of the beauty she had been when she was young.

“Oh Archer, it’s so good to see you.” I
looked sharply at her. Stella O’Brian’s words may have been
neutral, but everything in her tone of voice said she knew he was
the same Archer Devereux from all those years ago. She smiled
vaguely at me, then she tucked her arm into Archer’s, and he pushed
Ravi’s wheelchair into the mansion.

Through her small talk with Ravi, I gathered
that Stella had come back to Bletchley Park last year as a resource
to the preservationists and a part-time docent. She loved to answer
questions about her work at the mansion, especially because people
had been forbidden for so long from speaking about their part in
the codebreaking efforts of the British government.

She hadn’t let go of Archer’s arm, and I
could see that despite her upright posture and regal bearing, she
actually needed the support. She had to be over ninety years old,
after all, and I didn’t begrudge her his attention, even though I
could feel the clock ticking on my time with him. If Ava was right,
and we were leaving from Bletchley Park tonight, I had maybe
another hour here.

I thought about the Archer I’d find in the
past – fifty years older than the one I’d first fallen in love
with.
This
was my Archer now. This man who had survived
Bishop Wilder and Joan of Arc with me, who knew my flaws and loved
me anyway, who knew I liked black coffee more than tea, reading
more than watching TV, and running more than almost anything except
being with him. He knew I was a Cougar, and still he put me on a
pedestal and made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the
world.

The Archer in 1944 didn’t know any of that,
and suddenly I wanted to clutch Archer’s hand and beg him to come
with me. Ringo must have sensed I was about to do something rash
because he sidled up to me and spoke in a low voice. “She
knows.”

I looked over to where Archer, Ravi, and
Stella stood at the arched entrance to a grand, wood-paneled room I
assumed was the library, and saw how she couldn’t take her eyes off
his face. She looked pensive when she thought no one was looking,
and broke into a happy smile whenever his eyes met hers. She must
have felt my gaze on her because she looked over at us with a
contented smile.

And then Stella did something I recognized.
Her eyes went a little glassy and unfocused, then she twitched, and
when they refocused on my face, they went wide with recognition.
“She’s a Seer,” I whispered back to Ringo.

Stella detached herself from Archer and Ravi
with an apologetic smile and carefully made her way across the room
to us. “You’re Saira,” she said. Despite our earlier introduction,
it seemed like something for which she needed confirmation. I
nodded yes, and her expression settled as if a question had been
answered.

“He talked about you, you know.”

I kept my tone carefully neutral, trying
very hard not to betray the emotional sinkhole that had suddenly
opened up beneath me. “Do you remember me?”

She gave me a slow smile. “Not yet. But I
wouldn’t, would I? You haven’t gone yet.”

“Is there anyone I should know when I go
back? Anyone to watch out for?” Was I hoping for information about
the Nancy Archer had mentioned? Maybe, but I didn’t get it from
Stella.

“Commander Marks was a Monger …”

“I’ll be avoiding him,” I said quickly.

She smiled. “He wasn’t so bad. Lots of us
were Seers, but just like anything else, we didn’t discuss it. The
SOE sent some Shifters to train with us, but they never stayed long
and didn’t much care for the regular staff. Archer was friendly
with some though, he would know.”

Nancy was SOE. Was she one of the Shifters
Archer was friendly with?

Stella’s eyes wandered back to where he
waited with Ravi. “I suppose I should show you the hidden room.
You’ll want to take note of it, as I believe it’s the place from
which you’ll depart.” She included Ringo in her gaze, and then went
forward to rejoin Archer. He clasped her arm in his and she leaned
on him for support as they moved into the library.

“Do ye think she knows what ‘e is?” Ringo
asked quietly as we fell into step behind them.

“If she does, she doesn’t care.”

I felt a wave of insecurity about all the
things I didn’t know about Archer’s past wash over me, and I wanted
him to brush off self-doubt that itched on my skin, but I also knew
that unless I could reach all the itchy places myself, the doubt
would start burrowing in and making me its home. My mental
metaphors were starting to gross me out, and I hurried to catch up
to the others as Stella showed Ravi the catch, hidden in the
woodwork, behind the fireplace.

“I’d ‘ave found that in thirty seconds,”
Ringo whispered under his breath at my shoulder.

“The workers discovered this when they
pulled the paneling off to restore the wood. It was so well-hidden
that it was only the seam of the door that gave it away.” Stella
spoke with authority, and I thought she probably intimidated most
people.

“Okay, maybe not.” Ringo looked impressed
with the mechanics of the hidden latch, and when Stella pushed it
in, a small seam opened up between the panels.

“Voilà.” Stella placed her palm on the panel
and leaned into it. The door moved effortlessly, opening inward to
a pitch-black space behind the wall. “I believe you’ll need to walk
in, Ravi. There isn’t room for the chair.”

Ravi moved slowly, but he could still walk,
and Archer helped him to his feet. Stella pulled a small flashlight
from her pocket and clicked it on before stepping into the void.
Archer looked at me with a brief wince and a smile before he
escorted Ravi in after her.

Ringo stopped to check out the latch
mechanism and whistled his appreciation. “Another skill to add to
the list of things to learn from ‘im.”

I slipped past him and into the space behind
the wall. My night vision adjusted instantly to the gloom, but
without Stella’s flashlight, I would have been blind in the pitch
black. A bedroll rested against one wall, and a stool sat next to
it. There were three hooks on the wall, and one of them still held
a wooden hanger. I pictured Archer’s current wardrobe and realized
he must have been living a very spartan lifestyle while he was
here.

“Inside the bedroll is where we found the
scraps of paper with your name on them, Ravi.” Stella’s voice was
hushed, as if the room were still a secret. All I could think about
was how lonely this existence must have been for Archer, and even
though the alternative was more than I could handle, the single
bedroll made me unbearably sad for him.

I suddenly had to get out of the tiny space,
and I strode past Ringo without looking at him, trying very hard to
hold the tears back. I made it out of the library before they came,
and had to lean against the arched wall to stay upright as silent
sobs wracked my body.

It was like he had lived in a cell – in a
kind of solitary confinement that wasn’t even living. He would have
dressed in the dark, constantly hoping the library was clear every
evening when he escaped. Everything in secret, everything hidden,
and totally alone in the knowledge of who he really was.

And yet Archer had talked about me. As
though somehow the smallest time we had spent together in 1888 made
such an impression that I could still be real for him fifty years
later.