LITMIR.BIZ

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above them were their friends, Leo and Tilly. The house was a friendly, come-and-go-as-you-like sort of place, which suited Lil down to the ground. There were always the sounds of feet on the stairs, laughter, and spontaneous celebrations when someone sold a painting or passed an examination. There was always someone around to chat – and Lil loved chatting.

      But today she felt in no mood to talk to anyone. She needed to be by herself to think: she thumped straight up the stairs and into her own rooms, shutting the door behind her to drown out the cheerful voices of the others.

      The sitting room she and Jack shared was, as always, extremely untidy. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the bare floorboards were only partly covered by worn but gaily coloured mats. Two threadbare armchairs, loaded with paisley-print rugs and colourful cushions, were drawn close to the fireplace. The mantelpiece was a jumble of flowerpots, photographs and party invitations; a playbill for a new show at the Fortune Theatre; and a coloured card advertising an exhibition at the Royal Academy.

      Lil took off her hat, and tossed it on to the table, which was scattered with books and papers, along with the remains of Jack’s breakfast – or possibly his supper – a willow-patterned plate scattered with crumbs and an empty cup. Beside it were several tubes of paint and a jam jar of paintbrushes. Jack said the light in the sitting room was good, and often painted here: there were always pictures pinned up unframed, or canvases propped against the wall. Just now there was an easel by the window, showing a half-finished portrait of a girl reading a book. Jack was experimenting with a new semi-abstract style, so the girl had bright yellow hands and a smudgy blue face – but even so, Lil knew that she was meant to be Sophie. She gazed at it for a few seconds, and then flopped down in one of the armchairs, leaning her head back against the cushion. ‘Oh, bother it all,’ she muttered aloud.

      Sophie had disappeared in St Petersburg. No one had heard from her for over a month. She had followed the Count von Wilderstein there – but what could he be doing in Russia? In Arnovia, the Count had always seemed a harmless fellow, more interested in tinkering with aeroplanes than anything else. But now Lil knew the truth: he’d conspired in a secret plot to kidnap the Crown Prince, so that he himself could become King, and he was working for the Fraternitas. That meant he must be extremely dangerous.

      Miss Taylor must fend for herself, she heard the Chief say again. His voice boomed in her head – suddenly steely, not in the least bit kind. She had asked about Sophie and he had lied to her. Nothing to worry about, he had said. He’d told Forsyth not to tell her the truth, simply because he didn’t want her ‘distracted’ from another mission. And how readily Forsyth had agreed!

      In a rush, she thought of everything she and Sophie had done for the Bureau. A few hours ago, she’d felt full of pride in their work – now she only felt stupid. The Chief didn’t really care about them: they were simply useful to him. There are obvious advantages to operating female agents. It was all very well while they were doing what he wanted – but if something went wrong, he would simply wash his hands of them. Miss Taylor must fend for herself.

      Anger bubbled up inside her, and all at once, she was seized with a furious desire to march straight back to the Bureau, to fling open the Chief’s door, to tell both him and Forsyth exactly what she thought of them. But she knew that rushing about yelling was not the way to go. She had to be clever about this, she told herself. She had to think as clearly and sharply as Sophie herself would do.

      But even as she tried to think, she pictured Sophie – trapped in some far-off police cell, or captured by the Count – and her anger flared all over again. Furious tears rushed into her eyes, quite as if she was one of those idiotic ingénues she had always loathed. Tears won’t help anything, she remembered her old headmistress instructing the girls. They will only make your eyes red and puffy. ‘Don’t cry, you absolute donkey,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Think!’

      Just then, she heard a knock on the door. She looked up, surprised. Jack was out at art school – and anyway, he would never have knocked. The other occupants of the house were not much given to knocking either: it was the kind of place where people just barged in. She got up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and went to answer it. Standing just outside the door, holding a small bunch of flowers and grinning at her, was Joe.

      For a moment she felt completely confused – and then all at once, she remembered. Of course – they’d made plans to go and see the matinee at the Alhambra, and have tea. She’d thought it was just a casual arrangement – two pals out for an afternoon – but now here Joe was, looking rather handsome in what she knew was his best suit, with his curly hair carefully smoothed.

      ‘Oh gosh,’ she said. ‘I think you’d better come in.’

      It didn’t take long to pour out the story. Joe was a good listener: he didn’t interrupt, sitting beside her as she talked, his eyes fixed seriously on her face. When she told him what the Chief had said about Sophie, he looked astonished – and then very worried indeed. She knew Joe was very fond of Sophie: in a funny way, the two of them were rather alike, both alone in the world without any family of their own. But now Sophie was really alone – far away from all her friends, missing on the other side of Europe.

      ‘I’m so furious I don’t know what to do,’ she finished up. ‘How can the Chief think of just leaving her there? She could be in any kind of trouble!’

      ‘I’ll admit, it doesn’t look good,’ said Joe, thinking hard. ‘But don’t despair. We don’t know something bad has happened. Perhaps her messages just haven’t been getting through?’

      ‘But what if something awful has happened to her?’ They had no way of knowing, Lil realised – and that was the very worst thing of all.

      Rather as though he wasn’t sure what else to do, Joe put an arm around her shoulders. For a moment, she felt taken aback. Joe had never really hugged her before – she hadn’t thought of him as the hugging kind. She knew he’d always been a bit sweet on her, but he’d never done anything about it – and besides, she’d never wanted anything more than just to be good chums. But now that Joe’s arm was around her, and her head was against his shoulder; now that his hand had closed over hers – warm and rather rough – her heart began to beat a little faster.

      ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said gently.

      ‘We don’t know that. We can’t possibly be sure.’

      ‘She’s Sophie. She’s tough.’

      ‘But she’s all alone. We have to do something to help – or at least try and find out what’s happened!’

      ‘Well, maybe you need to go back and talk to the Chief. Admit what you heard and tell him he’s got to help you get in touch with her. There must be someone in St Petersburg who could help track her down – or you never know, perhaps he’d even let you go out there and look for her?’

      But Lil just shook her head. After what he’d said, she was certain there was no way the Chief would agree to send her all the way to Russia to look for Sophie. Besides, she didn’t feel she could ever trust him again, after he’d lied to her face like that. ‘He won’t. Not when he needs me to go to Germany to pick up his stupid report,’ she muttered angrily.

      ‘Well then, while you’re in Hamburg, the rest of us will start investigating from here. There’s got to be something we can do, some way we can find her . . .’ Joe began.

      Hamburg! Lil jumped suddenly upright. ‘Joe – that’s it! You’re a genius!’

      Joe looked astonished – and a little disappointed that Lil was no longer snuggled against his shoulder. ‘What d’you mean?’ he asked warily.

      But Lil was already on her feet, rummaging through books until she unearthed her copy of Cook’s Continental Guide. ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, thrusting it under his nose, her finger jabbing at a map showing Hamburg, in the north of the German Empire. ‘I’m supposed to go to Hamburg. Well, Hamburg is halfway to St Petersburg – don’t you see?’ She stared at him

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