‘None of those things. At least, not that I know of. I just plough into my work every day and keep my head down.’
‘Have you told any of your colleagues at the War Office about this rumour?’
‘No, I haven’t. I thought it better not to say a word to anyone except you. Obviously, I know people there, and we’re friendly as colleagues, but I don’t have any bosom chums. Actually, I’m baffled at the mere idea of an enemy.’
‘How can I help you, Diedre?’
‘I’m not sure. Being able to talk to you about this helps a lot, because now I don’t feel so alone, coping with this problem.’ Diedre let out a small sigh, shook her head. ‘I thought you might know someone at the War Office, or in the government. But now, as I’m saying that, I know you can’t just start asking your friends who my enemy might be, now can you?’ Diedre began to laugh at her own absurdity, and so did Lady Gwendolyn.
After a few moments, Diedre added, ‘I suppose all I can do is just wait and see who tries to make trouble for me.’
‘That is true, my dear, in one sense. But I’m afraid I can’t just leave it at that. Let me think about this. I am going up to town next week. I have several engagements to fulfil, and who knows what I might find out as I circulate in Mayfair and Westminster with my friends.’
‘Thank you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, I do appreciate your help. I love my work …’ Diedre broke off as her voice started to quaver unexpectedly. She was on the verge of tears. Swallowing, promptly taking hold of herself, she continued, ‘The War Office is a huge part of my life, as you know. I’ve been there twelve years, and I love what I do. Without it I would be lost.’
‘I truly understand,’ Lady Gwendolyn murmured sympathetically, having always been aware that Diedre found great fulfilment in her work, and was dedicated to her professional life.
It was a weird and dubious story at best, and if anyone else had told her this strange little tale, Lady Gwendolyn would have doubted its veracity.
Since it was Diedre who had related it, though, she believed it was the truth. Her great-niece was honest and dependable, not given to flights of fancy.
Leaning back against the iron garden seat, gazing out at the flower garden, she relaxed, let her mind wander.
She knew nothing about Diedre’s work, other than that she was well thought of by the powers that be. Only today had Diedre strongly implied she was in Intelligence, which Lady Gwendolyn herself had long suspected but never mentioned to anyone. She was always cautious when it came to such things.
As the daughter of one of the foremost earls in the land, with a title in her own right, her niece mixed in the best of circles, was genuinely popular, and was on the invitation lists of everyone that mattered in London society.
There had never been any gossip about Diedre … no Chinese whispers. Lady Gwendolyn sat up with a start, frowning to herself, suddenly recalling Maxine Lowe, one of Diedre’s closest friends. She had been found dead in suspicious circumstances at her house in Mayfair, four years ago now.
At the time, Lady Gwendolyn had been annoyed when Diedre had been interviewed by Scotland Yard. But her worries immediately vanished when her great-niece told her that all of Maxine’s friends had been questioned by the police.
Diedre had then gone on to explain that the big boys at the Yard thought they might be looking at a murder; some agreed with this theory, others focused on the idea of suicide.
Then a different verdict altogether was announced by the coroner at the inquest. Maxine had indeed died from poisoning, and the substance ingested was arsenic. But the manner of death was declared to be undetermined. Leaving the verdict inconclusive in this way meant that the case was open to speculation; there had been a lot of talk about Maxine’s sudden death in the circles she had moved in – mainly high society and the artistic world. In the end, nothing ever came of the police investigation. Her death remained a mystery to this day.
Now Lady Gwendolyn focused on Diedre’s present problem, and her razor-sharp mind told her one thing … the rumour about Diedre being pushed out by the War Office had nothing to do with her personal life. She believed it had been started by a colleague with a grudge against Diedre.
Nothing else made sense, actually. Obviously there was someone who wanted Diedre out of the way. Jealousy, envy and ambition. A fatal combination. Malice, she said to herself. It’s driven by malice aforethought.
If you wanted to punish a person, the only way to do it without causing them bodily harm was to attack whomever or whatever they loved the most. Hit their vulnerable spot hard.
This might be another human being, such as a spouse, a child, a parent, siblings. Or a lover, perhaps. A person who could be physically damaged, maybe even killed. She dismissed the idea of a lover. Diedre had become very much a career woman. But she was beautiful, with her chic hairdo and lovely face, not to mention her stylish clothes.
Alternatively, a career that was relentlessly attacked could ultimately be totally destroyed forever, never to be rekindled.
These were the only two choices, as far as she was concerned. Hurt someone Diedre loved. Or destroy her career totally.
Discovering the identity of Diedre’s enemy was an imperative. Until they knew who it was, they would be whistling in the dark. Whom could Lady Gwendolyn turn to for help? Which of her friends had real power? Whom did she trust? And who would actually be willing to poke around for her?
The answer came to her immediately. Only someone in politics and someone with access to the top brass at the War Office.
Staring into the distance, she thought of those friends who were connected to politics. She knew Lucy Baldwin quite well, had been at her wedding to Stanley in 1892. But she could hardly go to the Prime Minister’s wife with this.
Winston. Of course! Not only was he a good friend, he had just the right temperament to get involved. He would relish it, in fact. But how could she ask him at this particular time? Once again, Winston Churchill was in the middle of the fray, dealing with the coal strike for Baldwin. Perhaps—
‘Excuse me, Lady Gwendolyn,’ Mrs Pine said, intruding on Lady Gwendolyn’s thoughts, coming down the steps into the garden. ‘Lady Lavinia is here. She apologizes for being early for lunch.’
Pushing herself to her feet, Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mrs Pine. I was just about to come inside anyway.’
Lavinia was waiting for her in the parlour; as she turned around to greet her aunt, Gwendolyn was struck by the tiredness etched on her niece’s face. ‘Are you feeling all right, Lavinia?’ Lady Gwendolyn asked. ‘You look a little under the weather, my dear.’
‘I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.’ A faint smile lingered on Lavinia’s face as she followed her aunt across the room.
Sitting down in a chair opposite her, Lavinia went on, ‘I’m afraid the unexpected news that I was going to attend a wedding on Sunday – my brother’s wedding at that – rather startled me. It also upset me.’
Lady Gwendolyn simply nodded, made no comment. She had fully intended to chastise her niece over lunch today, for being rude to Charles yesterday. But now she changed her mind.
As she studied Lavinia’s face, she realized there was something else radically wrong with her. In fact, she thought her niece might be ill. She looked pale, wan, and her blonde beauty had faded somewhat. I’d better not chide her at this moment, she decided. ‘We were all surprised, except for Miles and Daphne, who knew about it all along. But I’m happy for Charles, and delighted he is marrying Charlotte.’
Staring